The south had to exist, hunger willed it. The sacrifice was to prune my mangroves, fill marshes to accommodate the downtrodden, the newly minted crabbers from the interior of the island. A slum phenomenon, from Hoare to Fanguito my overwrought hospitality expanded to accommodate 100,000 poor. The first urban sprawl occurred within me: in 1950, there were over 195,000 of us. In 1930, there were almost 82,000, and we returned to that figure in 2010. I was filled out of necessity, I was emptied for better opportunities. History is not cyclical. Cynical, sometimes; ungrateful, almost always.