Sweet sweat

In a sky like a banner of pearl grey silk the clouds roil and writhe towards us - ice-cream heads, mountains of charcoal and navy blue. There is only a breath of time between the silken watery sunlight and the sudden downpour. Sheets of water rush and slide over the rounded contours of the tin roof to fall in thick, clear curtains to the ground.

I’m sitting under the veranda -cosy in the warm dampness- watching with amusement as the stall-holders scurry to protect their wares laid out under tarpaulins and dark green market umbrellas, inadequate protection in this sudden flood from above.

Disoriented shoppers splash across the street, paper bags holding greasy satays and trays of Asian delicacies turning to pulp in their clutching hands as they run, blinded, for shelter.

Cars, hurrying now to collect their passengers, send up plumes of water as they glide forward through the instant lakes creeping across the shiny asphalt surface of the road.

A small boy -maybe 3 years old- wearing a brilliant red shirt, runs down the centre of the road alone, heading inexorably towards an oncoming 4-wheel drive truck. His mother, carrying a younger sibling in a sling on her chest, screams to no-one; anyone: “get him off the road!”