Last week, on our walk through the rainforest, we came across a beautiful, white fruit with green and yellow spots. I had never seen one before and asked Gilberto what it was. “Noni!” he exclaimed.
No way! He has noni trees growing in his backyard, and I’m at home paying over $30 for a bottle of juice?! “Can we pick some?” I asked and explained how much it costs at home. “Ah yes!” he giggled, in his jolly, Gilberto way and helped us pick bags of noni for our next week of breakfasts. I was so excited.
Fast forward to the next morning, Marta puts a huge glass of noni juice in front of us, as the rest of the family sneak each other weird looks. I take a huge, excited gulp and almost throw up. I don’t know what the hell is in Noni juice at home, but it’s certainly not this. We pretend it’s good since we made such a fuss over it.
Every morning we were given the juice until we couldn’t take it any more. We told Gilberto we don’t actually like it, and that it tastes different than we remembered. He calls it our “medicine” and makes us drink it anyway; he reminds me of my mom haha. He cuts it with lime which takes the bite out, but Shannon and Sarah still glare at me over our frothy glasses of disgusiting juice, blaming me for making us pick so many of these damned fruits.