So while escaping a pursuer armed with a bucket of water, I (in a full-out run carrying my purse, a notebook, and a bag of fruit) attract the attention of another group of teens armed with water balloons. More running and dodging.
Let’s just say I arrived home with a wet back and bruised fruit. J
Happy Carnival, everyone… NOT! J
*for the full long boring version of the story, click here
--- (Background: The kids have an intense fascination with water. The garden hose, spray bottles, the sink, mud puddles… you name it. J The bathroom is a popular place to congregate and ultimately throw water all over the floor.)
So I’m cooking, and a kid comes trotting from the direction of the bathroom through the kitchen.
Me: What’d you just do?
Kid: Number 2!
Alriiiiighy…. J
David: I don’t like the feel of flour
Me: Hmm… then you probably won’t be a baker when you grow up, huh?
One of the girls to me: Are YOU going to be a baker when you grow up?
Me: Yeah… when I grow up… I’ll probably be a baker.
And it’s true! I’ve loved baking and cooking for the kiddos down here. I probably shouldn’t evaluate my cooking based on the reactions of a bunch of 4-7 year olds, but they are generally complimentary.
Except this time:
Kid: “Tia, we don’t eat this in Bolivia. This is gross. Do they cook this in your country?”
Me: “No… we don’t eat this in my country either” (*laughing, ‘cause I wanted to say, “Honey, hate to break it to you, but this was today’s lunch that you didn’t like. But I did some tweaking to it and you don’t even recognize it…”*)
Kid: “Well, if it’s not eaten in Bolivia, and it’s not eaten in your country… then WHY DID YOU COOK IT????”
I think she’ll grow up to be a lawyer. J
--- Jiggling the 2-year-old to sleep in my arms in the dark, watching a sunset over the mountains, and silent lightning across the sky, feeling the strong breeze through the open window…
--- Seeing a cow in a taxi. Yes, a real live calf. (Since relatively few people down here have their own cars (or trailers!), one sees all sorts of things in public transportation!)
--- The personally-owned vehicles are none too boring either – the other day I saw a big old Nissan truck… with 2 old nuns driving/riding!
Besides breakfast, lunch, and dinner, food is offered here upon one’s awaking, arriving, departing, and many times in between. “Yes please” and, “No thank you” are both somehow translated, “Yeah, give me food.”
The mom/cook/hostess always fills everyone’s plate. Portions are large.
Here's a few real quotes to give some perspective:
Host mom: “Eat! The sick who don’t eat die. I eat when I’m sick, and I haven’t died!”
Kid: “Tia, why do you exercise?”
Me: “Because I want to be strong.”
Kid: “But for that, all you need to do is eat.” (Silly, stupid Tia am I! And all this time I thought…)
Host mom (the moment my roommate walked in the door tonight): “Hola! Eat! Here’s fruit salad!”
Roommate: “Oh no thank you, I’m good for now.”
Host mom: “But you like fruit salad!"
Roommate: “Yeah… sometimes”
Host mom: “You like it. Why don’t you don’t want fruit salad???”
Roommate: “I like it for breakfast, but not now.”
Host mom: *shakes head in bewilderment, chuckles* “That girl, such is she. Eh, it’s ok, I’ll make her oatmeal!”
Who's this kid? (Or is it the cook...?)
