Meet the family

I spent this last weekend visiting a volunteer in a town called El Valle (The Valley). He, and it, were thoroughly disappointing, and my disappointment was only compounded by hearing stories about the other trainees' weekends. I came back to Santa Clara in a bit of a funk on Monday night. But when I got to the house, everyone in the family gathered around to say welcome back and to hear about my weekend. I've only lived there for two weeks, and they can already pick me up out of a bad mood.

Manuel

Manuel is, I suppose, my host father but is much more of a grandfather figure. He's right out of Dickens or Hemingway: salt of the earth, simple, kind, strong and usually silent. Very 'old school,' as the kids say. He, like his wife, still have an antiquated view of photographs, which is why he is seen here wearing his best shirt and not smiling. It's the only way he would allow me to take his picture, because I'd much rather have one of him shirtless, machete in one hand, recently-killed, latrine-dwelling snake in the other.

Christina

Abuela (grandma) runs the show. She is as 'old school' as her husband, as evidenced by the photo. She is quick to laugh and quicker to add salt to every dish she cooks. I can tell she is genuinely baffled by the gringo living in her house, but her patience never flinches. She makes a mean tortilla too.




Íran

Íran doesn't live in my house but next door, a grandchild of Manuel and Christina. He was the first one to give me a tour of Santa Clara, as we walked around on that first Sunday while he tried to kill birds with marbles and a slingshot. He has a little bit of Dennis the Menace in him, but he's a good kid and a decent cardplayer. When my technical classes are in the mornings, which is every other week, we walk together because his school is on the way. I think we share a little bit of the older brother bond.



Gabriel

The reason that I mention the older brother bond is that Íran's younger brother Gabriel is impossible not to like. He has a million dollar smile, which he refuses to show for pictures, and a wealth of natural kindness. Everyone in town seems to know and like 'chino,' as he is affectionately called because of his small stature. He's always eager to practice his English with me and laughs when I tell him apple isn't pronounced app-lay.

Íraña

Íran and Íraña's father clearly has a bit of a George Foreman complex, because he too is named Íran. Last year, Íraña was Little Miss Santa Clara, probably because she is just as naturally likable as Gabriel. She wasn't as quick to warm up to me as her brothers, but she's coming around. She likes to whisper secrets to me and then run away, which is great, the only problem being that she is missing her front teeth and I can never understand her.




Adalberto

Adalberto is another grandchild, but from a different family. He is four years-old and absolutely insane. I mean that in the best way possible, because he's not really insane but rather has more energy than any other human, or mammal, I've ever seen. This could be in part due to the coffee he drinks in the morning and the Fruit Loops at night. Every night, when others are getting ready to go to bed, he is finding new ways to throw himself on the ground. I think he is made entirely of cartiledge.

There are others, but those are the main players in the dramedy that is my life. I found out yesterday that my site is east of David, working with coffee cooperative up in the hills. I'll write more about this next time, but for now, I need to get back for dinner with the family.