Plastic Utensils

Shortly after returning from my trip to Ica, my 8 year old host-brother spied my newest possession: a complimentary plastic silverwear set which I acquired on the busride home. A keen interest shone in his eyes. He wanted those utensils and he didn’t hesitate to ask me for them. For some reason I thought I was going to use them, so I told him no.

A week later they still lay in the same location on my floor and he asked me when I was going to gift them to him. I relented and he quickly scooped them up, running from my room shouting with excitement. He proceeded to show every member of the family his prized possession. He set his place at the table with them in some kind of never-before-seen radial fashion. It was the first time he had ever used a fork, and really, a knife for that matter. It showed. He grabbed the fork in a fist and clumsily attempted to cut apart a chicken leg with the unserrated plastic knife, a difficult feat even for the accomplished utensil user. To eat his rice he proudly insisted on using his new tiny plastic spoon rather than the more efficient large metal spoon which lay rejected beside his plate. At the end of his meal he had me tear off a small portion of his paper napkin to wipe off his face and his hands which were clearly dirty due to his inability to correctly use his silverware.

The plastic silverware set appeared at the dinner table for the next few days until the fork tines broke off. He ate one meal with only two tines. For his birthday I bought him Colgate toothpaste, most of which he ate. Maybe for Christmas I’ll buy him a fork.

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I find it rather amusing how people chose to explain to others what exactly I’m doing here. Inevitably, the response has something to do with studying. The people I work with directly know a little more, but they ususally have a narrow view and think that I only do whatever activity it is that I do with them. In my free time I am certainly studying. My host-family should know best, but the other day a random woman chose to ignore the fact that I was directly in front of her and the fact that I speak Spanish to ask my host-dad what exactly I am doing here. He got this baffled look on his face before confidently responding that I am here to work with compost. Just compost.
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A mouse ate a portion of my toothbrush bristles. I was less than thrilled. I forgot to buy a new one so I was forced to use it anyway.

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A teacher I know introduced me to her sister. The sister looked at me and exclaimed, “You have such beautiful green eyes! Would you marry my son?” She was only half joking. This type of comment is not uncommon. Susan was told that she needs to birth children here to improve the race and whiten the babies.

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Loco Zapote. Second-in-command to the mayor. The worst listener I’ve ever met. Unfortunately, I have to talk to this man ALL THE TIME. I’ve always suspected that he didn’t really listen but the other day it was painfully clear. I went to the municipality to turn in a solicitud (a formal document which is used to solicit something) and, per usual, it had to do with the never-ending and never-progressing stove project. I told him why I was there, explaining that I wanted to turn in a solicitud to request the donation of a few materials. He went on a tangent about his zapote project. I reminded him why I was there. He told me that I would have to write a solicitud to request materials. I reminded him that I had just told him that I was there to turn in the solicitud which I had already written. He told me that I had no idea what I was doing, that I would have to learn how to write a solicitud. While pulling out an example of a solicitud to teach me with, I read him my solicitud. Shaking his head with disappointment, he informed me that I would need to specify exactly what I was requesting. Finally, I made him read it himself. He read it and exclaimed, “It’s all right here in your solicitud...Why didn’t you just tell me you had a solicitud?”