These girls follow me around with strings of questions. Today the girl was Kelly.
When I sat down in a peque-peque to visit some artisans in a nearby village, Kelly´s polka dot leggings squeezed in beside me. And she began:
I like your arm hair.
Do you dye your arm hair?
Have you ever been drunk?
Is your country by Africa?
How many kids do you want to have?
Is Charlie from Charlie´s Angels dead?
Why did Michael Jackson die?
And so I learned that Kelly, who lives five hours by peque-peque from the nearest tabloid, knows more about American pop culture than I do.
Michael Jackson died?
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