That time when . . .
. . . the rainy season was in full swing and one particular mud puddle grew so big we kids could swim in it.
. . . a regular event of the evening (post shower) for our family was to sit around on our parents’ bed and dig niguas out of our toes with sewing needles—all properly sterilized, of course.
. . . my sister and I carried photocopies of our passports with us wherever we went, and at all times—because our parents had the originals, we were at boarding school hours away, and our host country was in the throes of civil war.
. . . I would walk outside the house, pick a mango as big as my face off the tree in the front yard, peel it with my teeth, and dig in.