Cointa

I thought it would be good to spend some time writing about Cointa, with whom I will be living for the next few months. She is a good Catholic woman about five feet tall, full of energy and quick with an animated lecture about the dangers of drinking beer or something of the sort, which we tend to heed, albeit with a grain of salt. I had a sore throat the other day (probably from the automobile fumes I inhale any time I walk outside), and she explained to me how the sickness entered through my feet since I had not been wearing shoes in the house. She first made me some Flora de Jamaica tea and then had me gargle warm water with lemon and salt, which ended up working very well. She is full of those ideas/warnings/remedies one picks up with experience. Earlier today, we asked her if she liked the Chinese food in Mérida (after Chavez made an oil deal with Hu Jintao in 2005, Venezuela has seen an influx of Chinese), and she responded, “Cuando un Chino se muere, lo comen” (When a Chinaman dies, they eat him). We had also asked about where to buy a frisbee in town and she responded, “Los venden los Chinos, pero fabrican cosas malas.” (The Chinese sell them, but they manufacture bad things). Clearly jokes with just an ounce of lighthearted racism. She greets us every morning with “¡El desayuno!” (Breakfast!) and “¿Cómo amanecieron?” (How did you wake up?). Before every meal she will say “Buen provecho” (more or less Bon Apetít), asking us if we would like more, explaining the details of what she has made for us. Her Spanish is very lively, and she’ll frequently say things like Ayyyyyyy! Que chico! She is a fairly good resource regarding where to find places and things in Mérida, but she does not quite know how to use a map, so she usually gives us verbal instructions. After dinner, we typically sit around for a while chatting and teaching her English words while she teaches us some Spanish ones; she speaks virtually no English, but is interested in learning. Earlier this evening, we had some tea and talked about the recent news about a fire in a Discoteca Brasileña (¡que lástima!), and she launched into a speech about the dangers of going to bars and clubs. We also talked about bull fighting as the Carnaval is coming up next week. She is very against the slaughter of the bulls, and I have to say I agree. Although I have not yet witnessed a bullfight, I do not really see the sport in the whole thing. The other day her godchildren visited from Caracas, and when they showed up outside the apartment, Cointa lowered the keys down from the top floor in a bucket, yelling in rapid Spanish the whole time. The radio was playing some merengue so I had the chance to do a little dancing with Cointa. She is an ardent Anti-Chavista and will frequently trash talk him (I don't want to speak too soon, but from everything I have observed and learned thus far, I am already of the Anti-Chavez sentiment myself). Every time we go out for a night, she’ll warn us about the Venezuelan girls, saying how crazy they are and how they just want our money. She is really great old lady, the classic caring Latin American woman, and I am very glad to have landed a spot in her home this semester.