The thermometer just hit the 40° C mark, at 4.30 pm. I step out occasionally to feel the hot patio stones and the heat from the sun and the hot easterly wind. 

I close my eyes and I am almost transported back to Victoria, walking around Market Street during my lunch break, eating juicy pink mangos and spicy samosas wrapped in old newspaper, people nodding my way (Ki i dir madam? Byen mersi. Oumenm?), shops stacked to the ceilings with rolls of fabric, colourful cottons from India, polyester lace from Hong Kong, animal prints and neon coloured stretch for the daring, the Mesdames Patou (cattle egrets) stalking the streets, groups of men playing dominos underneath the trees by the court house. And Creole music, from doors, windows, tinkling away on little transistor radios here and there. The wind is salty and through the gap past the bus stop I can see the ocean, turquoise and blue and dark in the deeper places. The feeling of the hot hot sun on my skin is like a powerful embrace. I walk down to the little snack bar and get a fizzy orange soda before I make my way back to work. As I open the door, the air conditioned cool slaps me in the face, Jude and Pascal grin at me and quickly switch off the kung-fu video they have been watching while I was out. Marie-Ange yawns and slowly starts to make sweet milky tea before we all get on with the afternoon.

                                  
Wep - Kassav