Derek tapped wildly on the window, startling me for a second, warning me of falling trees. I was standing on the 3rd floor of his house and knew I was in no danger.

It’s a fine line between agreeing or reassuring there aren’t the things he sees; is one helping or taking the easy way out?

A renowned architect who later retired into a life of painting but is now incapable of both.

Crisscrossing the Indian Ocean in a previous time; navigating the many islands and open ocean between Africa and the Far East, now losing his way the minute he steps out the front door while impromptu Whatsapp groups track his movements somewhere in the village.

I introduce myself multiple times during each visit: the guy who lives next door, the guy in the house below, the guy in the house below with the big trees that he loves so much.

Living next door to one another for the past 20 years has been turbulent. I admit there was no love lost between us but the circumstance has changed and we now sit at the same table; I make sure he has sufficiently dipped into the pistachio nut bowl and he breaks off a small piece of his Pastel de Nata concerned there wasn’t one left for me.