by Jenny Currier

By the time we board the train from Kandy to Colombo, we are exhausted. Our alarms went off at 2:30 this morning, prompting us to layer our clothing, fill our water bottles, and begin our ascent to Adam’s Peak in darkness. We watched the sun rise like a red orb from the east, chasing its shadow down the opposing side of the mountain, and in the moments before dawn we glimpsed men and women kissing the sacred footprint of Buddha or Shiva or Adam, depending on which world religion one ascribes to.

But now, the sun is high above us on a cloudless day, and the heat is heavy like a blanket. Mark and I find two seats across the aisle from each other, and we each sit down with a satisfying whump. I exhale and lean my head back, slipping into an almost-immediate sleep, but as soon as my eyelids close, I remember the binder.

Mark and I are on a Global Scavenger Hunt, competing against nine other teams in order to be crowned the “World’s Best Travelers.” We’ve most likely already forfeited the title—we’re so far behind in points—but we want to give our full effort anyhow, completing as many challenges as possible as per the rules: no smart phones, laptops, or Googling. I’m in charge of our logbook, which means gluing ticket stubs into our daily diary, recording our times of departure and arrival, writing answers to the scavenger questions. I have yet to record last night’s challenges, or the ascent to Adam’s Peak, or this train ride. I sigh and open the binder.

That’s when I feel eyes watching me. 

I glance around. Sitting in front of Mark is a young girl in a bright pink dress, staring at me with intense brown eyes, the color of coffee, until I meet her gaze. Then she quickly turns to face the front of the train.

I catch Mark’s eye and he grins, having watched her watch me. He pulls out one of our team stickers from his backpack and leans over the seat, offering her a small present. She shyly grasps its corner and turns to her mom beside her, holding it up and speaking in excited whispers. When she turns to face me again, I show her my Nalgene bottle, adorned with the exact same sticker, and she, too, affixes the sticker to her water bottle.

We smile at each other.

Something about her curiosity makes me rummage through my bag until I find a tiny notebook. In it I draw a palm tree and label it “Palm Tree,” with a smiley face. I pass the notebook across the aisle, her dainty arm as dark as a shadow reaching out to take hold of it, and she places the notebook in her lap and stares. She begins scribbling on an adjacent page, and I expect her to draw a picture, too. Instead, she hands me a note that says: 

My Self.

I’m Sethumi. I’m nine years old. My favourite food is cake. My favourite color is rosepink. My ambishan is teacher.

I am stunned. I wasn’t expecting this shy, unassuming girl to speak my language, but she completely upends my assumptions. Granted, the Sri Lankans are known for having the highest literacy in South Asia, but their native languages of Sinhalese and Tamil are quite unlike English. In writing, these languages appear more like artwork than alphabetic letters, with looping designs and curly cues that flow together like the designs of a henna tattoo. Sethumi, of course, can write both and she does so in my notebook.

For the next two hours, we exchange notes and drawings; she creates a self-portrait and a picture of her cat named “Kitty,” and I draw a map of the United States with a star over Rhode Island, where I live. We discover that we are both only children and we both love dessert.

She disembarks two stops before ours. It’s the only time I hear her speak in excellent English. “Thank you,” she says, so quietly I almost miss it. She lingers for a moment, deep brown eyes gazing at mine, before her mom takes her hand and they wave goodbye, disappearing into the dusty crowd.

On the Global Scavenger Hunt I will collect souvenirs from 10 countries, take thousands of photographs, and save dozens of ticket stubs, but the object I will treasure most is a small handwritten notebook filled with two biographies and illustrations, worth no money, and no points, at all. 

Photo by Jan Kahánek via Unsplash