Later, he snatched a bucket, wrapped a towel around his neck, and walked toward the public bathroom. I trailed behind. We passed brick houses and tall palm trees.

One-room…two-room…palm tree.

Small, big…small, big.

And each time someone waved at Papa.

How na, Patrick?” the fathers saluted.

How na, Mr. Bongfen?” the mothers greeted.

“Good evening, Papa Berdu,” the children shouted.

Papa nodded. “Fine. How are you too? Thank wuna, my children.”

At last we arrived at the bathroom stalls. The line was not long. Papa filled his bucket and entered one stall. I waited by the laundry platform.

And waited…

Then Papa came out with an empty bucket and his towel on one shoulder.

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Page 5 by Vivian Sihshu Yenika is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License, except where otherwise noted.