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He could tell I wasn't from here. Though we had matching complexions and similar curl patterns. He knew I was a stranger to his island. Yet he welcomed me with kind eyes and his native tongue. My Spanish was only a true beginner and I didn't want him to think otherwise. “Ingles senor ingles” I said. “Si si hello how are you” he responded. Our short bilingual conversation turned from a small greeting to him introducing me to some Puerto Rican street food. Looking a bit indecisive I took his suggestion and went with the bean patty slightly burnt in the top corner. He smiled good choice as he held out his hand. I handed him my bankcard and he quickly declined and said, “Cash only”. I was so embarrassed I had left my cash in my room. I tried to hand him back the patty and he shook his head no. I couldn't read his reaction but I assured him I would bring the money the next day. The next day was as beautiful as the last and I couldn't imagine just months before my arrival the island was nearly washed away by one of the most powerful hurricanes to make land. Walking the streets I still witness the clean up and the recovery efforts. I still notice some faces of defeat while others of strength. As I turned the corner to my first house, a little girl with pigtails spotted me. When she saw me she quickly turned and screamed ma ma. The mother approached and greeted me with a sweet smile. As I walked through the small home surveying the damage I noticed the roof in the back room was completely caved in. There was no power and no water. As I asked questions about their living conditions she tried to speak but only a language I didn't understand was released. She motioned for her older son to come in and he translated the conversation. By the end of the visit I was nearly in tears but as the victim said earlier it could have been worse. We smiled away our goodbyes and I continued the day. Four houses later I was walking the same street from when I first arrived and I saw the chef who fed me on his dime. I walked up to his eatery and greeted him with cheer. He asked me what I wanted and I pointed to the same patty as before. I handed him a 10 and he shook his head no. I stood in pure confusion because I was certain the currency was USD. As I stood with my hands in a shrug and my head tilted he continued to shake his head no “too much too much only cuatro” he said as he held up 4 fingers. “Okay but keep the change senor please please” I said while handing him the 10 dollar bill. “ Gracias, gracias” he said as he folded up the money. I returned a thank you and enjoyed my lunch. As the days went by the damage to the houses seemed to get worse. My daily conversation with my bean pie friend or Juan always seemed to help me forget some of the worst moments in the day. It was a Thursday with a slight drizzle, as I walked to the eatery I noticed my friend was not there. I asked his street neighbor who always tries to sell me flowers where he was and he shrugged his shoulders in doubt. I moved along and walked to the next house. I knocked on the makeshift door and a short older petite woman creaked it open. I introduced myself and she smiled with glee waving me in. While we waited for her husband I noticed the rotting wood around the home and the smell of mold. This may be the worst house yet I thought to myself. A short time passed and I began to smell the bean pies of my friend and thought I shouldn’t have missed lunch. Just as I turned the bean pie man was embracing his wife. The rotting home was of the street chef whose delicacy was bliss.