Saturday, April 12, 2008
- Went to a celebration of the 13th anniversary of the “Fondo de Emergencia de Salud” (emergency health fund) in Tierra Blanca this morning. As I understand it, they collect $0.25 a month from about 2,000 families (as well as some international financial support, I believe) and offer a whole host of preventative or supplementary medical services. We pulled up to a fairly large building (big open space, motel-looking rooms on the second floor) where there were plenty of plastic chairs set up and a few stalls of people selling pupusas, “frescos,” ice cream, and “artesanía” outside. Gilma set up shop selling her cashews right at the door, and I stuck pretty close to her most of the morning. Had a nice conversation with the Swedish lady I’d met in Nueva Esperanza (Elena), who had since broken her arm somehow. Also was in a big spending mood – bought a cloth headband for $2, an ice cream cone for a “cora,” and $0.50 of cashews. Didn’t really pay very close attention to the various speakers, although I did pick up that they’re pretty much in love with Hugo Chavez. I had heard a little bit about this “Misión Milagro” program (and seen plenty of t-shirts and hats), which sends people (including Tomasa two times) to Venezuela for eye surgery, but hadn’t quite realized that it was completely free – apparently the Venezuelan (and Cuban?) government pays for the airfare and the surgery and everything else. Will have to see if I can develop some cataracts here so that I can get a free trip… Paid a little bit more attention to the few groups of kids who performed traditional dances, and was sort of jealous that the only dance I ever learned as a kid was the Electric Slide. I felt like a whiny little girl just before we left because they had been coming around handing out cups of ice cream and I reallllllly wanted one, but of course the whole thing wrapped up just before they got to the back of the room where I was. I considered trying to find the kitchen, where I imagined there must have been vats full of cold creamy goodness, but thought better of it and just sulked silently on the way home.
- Read some Mental_Floss magazine and took a nap in the hammock, typed up some journal, did my exercises, ate some pupusas, then got changed to go to a dance in San Marcos. The “fiestas patronales” proper don’t start until somewhere around the 23rd, but the Ferris wheel and other rickety rides have already been set up, and there have been extra food and cheap-plastic-toy vendors around for about a week. The purpose of the dance (besides dancing) was to elect the queen, and Tomasita was a candidate. She wore a prom-caliber yellow satin dress and looked really great, although apparently that has nothing to do with the competition, as the girl who won just wore jeans and a striped shirt. I’m still confused by how this “election” process works, especially because the winner is apparently the girl who sells the most votes. They cost $0.50 each. Maybe it’s because we have a relatively functional democracy in US, but it seems weird to me to call it an election if the whole point is to buy the votes… Then instead of just counting up how much each girl had collected, there was some weird two-step point system. They each handed in their little pad of paper with the money they collected (I think Tomasita raised most of hers in the hour before the dance started), had a few hundred points written on a big graph (although I’m pretty sure none of them collected more than $30), then each received an envelope with some cash in it, handed it back in a little while later (not sure what they did with it in the meantime) and had some more points written in a second column. There was a little presentation of the six candidates and their escorts, then the points were added up and the winner announced. Tomasita came in second. This whole thing took several hours, during which time they fired up the giant speakers, strobe lights, and smoke machine in a fenced-off area of the street. In a continuation of my general whiney mood, I didn’t feel very much like dancing: I wasn’t at all tipsy, I didn’t really know anyone else besides Gilma, the general level of dancing was a little higher than in Ciudad Romero so I didn’t feel as comfortable making an ass out of myself, and my knee was hurting. So I spent most of the evening sitting on a bench just watching, which was horrible but wasn’t all that much fun either. I talked to a guy for a few minutes who lives in Manassas and is back here visiting for a bit. It’s very strange to meet someone who knows where Woodbridge is. We got home just before midnight, I took a shower, and went to bed.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
- Went to mass with Tomasa and the ladies from next door this morning – still don’t know any of the responses, but am feeling much more comfortable in general and took communion again, which is important to me. Am pretty sure this church is not going to become a “reconciling community” like my church in DC was anytime soon; Tomasa thinks were are living in the times of Sodom and Gomorrah, as apparently the padre told her there was a “maricón” (gay person, connotation of “faggot?”) at the fiesta last night who showed his buttocks. I did see someone go by riding on the back of a bicycle wearing a very short skirt, but just assumed it was one of several teenaged girls wearing very short skirts… I wonder what she would say if I told her I don’t think there’s anything wrong with homosexuality.
- Had some salad (that I’d made all by myself) and pupusas for lunch, had a rest in the hammock, then washed some clothes all by myself. Biked up to Ventura’s house about 20 mins. late and still had to wait at least 40 mins. more. It appears they don’t have a shower there, as she and Heidi both bathed by dumping bowls of water over themselves while wearing some light clothing right there in the yard. Considering things like that and the fact that Gilma’s family apparently bathed in the river up until they got running water three years ago, I’m continually realizing how relatively luxurious my living situation is. After they got dressed and I had been bitten by a mosquito at least six times, we climbed into the next-door neighbor’s pickup with a few other people and headed to La Noria.
- It had apparently rained just east of San Marcos, as the Carretera Litoral was all wet. We drove to Tierra Blanca, past the “Centro Cultural” where I’d been yesterday morning, and through a few back streets in order to find the road to La Noria. There were dark clouds overhead, the air felt like a Virginia summer, and I was sure we were going to get soaked before we arrived, but the rain held off for a while more. Once again, La Noria’s probably not really that far away, but the little dirt road and the fact that I’d never been there made it seem like we were out in the middle of nowhere. Even so, Maria’s house looked fairly prosperous – cows and pigs in decent-looking pens, a newish “pila” with both well water and potable water, a separate little kitchen house, a domed brick oven, and what looked to be a little fruit-tree orchard. Gilma had told me that she was going over in the morning to help make tamales for a wake to commemorate the anniversary of a death (of Maria’s mother-in-law’s son), and I was expecting a relatively intimate family affair. But there were probably about 40 people there, and a whole team of women had made several hundred tamales, lots of “quesadilla” (a cheesy sweetbread), and a giant pot of coffee. There was a prayer-and-song service in a room in which a small shrine had been set up (only women – the few men that were there hung around outside while the children ran around and played in the puddles) and then I tried to help hand out the meals (apparently there’s a specific order I didn’t know about), which consisted of plenty of tamales and big chunk of plastic-wrapped “quesadilla” in a “guacal” in a plastic bag. Seeing as how each of those 30 or so “guacals” costs at least $0.50, not to mention how much all of the food must have cost (not to mention the labor involved in preparing it all), this seemed like quite the lavish affair. Gilma and Tomasa told me after we got home that it’s pretty normal for Catholics to celebrate the anniversaries of deaths like that. In this case, the “difunto” passed away last year at the age of 20-something from a disease that had made him deaf, mute, and unable to eat much. I think Gilma’s mom just died in the past year, so we’ll have to see what her wake is like…
- Ride back to El Mono with about 20 people packed into the small pickup, ate a little bit, talked with Tomasa and Gilma a little bit, journal, bed.
New Words:
calambre = cramp
predicar = to preach
boina = beret
gene = gen, gene
(church) service = culto, oficio
albañil = mason
yugo = yoke
worship = adorer
flock (of sheep) = rebaño
velorio = wake
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