Mari's Loss

Mari Tosta Medina (5th oldest "cousin" of mine) has felt the loss of her dad more than anyone else. Out of her eleven sibblings, she is the only one that works "la finca" (small farm). Throughout the years, Hernan Tosta Medina will hire workers to help on the 8 manzanas, but really relied on Mari to oversee its care. The two worked hand in hand planting, sowing, and mantaining the 14 acres. No one felt the effects of his love for the bottle more than Mari. His drinking habbits gradually took him away from farmwork until completely losing touch with the land he had inherited from his dad. His drinking became uncontrollable throughout the years and finally took him to the grave at the age of 73.
As she showed me around the farm, she continuously apologized for the unkept aspect of things. Vegetation had engulfed cash crops, zampopos (big ants that can carry you away in your sleep) were stripping the leaves away from many trees, cows were breaking in and eating their corn, and stagnant water was creating mosquitos. She explained that her dad had done a better job at keeping the place clean and productive. She doubted that the help she currently hires was doing what they were being paid to do. On top of things, because of recent criminal reports, Tia Rosa had limited her trips to the farm which lies in the outskirts of Otoro. She did not like the idea of a single woman catching rides from strangers to travel back and forth from the milpa. After her father's death, her daily trips ceased abruptly and are now limited to random days when her younger brother is around with the family's truck. She misses the daily work at the farm, and it bothers her to think that things are only getting worse.
That afternoon, as she led me around the makeshift fence of the farm, she pointed out the trees that lined the perimeter. She explained that it had taken her a span of 25 years to plant all the trees that now lined their territory. From the apparent age and sizes of the trees it was easy to see from where she had started.
I followed her closely as she walked nimbly from one corner of the milpa to another. She knew every inch of the land. She could have been blindfolded and would have still made her way around. I felt awkward at her brusqueness as she used her knife to cut things appart and then tossed these to me. Things were dirty and mostly crawling with ants. Some I tasted and some I hid in my backpack. She offered me a little bit of everything that was in our way as we scurried along. A little bit of sugar cane, a guayaba, nance fruit, oranges and weird stuff that looked like avocados that had grown hairs. She pointed at things that were not easily served such as corn husks, coffee beans and overhanging plantains. She also made me drink from a water fountain that poured from the earth out of nowhere. I of course hesistated at this final offering as I have done at any water source here in Honduras but did at her insistence and did not regret it. The water was whitish in color, cold and very tasty. It tasted like someone had poured a bucketful of sugar in the water - very sweet.

She asked about the States in a way one does when seeking affirmation on a set opinion. She of course confirmed through me that immigrating to the States was never a good idea and had never occured to her because one will certainly miss all this greenery we were currently sorrounded by. I agreed with her and confirmed her notions that fresh clean air, pitch black starry skies, and green virgin lands were disappearing and if not scarce as in the case of starry nights. I tried to boast about California's agricultural capacities to which she did not reply until later at night during dinner time. She did not speak about it but gave me a slice of pineapple and after expressing that this was the sweetest pineapple I've had in a long time, she asked "can California do that?" No response to that on my part, point made on her behalf. The case is that no one can argue with someone that offers you the fruit of their labor and land and its ten times better than something being chemically produced for mass consumption.
Mari is the only one out of my 12 "cousins" that was given a piece of the milpa. Her dad and Tia Rosa had confirmed in writing before his dying that the farm not be apportioned amongst everyone, but that Mari be the only one given one of the best located acres in the farm. My other cousins say that when Mari was barred from going alone to the farm she had exclaimed "you are ripping my heart appart!"
In defiance and as if to avoid daily disappointment she moved to Tegucigalpa and only comes to Otoro when the family truck is available. As was the case that afternoon when she showed me around. She mentioned that Tegus is not an ideal location for her to be, with all the smog and cramped space and that she spends most of her time watching tv at her brother's house. She misses the farm a lot. The piece of land that her dad had worked with her company most of his life until his death last year. It's because of this that out of everyone of the Tostas, Mari feels the loss of her dad the most.

Sins of our Fathers

"I heard you arrived."
"Yes Aunt. I got here a month ago."
"When are you coming to visit me?"
"School is starting next week, I'm a little tied up right now. Give me two weeks and I'll be in Rio Lindo."
"The Manzanarez have a habit of forgetting their family. You are not like them are you? I figured you guys were completely gone from the face of the earth."
"No ma'am, I'm certainly different. I'm the one calling aren't I?"
"That's right."

That was in August. It's now November, and I still had not made it to Rio Lindo to see Aunt Elsa. Maybe that's why I almost bit my tongue back then.

Desertion

"Tia" Rosa had obviously been waiting for me. I was guided by a "cousin" to where she sat. There were a couple of chairs in the middle of the patio area that they called their living room. This looked like where they did their tv watching and guest entertaining. I was told that people in Otoro will come out in hordes to greet a fellow family member that was coming from the States. Yes, they were there in the back waiting, but first I was going to be lectured by my Aunt. She was meticulously rocking her armchair back and forth and carefully eyeing me as I came in and introduced. There was a big picture of a man in the anteroom, but I supposed that he was no longer around and Tia Rosa was now in command of her family and this current situation. This was a woman that I did not know existed until I had to come to Honduras. My dad had mentioned that maybe I should get in touch with a lady in Honduras where I could stay once I got to Otoro. He had given me her phone number which I did not use until I was in Tegucigalpa. Through our brief conversations I had gathered that she was a serious woman short on words, the kind that say a lot with very little and when joked caught you off guard because you never expected it. Our first conversation was no small talk and divulged in our relationship. Eventhough she was not my real Aunt, in agreement and by her request I was to call her "Aunt" from then on . She had motioned for me to sit in front of her and was diving in.

"I feel abandoned by your father," she had begun.

I was not expecting this!

"I took care of him like my own son since I was just a girl."

"Twelve!" she punctuated.

"Then one one day when he had just turned sixteen he just got up, left, and never really came back. Just stopped by once in a while as he distanced himself more and more until completely disappearing."

I began wondering if I was being welcomed or was about to be told why I was being turned away. It seemed to me that this was not a conversation to be had between my Aunt and I.

"Tia," I began, trying to defend myself and instantly felt queazy using the family term. "I'm in Otoro because I want to learn about my roots. I feel that there are many things that I don't know that I should, and after here I'm leaving for San Pedro Sula to do the same with my Mom's side of the family." She quickly gathered that I was putting whatever regrets she had on my Dad and that I was feeling unwelcomed.

"Sure, this is not about you but about your Dad. But he called me last week after decades of no communication and now expects me to host his son. Put yourself in my shoes and see how that sounds."

What a welcome! I thought. I was fidgeting and sweating in my chair, and it was not because of the 120% humidity that blanketed the air. My body language said it all. I was seating at the edge of the chair and held a stance that said "I want out of here."

"Let's calm down," she said. "It's just something that I had to say."

"I know that you are tired from your trip. This room on the right will be yours. It was where your father was born. You came to the right place to learn about your family."

As she said this, she signaled to those waiting on the side to come along. I still had mixed feelings about this place where I was suppose to stay. I felt like I'd just been rebuked in front of everyone and it was now time to put that aside and get to know them. I could not put in order or remember everyone that was introduced. When I was alone in my small room, I took a piece of paper and began to draft a family tree. If I wanted to get to know my family history, I will have to learn their's first. They seemed to be a large family of about twelve. Mostly women and only two men. This was a strange situation, I did not know If should be angry at my dad or at my Tia for ambushing me. Or if I should just make up an excuse that will get me out of here. In any case, she seemed to be the type of woman that will not keep any secrets and will not hesitate to tell me everything about my Grandfather.