Buying a fresh green coconut in the public market is a Philippine delight.
I carry my little glass jug with green top through a maze of bamboo stalls and muddy footprints to a pile of coconuts on a rickety table. Recognising me, the older women selling fried corn and small rice cakes wrapped in banana leaves (from another table) wave their greeting.
Last week someone from a vegetable stand over the other side was having a birthday, and karaoke songs blasted into 8am as I waited for my green coconut to be punctured, drained and shredded.
After paying my 25 pesos, I clutch the now-full jug to my heart and climb into a rusty old tricycle. It takes a short-cut through mud puddles, dirt and potholes before reaching the main road. And pulls up at the gate a few minutes later.
Rounding the alley I duck between wet washing and a pile of boxes, making it up the stairs without a spill. Into the fridge goes the ‘buko juice’ until Jerry arrives home from school for lunch, when we share out the delicious liquid and soft white flesh into big green plastic cups.
There’s never any leftovers.
© 2018 Melinda J. Irvine