Working for the man.

So for this story to make sense to you all, I'll need to give you some background. The place we're living in here in Dili is a two bedroom, two bathroom flat that is the second story of our landlord's home. In the house below ours there are essentially three families. Six children that I know of, and countless adults. One of the adults living below us, Mana Angela, is our housekeeper. She does our laundry, washes dishes, sweeps, and is basically a godsend. When she's not being amazing, she makes Timorese flags for soccer matches and festivals and such.
The other day I was walking up to our flat, after a run at the beach with boyfriend. I had the Sea Glass bag tied around my waist because the beach we ran at had piles of the colorful shards and I loaded up. As I approached the stairs Mana Angela came out from her house with her adult son Colbain (apparently he was supposed to be named after Kurt Cobain but "Cobain" is a tricky one in Tetun). Mana Angela told her son that I had made the bag around my waist and he asked me how long it took me.
"Eh, a day or two."
"Could you make me a hat? Black hat?"
"Yes, I could do that."
In exchange for my hat making services Mana Angela promised me a Timor flag to hang on our living room wall. So over the next few days I chipped away at a simple ski-cap for Colbain. I for one, did not see the appeal in having a hat where the average temperature is 85 degrees with 75% humidity. But it's what he wanted and I was more than able so I knit him up a neat little cap over the span of a few days.
This afternoon when the Mana came in to drop off some finished laundry, I told her that I had the hat for her son all finished and ready for his wear. I gave it to her and she left quickly, showering me with praise. A short while later Colbain himself came up to thank me and tell me that he very much liked his hat, and that I was a very good "crafter" (I don't think the word for knitting translates very well).
Later this evening, after Connor and Carrick were back from working out, and Sharanya was back from work, we all settled down to watch some t.v. and talk about our days. The doorbell rings and when Connor answered it, I hear Colbain's voice from the other side of the door, along with a few others in the background.
"I am uhhhh.... Like to speak with... Alexander?"
"Do you mean Alexis? Yes, she's right here."
I step out onto the porch to find Colbain and five others from his family. One older woman and her young son, two teenage girls, and a boy who looked about my age, all talking in hushed whispers and pointing at Colbain's hat.
The older woman started: "You make hat or sell hat?"
"I made the hat, but Angela is going to make me a Timor flag for it, so I did kind of sell it as well I guess."
"You make hat?"
"Yes, I made it."
"Oh..."
Everyone's quiet for a while, and then the older woman spoke rather carefully:
"We can all have hats?"
Now the seriousness of the situation struck me in an odd way. Here are six people on my front porch, looking at me dead-serious, waiting to see if I will be offended by their request. I smile softly and say:
"You all want hats?"
They nod.
"You want a hat too?" I ask the little boy tucked into his mother's side. He smiles and says "Hat!" and touches his head.
"Yes I can make you all hats. It's going to take me a few days, but I can make them for you."
Suddenly the tension is gone and everyone starts talking at once about colors they want and if maybe I could do stripes, and how much I charge, and the little boy asks Colbain if he can have his very own hat. Colbain translated for me and I nodded and smiled to the boy. I wrote down requests and assured them that as soon as they were all done, I would give them to Colbain to hand them out to everyone.
I'm pretty sure the family down stairs adores me.
I let you know how everything is going once I dig my way out of this pile of hats.