i visit your house

I stand in the street a second looking around; tiny beads of sweat are forming on my forehead in the sun. I see some rocks, I see some trash, I see some dust, I see a pig, I see no gate. I start moving again as to seem like I know what I am doing but it’s probably having the opposite effect. Just about every house here has a barbed wire fence or a stone wall around it; in both cases the walls presumably serve to keep cows out, to mark territory, and make me looks silly when I want to visit—because that’s all they do. Eventually I find a place where the rock wall looks a bit little lower and cross. Clipboard in hand, t-shirt is tucked into my pants, the pig eyes me suspiciously, I pass into the doorway. “Hello! How are we?” I say standing the doorway. “Good, good. How are you? Come inside.” Say’s a women of abut 50. It’s dark inside, there are no windows. In 5th grade Mr. K talked about how in the original space shuttle designs there were no windows, because they were structurally unsound—when the primary building materials for your house are wood and earth I wonder if it’s for the same reason. A plastic chair is quickly put in front of me and the seat whipped by her hand “sit, sit.” I sit. She sits. Her chair is a rainbow colored hammock tinted with shades of time (or dust (most likely dust)). Behind her is a similar hammock, the hammock is taut with the burden of a person who’s face I can’t see.
“How are we?” I say again.
“Good, very good. How are you?”
“Good as well.” I start nodding my head.
“It’s hot today.”
“It’s always hot here, but at least it’s cooler that San Vicente, that place is like an oven!”
“Yes.” She says like a guess. My Spanish was bad or she doesn’t really think San Vicente is that much hotter than here, both are true.
“So does your family farm?” She nods her head.
“What do you grow there?” I squish my face to try to act I don’t know what the answer could possibly be I try to say the answer in my head the same time she says it out loud—beans and corn.
“Beans and corn. So are you just passing by here?” She asks. A kid runs in the house and jumps on her, the hammock rocks slightly. She gently embraces her without ever looking away from me.
“No, I am going to be living here for two years.” I’m not sure if she meant her house or the town. I opt for the later because then I can lead into the census.
“Two years!! Here!?” Eyes wide.
“Mmmmhm. Two years here. I will be working with the ADESCO and other groups. But in the next month I am only conducting this census.” I wiggle the clipboard. “It’s mostly to get to know the people here and learn what things I can help with the most than. Do you have a little time to answer some questions?’ She nods her head. I fill in the date and ask who the boss of the family is. The child in the hammock gets up and chases a dog out of the house.
“Him.” She says as he points to the weight in the hammock behind her.
“His name?” I ask. She tells me. “His age?” I ask. She tells me. “He is a farmer?” I ask. She nods. “What is his level of education?” I ask.
“What?”
“What grade has he completed?” I ask.
“2nd, but he didn’t learn anything.” She says laughing. I laugh a little at the expense of the man sleeping in the hammock.
We go through these questions for all 8 people who live in the house. I get to the part of the survey about what the walls, roof, and floor are made of. The floor is made of uneven dirt, check, the walls are made of mud, circle, and the roof is made of clay tiles, check; I mark this all down on the survey. I have to actual look around now, in the beginning a floor made of dirt would stand out. Now it’s as common as a houseplant in the states. I go through the survey asking questions about personal health, illness and ask them what they know about certain subjects, like AIDS. The whole time chickens walk in and out of the house with as much attention given to them as a breeze—but greatly less appreciated by me. The survey takes about 15-20 minutes depending on how many people live in the house; halfway through this one the same kid turns on the T.V. and watches a soap opera for the rest of my time there. Once the survey is over I put the clipboard down and try to just talk for an other 15-20 minutes, sometimes it lasts much longer other times the people seem to be busy and I leave right away. Or if the person thinks I’m speaking partially speaking in English when I’m giving them my best Spanish; with that being said keep in mind this is my version of what I said and what she said to the best of my ability, but what was really said I might not ever really be known.