One of the prerequisities for Andy and Josh living in the house was that they had to keep the Honduran housekeeper, Nancy, on while they are living here. The family who normally lives in the house has a daughter with special needs, and as a result they need full-time assistance. They didn't want to lose Nancy while they were gone, and so the family agreed to pay her to continue cleaning the house while they were gone; Andy and Josh didn't have to pay anything, they just had to allow her to continue doing this. (Naturally, it was incredibly difficult to convince two boys straight out of high school to allow someone to clean for them on a regular basis, for free. They've handled the inconvenience very graciously.) Nancy appears to be a saint and not only cleans for the boys but occasionally cooks for them and does their laundry; part of me wants to thank her, and part of me wants to hit them for allowing her to spoil them so much! College, I am afraid, will come as a rude surprise.
This morning, Andy had a team meeting to attend and then some errands to run to prepare for work for the day. I stayed home to sleep in and get some schoolwork done that needs to be emailed off before I leave. Andy had told me he would leave coffee on for me and that I could root around for breakfast whenever I got up. I woke up late and was taking my sweet time getting ready upstairs when suddenly I heard a noise downstairs. I realized nervously that I had forgotten about Nancy. Sure enough, a minute later there is a knock on my door, and this incredibly sweet woman is staring at me a little bewildered. I tried (in my very broken Spanish) to explain that I was not an intruder, and thankfully she understood. Our conversation couldn't get very far, though, so after introducing myself I just stood there awkwardly until she said something that (I assume) means, "Nice to meet you," and then I was able to repeat it back to her. (I really, really hope it meant "Nice to meet you" and not, "I'm surprised to see you" or something even more awkward.)
After this interaction, Nancy went downstairs to clean the kitchen. Uh oh, again. I could hear my coffee being poured down the drain and knew I should probably run in there quickly, but my insecurity and feelings of awkwardness go the better of me, so instead I retired to the living room to begin my work -- hungry and decaffeinated, therefore pouty. I tried to focus on my work, but my hunger pangs were causing irrational thoughts to stir around in my head: "What if Nancy stays all day? What if I never get to eat? What if I barge in there and offend her by just rooting through the kitchen while she's working, and she quits?" My roommate was online and I gchatted her to ask what I should do; she very calmly suggested that it was probably not as big a deal as I was imagining, and that I look up phrases online to help me out. Brilliant! So I googled, "Can I make some food, please?" and, armed with this one extra phrase to add to the 2 other ones I know, I gingerly made my way into the kitchen to try to claim some breakfast (which, by now, was approaching lunch). "Puedo hacer comida?" I asked. Nancy looked confused. Uh oh. She responded by saying yes, but then while I was grabbing a plate, proceeded to ask me a question. I think it was, "Do you know how to cook?" so I just nodded and responded, "Si," but she looked confused, so I think that whatever question she asked required more than a "yes" or "no" answer. Flustered and embarrassed, I began rooting through the kitchen, but I could tell Nancy was watching and would soon discover that I had no idea what I was doing, and I was afraid of more conversation. Thus, plate and spoon in hand, I grabbed the only food I could see on the counter -- a banana -- and retreated back into the living room, with a smile and "Gracias" shouted over my shoulder to hide my blushing. Only when I reached the living room did it occur to me that Nancy was probably thinking, "Why in the world does she need a spoon and a plate to eat a banana? And why did she ask if she could cook when that's all she was going to do?"
30 minutes later, the banana was just not doing it for me; I needed something more substantial, plus I now felt the need to put that plate and spoon to better use. I heard Nancy going upstairs and so made a mad dash into the kitchen. While my original intent this morning had been to make myself something new and exciting, I now knew that I had only limited time and so grabbed all of the leftovers from the dinner we made last night. (Sorry, Andy; no more for you.) Chicken in the morning is a bit awkward, but no more awkward than my other interactions with Nancy, so I figured it was an acceptable compromise. I made my way with my food and the dog, Jack, outside; sure enough, two minutes later Nancy was out on the patio with her mop. She smiled and asked how I was doing. I responded, "Muy bien!" (since I actually don't know how to say I'm anything other than, "Very good!" Thankfully, it was mostly true in this instance, and I wouldn't have admitted to her that I was feeling "mildly uncomforable" even if I knew the language.) I then began stuttering ridiculously while I tried to communicate, "Am I in your way?" (Keep in mind, I really only know about 3 phrases, and no verbs, so I'm not sure what possessed me to believe that I could say this.) She finally smiled and told me to say it in English. She immediately responded that I was fine, she was happy to have me here, and started explaining to me that her husband speaks English so she can understand. (I was pretty impressed with myself for understanding this interaction.) I retired to the living room, content, and finished my chicken and rice with much more peace of mind.
That is, until Andy just arrived home, and informed me that Nancy actually speaks pretty good English, and might have been messing with me. (??!!) Hopefully, I at least increased the humor in her day. I am now feeling very humbled and about to head out to Armenia Bonito with Andy for a much longer period of much of the same (although, at least this time, I will have translators with me!) Want to feel humbled? Try moving somewhere where you cannot speak the language. Amazing what it does for your pride.
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