On Monday, I was walking along the road with my children. Kate was running ahead to the raised grass path, and Malachi was dawdling along in the dirt. Two Zambian ladies approached us, walking the other way. I nodded in their general direction; they greeted me and then one of them said, "Give me one of your children."
"Which one?" I asked.
She pointed at Malachi, the two-almost-three year old, decked out in his shorts, t-shirt, and hat, slowly scuffing his shoes in the dirt. "That one."
"You don't want him," I said consolingly. "He's too much trouble." We smiled amicably at each other and parted ways.