A couple of kilometres farther on, we stop and park the motorcycle. There’s already a commotion around the governor, Baranquilla-born, bald and paunchy, who has a Syrian-Lebanese surname of his own. My stomach turns at the sight of him. A woman in high heels and tight clothes addresses him vehemently.

‘No sir, this situation isn’t your fault’ – she gestures behind her – ‘but it’s your responsibility to fix it. How is it possible that we’ve gone almost three months without water?’ She’s practically shouting. ‘We have to haul pails from the wells every single day.’ I stand listening; Nard has gone off to look for Juleen on the other side of the crowd. ‘But there’s water in the centre every day!’

There are older women with dishevelled hair, others with curlers in; there are barefoot school-age children, a woman in a nurse’s uniform, a couple of policemen. I spot Juleen and Sami and make my way towards them. Some boys are sitting on wooden pallets under a tree, drinking beer. Behind them, the pot of rundown stew. ‘We’re going to negotiate a solution with the water company, but the contract doesn’t include expanding the water mains networks, and the local wells are dry…’ the governor is saying. Juleen hugs me in greeting; I shake Sami’s hand and kiss him on the cheek. They tell me that the government can’t end the blockade: the Raizals want to keep going until the administration commits to building a desalination plant.

‘The problem is that the blockade affects only us,’ Juleen says, as neighbourhood residents on motorcycles weave around the scrap metal, the tyres, everything else that’s strewn all over the road.

‘Yeah, it really should be in the centre,’ Sami agrees. He crosses his arms and presses a fist against his chin.

I keep watching, step away a bit. I’m moved by the sight of the lanky kids, the brown-skinned girls in shorts and skirts, the babies in their arms.

‘Three months without water, Juleen? What the hell do you do?’

‘Well, I have to buy from the tanker and have it come to my house. But lately they tell me they can’t because they’re supplying the hotels.’ She purses her lips. ‘As if I didn’t know they pump the water right here in Orange Hill.’ She points to the road down the slope. ‘Oh’, she whispers then, ‘look who it is.’