A different world

A few years ago I travelled to Central America as an interpreter for a delegation of politicians. I was very excited about crossing the Atlantic and visiting this land for the first time. The flight was fine and on viewing the chains of volcanoes and the lush green vegetation, and feeling the wave of tropical heat that greeted us as soon as we landed, I realised how much I was going to enjoy the trip.

The woman that coordinated the visit told me that, as I was a native speaker, she had placed me in a family home where I would be sleepingin during my stay. I was happy about this idea as I thought it would give me the chance to experience the family's way of life in an authentic way.

After we made sure everybody was settled and happy, she accompanied me to my new home. By then it was late night and the streets were empty. The house, from the outside, was huge, with an enormous front door and several windows, all closed and showing no signs of life inside. The door opened with a little push and when we went inside we entered another world, a garden full of tropical trees and flowers with a tremendous noise of exotic birds that could not be seen in the dark of the night.

We walked under a covered corridor around the garden and reached another big door also firmly closed. My companion knocked and a voice from inside told us to come in. The room we entered had a dimmed light but I could see an old bronze bed in the middle of the room and in it a tremendously big woman, probably in her mid thirties, who offered me her hand saying: "My name is Elena. You will sleep here with me" .I looked at the organiser who avoided my eyes and left in a hurry.

I was too tired form a long trip and, after all, Elena could not have been more friendly. So, I put on my nighty and got into bed. As soon as I did, the weight of the woman made me roll over to her side and before I could say "Oh dear!" I found myself on top of her. I climbed back to my corner as quickly as I could, for the same thing to happen as soon as I arrived there. There was only one thing I could do, grab the side of the bed firmly and not let it go, or the lady would think my inentions towards her were dubious.

Elena explained to me that in the room next door her parents and eight brothers and sisters were sleepnig. I tried to picture the room and the image that came to mind was that of Snow White and the seven dwarfs. She said that because she was a married woman she was entitled to her own bedroom. When I asked her where her husband was, she replied that he had gone to California to work seven years ago and that he would return soon. She also said that he had not written or visited since he left. I felt that Elena should not wait any longer for this vanished husband to return but soon realised that, on losing her status of married woman, she would immediatelly move from her room to become one extra "dwarf" in the room next door.

After a long chat about her marriage and life in her parents house, she seemed ready to sleep. I had already given that idea up as I was still hanging firmly from the side of the bed.

Eventually we went quiet, but then I could hear a strange noise coming from the room. I asked Elena what it was. She replied: "Nothing to worry about. It is the "chiribitas". "What are the "chiribitas?", I asked anxiously. "Oh, they are little mice that come out in the night". I have had a phobia of rodents from the age of six, and the idea of those "chiribitas" that I could hear but not see, running rampant in the room, may be deciding to climb the bed to chew my toes, whist I hang desperately from its edge, nearly made me cry. I, that had read Garcia Marquez with enthusiasm, that believed in the understanding and solidarity among different cultures, was being tested to extreme in my first night of contact with Central America.

Morning eventually arrived and as the sun light invaded the room I could see that it was full of old religious pictures and images, lots and lots of ornaments, beauty products, combs, ribbons... all covered with an old layer of dust that made it look as if the whole place belonged to another century and had not been touched since.

I asked Elena if there was a toilet and somewhere I could have a wash. She indicated a small door at the side of the room. To my ashtonishment the door opened to a small room that contained exclusively an enormous wooden barrel, twice my height ,with a small ladder attached to it. No toilet. I decided to climb the ladder to see what other misterious thing I was going to find inside the barrel. It was full of water to the rim and that really confused me. Was I suppose to get inside it? Surely not. I would have sank like a stone. Then, what? There was a small plastic bowl floating at the top. Probably I had to get water with it and throw it over myself as means of a shower. I tried to catch the bowl but as I did, it slipped away due to a layer of green staff underneath it. I tried several times to no avail. Eventually the bowl went to the opposite side of the barrel and I had to give up catching it. There was not going to be any washing for me that morning, or toilet..

When i returned to the bedroom, Elena, now up, was sitting in front of the mirror and covering herself with talcum powder, using one of those feathered puffs I saw in the old Hollywood films.

When the organiser came to collect me to start my working day, I looked at her with my most meaningful eyes and told her that, without getting into details, if she wanted me to work, she had to find a less exciting environment for me to sleep in. She did, and I never returned to Elena's bedroom. That first night in Central America, though, will remain with me for ever, as a reflexion of my limitations and of the rich and varied nature of the human condition.