A little sucking sound rouses my attention. There the soft, pink crown of a tiny head rests on the crook of a mother’s arm. Thin blue veins are just noticeable beneath a sparse sprinkling of fine, blonde down, like the felt from the antler of a young deer. Everything else eclipsed in the mother. Her soft knitted cardi, her pastel pashmina, her sallow flesh beneath making a soft nest for her little feeder. Long, slim fingers stroke the baby’s fontanelle absent-mindedly. A large diamond catches the light and for a second I covet it all. She feeds and chats, topping up her reserves with the frothy milk of another bovine mother. Licking her lips she tastes the costa rica cocoa beans I gathered by another woman bent double with her young strapped to her back.