Our Friend Hani

            Walking along the main road, I see a familiar face. A three-year-old face at knee-level. He’s dressed in a green smock, coming from Kindergarten, about to cross the main road. We stare at each other, trying to place each other. Anti? he says. You?

            Hani! I yell. Hani! Hani! I’m elated. I barely recognized him in his smock; I don’t think we had ever seen Hani with pants on. Hani is a three-year-old terror, who used to live near our home, on an adjacent road, and every time he saw us, he’d attack us. With laughter, with his hands. His game was to somehow, some way get into our compound unnoticed, to presumably play with us, to see the ferengi house. Our game was to out-run him and slide into the gate before he could squeeze in. After that, he’d cackle from the other side of the gate, calling out our names in as tantalizing a fashion as a three year old can muster.

            An unruly, adorable little boy. I once saw his naked legs chasing after me through the back entrance to our yard, and I ran from him, laughing, as his older brother, in turn, chased him. He made it to our doorstep and cried and cried when a neighbor carried him away, back to his own house. But we haven’t seen Hani in maybe 7 months. He just disappeared. And now, there he is, holding the hand of an older girl, about to cross the road. As I yell Hani, recognition lights up his face, and he runs to me, head thrown back to look up at me. Danayit! Danayit! He grabs my legs, laughing, hugging my knees. I steer him to the sidewalk so we don’t get hit by a bajaj, and we have a quick conversation, three year old and twenty six year old:

            Where have you been? Where is your house? It’s not on Adi Haki anymore. Where is it?

            (Hani points into the distance.)

            Many times Daniel and I say, Where is Hani? Where is he? I am so happy! Here you are!

            Do you have Daniel?

            Daniel is at home. He is fine. I will tell him I saw you, and he will be so happy.

            Okay. Bye, Danayit!

And he runs to chase the older girl, grinning ear to ear, giggling. I watched him until he disappeared behind the truck.

            I was happy, so very happy.