Marooned

As the imams were calling the faithful to dawn prayers, the vans were loaded. And in the warm gloom, with a slowly rising sun just a faint glint behind the thick clouds, we set off again for Marang. On the roadside stalls charcoal stoves were flickering into life, shadowy figures shuffled around, rolling up blinds and setting out merchandise. The pathways between the kampongs underneath the coconut palms were filled with silhouetted figures shuffling off to the mosque.