Fortunately, such gaffs happened more-often-than-not with the women with whom I had
established relationships at the home in Chiapas and the hostel in El Salvador, thus I was
afforded many opportunities to overcome these moments of being so obviously gringa. A
powerful thunder storm in El Salvador gave me just such an opportunity. It was after nightfall,
and the hostel guests were either out enjoying the nightlife or already in their rooms. The
courtyard of the hostel was flooding, threatening the area where the computer was set-up and
some guest rooms. The woman who worked the night shift, “Isabel,” was frantically trying to
sweep the water, literally, with a broom, into buckets as the sewer drain was not capable of
handling the rate of hard rainfall.
I ran out of my room and found a broom and worked with Isabel, both of us grabbing
anything we could to redirect the water that had overflowed the weak gutter system and was now
teeming over the roof. She openly expressed her frustration with the owner’s absence and with
the situation she knew she’d face if she allowed the guest rooms to flood or the furniture and
greenery in the courtyard to be destroyed. By the end of the storm, we were both soaked – and
laughing at the absurdity of the whole endeavor. It had been a losing proposition from the start.
I loaned her some dry clothes, and as we started cleaning up the mess left by the storm. When
the owner walked in to survey the damage, I quietly ducked out, recognizing that if the boss
thought I had been helping Isabel, it may have created problems for her.
The rain storm gave Isabel and I a shared experience, one we laughed about over the next
day or two. It gave me the opportunity to bridge the gap between foreigner and native, between
left the city in a caravan to Mexico City for a demonstration. I surmised that some armed group was showing its
muscle. After a few moments of frightened panic, I decided that if I heard “Maria” or anyone else in the house
moving around, I would follow their lead. Otherwise, my plan was to stay put. The next morning, Maria
commented that I looked like I hadn’t slept all night. I said of course I hadn’t, hadn’t all that noise kept her awake,
as well? She asked what I was talking about, and I, with some frustration, said something about “the bombs and the
yelling.” Suddenly a look of realization came over her face and she laughed until she had tears coming down the
sides of her face. There was a soccer game the night before, she explained. Mexico had played Brazil, and in the
final seconds of the game Mexico scored a goal and won. I had heard firecrackers, guns shooting in the air, and the
triumphant cheering of soccer fans.
29
Convention