He says his name is Mr. Nit

We’re standing on the side of the road somehwere north of Luang Prabang, Laos. About half an hour earlier, we had decided to rent some motorcycles and go swim in the nearby waterfalls. However, once we were well out of town, one of the bikes got a flat tire, so we were forced to retrace our wheels and ended up at a makeshift garage some 15 km down the road.

The garage is basically a shack with the bare necessities, being handled awe-inspiringly by two young grease-monkey-style mechanics. I’ve always had a weakness for the ‘your average grease-monkey’. The overalls, the mandatory cigarette butt hanging out the corner of the mouth, a half-broken guitar hanging on the wall and the tough, borderline-arrogant attitude you reveive always intrigued me.
Too bad I don’t know shit about cars or anything that is not a shoe. (one of the many goals I have set for myself – learn the mechanics of a car)

The owner of the place is sitting squat-style on a stack of spare tires, and for the first minute we exchange glances between shyness and curiousness. After which, we all burst out in broad grins.
It doesn’t require much effort to explain what’s wrong with the bikes, and the mechanics get to work.
He says his name is Mr. Nit.
He explains to us he’s been running this garage for about 3 years, as an extra job on the side. He works as an English teacher in a nearby school, and promptly invites us to drop by the next day (We would end up missing this meeting, and donating some of the books we brought to the school instead).

All of a sudden he stops talking mid-sentence and walks into his house. A few minutes later he re-emerges holding something in his arms: the cutest baby-girl if I ever saw one.
Three months old, and she’s looking around at all the bright and colourful things around her, in a way that most of us have long since forgotten how.
After a bit of chit-chat about the girl, Nit becomes completely serious and asks us: ‘Will you give her a name?’

Looking at our confused expressions, he explains that Lao people have their Lao name, and a sort of English nickname (as you may have guessed, Nit is his English one).

Being caught completely off-guard with the question of thinking of a name for his child, my friend and I are both speechless.

One of the grease-monkeys gives the signal that our bike is repaired. We decide to think about the name and make arrangements for meeting the next day. We pay the bill and get on the bikes.

As I start the bike, I look back at these 4 people in their daily life. I can’t help but be awe-struck by the kindness and randomness of this happy-go-lucky attitude.
Nit looks at me, then at the little bundle of joy in his arms, then back up towards me, and gives me the broadest grin I have seen in ages.