Blog 16: EYE draft 3

I just updated this draft this morning, but it's not with me in class here so know that this is a very rough draft, and that it's only half-finished. I'm hoping for some comments on if this is like an "eye" essay and what I could do to focus more on the meal, not on my experience of it.

Thanks :)

In mid October, my friends and I were invited to a birthday party by a woman named Lydia. The party was planned for Saturday, so we would go in addition to our weekly Thursday visit. We were excited at the opportunity to eat a meal with all of Lydia's family, knowing that it would help us to build confianza with them.
I spoke very little Spanish at the time, but I could always distinguish the word “confianza.” It means trust or confidence. At least, that's what the dictionary says. There is so much more to the word though. In a people group with very little trust for outsiders, to have confianza is to be allowed in.

People from our ministry had been visiting the village of Yucuañe for 5 years by that point. It is a tiny rural community, tucked away in the mountains, far from any developed civilization. The dirt road that led us to it had only been built about 20 years prior. The secondary school, which served up to age 15, was also a recent addition. The villagers had spotty electricity and a limited water supply which was dependent on the rain. Yucuañe is a beautiful place, hidden away from the world and full of secrets.

Before leaving for the village, my teammate Angela and I baked some banana bread to bring with us. Lydia fed our group almost every Thursday we visited, so we were culturally obliged to offer food in return. Normally, inviting them to a meal at our house would have been the best thing to do, but no one in the village had a car, so Lydia and her family did not leave often. Also, our group tended to avoid inviting locals to our base. Showing off our American wealth would not have been a good idea.

The party was supposed to start around 3, so we set off on the hour long trip at 2. We knew that, per “Mexico time,” the party wouldn't actually begin for atleast an hour later than the estimate, but we wanted to arrive early to help with the cooking. Normally we would park our SUV at the store on the north side of town and walk, but this time we drove to Lydia's house, hoping that less villagers would notice our presence. Not many people appreciated our visits, and we knew that Lydia already received pressure from the other villagers for allowing us into her home.

Lydia was the first contact the ministry made in that village. She lived with her two daughters and her mother in the southern side of Yucuañe. She was a jovial woman of middle age, full of laughter and patience, even for me, who couldn't understand anything she said. Perhaps it was her outgoing personality that helped her overcome the natural sense of fear most villagers had of outsiders. There is a strong sense of superstition that governs the lives of indigenous Mexicans.

“buenes tardes!” We called from the gate. Six of so of the mangy village dogs identify Lydia's place as their home. They came out to bark at us (home security). Lydia's mother, la Doña, hobbled toward the gate, shaking her thin wooden cane at the dogs and hissing at them. The gate opened, and they ran past us as we were invited in. Normally Lydia's yard is mostly clear, and we sit in the shaded area by the house. Today, the kitchen table has been brought out into the yard, as well as a table borrowed from her sister.

We are invited to sit while everyone exchanges pleasantries about the weather. Lydia and each of her daughters take turns leaving the cooking to come and say hello. We are offered drinks (villagers only drink soda and tea, knowing the water to be too unclean to drink). Eventually, once we have convinced our hosts that we are happy to be there and that we are content waiting for the party, Angela and I offer to help with the cooking.
This was a tricky thing to do. Of course, Lydia's first assumption was that we were bored and unhappy sitting at her house. They tried to shoo us away from the work, but we insisted. All communication is very indirect in this culture, so it was a delicate dance of words to convince our hosts that we wanted to help just to be friendly. Eventually they accepted, but relegated us to tasks that required the least amount of manual labor and that we could not mess up the meal. Our two male team members excused themselves to visit another contact in the village before the party started. It wouldn't do for them to sit around in this world of women.
Lydia offered to feed us “un taquito” before the party, if we were hungry. We declined, assuring her that we were comfortable. She would be considered a terrible hostess if we went hungry at any point during our visit. People feared that we would go complain to others how we were hungry sitting in her house.