I had never felt so much disappointment over a single papaya. The morning waterings were not my own, but always accompanied by my son, who was only a year old at the time. Each morning he would slip on his yellow off-brand crocs and walk into the yard with me. He never thought twice about where he was going. Instead, he raced right over to the water spigot and turned the water on always before I was ready to catch it. I took up my bucket to fill as he picked up his metal dish the size of cantaloupe.
With our buckets filled, Camilo dripped water along the weeded area until arriving at the papaya tree and dumping what remained. He was never interested in watering the other plants, perhaps because I had mistakenly talked this one up too much. It was the only plant in the U shaped patch in front of the house that produced edible fruits. I had planted green beans and watermelon, but they never got a chance to grow higher than the length of the toe that my child unconsciously used to stomp them dead.
The papaya tree was our glory. Each day for two months we would step out and watch the tiny green fruit start to sprout. I would carry Camilo up on my shoulders so he could reach out for the hard fruit and week by week see how it grew. We nearly charted it like a pregnant mom charting the size of her unborn baby. It was a bead and then a tennis ball until it grew to be a full sized papaya, only slightly longer than my opened hand in this part of the world. It changed from green to speckled yellow to a dazzling orange. And then it was ready to pick.
But when we came back ready for the family event, the papaya was gone. Not fallen to the ground. Not attacked by birds. Cut off. Probably by the knife I planned on using myself.
This was my culture shock at its worst.
Who would come into my yard and take what we poured our heart and soul into? Mi casa es tu casa was a phrase I never wanted to hear again. I worked hard, Camilo worked hard, should we not reap the benefits?
Of course we totally believe in giving. Had our friend been there with us, we may have cut it open and shared it right there. Or maybe not…because do I really have to justify not sharing?
But anyone who has ever lived in Laos is not surprised by my story. They all have plenty similar to it. The plumber comes and without your knowing he eyes the prized fruit tree and plucks all of them off, leaving a box of damaged ones on your doorstep. You are waiting for just the right time to cut off that bunch of bananas but a friend´s friend shows us two days earlier than their perfect ripeness and off they go.
I saw hard work and a celebration to be had. My Lao friend saw a piece of ripe fruit that needed to be eaten and not wasted. They were by no means trying to be hurtful or offensive. They were not stealing. What is to be stolen when the land is for all and my house is their house?
And of course this friend did not just cut off the papaya and stuff it away in her motorcycle basket to take home as a possession. No, she cut it off and ran it upstairs to our neighbors to share with them. An opportunity to share.
She was giving.
Despite all my time living in this culture, it was still hard for me to give up things I had worked for. I could plan ways around it at times. Leave some fruits still on a tree or prepare a certain percentage as a ¨gift.¨ But stuck in me is the American Dream at its finest. Work hard, reap the benefits. I do, I get. Even I do, I get, I give. But it´s all up to me. My work. My choice. Or Camilo´s work, my choice.
Could I ever envelop the beauty of the Lao culture that says ¨My house is your house,¨ and take it so seriously? Could I give up the control of what I think is mine? Could I stop living in the future and fully dive into today´s needs and today´s relationships?
Could I grow a papaya with my son without any expectations? Just knowing that today it needed water and not thinking about a possible result? Not even Camilo threw a fit like his mommy. He just went out the next day and watered the plant because even though this papaya was gone and eaten, the plant still needed water.
