Personas Locas en Esquipulas (Crazy People in Esquipulas)

A good number of people on the meal rotation are timid. Whether it’s because I’m a foreigner, a white foreigner, a white foreigner from the US, or they are naturally shy, it does take awhile for us to talk. With one family it took particularly long. I couldn’t get them to say anything more than a few syllables. Until I asked them what movies they liked: “Oh, we liked movies before.” Huh? “Yes, we liked movies before.” Before? Before what? “Before we found out that they were evil. That they were curses against the Bible. Many people in Oaxaca watch them, but they really shouldn’t be seen.”













Satan's Minions












Certain other people on the meal rotation aren’t timid at all. I’ll get to some of them in a second, but first, I want to describe Rafael (my host dad)’s religious beliefs as a counterpoint to the movies-are-evil people. He believes in the Bible more or less literally – and thus finds evolution and homosexuality suspect. Unlike certain other ‘evangelicals,’ though, he doesn’t proselytize, he doesn’t judge, and he’s willing to listen to others’ opinions and change his opinion given sufficient evidence.

He even has a sense of humor about the subject. Me, one Sunday: “Hey, you off to Church?” Him: “Yes, off to the altar of our kitchen table. For the final comida of the week. I’m a little afraid Moises will betray me.” Me, weeks before my bout with the chicken: “How long do you keep the roosters for?” Him: “What do you mean?” Me: “I mean, they can’t lay eggs, so how long do you keep them before killing them?” Him: “We don’t kill the roosters. They’re there to keep us company and for decoration. The Bible says killing’s wrong, and that’s the end of it.” (In other words, he knew I was skeptical of his literal interpretation of the Bible, so he took a more extreme position than his own and had fun with it).

OK, enough rational thought. Back to the locas. Like the Generalísima de Cultura. Ten minutes into the meal she began this conversation: “Do you like Oaxacan culture?” Sure, from what I’ve seen I’ve enjoyed it. So you want to come with me into Zocalo this Saturday and visit various cultural sites. Oh. Um, I’m not sure. I’d have to check with my supervisor. Oh, so you can come! I’m delighted! Oh. I’d want to go if I can, but I’d have to check with my… Saturday afternoon then. It’s a date!

Note: I never ended up making the trip. Not because my supervisor wouldn’t approve, but because the woman, Generalísima she may have been, was still from Oaxaca and forgot the date.


The beginning of every meal on the meal rotation is basically the same. What’s your name, where are you from, how many brothers and sisters do you have, etc. This one was no different. Until the sixth sentence. “Hola, ¿Cómo estás? Estás bien? Que bueno. ¿De dónde eres? ¿De Nueva York?, que bueno. Entonces, ¿por qué la gente en tu país le gusta matar la gente en mi país por deportivo?” For non-Spanish speakers, the sixth sentence translates to “Then why do the people in your country like to kill the people in my country for sport?”

Literally, six sentences in, as we’re walking from my street to hers, she comes out with that lively conversation starter. No entiendo todo; what do you mean? I mean why do you people insist on hating people? And killing them whenever you feel like it? Um, we don’t. That’s not what I heard. Oh, well there’s definitely prejudice under the surface, and people are concerned about the rapidly increasing number of people receiving government services without paying for… That’s not what I heard. You seem nice, but I think most of you people are full of hate.

I kind of steered away from the topic after that. She was too far gone. I was able to recognize something significant, though. Not all Mexicans are amables (friendly); not all Oaxacans exude compassion. Every country, I suppose, has their Pat Buchanan and their Michael Savage. Everyone has racists.

And it is racism. ‘Cultural sensitivity’ doesn’t make them exempt. They may be getting bad information, but they also know exactly where to look.

-- The woman that I met at the Laundromat was far less offensive, but talking to her was no less comfortable. I went to the Laundromat to drop off clothes I couldn’t hand dry because it had been raining for four straight days. What I got was a twenty minute lecture on how Ulises Ruiz and the local Esquipulas government choose a person to murder at the beginning of each day and, by the end of the day, eliminate them. She spent an additional ten minutes telling me about Noticias, the newspaper where she learns all this inside information. I assured her I could remember the name of the newspaper to buy on my own (No-ti-ci-as). That didn’t stop her from scouring the store and the front of the house so she could find a paper, rip off a page that had the title, rip off the title, and flatten the slip for me to put in my pocket!

I had trouble restraining laughter by the end of this, but that wasn’t the reason I was uncomfortable. I was uncomfortable because she had delivered virtually the entire lecture two feet in front of my face! By the end, especially when she was describing the importance of the Noticias slip, she would move so close to my face that I would crane my neck back as an automatic reaction. The problem was, her automatic reaction was to crane her neck in closer towards me!














A less psychotic, but no less aggressive person I met in Esquipulas was Doña Marina. Doña Marina is one of the mothers I’m teaching at Niños Unidos. In class, she’s relatively calm and well-behaved. Apparently because she gets all of her asshole out at breakfast.

One morning, it was her turn on the meal rotation, so she brought breakfast to the house. Before she actually served the food, though, she had a conversation with Rafael. Now, Rafael is a patient person. He can tolerate someone talking a little long. He can tolerate interruptions. The conversation with Doña Marina, however, tried his patience. She started by asking him what he thought of the teachers’ situation. He basically said that it’s “difficult. Without the ability to protest, the teachers have no power. If the teachers prematurely relent, they’ll have no power. If they have no power, a corrupt governor like Ulises will crush them. On the other hand, it’s not good to have every kid in Oaxaca miss school for two months.”

I say Rafael ‘basically’ said this because at various points during the conversation Rafael would begin to say this, and Dona Marina would interject: “So you support lawless hoodlums?” Rafael would say three words, and she’d go off: “So you ignore the fact that Ulises has been the most fearless, productive governor we’ve had in years? Because of the words of a couple of gamberros (hooligans)?” Rafael would continue to talk for a sentence or two after each interruption – because people usually take that as a sign to stop talking – but Doña Marina would not relent.

Thankfully, though, the conversation did relent after about twenty minutes, and Doña Marina served breakfast. Her initial gesture was generous: she put a lot of food on my plate. Problem was, Augustus Gloop couldn’t eat all the food on my plate. There must’ve been nine tortillas on it, smothered in a river of liquid frijole y queso (liquid beans and cheese). I didn’t know how I was ever going to finish it, but I kept plugging away.

A minute after I started, she asked if I wanted more queso. “More queso?” I thought. “No, thank you,” I said. A minute later, she asked the same. “More queso?” I thought. But, once again, I politely made clear that that was all I needed at the moment. Two more minutes past and two more times she badgered. The first time I said, “Well, maybe I could take a little,” figuring it would quiet her down. A minute later, though, the same question. Finally, the fifth minute, the fifth time, she took the huge mound of queso – and a smaller, chunkier mound from her bag – and crumbled them all over my heaping plate!

I was kind of shocked by what she’d done, but I didn’t want to be rude, so I kept plugging away. I finished twenty-five minutes later. As many of you know, I’m an incredibly slow eater, but this was one plate. A plate which, according to Elsa, my host mom, was only half filled! (Apparently when Doña Marina arrived at the house, the wet tortillas were piled twice as high. This prompted Elsa to remark, “Oh, you didn’t need to bring food for everyone, gracias.” To which Doña Marina replied: “No, this is just for him.” Elsa said she did then remove half of the food, but considering the two subsequent cheese mounds, nothing much changed).

The final result of Doña Marina’s comida: my “Ovaltine” emissions at 3, 4, 5, and 6 the next morning.