He sat down and gathered the cognitive texts. With a compelling face he narrowed his view towards my eyes. A naughty sneer spread across his face, he emptied his words carefully, as if to reassure me. I sat there with my pen tapping against my notebook, nodding in dismay, staring at his creased face. I anchored my body forward, my ears zooming into his tunnel of words, listening intently… "Listen my child, they call me Pehepo", he mumbled. "I have a fighting spirit, i have seen rage and war tormenting our peaceful spirits. Tell your generation, in your own way, not to be led in this doubtful path, to keep their spirits at peace all the time" His words were uttered with precision, a unique literature, so sophisticated and spirited. He coughed slightly, perhaps an indication of the passing years. With every brooding word he uttered, he carefully scratched his salty textured hair, urging me to gain insight.