One morning, on an early errand, my stomach would not stop grumbling. My Bolt driver turned to me to confirm that ‘Shopprite’ was my destination. I nodded my head. Another grumble came from my abdomen. I pulled out dried plantains to find some peace. As I munched on my snack, my driver turned to me, smiling, and said, “Am I invited?” It took me a second to register what he was saying.

“To the store?” I asked.

“No, you are eating chips; am I invited?” he chuckled. “But I was joking”. He turned back to the road. I tried to give him some chips, but he refused.

Later in the afternoon, on my way back home, the same thing happened but in reverse. My Bolt driver had bought a boflot (fried yeasted wet dough).

As he pulled the small plastic bag through his car window, he turned to me and said, “You are invited,” I heard through my blasting headphones. And even though already going through this, I responded, “To go where?” I was lost. He held out the boflot and repeated himself. I said no thank you, but couldn’t help but chuckle at these exchanges.

In the States, you would simply ask, “You want some?” or “Can I have some?” but the small change in vocabulary gives the small action more depth entirely. The question asked here establishes a shared experience, community, and a mutual bid of connection. A differing view from the American precedent of individualism and division.

This idea extends outside of these exchanges as well. I see it especially in the markets.

These spaces put you face to face with those, growing your foods, cooking your meals, connecting with neighbors, curating a sense of trust and belonging.

It reminds me of the markets in the Philippines. When the sun was peeking over the horizon, I would go to paonay, with my dad, bartering with people he had grown up with.

It is a special thing we lack in America. We have recreated it on a small scale, having small “farmer” markets every Saturday. But it can never live up to the accessibility of products here.