I stood in the back of my host dads truck with my eyes shut, reveling in the sharp pricks of rain as they hit my face.
My host parents, sister Bianca, and I were coming back from a trip to North Ambae when the rain started up again. After months of hot, dusty weather, the near constant rain of the last week has been a real blessing for the parched ground and brown grass of Saratamata. My smile getting bigger, and my clothes more soaked as the tuck bumped and jostled down the rutted dirt road.
The rain gradually stopped, as did the truck, parking underneath a giant mango tree. My parents jumped out and with practiced aim, brought down an armload of fresh mangoes, using the rotting ones strewn around the base of the tree as ammo.
My fingers sticky, my stomach satisfied, and my clothes still damp, we climbed back into the truck to finish the journey home.
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