During my last week in La Barquita I began writing down details about people and things I didn’t want to forget:

It gets cloudy most afternoons, but it often does not rain.  On these days, when it is hot, muggy and overcast I experience a physical longing for rain.  It is hard to explain since it is neither pain nor pleasure, just desire.  Similar even to sexual desire. I think I will feel something like it in the instant just before I am drawn up to meet Christ in the air.

Dona Pimpa is a short stumpy lady who walks somewhat crookedly and as little as possible.  I’ve never seen her go beyond her block.  When she sits down she falls into her seat suddenly, then arranges herself so her stomach sticks out just enough to balance a coffee cup on.  She has three gold teeth.  Every Sunday during the church service just after communion Alaxander the deacon walks down the street with Dona Pimpa, her stumpy arms folded behind her, walking her lurch walk.  I do not know what they talk about.  She calls me her “hijo” (son) and is always pleased when I visit and surprised that I leave so soon.  I have nevery recieved so much love accompanied by so few words.

Hilda and I drink coffee in the afternoons.  this is the foundation of our relationship.  At first we could barely talk, but I knew enough to learn how to make coffee, so after the first time I became the family coffee maker.  Now we have limited conversations about food, my family, my work, and especially the needs of little Alani.  Hilda strikes me as mostly a simple nature.  She like dancing and music and going to the salon.  She also likes quiet and has few friends.  She loves her family.  She often refers to how things will be when I return here, as if it is a certain fact that I will come back soon.  “When you come back Alani will be bigger,” she says, or “whe you come back we will be living better.”  I’ve told her I don’t know when or if I will return, but she still says things like this.  She has been so welcoming and has done s many kind things for me, from cooking every day to repairing my pants button, that I have no idea how to thank her.

When I got here Alani was only two months old, so I’ve been here more than half her life.  I don’t quite remember what she looked like then because soon after I arrived she became sick and was in the hospital for almost two weeks.  My main recollection is that she always looked terrified.  Her face is more expressive now.  She somiles sometimes for no apparent reason and it is no less brilliant for being toothless. Sometimes she looks very thoughtful and I almost forget she is a baby.  When she throws a fit she looks like a crazed little monster.

Most people here have brown eyes, but some of them have eyes I would describe as grey.  It is a very light color, almost greenish.  It makes them look very intense.  Carlos Pimentel, Esperanza’s Director, has this eye color, more green than most.  One of the women in the groups below the bridge has a little girl with those eyes.  She is one of the most beautiful two year-olds I’ve every seen.  She’s also a total terror.  I think people with these grey eyes probably have hidden powers which they only reveal if threatened with death.  I’ve never seen this eye color anywhere else.

That’s enough for now.  More later.