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“Hi I’m Megan Jennaway and I’m reading from my novel The Water Jar.
Long before their arrival in our village I knew that strangers were approaching. There had been portents all week, with eels jumping out of streams to lie dehydrating on the banks, and stormclouds building up in September, the month of flawless skies. My father was expecting the visitors, because he was an educated man, a country administrator for the Portuguese, and his superiors in the government had tipped him off.
They came in boats at a time of year when the male sea that lies to the south is relatively placid. There was little outward sign of commotion, just a quiet absorption into various houses around the hamlet, a flicker of lamps within as tea and rice were prepared for the hungry strangers.
