George and I

Everybody has that dude, the guy who you can lay it on after a hard day. He’s the guy you don’t need to sugarcoat your day to, he already understands the way it is. I was fortunate to meet this dude my first day in village. In fact, he’s part of my host family.
His name is George and he’s five years old. In many aspects, George and I have a lot in common.
For starters, we both know a language outside of French. George speaks Ewe, one of the local languages in our village. I speak English. When I’m searching for a word in French, I often unconsciously spout out the word in English (or Spanish for that matter). But George understands, he often resorts to Ewe.
Another commonality is our eagerness to learn French. Many days as I walk through the gate of my compound, George is there with his portable chalkboard practicing his penmanship. Oft-times, I am doing the same at my table. The other day we were playing a dice game and George rolled an eight.
“Hmm…eight,” I thought. “huit or nuef?” So I started counting. Un…deux…trios…catre…cinq…six…sept…huit. As I got to eight (huit), I looked up and realized George and I had both simultaneously counted to eight using our fingers.
The final quality about George and I that I adore is our forthrightness. Normally, it is just George and I at the table to eat. The first days I might come in and say “J’ai faim,” (I’m hungry). When finished, I might add, “Je suis rasasie. C’est bonne,” (I’m full. It is good.) George will smile and say, “Oui, c’est bonne,” (Yes, it’s good.)We both don’t feel the necessity to use flowery language to fill our time together.
I know George is limited in the number of things he can express to me. George knows the same about me.
Sometimes though, “c’est bonne” is all one needs.