Dinah

I have a friend here named Dinah. She works for the family I live with. Some may call her a maid, but I don´t really like that term. Besides that, she does so much more than clean and cook. She also helps with the animals, and with the coffee during the harvest season (which is right now).

When we first met, I don´t think it was a very friendly interaction between the two of us. I wondered who she was, and what she was doing there, and she probably wondered the same thing. I found out eventually, that she lives in the house with the family, and goes once a week back to visit her family. Over time, especially when the family has gone away for the day, and just the two of us were left in the house, we got a chance to get to know each other.

One of our first conversations was pretty eye-opening for me. As we both talked about our backgrounds and our families, I realized how different we were. There were so many things that we may just never understand about each other, or the other´s culture. I remember one moment in particular, when I was showing her pictures that I had on my digital camera of friends back home and family. As she saw me take the camera out, I saw her look at it longingly and curiously. I immediately regretted the decision, not wanting to flash around what I had in front of her, knowing she may never be able to have something like that. I left this conversation very depressed, longing for my friends back home, and wishing I had something in common with this girl.

But as time has passed, I have been able to find out what we do have in common. We both like to dance, we both like to watch soccer, we both love watching the telenovela Zorro (yes, I finally gave in.....what else could I do??), and we both have sworn of boys for the time being, especially the ones who storm through our town, hooting and hollering when we walk by. I remember one night in particular, that changed my outlook on our friendship completely. We were both watching the Brazil vs. Ecuador soccer game. At one point, one of the players on the Brazil team scored a goal, and the announcers kept repeating his name over and over again ¨Kaká! Kaká!¨ I laughed to myself the first time I heard the name, as it sounds strikingly similar to the word ¨caca,¨ which means ¨poop¨in Spanish. I immediately stopped, reprimanding myself for my juvenile sense of humor. But after the fifth or sixth time his name was announced, I couldn´t help but say his name out loud, letting out a quiet giggle. Dinah looked over at me and smiled, as if she had been thinking the same thing, and said his name aloud too, but this time with the accent on the first syllable, so it sounded like the word ¨caca.¨ Pretty soon, we were both doubled over laughing, shouting his name in between shrieks of laughter. It was in that moment that I realized our backgrounds didn´t matter. We had both forgotten completely about the differences that separated us, and just kept laughing at the poor guy with an unfortunate last name.