I had been promising Karina for some time that I would go to her house to watch a movie. I had lost count of the amount of times she had asked me in the last two months and the increasing amount of times she had given me her ‘I am very disappointed in you face’ when I had failed to set a date. For an eleven year old she had the guilt trip down to pat. One day she was going to make a great mother.
Karina comes from one of those very special families in the valley. One of the two we spend the most time with as a family of volunteers. Whenever there is a special occasion it is always Karina’s parents – Maria and Mario that we invite round.
Mario is a short man with an almost permanent smile on his face. He has two habits that make him dear to me; the first is that he can never remember my name and the second is that he is always asking me ridiculous questions. Every day he travels down to Ceiba to do whatever work is available. He has to work hard to support his family. Three of his own children and Christian, the two year old son of Maria’s sister. ‘A gift’ from El Salvador. When he arrives home in the evening he immediately takes his shirt off and begins helping in the kitchen. It’s the busiest part of their three room home and continually full of laughter.
He is one of the few husbands I have met here who is openly affectionate with his wife. I think it’s safe to say that it’s not really done here. You almost never see couples holding hands in the street or kissing in public and so those rare moments of tenderness between spouses are really something special to behold. There are lots of these between Maria and Mario.
Maria is a short woman with laughing eyes and yet another permanent smile. She is very much the boss of the house and always has everyone arranged with a few words. She’s an extremely proactive and giving woman. She has the village’s only sewing machine, where you can often find her patching pants and mending t-shirts for whoever might need it. Maria is one of those women for whom nothing ever seems to be too much trouble. You can ask her almost anything and you will be met with a big pair of dark brown eyes, a wide smile and a nod. “Vaya pues” is her catchphrase. She is currently obscenely pregnant. We seem to have been waiting forever for the baby to arrive. Every time we see each other we pat the bump and both say “todavía?”
Historically, I have a rather unfortunate habit of turning up at her house just as she is about to shower. I don’t know how I do it. This never stops her from giving me a big hug and a smile. The huge belly making the embrace somewhat awkward. Withouth fail she says “Me voy a bañar Laura.” We always giggle at the fact that this happens every time I call. Three of us squeeze to a tiny room, about as wide as Maria is pregnant. This little hut is where they have their fuego – a clay wood burning stove. It was Maria who gave me my first tortilla lesson on this fuego when we made about sixty for a party. Honduran women can make tortillas with their eyes closed. We chuckle at what horrible shapes I managed to make before finally getting it right. Karina and I quickly pat them out on our little plastic bag circles before passing them to Maria, who gives them a score out of ten before carefully placing them on the fuego to cook. It’s not long before Maria is presenting me with my own tortillas and a plate of chicken soup and rice. She smiles widely and we all sit on whatever we find in the living room and eat. I feel so welcome that its ages before I leave. When I do, Maria sends Karina to guide me up to the street, through the unlit mud track behind their house and tells me to come again soon.