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My name is Pepe. I am 12 years old. People say nobody would read what I will write because I lack schooling and English is my second language but you see, I very much want to share with you the story of my friend Dave. I am confident that although I'm not really a writer, I hope I will be able to communicate the message I want to, through this story. My qualifications? I earned the "Best in English" in my grade six class. This is my story.

I met Dave one night in a bar. Right after I graduated from elementary, I worked as an errand boy for Paradise Bar. I wanted to earn to be able to continue my schooling the coming year.

Dave was not one of the "ugly Americans" as others call them. ("Go home, Yankees!" I often hear the cry of protesters in the streets.)

According to the women in the bar, he looked like Mel Gibson - the actor in Braveheart. (I watched that movie several times with them, and I agreed.)

When the other airmen were noisily drinking, he was just in one corner, silently sipping his beer. He was also soft spoken and treated me kindly -unlike the other Americans. He always gave me a tip - not in coins but in paper- that was a lot for me.

Every night, he came to the bar, all by himself. The women would crowd around him and tried to talk to him, but in the end , he always preferred to be alone. One time when all the customers have left and I was done gathering the empty bottles, he called me.

"What's your name?" he smiled at me.

"Pepe" I answered.

"Where do you live?"

"Gueco Street."

"Do you want to work for me?"

I was surprised, "What work?"

" Just be my yardboy and clean the house once a week,"
he continued smiling at me. "Lighter work, and more pay"

" Yes, " I said eagerly.

" You can start tomorrow." he said.

I started working for Dave. He lived alone in a three - room apartment near their Military Base. I learned that he was a pilot - an officer - he had a "wing" symbol on his military uniform. At times when I was done cleaning the yard, he would talk to me about his family back in Wyoming. How he missed them. He said he had a younger brother my age. (Perhaps that was why he had helped me?)

He went less and less to the Paradise Bar as days went on. He allowed me to stay in the other room of his apartment. I went home during weekends to give money to "Nanay" (mother). I was earning more and I was able to save money too.

During evenings, we would barbecue at the backyard and just talk. He asked me about my family and my plans. I told him about how I wanted to go to

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