We called it the shower, but it was nothing but a few sticks holding up a motley assortment of old sheets and plastic bags. We scrounged a quartet of decorative cement blocks for a floor, so our feet wouldn’t get muddy. We’d haul a bucket of cold water out there every day and do our best to wash off the grime and sweat.
After the neighbourhood boys started coming by to peek in at me, I began showering after dark. It wasn’t bad, with the stars overhead.
But one night, I had company in the shower. As I stood there naked, bracing for the cold water I was about to pour over my head, something cool and damp thudded onto my hip, and stuck there. I could feel the little suction feet, and had a pretty good idea of what it was, but I fumbled around for my flashlight anyway.
When I flicked it on, there sat a little green tree frog, blinking in the light. It perched jauntily on my hip like I was just another tree branch. It cocked its head and considered me for a minute, then leapt onto the wall of the shower.
I chuckled and carried on with my shower. I heard the frog leap twice more on the shower walls, and then it was gone.