This morning I was honored with a plastic grocery bag full of cut roses from my little Bangledesh boy that waters the plants. His name is Mohammad Ali, he is about 20-ish and speaks about three words of English, water, morning, hot. He has a sweet face and beautiful smile and likes the puppy. I give him treats and 10QR once in a while (which is about $3.00). I took him inside to look at the map and showed him Texas and asked him to point out Bangledesh, and he couldn't. He did not know where it was! The laborers are here by the thousands, all crammed in a bus and tent type labor camps and are not paid squat and rumors of some places not even having running water. It is like seeing orphan children you want to adopt, except this one is about 20 and his family is lost in Bangledesh somewhere. I want to talk to him and ask him to call his mother on my Vonage phone but we can not communicate. It is very frustrating to me. I am doing charades with him three times a week, Me - Sherry, You - Mohammad, Me 47 -YOU? He says "ONE!" DAMN IT! I feel like I am talking to a cave man.
Anyway I am enjoying someone elses roses today in my little villa. It was the thought that counted, right?
2 comments:
You look and sound awesome, and seem so happy! That is all we can ask for our dear friends. I have missed talking to you, but know that all is well. Please be in touch soon, and keep me up to date with your hip blog, you are so 2008!!!
Janie
Janie, if only I was half as cool as you my friend.
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