In Nicaragua we stayed in a house with bars on the windows. A dog tied to a long rope paced under the window.
In the morning, we heard the clopping of horse feet on the pavement and wagon wheels rolling as if in a different century.
Roosters crowed and then, later, cars and trucks made their noises and we waited to be told what to do next.
We ate breakfast at a different house – coffee, bread, fat neon oranges we peeled with our fingers – and then we collected our papers and drove to the orphanage for our child.