BUMP. BUMP. VROOM! Our electric moto zooms out of our driveway and down the dirt road. My little brother Osiah usually sits in front of Mommy, and I sit behind her, hugging her around her tummy. Sometimes my little sister Selah comes, but this time, she is at home with Daddy.

Today, there is a bag with containers of jiggly coconut jello hanging off the handlebars. We are going to share them with our Muslim neighbors who are fasting for the month of Ramadan. They do not eat food or drink any water for the whole day! After the sun goes down, they break their fast and enjoy special treats like we do at Christmas. We are sharing some cold coconut jello to show we care about them. It’s one of my favorite desserts.

After riding on the big paved road for a short distance, we turn onto a dirt road. I have to squint if a vehicle goes by so that the dust does not get into my eyes. I wave and shout “Hello!” to the other little kids in the village, and they wave and shout back. We pass banana trees, little shops, tall, stilted houses and lots of mango trees with bright green mangoes. Soon, we turn off onto someone’s dusty front yard. Some boys are playing hopscotch in the dirt. Chickens are strutting around, pecking for little bugs and bits of food.

A big two-wheeled tractor attached to a wooden wagon caught my eye. Here they call it an iron ox. I have always seen them coming down the road, but this was my first time sitting on one! I got to hold the handles and even pretend to steer. Mommy sat on a wooden bed and visited with the lady of the house while Osiah and I played on the tractor. The lady was really kind to let us do that. Cambodian people are really nice to little kids.

Sometimes it feels like Mommy talks for a long time, but I usually keep busy playing in the dirt with toys, making pretend food with leaves and sticks, or playing with the village kids. Sometimes there are little kittens that we can hold. After a while, Mommy says, “Osiah, River, let’s go. Say goodbye!”
So I say, “Ooun t’puon,” which means “Thank you” in the Great River language.

“Thanks, boys, for being such great little missionaries,” says Mommy on the bumpy ride back. She says that when I am kind, play nicely with the kids and obey her right away, I am being a missionary. I can share Jesus’ love by being a good example.

As we drop off the remaining jellos to a few other friends, the call to prayer plays loudly on the mosque speakers, reminding all our neighbors it is time to pray and eat. Tomorrow we will have different goodies, with other friends to visit. I always run to join Mommy on our visiting adventures because I like being a missionary!

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