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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required As the day broke, the sun shone bright, surely, whoever was in charge of sunlight was working overtime. The morning found us at work, our hands moving from propagules to seedlings, from preparation to planting, each mangrove finding its place in the soil that would one day hold a forest. Dick, Tom and Harry were all excited, not merely planting trees, but restoring a forest one seedling at a time. With every propagule we prepared, and every seedling we planted, the island taught us something, that mangroves were more than trees, that their roots held more than soil, and that their silence spoke for an environment worth protecting. But as the days folded into one another, the work we had come for slowly approached its end. And as the old saying goes, all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. So when the afternoon sun softened, we traded our tools for the sea. We swam, played along the beach, laughed until the day's labour felt like a distant memory. Then came Pastor Kagoto, our local captain, whose boat seemed to carry more than passengers. Some of us would quietly follow, one by one, as though joining a secret expedition. But this was no ordinary voyage. The boat became our stage, folk songs filling the air, poems crossing the waves, and sudden stops along the channel turning strangers into dancers. And somewhere between the songs and the laughter, Pastor Kagoto would introduce some of his new friends to the local brewery, where freshly harvested mnazi waited to tell its own story. By day, we restored the island. By afternoon, the island restored us. And somewhere between the mangroves, the music, the saltwater and the laughter, we began to realise- our time on the island was running out.
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