I was waiting for the pouring rain to subside outside the mall, with my hotel within sight. Wet, frayed looking umbrellas passed by so low that I could see their tops. A child’s face came out from under one such umbrella, looked me over and walked away. Another kid came and asked in his native language, if I wanted to go somewhere. I made out his intention by the dark umbrella in his hand and gave the name of the hotel and pointed. He nodded and gestured for me to follow.
The previously dusty road had completely disappeared under running water. I couldn’t tell where the drain was or if there were nails lying about as I saw construction materials on the way. The absence of street lighting made it worse.
The boy was around eleven, shirtless and barefooted in the cold night. His breathing sounded like he had hypothermia and he was shaking as he held the umbrella for me as I walked beside him. His ribcage strained against his flesh. I kept trying to pull the umbrella lower so he wouldn’t get wet but he refused to share it, bravely holding it up for me and leading the way.
A girl, maybe eight, both hair and oversized dress soaked, was standing at a junction with a dry, foreign lady who held the borrowed umbrella herself. In fact, I noticed several kids with umbrellas going about in the rain that night.
At my hotel lobby, I gave the boy what I felt was more money than he was used to receiving for the service he provided and got a shocked look in return.
In my room, I sat numbly staring out the window, thinking of my little girl sleeping safely in her warm, padded bed back home.
photo from unsplash.com by Anh Nguyen