We set up our tent on the breezy, cement terrace of the Kuka family's house, which both confused the parents and delighted the kids. Hysni Kuka pointed at our Coleman blow up mattresses and then held his back, indicating we would have a painful if not crippling experience sleeping there. In three minutes, kids were lugging up mattresses to the second floor terrace, and in five minutes our tent had transformed into a certain type of bed heaven. We just hoped the mattresses weren't from the beds of any old, ailing old folks.
It looked like the kids had never seen a tent before, and they were in and out of the thing like lightening, testing out the headlamps, sleeping bags and our bike helmets with gusto. "tent! tent!" they tried out the new English word.
Below the terrace is the small, but lively street. The cafe and betting shop and the corner store all in the same house, people are chatting, playing football, preteen boys are constantly testing their strength and machoism with short and passionate fights, and then there are the dogs and cats, slinking around, looking for delicious morsels of trash (to be found everywhere).
It's like a mini village in a corner of the capital city.
No comments:
Post a Comment