folio

He drives into our yard, triggering our motion sensing camera. The camera zaps his registration plate. Then he gets out and walks straight towards the camera, so we get a good look at his face. I don’t recognise him, either as a friend, relative or neighbour.

He spends a couple of minutes looking around — in this case, at our fruit trees — then wanders back to his car to change into his wellies. From the back of his car, he takes two large crates, and carries them off down the lane.

He returns forty minutes later, his crates now heavy in his arms, one stacked on top the other, laden with freshly picked clementine. Looks like about 30kg, which he puts in the boot of his car, in full view of the downward facing security camera above him.

An open and closed case of the fruit thief, caught in the act? Well, not exactly. More the case of a paranoid landlord, still twitchy after thieves made off with half a tonne of rebar when we were building the house. That was the moment we hooked up the cameras.

But no, this isn’t the tale of a cunning shopkeeper, stocking his shelves with stolen agricultural produce. It’s our builder, paying a visit to inspect the concrete road his team laid down for us three weeks ago. And the fruit? Yes, he asked permission of the one looking after our land.

“Helal olsun,” is what we say to that. Meaning, “I make that permissible for you.” It’s not that we’re stingy, coveting what we ourselves cannot benefit from from so far away. Rather that we’ve agreed that while we’re not there, it all belongs to those we’ve given stewardship.

But all of this is a valuable lesson in establishing the facts before rushing to judgement. What seems apparent, may not be the case at all. Appearances could be far from reality. Start with a good question, ask the right people, make the pursuit of truth your guide. For, certainly, things may not be as they seem.