Stupid Samuel standing stark naked in the middle of a dusty road in the barrio  where he was born, and whose inhabitants were superstitious enough to believe that he, a small innocent pygmy, had something to do with the changing of the seasons, and therefore, the rest of their lives, by virtue of reading some simple clouds that God could only move, was the last scene of the previous story. 

Of course, the villagers, upon realizing their mistake caused by overzealousness, had since returned to collect their children from the council-funded escuela, the Colegio ni Cristo — an educational institution they had no confidence in, as their kids always came back with a more backward thinking than they previously possessed before they left.
What did one really expect to learn from old matrons, wearing plumed gowns ransacked from road sales in a neighboring town?

Even the most pious seeker of knowledge among children couldn't have withstood the monotonous readings from books left behind by American turistas — travelers who thought nothing of leaving garbage deemed as valuables in a town poorer than where they came from.

Book titles such as "99 Ways to Cook Chicken"; "Getting Lost in HTML Language and How to Get Out of It"; "Pepper & Spice: The Art of Seduction" — libros of no consequence to people like Stupid Samuel. 

But it didn't really matter if the confidence towards the village's only education system seemed pretty low. As long as their niños  and niñas  sat in their respective spots under the mango tree, the natives would be happy to lead their own quiet lives. Provided their children don't forget their lunch at home, the villagers only cared about exchanging observations and opinions about others — like who beat their spouses (repeatedly) or who gambled their (or somebody else's) money away.