Domingu

Let me tell you a little bit about Domingu.

 

I may have mentioned him in a previous post. He's the son of the woman who we hire to clean and cook for us. He never started coming to the compound until all the facilitators left and it was just Cody - the FORGE project manager - and me left there. Cody and I still aren't sure if his name is Domingu or Domingo or Doming or Domi. Alice, his mother, seems to trail off at the end of the name, so I just follow suit when I am pronouncing it. I use different variations depending on what kind of mood I am in. In any case, he always knows I am talking to him when I decide to address him.

 

I suppose part of that could be that he is usually the only one around besides Alice. Because most of the people in the community I work in are forced to farm to survive, whether they are really farmers or not, they are busy cultivating in their fields in the morning, meaning that all my workshops are in the afternoons. So my planning time is in the morning. I spend most mornings in the small U-shaped compound we live in, where Alice, Domingu and I hang out.

 

Domingu is a tiny kid. We think he might be eleven or so, but he is the size of a seven year old in the U.S. I sometimes forget how darn small he is. Once when we took our soccer ball out and started a pick-up game across the road at the soccer pitch, I was reminded. He was on my team, and sometimes I would see Cody (who is my size) going after the ball at the same time as him. So picture this little seven year old sized kid running barefoot alongside this hulk of a dude with nothing in mind other than getting that ball. If I was Domingu I would have had the fear of a mountain moving toward me, but Domingu seemed unphased and sometimes got the ball away from Cody.

 

He is skinny and usually wears the same red and blue shorts. I can't remember what the shirt he wears looks like, but I'm pretty sure it's always the same one because I notice when it's a different one. He has shoes now, which he only wears to go to school. They look sort of like the shoes that you think of the Frankenstein monster wearing. They are black, have a flat toe, and are about two sizes too big for him. He has flip-flops too, which they call "tropicals" here. He almost never wears them though. A couple times we have seen him leave to go home with Alice and then rush back in to get his tropicals. Like, "Oops. I these razor-sharp rocks that I am walking on could kind of be uncomfortable to walk forty-five minutes home on." I can't even walk ten feet on the rocks with my bare feet. He's a tough kid. They all are here.

 

Having him around helps to make Cody and I even lazier than we already are. He lights a fire for us around five thirty, just when we are getting home from work. When we go to pump water from the hand pump that is in the middle of our courtyard, we usually can't get in more than about three pumps before he pushes us aside and starts pulling the pump up and down like a monkey. He has a certain stance that he assumes when he is pumping water that Cody and I try to impersonate, but it just looks and feels silly when we do it. Feet spread apart really close to the pump and slightly arched over the pump. All legs, no back. It sure works for him. He pumps water faster than anyone I've seen.

 

Someone recently attacked his hair with some scissors. There are some spots on his head where you can see the skin and others where you can't. Somehow, it makes him cuter. He has a shy smile. Much of the time he spends sitting on the couch that we have out in the courtyard. We set out some crayons and paper for him to play with. He draws numbers and little pictures with the words "I love God," on them. He juggles the soccer ball sometimes.

 

He's not around as much anymore since he started up school again. He's a fixture in Meheba for Cody and me. It wouldn't be the same without him. He's the kind of kid you want to have or else want your kid to be friends with.