Crack on the bus

Another Thursday adventure. I way lucked out again with the convi thing. I caught one from the Carretera right outside the house all the way downtown. I got a seat this time. It was suprisingly empty. There was a lady that got in right outside of Campo Verde with a big bucket of pomerosa fruits. The cute old woman sitting in front of me bought 3 and then turned around to offer me one. Te invito, she said with a smile. I accepted and then we ate the delicious fruit together. Every so often she would turn around in her seat to make sure I was still eating. Yes I was still eating. And there was also something eating me up inside. I had a copy of Steps to Christ in my purse. I could feel the outline of it through my bag. My dad had sent me some copies in Spanish.

Now, I'm not usually one to pass out books on the street, or really even to talk about God on the street. If it comes up in conversation, that's great. But it usually doesn't. And I don't make an effort to see that it does. 

I thought about it the whole ride there.

I asked her what time it was. 

But nothing else.

When she got off at her stop, she grabbed my hand and smiled at me. I quickly slipped the little paper book into her hand and said, Te regalo. Gracias por la frutita! She took the book with a smile and got off. Why was that so hard to do? 

I continued on with my errands. Post office, print pictures, send emails to bosses, get stuff for Jonathan, pick up flowers from the house (which I later found out were flowers meant for the cemetary - I don't know what flowers mean. Flowers are flowers to me!)
I was standing on the side of the road and a convi came along. Double score! I climbed up with all my stuff. The flowers got stuffed in someone's face. I looked up under my mop of hair and saw where I had to go. All the way to the back. To fit on a bench that's really only supposed to be for 3 butts. There were already 3 people sitting there. I felt myself falling forward. Puedes agarrar los flores, I asked the lady I was falling onto. She took them from me, shoved them in the face of the guy sitting next to her, and then proceeded to fix the back of my pants which were falling down as I turned and plopped myself down. I guess I had been cracking the whole bus. Oh well. We just started laughing.
That's what I freaking love about this culture. Everyone is there for each other. Whether it's to pull up your pants, or offer you a piece of fruit on the bus, or watch your kids for you while you go to the market, or to start up a game of volleyball in the evening, or to give you a hug and a kiss. Neighbors aren't just people that live next door to you - they're you're family. People aren't superficial here. No one looks at what you're wearing. No one cares. You are a person. You are who you are and not what you buy or how you look.
As I continued my bus ride home, sweating more than I had ever sweat in my life. The lady next to me pulled out a comb and started to comb her hair. Her armpits were in my nose and hair was flying everywhere. Most of it landing in my lap and on my arm. I blew on my arm to try and get the hairs off but I was too sweaty. Gross. Black arm hair. After she was done, she started blowing all over my arms too. Still too sweaty to come off. She wiped me off with her sweat rag and the we continued on our way. The rest of the ride I watched the mom in front of me pick off some scab thing on her kid's head. When she got it off she gave it to him to play with.
I just love this place.