Meeting my neighbors

Joana gets dropped off in front of her home by the local ‘taxi’, which is a pick up truck with a palapa over the bed and people perched around the edges. Joana gets out the front seat, and limps across the sand into one of her little structures.

Javier takes me over to meet her and the old man sleeping in the hammock. He turns out to be the father and around the same age as Joana, and not the great great grandmother, and much sprier than both.

To her retreating back, he impatiently proclaims his hunger and demands his food.

Their land actually stretches pretty far, with three main groupings of buildings. On the very far end, Javier points out his little room and gestures vaguely to a cement structure that is a bathroom and shower. The open sandy space in between has a rickety bench and maybe a clothes line hanging among several palms.

The middle structure, where Joana has disappeared into, seems to house kitchen supplies and a long table. We are standing in the dirt and sand center between the indoor kitchen and another building at the other far end of their property.

There are two hammocks, these without unintentional holes hanging between trees, and another large table with a chair and a box by it. Joana leans against the doorframe, asks me if I want to eat, and motions to Javier to get me a chair. 

I want to talk with Joana but not around her demanding husband – it would be great to have Javier there to translate in case we get in trouble.

So I tell her I will return later.