I was walking in the Lion of Judah's den, and if found here later, with the military operation underway, the lion's mouth would have surely closed. Travelling in the neglected northeast of St Vincent, cut off by the frequent shifting floods of the Rabacca river, there is a feeling of Africa. Here are old buses with wooden bench seats, and farmers riding donkeys. Women carry buckets on their heads, washing their clothes in rivers, pots at standpipes, and themselves in open public baths, while small children pull home-made trucks along on string, and pester stray dogs and infrequent tourists alike. The banana and coconut plantations of the flatter coastal plains now give way to short arrowroot crops on this 345 square kilometre, steep, rocky, windswept island.
Agriculture is difficult here, and fishing off the storm-beaten coast is unproductive.
Low employment and under-investment has led to a gradual trickling away of the young and able. Fancy that In the far north of the island, I arrived at the small village of Fancy and rented a small shack, lit only by candlelight and fireflies, in a field by a stream. Although it was only basic, with an open pit toilet and cold bush shower, the villagers couldn't have been kinder, preparing a free, welcoming supper for their unexpected guest. Despite the constant croak of frogs, the whirr of crickets, rain, crashing waves, and collapsing drunks from the all-night domino competition, I finally got some sleep. Next morning I set out with my guide, Joseph, to the Falls of Baleine, a three-hour trudge west along the coastal path.