Chapter 4 #2
She pulled me through the threshold and down a hallway.
I was even more startled by the decor. The entire interior of the house was white.
White walls, white tile floors, white couches, white curtains.
Eva and Luis dragged my luggage up the white staircase, while Abuelita led me into the white kitchen.
“What did you eat on the plane?” Abuelita Ivelise was pouring two cups of very black coffee. The light was blinding, because it was refracting off every surface. “Was it lunch or dinner?” Now I was in familiar territory. “How much sugar do you take?”
I noticed a thin skin on the milk in the saucer. How natural. “I don’t take sugar.” It was too late. She had already stirred in four heaping teaspoons. She pretended she couldn’t hear me. Once again, familiar territory.
“Did they serve meat?”
“I think so.”
“You Americans never eat enough meat. You’re not a vegetarian, are you?”
She looked at me with such distrust I feared I had to lie. Would she even know the word “flexitarian”? And would it torpedo our relationship before it even began? “I try to eat a varied diet.”
“Our last homestay guest was a vegetarian. And an atheist .” She swilled her coffee in one gulp. “You’re Catholic, right?”
I sipped my coffee. Such an interesting mix of incredibly bitter and incredibly sweet.
I kind of liked it. Abuelita continued to stare at me and I considered.
I knew my religion would upset her, and it was purely nominal anyway.
Besides, I had sort of converted on the plane. “God is very important to me.”
“Good.” She sighed. “I’d be very sorry if you went to hell.” She seemed genuinely relieved. I decided I liked Abuelita. “Eva’s a Protestant,” she said, darkly. Like how you might say, Eva is a pedophile.
“Oh,” I said, with what I hoped was the appropriate level of dismay.
“She was Catholic when Luis married her. But then... she converted.”
“I’m... sorry.” It was then I realized how very little I knew about Christianity, or for that matter, Costa Rican culture.
“But divorce would be a sin,” she continued, glowering impressively.
“What’s that?” asked Eva, coming into the kitchen in her fuchsia high heels. Something that wasn’t white! Abuelita didn’t bother answering her, and Eva didn’t press it. Ooh... these two were not friends.
Eva dragged me off the white stool. “Let me show you your room.” I looked wistfully over my shoulder at Abuelita, who was just taking steamy golden things out of the oven. But Eva pushed me forward.
“We recently redecorated,” she said, leading me up the spotless spiral staircase.
“At first we thought we would have a child.” I couldn’t see Eva’s face, since I was following her, but I detected a hint of melancholy in her voice.
“But that wasn’t God’s plan.” We got to the landing, and Eva directed me toward a door on the right.
I gasped. Everything in my room was white. And scaled for an eight-year-old.
“The bed’s fairly new.” She pressed down on it to show me. I touched it. It was like a rock. A small, child-sized rock. “And we added the dust ruffle. What do you think?”
The dust ruffle was the only thing in the room that wasn’t white. It was beige. “Chic.”
“I’m glad you like it. Well, let me know if you need anything. This is your home now.” She gave me a warm smile and closed the door.
I put my purse on top of the dresser, which was also clearly intended for a child. I thought about why they had signed up to host homestays. Some people did it for the money—but I doubted that was the case for Eva and Luis. It seemed they were doing it to fill a hole.
I sat on my bed, suddenly feeling a bit sad and overwhelmed.
I had just left my family, friends, school, and the only part of the world I had ever known.
Now I was in a completely new place with new people and new expectations.
Plus a job I had exaggerated my way into.
What made me think I was qualified to organize other people’s lives when I couldn’t even organize my own?
I was starting to go down a dangerous hole of what-ifs.
I needed to concentrate on something concrete, fast. I checked my phone, but it was dead.
I tore off my dirty clothing, then unpacked my laptop.
Abuelita had said they were going to stop at the neighbors for five minutes for coffee, so I knew I had at least an hour, having read all about “Tico Time.” In Costa Rica, the word for “now” was flexible.
Ahora was the technical translation. But in reality, ahora meant, “at some point.” Ahorita meant “at some even vaguer point.” But how to convey now ?
As in, there is a fire, please hand me the extinguisher right now ?
I sat at my little white desk and tried to connect to the Wi-Fi.
I had to wait for my computer to find the weak signal, so I opened the window that took up the better part of the back wall.
Mistake. Hordes of mosquitoes flew into my room, going straight for the little lamp on my desk.
I shut the window, but it was too late, my room was now Dengue Heaven.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. I turned off my lamp and cracked the window so they’d fly back out, but the brainless bugs just flew straight into the glass.
Great, now my window looked like a killing field.
I tried to see past the brown smudges into the garden.
The yard was like an erotic still life, overflowing with opening pink flowers and virile banana trees.
I could get used to this, I thought, until a marble-sized mosquito buzzed up and zapped me.
I went back to my desk and opened my email.
I wanted to see if I had the new cafetales list from Suzanne.
And maybe more specific guidance than “find the best coffee farms for the Truth Trip.” She wasn’t kidding about needing someone independent.
There was nothing from her, but there was an email from Matías Khalil. I felt a ping of excitement.
TO: Dee Blum
FROM: Matías Khalil
SUBJECT: Buena Suerte in the
Land of Pura Vida
? cafetaleslistrev.doc (112 KB),
contact_info.doc (24 KB)
Hello Dee,
Sorry our introduction has to be virtual.
We’re battling a proposed gold mine in Ecuador that would wipe out indigenous water sources and it’s getting dicey.
I had to pull one of our organizers for safety reasons.
I hope you’re enjoying the tranquility of Costa Rica—has anyone taught you the national phrase?
Pura Vida , or Pure Life. Basically, “It’s all good. ”
Here’s the revised list of cafetales to check out.
Things have been shifting quickly with the co-ops over the last few years, so some of these farms may be unsuitable.
Many have gone to direct trade, and it’s hard to verify if they are complying with regulations.
Your job is to visit the cafetales and determine which ones would make the best candidates.
Our goal is to pick one or two for the trips.
I know it’s Friday, so we don’t expect a progress report right away.
Take the weekend to get acquainted with the country, maybe check out some fun activities for the social side of the trips.
I’ve enclosed the contact info for some people you should get in touch with. One is Professor Eugenio Ramírez, a close friend of mine. Have you heard of him? He’s pretty well known in Costa Rica, and he should be able to help you narrow down your list.
In Solidarity,
Matías
Professor Eugenio Ramírez? Had I heard of Professor Eugenio Ramírez?
He was only the most famous revolutionary academic in the Western Hemisphere.
He had worked with Liberation Theology priests in El Salvador during the civil war, served as a human rights observer in the Zapatista communities, and supported the indigenous people’s struggle against oil drilling in Venezuela.
Professor Ramírez’s work didn’t just consist of tidy interviews conducted in the quiet sanctuary of a university office.
This was research that entered the world and changed it.
I leaned back in my uncomfortable white desk chair, awed.
This is what I’d been searching for the whole time I was at Berkeley: the chance to be involved in something bigger than myself.
Now I was breaking into a world bigger than I had dared to imagine.
Suddenly, overwhelmed turned into a good thing.
My life was a blank slate, and instead of seeing it as an empty wasteland, I saw it as an opportunity.
TO: Matías Khalil
FROM: Dee Blum
SUBJECT: Re: Buena Suerte in the Land of Pura Vida
Hello Matías! Nice to e-meet you. Although I almost feel like I know you since I’ve read all your essays in The Nation and watched your TED Talk on capitalism in the age of AI.
It’s a little unfair, isn’t it? I know so much about you, and all you have is my resume.
At the risk of sounding like a fangirl, I have to confess, it’s a thrill to work with you.
It’s also a thrill that I’m going to meet Professor Ramírez. He’s literally my idol. I’ll call him first thing Monday. Good luck in Ecuador.
?Hasta la victoria siempre!
Surprisingly, Matías wrote back right away:
TO: Dee Blum
FROM: Matías Khalil
SUBJECT: Re: Buena Suerte in the Land of Pura Vida
Dee, you flatter me. Stop. (Don’t.)
Let me know after you meet Eugenio—I can’t wait to hear how you two get on.
M
I closed my laptop, lay on my tiny white bed, and smiled. I had been looking for my people for such a long time. It appeared I was finding them.