The Boab's Family

On the walk from the market to my place, there is a building that has been under construction for about a year now.  That's pretty typical.  Buildings are slow going up around here.  As the buildings are under construction, a boab and his family will move in.  These men and their families live in the depths of the parking garages/basements and are on call 24/7.  They look after the building and the residents.  This man is no different except that his building doesn't have any residents yet.  I've walked past them for about a year now.  We nod hellos and I smile at the children.  They have a little girl that looks to be about 5 or 6 years old.  I look forward to seeing them as part of my market routines.

Yesterday they were gone.

There are a lot of reasons that boabs move on.  Sometimes it is their choice and sometimes it is not.  I'll never know why this family is gone.  I just know I walked past the building yesterday and there was a new family.  It's sad.

I was quite surprised to be sad.  I didn't know them at all.  Then I remembered.

It's funny how a moment can stick with you.  Everything about it remains clear as day.  I had gone to the market right off the bus.  It was weekly shopping day and I had my hands full walking home with a heavy work bag over my shoulder.  The building was just about a third of the way home.  I was almost there so I was starting my search so I could nod my hello.  There they were, sitting on the stoop - mother on the top step, daughter on the next step down, and a doll in the little girl's lap.  I didn't know she had a doll yet there it was being tenderly held in her hands.  She was intently playing with its hair in a very peculiar way.  Her hands were running throughout the hair with no rhyme or reason.  I glanced at the mother and that is when I noticed it.  She was picking lice out of her daughter's hair.  Daughter was picking lice out of her doll's hair.

She was playing mommy with her baby.

She wasn't putting it in a stroller or wrapping it in a blanket.  She was doing what her mommy did - taking the itchy insects from its hair.  The mother and I caught eyes and she turned away quickly, looking ashamed.  I smiled at the little girl and kept walking with a small lump growing in my throat.  She smiled back at me with a glowing face and twinkling eyes, proud of her baby.  I wanted to say something to the mother.  No.  Not something.  I wanted to say so much.  I wanted to tell her she is a good mother, caring for her daughter.  I wanted to tell her that her daughter is beautiful and sweet.  I wanted to tell her she was doing her best for living in the garage of a building under construction.  I wanted to tell her to lift her eyes, she has nothing to be ashamed of.

But I didn't and now I never will.  I don't know where they are.  I will most likely never see them again,  except in that 10 second memory.  I still see them on that stoop that is getting closer to being completed.  I still see them in the faces of little girls and their babies.  I'm thankful for it - this memory tangled with sweetness and heartbreak.