Tuesday when we got back to the church after a morning of swimming and girls' fútbol, the girls were scrambling to figure out how to wash their uniforms. Apparently the church was short on water and normally they are not allowed to take the uniforms home with them. One of the older girls offered to wash the uniforms for the entire team at her house. While I thought that was amazingly generous and sweet, it didn't seem fair. Especially since none of the kids have a washing machine at home. She would be washing everything by hand. I told them to put everything in a bag and I would wash it. Little did I know what I was in for.
When I got home that night and opened the bag, the smell was enough to knock me over! It was powerful - especially the socks. I washed everything twice, but most of it still stunk, so I left the socks to soak in sudsy water and coated some of the armpits in laundry detergent for the night.
The next day I washed everything a third time. Finally it was clean.
I tossed it in the dryer for a few minutes. Thank God I went back to check on it. I was afraid things would shrink or bleed. Well, the colors did not bleed, but the smell of those socks, warmed by the dryer sure did. It stunk up everything in the dryer! All I could think of was a song we sing in church. I think it is called "Poderoso" which means powerful. I had that song in my head all night, "Poderoso, Poderoso, Me libraste (You freed me), Me salvaste (You saved me)". I pulled the socks out of the dryer and hung them. Then I stuck an extra dryer sheet in with the shorts and shirts to try to kill the powerful smell. Afterward I hung everything instead of storing it in a bag overnight.
This morning I bagged the socks separately, although they seemed to be okay, and took them to the church. The girls raced up to my car to greet me as they do every morning and I told them I have their clean uniforms. I told them I also have a new song for them because the smell of their uniforms was powerful. We had fun all morning joking about the powerful uniforms and changing the lyrics of the song to fit the stinky socks.
It's funny how sometimes the simplest things can be really funny - like stinky socks.
Tuesday I had another strange laugh. I was telling someone at the church that one of the girls had shown up for the swimming program that morning with a broken arm. The adult asked me which of the kids it was because there are several with the same name. I replied, "La loca." (The crazy one - because she is really wild.) The person told me "Shhhhhh! The other kids will hear you!" I was a little confused because in English to say someone is crazy, especially the way I meant it - that she is very active - is fine. But the person corrected me saying "La negrita?" (The black?)
I realized a while ago, I have no idea which kids are considered "negro" and which aren't. Now that I see them in bathing suits I have noticed that some are more dark skinned than others. But it was never obvious to be before. In Honduras it is completely acceptable, at least with the people I know, to call someone "Negro". It is never, ever meant in a negative way. It is a nickname and usually intended as a term of endearment. Many spouses call their other spouse "Negro" or "Negra". It is still strange to my North American mind to hear, but there is clearly no harm meant by it.
I think nicknames in general are more common here. We have a "pony", a 'rabbit', a 'little rabbit', a 'baby rabbit', some 'skinny', many men and kids known as 'fat' and a ton of "negro" and "negras" of all ages. But in my mind "la loca" seemed kinder than "la negra". I still have a lot to learn. In the meantime, I think I'll stay away from describing people by anything other than the color of their shirt. That should be safe, right?
