The kindness of people who are no longer strangers

Today I conducted two interviews each with married folks. They went pretty well, especially the last one where I got fed a miniature hamburger and played zoological bingo with their two kids. People generally will talk to me about anything for some reason, and I suppose that’s a good trait to have as an anthropologist. Plus, everyone is feeling sorry for me because Ancho left, so my suffering makes me even more human and less foreign somehow.
Last night I went to an hour-long recitation of the rosary for a man who died on Sunday. Here, people assemble in the home of a family member of neighbor of the deceased and recite the rosary for nine days after the death. Since I am not Catholic and do not say the rosary in English much less in Spanish, the experience was more sensory than anything else- One woman had gone through this so many times that her voice carried a sort of stacato chanting not unlike a Buddhist monk... but she could have just as easily been my grandmother in her skirt, tennis shoes and blouse, with her gray hair pulled back in a ponytail. Nevertheless, when it got down to the praying she was a PROFESSIONAL. On the flip side, there was the little girl walking around eating a bag of chips and sort of looking at all of us like “what in the hell do you think you all are doing anyway?”
We all faced an altar comprised of days old flowers, one marriage photo of the deceased, and two white candles perched in big old wide-mouthed bamboo poles. Above the altar Jesus was depicted in a boldly colored tapestry of blues, reds, and browns. In the scene, Jesus points to his chest that holds his heart surrounded by thorns. Jesus points to his heart as if to say, “remember folks, it’s about the love.” In the background of the tapestry four cherubs float over an ancient desert city landscape.
After many prayers and sitting and standing, the recitation ended and coffee and sweet bread was served. Although I was definitely a fish out of water I have to say it’s quite a fitting way to say goodbye to someone. Nine continuous days of intense prayer every night with people from your community. Seems better than our fly by night, get that dead person buried and done with already attitude. (He was buried several days ago, but the services continue, I mean).
Now, you may ask yourself, how does Lefty get an invitation to such an event? Well, I did not know the deceased, so that has nothing to do with it. Basically all that happened was this: on my daily walk around “the vuelta” one of my friends told me I should come with her to a nearby house because it would be educational for me. This is just another example of how people here are ridiculously helpful to me in my studies. One man here who makes guaro (contraband liquor) even told me I could take photos of his still if I wanted. He calls it his “private work,” but everyone in the community knows he is one of the local distillers. When Ancho and I went to witness his “private work” his wife sent us away with a mountainous tortilla and egg creation wrapped in banana leaves. This is another thing- in addition to giving me great research opportunities people here like to feed me- since Ancho has left my stock has gone up greatly, the idea being that because I am lonely I should simply eat more. So in the past four days I have received the following gifts of food:
A jar of freshly made ceviche
A bowl of soup made with a big fishead from the sea
6 freshly picked limes
2 oranges
1 muffin and 3 mini sweet rolls
A lunch of grilled pork, cabbage salad, and boiled green bananas
The above mentioned miniature hamburger
A shot of Bailey’s Irish creme
An entire loaf of bread
Several glasses of fresca (no not the coca cola product, but fresh lime juice, sugar, and water)

Luckily, I am walking everyday and have no pressing appetite for food. Thus far, I have not really been into the bread. The fish items were awesome. Ancho, should you read this, Rosivel puts a little ginger ale in her ceviche at the very end, after all the other regular stuff goes in. She says it cooks the fish faster. Just thought you might like to give it a shot.
The other example of ridiculous concern for my well-being exhibited by my neighbors is that two different women came to my house and asked if I needed someone else to sleep in the house with me. Everyone thinks I should be afraid of sleeping alone in a house, although if you ever visited here, you would see that it is in fact one of the safer places to sleep in the world. The town is tiny and I am right between two houses who are good neighbors. So anyway, although I am alone and without Ancho I am not too lonely. I can always go play zoological bingo with Rosivel’s kids or go down and talk to Abuela about life before running water and electricity.
So anyway, perhaps this will give you all a little bit better idea about what life is like here in the campo. I can’t really write about my studies yet because they sit right on the front of my brain and I only write about them in my personal fieldnotes, but maybe one day you will all read about them in some mediocre publication that I create in order to keep a job at some institution of higher education. Happy Spring to everyone in Kentucky!