Old New World
Oxbear looked at the little boy patting his naked stomach in satisfaction as he sat on the bed stuffing himself with a plate of ham and cheese, and laughed, “You’ve got an American appetite, son.”
Three slices of ham, three slices of cheese, and grape juice later, the boys were napping on one side of the room while I long-distanced posted the podcast with Carrie-Bri from the other. Episode 48 in the books, with a few cameo Yali happy squeals in the background. Rain falling in the streets below.
The second half of our morning had been spent shopping with our interpreter. All over the city – yellow and red soccer jerseys – for the big game. After spending four times as much on Yali’s new wardrobe as the cost of groceries: ham, cheese, yogurt, papaya, fruit juice, etc., we brought a sleepy boy back to the hotel.
Our interpreter, a kind granny in red lipstick, took his warm little hand in the taxi ride – no seat belts – as he slept in my lap. She patted and smoothed his fingers. “See? Now we are friends.”
The city is … textbook? Again, images of National Geographic – dirty, brightly colored walls of old shops where baby cribs mingle with hot corn cakes and the shiny construction of Kia dealerships and shopping centers boasting imported children’s clothing prices that rival Baby Gap. It’s a curious place: a country wanting so badly to keep the old heritage while transforming into the modern world at the same time. Clash of cultures.
Later that afternoon after a rain storm accompanied by high wind, we caught up with Puck, Gloria, and Izzy on Skype. Swimming, friends, Minecraft – Puck was living the good life. He happily obliged Joe by making crazy faces at him in the camera.
Meanwhile, it was Rose’s 25th birthday, galavanting the Northwest with friends, no doubt making all those plans to visit bubbling mud pots and frying hot geysers on the road home.
In another meanwhile, four thousand miles away from Rose: it’s amazing the quirks you learn about a kid in just two days together. Yali loved music and animals and soccer and water. Almost jumped into the shower before I could stop him. When he hears music, dancing Latin music, he grins big dimples and punches the air with his little fist. And he still loves his dad’s beard, pulling on it, examining it, rubbing his nose in it; such a curiosity.
That evening, I prepared myself for another full-blown fiesta of music pounding through the hotel walls from the streets. The music is loud and long every night. How Yali sleeps through it, I don’t know. He’s already taking after Puck in the sleep department. I had to stick his feet in the sink and run water over them just to wake him up after dosing off in the taxi.
But before the noise of the night streets commenced, when I looked up from our evening prayers, Yali had folded his own little hands together to share in the prayer.