It rained for two days. Sometimes it eased for an hour, but it never stopped altogether and soon it would thunder down again. There was nothing for my parents to do except eat, read and play cards. The anthropologist didn’t mind the delay. He used the time to film interviews with villagers, dashing between their low houses with his helpers whenever the rain allowed.

The old woman was the headman’s aunt. She wore a bracelet made of seeds on her scaly arm. Her age was a mystery, but everyone knew that she’d never married. When she wasn’t occupied with household tasks she sat beside Ivy, leaning against her to squint at her cards or her book. Every morning, she combed and braided Ivy’s hair. She laughed a lot and liked to stroke Ivy’s face.

On the evening of the second day, as they sat down to eat, the rain stopped – just like that, as if someone had turned off a tap. The headman said that if the sun shone the next day, the route between the two villages would dry out enough to be safe. If that happened the first feast would be held the following evening, and the wedding parties would begin their journeys on the day after that.

There was excitement over the meal that night, with everyone talking at once. The empty bowls had been cleared away when the old woman pointed at the door and spoke. Everyone except Ivy was to leave – they could stand outside or visit another house, the old woman didn’t care. She had something to tell Ivy and Ivy alone.

Everybody was in a cheerful mood, and she was the senior woman in the village. Good-naturedly, they all did as she asked. When the door closed behind the last straggler, the old woman motioned Ivy into the inner room. They remained there for quarter of an hour, and for all that time the old woman looked into Ivy’s face and spoke gravely to her. At the end, she took off her bracelet of red seeds and rolled it over Ivy’s fingers and onto her wrist.

When the others were allowed back inside, the old woman announced that she’d held onto an important secret for most of her life and now she’d passed it on. The anthropologist said, ‘But Ivy doesn’t understand a word of what you’ve told her!’ The old woman looked at him with pity and scorn. She informed him that he’d missed the point. She’d unburdened herself of her secret before she died, and had done so in a way that preserved its secrecy.