The journey from Port Vila took forever, but he could now smell the pigs and see the familiar cyclone houses. “Thank god the village survived the cyclone,” Graham thought. He had refused to visit in the past year - and he wouldn’t be here if not for the Category 5 cyclone that trashed his house in the city.
Graham was desperately tired, but he walked around in circles rather than straight towards his parent’s hut. “I am sure father has not forgiven me.”
At last, he tiptoed around to a pigsty. He closed his eyes for a second and prayed - Please let mama be here. The pigs stared at him and began moaning. “Even the pigs hate me.” He hastily turned around and knocked over a bucket of pig feed. The food waste landed all over his pair of white sneakers.
“Great. Now I am tired and dirty,” Graham sat down and let out a frustrated sigh, “Mama. Where are you?”
A half-naked old man poked his head out from behind the bamboo wall of a half-finished house. He was trying to tie the bamboo beams together with vine cordage. His jaw dropped when he saw Graham. “Son. You survived the cyclone. Welcome home.” The old man hopped out and took a slight stumble before hugging Graham tightly.
Graham stood in front of the cyclone house that his father was readying for him. A tear rolled down his face. “How stupid was I trying to sell my own village to those greedy real estate investors?”