One home had a radio which played music loud so all the neighbors could enjoy it. Everyone's door was open. There were no windows.

In his hut, the oysterman shucked the oysters into glass tumblers, poured in a bit of chili and lime juice, and handed them to each of us along with a spoon. I had never eaten raw oysters, and then and there I developed a lifelong taste for them. But within a week, I was very ill with dysentery. Fred's took longer, but it finally caught up with him.

That evening, however, was a lovely experience. Pepsi was offered. Children came to look at us. We were feeling very good as we walked back to camp along the dark beach with the radio music gradually fading into the sound of the small surf.

Almost certainly the estuary was polluted. With a small opening to the sea, it would not often be flushed out.