20 sep. 2014

Short travel story #1 - In the combi taxi

September 2014, Chiclayo, Peru

The young boy repeatedly bangs with his flat hand against the side of the van, by hanging his arm outside the window. He shouts and moves almost possessively, looking for people who need to go the van's direction. Opening the door rapidly many times, even stepping outside to try to get the people in.
If the-passenger-to-be is lucky, this boy is honest and wont bring them halfway their destination, just so he and the driver can earn some money.

His energy amazes me. 

My host and I start guessing how old he is. He says 14, I say 17, maybe 16.
Some minutes pass before I dare to ask the boy, who's finally sitting down, in my bad Spanish: “cuántos años?” “Catorce”, he answers, with a questioning look in his eyes why I'm asking.

"Aaahhh, your right!” Maybe I am more used to the Dutch, who make this boy due to his work experience and more tough life look older? Anyway, my age guessing skills need some practising.

The driver turns up the volume and the music fills the van. If my baby-girl wasn't asleep, she would definitely dance on it by bouncing up and down. The car has shaken her to sleep.

It's warm, but just perfect. The wind outside, the open windows, is making my hair dance. The road dusty, with sometimes a cloud of dust blown into the air.  
I am everytime remembered of the treeless surroundings. Not knowing if they once stood there tall and proud.

My host... I feel his leg against mine. A warm feeling in every way. I am trying to restrain myself not to take his hand into mine. We're looking past one another, but I feel we're looking into each other's soul.

The van takes us to our destistination...

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