Is there anyone left in the village of childhood, or have we all dispersed? Here I am, three hundred miles south, wondering what became of my tribe. Most of us, it seems, have ended up in satellite towns orbiting the capital, our childhood roots forgotten. We came from the village, but now we’re of the whole world. All these strange migrations, scattering us out like seeds, pollinating, cross-fertilising , pushing down new roots into the earth we land on, all of the past but distant memories. We have moved on, never to return.