He knows that I know it's a scam, but we go through the motions anyway.
Arkin Manlangat hands the photocopies over, talking in his pidgin English all the while as if by distracting me I might yet fall for it.
We are sitting on a rough-sawn bench outside a two-room hut built on stilts into the side of a steep valley, the patches of cultivated land below us doing their level best to fend off the ever-encroaching jungle.