‘I am a poet. I listen to the waves for tales of other shores and of the deep. Listen. Sit down,’ he told us in a voice bleached by sea water.

We sat. We listened. The waves rose high as walls and broke with alarming violence against the rocks. I closed my eyes. I felt lulled by the alternating roar and silence. He said: ‘Life is like a wave motion, full of highs and lows. We sit on life’s shores with our hands open, waiting to receive. But the water knows, more than we do, what we need and what we don’t need. It takes away from us what we don’t need, and drops it at another shore where it is needed. Sometimes it returns to us what it took away, refined and augmented with brine and other sea minerals. The sea, like death, is not an end but a beginning. Beneath it there is no bed, but another surface, another air.’

He stood up suddenly. ‘You kids have put me in a good mood today. Follow me into the shed, I’ll tell your fortunes, but one by one.’

Lomba entered first. There was a determined look on his face, like someone set on knowing the truth though it may turn out to be bitter. As I waited for my turn, I tried to decide what I wanted to know. Perhaps I should ask for special prayers for my coming exams. Lomba avoided my eyes when he came out; there was a bemused look on his face.

‘What did he say?’ I asked.

Lomba shrugged. ‘Prison. That was all he saw ahead of me. Go in, try your luck, ask for good fortune, don’t ask too closely.’

But when I entered and opened my mouth, what came out was: ‘I want to know when I am going to die.’ The marabout closed the Koran before him and pierced me with his stare. He was seated far inside the shed, on a goatskin. There was a calabash full of sea water to his right. I was kneeling before him, my back to the door and the roaring sea outside.

‘Ask for something else. I could give you herbs to transport you and your girlfriend on a trip of a thousand delights. I could teach you a prayer that attracts wealth like moths to a fire. But death – why?’

I shrugged. ‘I am curious, that is all. I want to be ready.’

‘A wise man is always ready for death. Assume it will come tomorrow, or in the next minute.’

I stood up to go. ‘Thanks,’ I said, unable to hide my disappointment.

He raised a hand, stopping me. ‘Sit down. Tell me, how old are you?’

‘I am twenty-one.’

‘Ah, sweet youth. Your life has just started.’ He sounded wistful, almost sad. ‘Youth. That is one thing the waves never return to us. Once lost, it is gone for ever.’