I had stopped at one particular ruin of a home as Romeo walked towards me on his way to visit a friend. This house still had clothes in the wardrobe, and timber and metal strewn across the familiar contents of any home; the bed covered in the recognisable NGO blue tarpaulin. On the floor was a colourful plastic dolls house. I wondered where this family was now and whether they had plans to return. On the same street Romeo pointed out his own small dwelling with the all too common lack of roof. A builder, amongst other skills, he explained the benefits of a concrete roof against the corrugated metal roofs adorning many buildings. Like many Barbudans he was awaiting direction from the council about his application for a new roof. The Council in turn held up by the purse string holders, the Antiguan government. In frustration and with resolve he was painstakingly building a new home from scratch in between rain and his other work that enabled him to purchase materials from neighbouring Antigua.