On a vacant lot in Grants Pen, a big tent was planted and on Sunday night, the revival meeting held its first service. From a mile away we listened to the testimonials and the whoops of redemption. Then the storm clouds drew in and the night turned black. The rain swept in from the sea, blown almost sideways by violent gusts. Sheet lightning shot across the sky as the preacher’s voice rose in shrill exhortation. The first thunderclap was like a smack around your head. After that there was only the sound of the rain spatters and the wind howling through the louvre windows.
The next morning the tent stood abandoned under a louring sky. Only the faithful Volvo remained.
(Larger image here.)