June 14, 1996

I’m living at Danelia’s casa now and I’m in my third month here.  This is luxurious living.  Danelia’s front room is bigger than Mirian’s or Ana’s whole house.  I’m back to a flush toilet once again (still no toilet seat but by now I could not care less).  There are two inodoros at the back of the yard, too, in case of emergency.  

Danelia’s house is divided into thirds; two other rooms rented to other families.  She has a color TV – I’ve watched two Sonics games so far.  She has a 3-burner gas hot plate in her kitchen.  But she still has a fireplace block out in the patio (back yard) for long-time cooking.

Moises is wearing one of those tee shirts I told you about, remember?  I asked him if he knew what it said and he said No so I translated it for him.  It has a picture of two cute little black kids on it and says “Young, Gifted and Black.  Know your history.  Free your mind”.  It’s a beautiful shirt.

Ana Maria supports seven people besides herself on her meager earnings at the co-op.  Her house is several steps downscale from Mirian’s.  Ana would be chopping wood for the fire to cook breakfast before 5 a.m.  And her daughter Joana would be washing clothes.  On Sunday the two women washed clothes at the concrete sink from 5 a.m. to past 5 p.m.  The boys did nada but run a few errands.  Maybe did a half-hearted job of sweeping the floor.

Ana really was good to me; went out of her way to do things for me.  Cooked special, no salt, no sugar.  Boy, I really got what I asked for – no seasoning at all:  “Simple.”  I’ll survive.  

I was going to cook beans my style for the weavers and bought five pounds of red beans, onions, black pepper and garlic.  I planned to cook them on Thursday.  That was the day Cecilio took me to his uncle’s funeral.  When I got back the beans were all cooked and everyone took some home to fry for dinner.  But there was still plenty left, so the next day Ana wouldn’t let me cook my own but insisted on doing it for me.  What’s so unusual about onions and garlic in beans?  And black pepper?  Poquito salt.  And liquid.  They called it soup, which was fine by me.  I dished some up for Danelia, she deemed it “sabrosa” (tasty), Cecilio said he liked it, I loved it, and no one else would eat my beans.  So there!

This kind of thing does weird things to my appetite.  Can you guess what I’ve been dreaming of?  I’d love two slices pf fresh Wonder bread with a slice of Kraft singles in between.  (Grandchild food.)  Maybe I’d eat a whole loaf that way. With a Wenatchee apple on the side.  (They still have Stemilt apples here.)  I don’t think I’ve had Wonder bread for 40 years.

When my day to move came Danelia came out to Ana’s to get me: We’d go to her place in a taxi since I had too much stuff to go by bus.  Danelia put my suitcase on her head, Marvin carried my garment bag, Ana took my camera and incidentals.  They wouldn’t let me carry a thing.  As we walked down to the highway to get a taxi, people I’d only seen to smile to as I passed their houses, going to or coming back from work, came out to give me a goodbye hug and tell me “regresar.”  To come back.

Amazing.  You know, it’s the funniest thing, but I don’t feel as if I were in a foreign country here.  I know – I don’t speak or understand  the language much, the climate is like nothing I’ve experienced before. The vegetation, the houses, the streets, the markets, everything is different but I don’t feel like an outsider.  I guess it’s because everyone makes me feel so welcome, so cared for.  It’s nice.

Another thing that’s different about Danelia’s: she has regular wire for a clothes line, and she has to use clothes pins since the wire isn’t barbed.  She doesn’t have a refrigerator but she does have an ice chest she keeps bags of ice in.  Mirian had nothing.  Ana kept my yogurt and orange juice in a half-gallon Coleman drink container, with ice.  Resourceful.

For lunch today I had a special treat: huevos de galapagos., turtle eggs.  Danelia demonstrated how to eat them.  They are round and soft shelled and are dug from the sand.  You bite a little hole in the skin of the egg, top it with a bit of finely-chopped onion, suck out the interior and enjoy.  Only I didn’t enjoy.  The taste wasn’t bad, especially with a dash of Tabasco, but it tasted – felt – sandy in my mouth.  The others watched my face and told me I didn’t have to eat them if I “no les gusta” and they dug in with relish.  There were eight of the darned things!

I was hand-delivered a letter rom a teacher who asked me to visit her school.  It’s in a poor district and very small.  There is no roof and the niños are exposed to the rain and sun.  They sit on rocks or on their heels.  Would I please, with the generosity of my heart, visit the school and see if it is possible to help them.

I’m going to visit the school with a friend who will interpret for me.  See for myself.
Danelia said two of her kids went to schools where they sat on rocks, pobre niños.  She shook her head over the letter and didn’t doubt the truth of it.  Neither did the other weavers and they are anxious for me to go see.  Pero, yo no tengo dinero.  They know that.  

I just thought of something: Andy has a whole bunch of Ross Perot tee shirts he doesn’t know what to do with.  I know exactly what to do with them.  Wouldn’t that shock Americans, to see Ross Perot’s name all over Leon!