This is Dilan, my best friend in Campur. He's the four-year old son of my friend Olga who works at the small libreria I live above. He loves my homemade granola, mandarines, and is frequently seen wearing shirts two sizes too small and miniature orange Crocs. While his mother works her long daily shifts to support Dilan and his older brother (Olga has been a single mother ever since Dilan's father was tragically shot and killed in the municipality over a year ago), Dilan had gotten into the habit of hanging out with me. At first he drove me crazy, just barging in at every moment, getting into everything in my house, asking a million questions a minute (What's this for? How much did it cost? What's this called? etc.), but after a while I started getting used to his frequent visits. I got into the habit of keeping a few coloring books and boxes of crayons on hand, and gave him his own toy box to keep his things in while he is away. We've kind of reached this comfort in our friendship, and he seems to understand that while I'm working, I can't play. As I write this I'm swinging in my hammock with Dilan underneath, coloring a page out of his Transformers coloring book and singing himself a little song (I haven't yet been able to grasp the jist of the lyrics but the tune is quite catchy).
Our friendship is simple, but all the best friendships are. I know his favorite snack is orange wedges with salt rubbed on them, and he knows that if my door is closed, I need my alone time and he should come back later. I'm always learning things from him...words I didn't know, that oranges do taste amazing with a bit of salt rubbed on them...and hopefully he's learning from me, too. And on my bad days, he knows just how to cheer me up. I mean, it's not hard to do when you are an adorable 4-year old wearing a belly shirt.
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