After about a year of working with his boss, Gabrielle-Murray Harker, he had learned that she wasn’t much for his romantic on-comings, but she did manage to mold him into a good partner with African relations, and a good friend.

However, she had just recently brought him along with her to the Caribbean, to try and make an offer of support with the Jamaicans, who were neglected by the Cuban Ministry of Magic. The whole affair, according to Miss Gabby, had something to do with the history of slavery of sour emotions on both sides of the conflict. However it had turned out, Jamaica became a country dependent on only itself, and Gabrielle was determined to fix it. Although, why she had brought Azize along, mildly baffled him, but he assumed it had something to do with culture, although he wasn’t too sure.

What he was sure about was that Miss Gabby was awful with directions, because they were currently trying to find the entrance to Hamaka Ends Swamp, but just managed to find a dead-end cave, and no manner of magic helped them identify if there was some secret knock or passageway that continued on from here. Azize stood at the edge of a small pond in the cave and looked back teasingly at Gabbrielle, “Are you SHUR you heard d’ man correctly?” then he raised his eyebrows, remembering the small communication troubles he and Gabrielle had had when they first met, “‘E had a pretty thick accent.”

Oh he’d get in trouble for that, so he excused himself by checking again, as the tall burly African tiptoed around the small puddle-like pond in the cave and groped around the walls, but gave up rather quickly. He then hunched over the puddle, looking at his blurry reflected self, wondering if they did just misunderstand something.

Azize began to stand up, "Maybe we shuld--" but a push from behind him cut off his thoughts, and he started to fall into the puddle, despite him turning around and trying to grab with Gabrielle, who just smiled at him as he fell.

But the expected splash and soaking of cave water did not overcome Azize, instead, he just saw from underneath the surface of the pond and watched the water bend around him for an weightless moment, and then his back hit a hard woody surface and he was staring up at a settled world again.

His stare took in a woven dome of mangrove roots towering and over him—his ears, the sound of water lapping against the sound of wood and the swamp-like sounds of nature clicking in the background, mixed with the distant murmur of a civilization. And then when he finally huffed a breath the damp smell of saltwater, a whisp of smoke, dry bark, a tinge of cooked seafood, and a fruit flooded his nose and sense, finally making him turn over on his stomach and stand on his feet.

The Dark-skinned man trudged out of the tunnel of mangrove and onto a large platform mostly overtaken by a gazebo, and beyond that more platforms navigated the swamp through thick rows of green leafy trees that decorated the swamp and hosted a menagerie of tall, stacked, overhanging palm-tree-roofed tree-houses that twisted in and out of each other with stairways, bridges, and ladders as far as the next turn of the swamp.

Torches illuminated areas haunted by the shade of awkward and leaning trees blooming with leaves and dripping with moss. Azize couldn’t help but smile. It had felt like a little piece of Africa had made it to Jamaica and grew into its own world. He finally looked down at a small boy, sucking on a wooden straw protruding from a coconut, who was staring at him with a curious, but procrastinating expression.

Then the boy stopped, and took in Azize for a moment of disbelief, “You one of ‘dem peepul from d’other Ministry? Not wit’ Cuba’s Babylon?”

Azize just scratched his head for a minute, looking around to see if Gabby had made it through, “Yes,” he said pointedly in his deep accent.

Gabrielle had somehow convinced Azize & Marcus rather well into allowing such an excursion away from ruddy ol' England for a few days. It had been a bit spotty with rain when they had arrived but it had cleared out and was currently a warm, summery-like afternoon. Naturally, accents had always thrown her off so Gabie was slightly lost in translation. "Oh shut it, y'nit; we are NOT lost," she had snapped back moments before recognizing the small pond Az had found. See? They weren't lost! As to prove the point, she indeed had pushed him into it & waited a few minutes. When the African giant hadn't returned, Gabie walked to the puddle & went foot first into it (but to make the mistake of closing her eyes as she did).

WHAM! She was somewhat on her feet but she inhaled the smell of leather. What on-!? Azize had grabbed ahold of her as if he had intended to save Gabie. Flailing out his arms (she had no intention to look not strong), Gabrielle dusted herself off before looking at the little boy who happened to take a long slurp out of his coconut, which in returned raised an eyebrow from the madame chief.

"I'm Gabrielle Murray & this is Azize Mulogo...we contacted your head? Afamdi, yes?" she spoke to the boy, giving a warm & inviting smile. She was determined, by hook or crook, that this ordeal would be solved & that Cuba would learn that their insensitivities towards Jamaica would not go unnoticed. Her eyes looked up to Azzie with an appreciative air, especially after her little spaz session moments before & then looked back to the young boy, who was slurping even louder than before.

"Could you show us the way, please."

As Azize went to save Gabrielle he completely ignored the boy’s question in the process in helping his boss up. As soon as she had composed herself she took over the discussion with the small boy who attempted to stifle a giggle.

At the question, the boy’s face became twisted and he pulled the straw out of his mouth, “Wheech?” he set the coconut down in his lap and pointed out into the distance, to nowhere in particular.

“Bud’s p’on di lagoon,” then he pointed over to one of the treehouses embedded in the trees, “Jimson’s eatin’ over ‘der,” and then the boy settled his hands around the drink again, “Juniper and Bracken are at di’ ‘ospital, Iris and Peony are ‘doin a healing, and Miss Protea’s off helpin’ Uncle Brodie.”

“Unless yer talkin’ ‘bout di odders, OR yer from di’ odder Ministry.” The boy took a sip from his drink, and looked at Azize, who had failed to answer his question when first asked.

“Yes, we’re from tha’ Ministry.” Azize said immediately, barely giving the boy time to swallow his drink.

“’Den you jus’ gotta go over wit’ some food and cheel,” The boy pointed across the swamp at one of the far treehouses, one of the lower stacked ones whose base was suspended across one of the platforms on the swamp. “Cross di’ bridge,” he finished off in a lighthearted tone, and then continued drinking, showing no inclination to move.

Azize turned towards his boss, smiled, and shrugged, taking a movement towards one of the bridges before checking to see if she was going to follow him.