Under the Mango Tree

There is a big mango tree, heavy with rippening fruit, in front of my building. It has a small, slapped together, bench leaning up against it. I spend a lot of time there during the day in its shade. I sit there with my drawing book and exchange pleasant greetings with passers by. In the evening the breeze rustles its leathery leaves while I drink Kabuli beer (light, local beer), eat plaintain chips and listen to the reggae music on the radio coming from the cabin, just behind the tree. It is a big box really. Some Haitains live there. They often cook fish for their meal which they chop up on one of the big roots of the mango tree with their "machet".

From this bench I hear dogs barking, roosters crowing, children laughing, woman chattering. Goats munch their way past me. Just in front of me is a thicket of mango trees, coconut palms, and banana trees. There is a well used path through it. I have no idea where it goes, and I surprize myself that I am not interested in exploring it. It goes where it goes, and that's good. I much prefer to just sit here and watch the comings and goings along the trail.

People are getting used to seeing me there. I always have my sketch book on my knee, and do endless drawings of mango clusters.