Home by 10

It’s Monday. All day it has been totally Monday. Started with a trip to the hospital for blood tests. A good start. I was in and out in 20 minutes. When we arrived at 8:30, there was a line of 30 people waiting to pay $5 for a consultation. Nathalie’s nephew Quentin has had an ear infection and needed to see a doc. He was still waiting when I left.

Paul, the ever-patient, ever-helpful, ever-compassionate Paul, stayed with Quentin at the hospital to be sure that he was well-treated and also to be sure that he got through the process as quickly as possible. Paul has an innate ability to see an opportunity and seize it, whether it’s on the highway or at the fish market or at the hospital. Because Paul was waiting with Quentin and Nathalie needed the car, Paul gave me the key and asked me to drive home.

I felt like a 16 year old whose dad just handed the keys over for the first time. I’ve been here three months and I have driven but it’s mostly been between our house and the supermarket, which is a straight shot: three kilometers along the beach road. The freeway? Never, except as a passenger. And you know, being a passenger allows one to daydream, look out the window at the community busses that look like they are either going to roll over because 25 people are hanging onto the outside or are going to explode because the cloud of blue smoke billowing around the vehicle suggests it is on fire. Or to stare at the horsecarts that are in the third lane, wondering if Black Beauty had it this hot and this hard. Or pondering how the 6-6 guy with the 4-foot stack of fresh eggs pallets balanced on his head ever trips or stumbles or tries to go in an entrance that is just not high enough. Or thinking about the women in their traditional dresses and whether they are hot or cool or how long it takes to get ready in the morning. Just about anything except paying attention.

But Paul handed me the key. And 10 minutes later, I pulled into our parking spot And I did feel like a teenager.