The little girl behind the stall, probably not even 10 years old, had run off to get my change. She took long enough for me to get involved in negotiations with a Rasta man for fresh mango juice. In the end I took change and juice but forgot my precious tomatoes and the yummy pineapple.
Fast forward half an hour and I am back at the market.
The little girl is gone.
A man is behind the stall, rearranging veggies in a van. I ask for the girl.
“What do you need from my little girl?”, the man calmly replies.
“No problem man”, he says while handing me a black shopping bag.
The girl had thoughtfully put my precious veggies aside and told her father about it.
“Bless you brother” I say while we bump fists as it is custom around here.
I get on my bike and cycle back with a big smile on my face.
These are the people of Dominica and kindness is the local currency.