Instead of the rallying, raging crowd I expect, there is a slow drip of curious souls that come and stand at the base of the hill, all the time watching Mel, Oscar and me warily.

The children are first.

Mel has not paused – she does not play for an audience; she has been busy. All the time since she placed the bucket on the ground, she has been taking twigs from her bag and setting them in pyramids. Soon the patch of ground where she stands is littered with these tiny structures, standing in pairs, carefully waiting.

The children draw near, hungry and curious. They have grown somewhat accustomed to marked faces, but this is something new – this is entertainment and they hold their breaths waiting to see what will happen next.

Still not speaking, not looking at any of the young faces gazing at her, Mel takes a stick from the fire and with her other hand she fills her water flask from the bucket. She walks around her creations and stops at each pair. One twig construction she lights with fire from the torch in her hand and the other she drenches with water. Each structure tumbles down and every time the children call out in amusement, frustration and distress at her studious destruction.

The parents have drawn closer by now, mistrustful of this marked stranger who plays with fire – entranced too by her methodical dance of fire and water.

Mel walks around once more, stamping out what remains of the tiny blazes, kicking at the muddy puddles of fallen twigs. The children don’t know whether to join her or tell on her and their parents purse their lips in disapproval – and yet, no one interferes, nobody dares stop her.

The rest of the town are trudging up the hill now. And then I see that Sana is here, standing at the back of the crowd, arms crossed, head inclined, shoulders back – she is leader enough to allow this intrusion, her body says. But I know she is also leader enough to call for Mel’s destruction. Seeing Sana chills me with fear and I hope that Mel is as certain of her actions as she seems.

Mel has placed the flaming branch back next to the fire and this time she takes sticks out of her bag – marginally longer than the twigs she has already used – and again, she builds. This time just two structures, side by side, and finally, she looks up as though noticing her audience for the first time and she straightens her shoulders, lifts her chin, shaking her red curls out of her face, and her story begins.

“Once there were two friends and the two friends built their houses next to each other.” Mel puts the finishing touches to the two stick houses she has built. “‘Now we are neighbours!’ the friends said, and they were happy and glad.”

The children look at each other and smile, already enjoying the story, feeling tickled to attend this surprise performance.