From the depths of the pits of recent yesterdays, this morning the nursery flourished wholesome robust activity: just what plants love.
The young men from Terre des Hommes fell upon the sight of seedlings in badly damaged bags; they whooped about setting things right with all the energy at their command. Some understood my terrible Tamil. Some understood my terrible English. They only had an hour this first morning – according to the schedule of their lives. They set about making the most of it. Look: