Sweating profusely, involuntarily head-banging to the off-tempo rhythm of the chicken bus slamming into potholes, we watched the countryside fly by. As our corn-rowed bus driver swerved in and out of the oncoming lane, dominating all the nearby traffic, we watched cows chewing on 3-foot tall grass and billygoats laughing at children as they stood, baking, tied to coconut trees.
Of all the possible music one might choose to accompany such a journey, our driver had chosen to blast a Christian romance playlist. As I fearfully awaited the inevitable snapping of the bus's axles or popping of its tires, my ears were graced by the suave, unpleasantly soothing voice of a Latino hoping to "lay me down on a bed of roses."
I continued to sweat.
At each stop, peddlers made their way onto the bus hawking homemade banana bread, ice-cold bebidas, and weird-looking things with even weirder names. More than once we drove off before the hustlers had made their way off the bus, leaving them to jump in exasperation from the (slowly) moving vehicle.
The sweating intensified. Air conditioning was a pipe dream.
As the sun set on the emerald countryside, the lush greenery faded away. A canopy of stars occupied my vision instead, and as the heat wandered away towards more Eastern regions, I found myself falling asleep.
Finally, the sweating could stop.
Wait. The Children are forced to bake while tied to coconut trees? What are they baking?
ReplyDelete