Last weekend I had the privilege of staying with a family in Sumpango, a nearby city. Here are a few snapshots from my time there:
Market. My hostess walked with me in her colorful indigenous clothing to her booth in the market, situated in front of her inlaws' hot dog shop. She has set up here for years, and now, her time in market is even more important since it is the sole income for the family. Next to her a woman sells umbrellas, and a little further beyond someone sells CDs. Across the walking path another food stand is already set up, the proprietor perched on her stool, ready for a long night. Though we were safe from the rain under the shelter of the second story, the park in front of us displayed the plants, verdant and glistening from the mist.
My host took me on a short tour of the town, hitting up the local grocery store, Catholic church, and the various levels of the market. On the second floor, raw red meat hung from hooks in the butchers' stalls; on the third floor, bags of flour and sugar and other dry ingredients lined the shelves; down in the cool basement, vegetables and fruits adorned the tables in the dim lighting. On each floor, I met a new member of my host's friend group or family, and I sat for a bit with his mother among four different types of beans, the plantains, the bananas, the grapes, the onions.
Home. The family's house is quaint and beautiful in its simplicity. It's entrance situated beside my host's brother's house, the home takes up the back portion of the property. The first floor, painted in a rosy pink, includes the master bedroom and the TV room, doubling temporarily as the boys' bedroom.
Climb the cement stairs--up four, pivot 90 degrees to the left and up six more--you step into the kitchen. Tile floor, refrigerator, stove, counter, table. Circle around and out into a middle common area, cement, with two bedrooms and a bathroom. The pila is here--the large basins used to wash clothes and dishes and brush teeth and wash hands. The tin roof covers the stairs down and cement the bedrooms and the kitchen, but here in the middle, over the 90 degree stairs leading to the third story, the open sky provides plenty of fresh air (and a little water when it rains).
The third story hosts the open, wood burning stove where they cook a cauldron of food or drink to sell in the market. The washing machine is housed here as well, and then from under the tin roof you step out into the sun. The roosters strut in the cage tucked in the corner, the little dog whimpers for scraps from his shelter, and the clothing line boasts freshly laundered clothes at times. Best of all, though? The view. Most of Sumpango lies beneath, the market, the Catholic church, the highway that surrounds the city. In the background, the green of the mountains, and in the distance, two nearby volcanoes.
Family. We had our moments of laughter around the dinner table as we swapped stories about our own idiosyncracies or learned new words in our second language. The family got a big kick out me trying to speak Ketchekal (I have no idea how to spell it), an indigenous language now required by the government to be taught in schools, which has a large number of gutteral sounds produced in the back of the throat. I also played cards with the children--Five Crowns. Mostly, I played with the younger children as the older daughter helped her parents sell food in the market during the evening. On Sunday, we gathered around the TV to watch Spain defeat the Netherlands, to the joy of the parents and the chagrin of the kids.
Picnic. On Saturday a little before noon, we packed seventeen plastic stools, a small grill, a large wooden table, food, and about eight bodies in the back of a pickup truck. We bumped over the cobblestone streets and then out into the fields just outside the city to a little plot of land owned by the family of the host's sister-in-law. After touring each family's plot of farmland, we played soccer in the open field until it was time to cook lunch. The adults gathered around the table and whipped up carne asada, guacamole, salsa, and a radish dish. I had the chance to talk with another girl from the US who is here with the Peace Corps and who lived with the inlaws. The sun shone and the wind blew through the trees, and there, perched above the highway and with these people who know how to relax and work hard, I felt content.
Church. After a short walk, van ride, and bus ride to the church, we slipped in a little bit late to experience a fairly typical service. Lots of praise and worship music. The pastor had a good rapport with the congregation. I wish I could say I completely understood the sermon, but my Spanish is still only about 75%. Though the church is a little more Pentecostal in nature than I'm used to, it was good to be there. And the coincidental thing is that this is the church a teacher friend had invited me to, but I had to tell her no since I would be away for the weekend. Yet I got to see her. Funny how things work out!
Moments of Awareness. The hostess and I, along with a few others, walked at 6:30 in the morning. We made our way to the Children's Avenue, part of the main road in town where many schools are located. The sun was already well up, and early morning vendors selling juice and other breakfast items dotted our path. A jogger, though, stopped and spoke with my hostess. She drew her mouth into a thin line and glanced at me, but not really at me. We continued. Then another jogger stopped. She grimaced again. An then another. I started piecing together the information I was hearing.
An assault. Around the corner. Make sure you turn around before then! This morning. Be careful! Yes, there was a weapon. So rumors of violence are true. "Who are the robbers?" I asked her, as I've asked a few other people.
The hill people, she said.
They're very poor. We continued our walk, bought some juice on the way home, and settled into breakfast.
There were many good moments of the weekend. I am thankful that the family opened their arms to let me spend time with them. By the time I left, though, I wasn't feeling like this was the best place for me, as much as I like the family. Another opportunity has opened up that might fit me a little better. Regardless, I'm starting to think and pray about giving their boys a scholarship to attend La Senda. One was enrolled earlier in the year, but they withdrew him due to lack of funds. We'll see what happens!
