this is me on my birthday in Bogota....it is meant to be my profile photo but at the moment i am having some technical difficulties...so it will be here right now....
Thursday, January 25, 2007
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Snotty-Nosed Treasure Seekers
We were on our back porch busy shelling toasted cacao beans to prepare them to be passed through the hand grinder and come out a rich, creamy goo of pure cacao (will write about this process another time when we were visited by two dirty barefooted munchkins that had just returned from a two week visit at their Grandparents house in Medellin. One was straddling a stick that was really his cow, the other pulling a plastic truck on a yellow leash of 'cabouilla' (cabouilla is the campo equal to duct tape...it seems to be able to fix everything, it's plastic string)
They played with us for a bit, climbing all over us, but were mostly interested in tasting the raisins in my oatmeal. Once those were all gone, their attention veered to Aj and her bag of granola with dried fruit which she dropped in pinches into their eagerly awaiting little hands. When the bag was empty, and they were tired of helping us shell cacao, they developed an overwhelming interest to getting down on all fours and peering through the cracks of our planked floor. Our house sits above a gravel space big enough for little beings to crawl underneath. Because the boards don’t fit together perfectly, the cracks become a patient black hole to any fallen articles that are slim enough to fit through the cracks….and let me tell you we have lost many a things to our hungry underhouse. These floor spaces are also very convenient when we sweep because most of the dust we accumulate gets swept into the cracks before we can sweep it out the door.
Bums in the air and eyes pressed to the floor cracks, these two treasure seekers got more and more excited as they kept spotting things nesstled in the dust below the house. Faster than you can say ‘roasting plantanes’, they were down in our garden and beside our house to the place where they could squeeze through some rocks and crawl under our house. I’ve never been below the house, but with all the horse, cow, chicken poop and dried mud that people bring in stuck to their gumboots and sandals that fall between the cracks, it is not really the first place I would want to be crawling around in.
As they inched their little bodies between the earth and wood, they would scream our names as they discovered a treasure and push it up through the cracks. They found such treasures as colourful tacks, a water tap, a map of the Medellin metro, pens and pen lids.
Their little smiling faces peeked out from below the house, noses running with snot and a smile stretched ear to ear.
They played with us for a bit, climbing all over us, but were mostly interested in tasting the raisins in my oatmeal. Once those were all gone, their attention veered to Aj and her bag of granola with dried fruit which she dropped in pinches into their eagerly awaiting little hands. When the bag was empty, and they were tired of helping us shell cacao, they developed an overwhelming interest to getting down on all fours and peering through the cracks of our planked floor. Our house sits above a gravel space big enough for little beings to crawl underneath. Because the boards don’t fit together perfectly, the cracks become a patient black hole to any fallen articles that are slim enough to fit through the cracks….and let me tell you we have lost many a things to our hungry underhouse. These floor spaces are also very convenient when we sweep because most of the dust we accumulate gets swept into the cracks before we can sweep it out the door.
Bums in the air and eyes pressed to the floor cracks, these two treasure seekers got more and more excited as they kept spotting things nesstled in the dust below the house. Faster than you can say ‘roasting plantanes’, they were down in our garden and beside our house to the place where they could squeeze through some rocks and crawl under our house. I’ve never been below the house, but with all the horse, cow, chicken poop and dried mud that people bring in stuck to their gumboots and sandals that fall between the cracks, it is not really the first place I would want to be crawling around in.
As they inched their little bodies between the earth and wood, they would scream our names as they discovered a treasure and push it up through the cracks. They found such treasures as colourful tacks, a water tap, a map of the Medellin metro, pens and pen lids.
Their little smiling faces peeked out from below the house, noses running with snot and a smile stretched ear to ear.
majikal tummy pat
Mid day, Aj and i were busy working on some documents, each on our lap tops when we heard a small knock on the door to see a face peer in the cracks of our wooden beams. It was the oldest habitant of the community, a sweet little lady of 83ish years that lives just up the way from us. She has a smile that she is eager to share and a sparkle in her eyes that squint when she shares it (her smile that is). It was a pleasant surprise to see her at our front door as usually we are not blessed to be visited by her, but rather go and see her at her home.
She was wearing a green skirt that hung down to her ankles. Her feet rested in dilapidated blue sandals that had long molded to the shape of her feet. The straps broken and her toes spilling over the side. Those were feet that had seen much pain and suffering, had support her throughout the years that she lived in el campo. She was the loving mother of 12 children, giving birth to all of them yet only a single of them is still alive. Unfortunately he lives in another town, which she always is excited to go and visit him.
She had come to see if we had any lemon grass we could give her as both her and her partner were coming down with colds and wanted to make some herbal tea. We have three incredibly massive bushels of lemon grass so gladly gifted her some for tea and to plant in her yard. She also excitedly eyed our wilding cherry tomato plants and the bright red juicy tomatoes that hung on the dried vines. We offered her a dried totume (like a calabash) to put the fresh deliciousness into and helped her collect them all so she could make a sancocho (boiled collection of ingredients).
Before she left, she looked Aj and I up and down with that sparkle of love in her eye and habitual smile resting on her lips, and commented on how incredible it was that for the two of us not consumers of meat, now we manage to still be so fat (folks here are very open with their thoughts and observations, and shared with much love).
With one had occupied with holding lemongrass and a totume full of tomatoes, with her free hand she proceeded to tap each of our bellies. Not just once or twice, but about a good 5 or 6 times each of a feeling our fleshy stomachs. Aj and I could absolutely not contain our laughter (which made our tummies giggle even more) as she switched back and forth of gleefully tapping our bellies. We were sure that if she had both hands free, each one would be on either tummy feeling loving the giggilyness of us.
After she had had enough of the tummy pat, she gave us another smile, we kissd her on the cheek and she was on her way to prepare her tomatoes and lemongrass tea.
It was the best thing that happened to us that day.
I hope there will be more magical belly tapping.
She was wearing a green skirt that hung down to her ankles. Her feet rested in dilapidated blue sandals that had long molded to the shape of her feet. The straps broken and her toes spilling over the side. Those were feet that had seen much pain and suffering, had support her throughout the years that she lived in el campo. She was the loving mother of 12 children, giving birth to all of them yet only a single of them is still alive. Unfortunately he lives in another town, which she always is excited to go and visit him.She had come to see if we had any lemon grass we could give her as both her and her partner were coming down with colds and wanted to make some herbal tea. We have three incredibly massive bushels of lemon grass so gladly gifted her some for tea and to plant in her yard. She also excitedly eyed our wilding cherry tomato plants and the bright red juicy tomatoes that hung on the dried vines. We offered her a dried totume (like a calabash) to put the fresh deliciousness into and helped her collect them all so she could make a sancocho (boiled collection of ingredients).
Before she left, she looked Aj and I up and down with that sparkle of love in her eye and habitual smile resting on her lips, and commented on how incredible it was that for the two of us not consumers of meat, now we manage to still be so fat (folks here are very open with their thoughts and observations, and shared with much love).
With one had occupied with holding lemongrass and a totume full of tomatoes, with her free hand she proceeded to tap each of our bellies. Not just once or twice, but about a good 5 or 6 times each of a feeling our fleshy stomachs. Aj and I could absolutely not contain our laughter (which made our tummies giggle even more) as she switched back and forth of gleefully tapping our bellies. We were sure that if she had both hands free, each one would be on either tummy feeling loving the giggilyness of us.
After she had had enough of the tummy pat, she gave us another smile, we kissd her on the cheek and she was on her way to prepare her tomatoes and lemongrass tea.
It was the best thing that happened to us that day.
I hope there will be more magical belly tapping.
Ant Invasion
I had decided to clean the house today. It was our house made out of brick, the one that used to be the old medical center for La Union but has since been transformed into the first FOR house. It used to be our only house but when the team grew to 3 people in 2004, there wasn’t enough room for them all. For this reason a wooden house was built across the ‘way’ where the shrunken team of 2 now spend most of our time. The brick house does tempt us to spend time in it because of the kitchen within its walls. It also acts as our guest house, not only for our human guests but we have a few bats that use the house as a hangout. Among them, we have a resident rat that has a superfluous amount of food munching on our fruit or tearing into bags and transporting them to places we get to discover much later. Our rat shares its/our food supply with the countless cockroaches and ants that also find shelter in the old medical center. Bats have also found cracks to squeeze into between the roof and the wall (we can always tell they have been there by the poop that is left behind after their evening dinning). And last but not least are our smelliest of them all……massive toads that we don’t often see but that leave most intoxicating tang of feces and urine puddles.
This was the day that I felt the urge to sweep the cement floor as the bat poop and dried mud quickly dirtied the floor. As I was sweeping with the broom I had made out of a dried Iraka leaves (similar to that of a palm leaves), I apparently agitated the ants that had made a home in our wall. It wasn’t until later in the evening when AJ was about to make some dinner, when she entered the kitchen and felt the unfamiliar tickly of dozens of speedy little six legged b
lack ant friends that were madly crawling over her sandled feet and making their way up her bare legs. She moved quickly got out of their range and directed her attention to the massive invasion of black ants that had completely taken over that part of our kitchen. They streamed in through our 4 windows, tracing paths along the wall to our dishes, onto our counters, weaving their way around or over our vegetables, sink and water tank. They covered the counters and floors making all surfaces seem fluid as mini-high ways were created to get them most effectively carry their eggs to their destination.
This being the first time that we were visited by so many ants, we were a bit of a loss of what to do about them and unsure if this was a usual thing that occurred. We went outside and called over two young chaps and asked them if what they could make of this situation. They confidently marched into the kitchen with their gumboots on, and enthusiastically began using our tutume (like a dried calabash that we use to scoop out water from our water tank) to then make an aquatic kitchen by splashing water all over the walls, counters and floor. The slippery concrete was not quite the surface our guests wanted to be trying to find a place to hid their eggs. So over a while they began to disappear and find shelter in the cracks and crevices of our house and of the outdoors.
We thanked the two chaps that were so kind to help us out. They said that this is not something that is unusual, but that they sometimes go into houses and eat your clothes. We were happy to not have them in our rooms, munching away at our clothes and decided it would be better to wait until morning before trying to cook something.
This was the day that I felt the urge to sweep the cement floor as the bat poop and dried mud quickly dirtied the floor. As I was sweeping with the broom I had made out of a dried Iraka leaves (similar to that of a palm leaves), I apparently agitated the ants that had made a home in our wall. It wasn’t until later in the evening when AJ was about to make some dinner, when she entered the kitchen and felt the unfamiliar tickly of dozens of speedy little six legged b
lack ant friends that were madly crawling over her sandled feet and making their way up her bare legs. She moved quickly got out of their range and directed her attention to the massive invasion of black ants that had completely taken over that part of our kitchen. They streamed in through our 4 windows, tracing paths along the wall to our dishes, onto our counters, weaving their way around or over our vegetables, sink and water tank. They covered the counters and floors making all surfaces seem fluid as mini-high ways were created to get them most effectively carry their eggs to their destination.This being the first time that we were visited by so many ants, we were a bit of a loss of what to do about them and unsure if this was a usual thing that occurred. We went outside and called over two young chaps and asked them if what they could make of this situation. They confidently marched into the kitchen with their gumboots on, and enthusiastically began using our tutume (like a dried calabash that we use to scoop out water from our water tank) to then make an aquatic kitchen by splashing water all over the walls, counters and floor. The slippery concrete was not quite the surface our guests wanted to be trying to find a place to hid their eggs. So over a while they began to disappear and find shelter in the cracks and crevices of our house and of the outdoors.
We thanked the two chaps that were so kind to help us out. They said that this is not something that is unusual, but that they sometimes go into houses and eat your clothes. We were happy to not have them in our rooms, munching away at our clothes and decided it would be better to wait until morning before trying to cook something.
Police Civilan Mixing
We were coming back from a usually exhausting day in Apartado. No matter how much we have to do in town, we always end up spending the entire day in the dusty, uncomfortable and overheated city. The only thing we like about going there, is that we can check our mail box, have access to faster internet, get malaria tests done, buy some groceries and find some cold freshly made juices. There is nothing that we really enjoy about going down on the average of 6 hour journey to go there and back to get groceries but it gives us a bit of a break from being isolated up in the community.
We were sweaty and had just walked the 1.5 km along the road from the displaced community of San Josecito. This displacement occurred in the aftermath of the Feburary 2005 massacre of 8 community members including 3 children and one of the founding members of the PC. The community is convinced that it was the military that execute the massacre so when the government decided they needed to protect the PC and they would do this by putting a Police post in town of San Jose where most of the habitants were Peace Community members. To stay devout to not supporting any armed group, having police with arms posted in their community was against everything they stood for, so they displaced. Every family but a handful collected their life, locked up their houses and walked the 1.5km to the plot of land that Holland had gifted them. There they erected makeshift shacks and dug some trenches for their plumbing. Many families were crammed into these shacks, there was malaria epidemics and the conditions were that of a displacement camp. Despite this, the community was solid in their solidarity and worked laboriously together to create their new community. That was 21 months ago, now everyone has a wooden home that many have decorated with flowers growing out of old cooking oil containers that hang from their front wall, or a small collection of flowers in front of their houses that have managed to evade being eaten by passing horses, pigs and chickens.
San Josecito, also called La Holandita (in thanks to the country that gifted the land to them), is accompanied semi-permanently by Peace Brigades International (PBI), whereas we as FOR stay up in La Union.
We jumped off the chiva (jeep-like vehicle that transport folks to and from San Jose to Apartado) and changed from our sandals into our boots for our hike through San Jose and up to La Union.
The town of San Jose has repopulated itself, but non living there are part of the Peace Community. All the PC members houses still stand empty, boarded up hoping that one day the police post would leave and they can return. It’s a bit ridiculous that there are more police present there than civilians.
We passed by the basketball court in San Jose where at half court, the Police have built a shelter and a few of them come down from their post up on the top of the hill to occupy during the day. As we passed by, we were horrified to see a police officer dressed in his uniform (that looks equal to that of military except the police’s are solid green and that of the military is camouflage). However the police still have a big guns slung over their shoulders. This young police was on the basket ball court playing volleyball with some of the children from San Jose, his weapon hanging loosely over his shoulder as he tossed the ball to the eager children.
Disgusted, we walked on. This was exactly why the PC would not support having armed actors in their community because once one side is present with weapons living amongst civilians. The other armed groups then accuse the civilians of supporting the group that they are living by the other groups that they are helping one side, making them targets
As we were passing the creek at the beginning of the windy path up to La Union, we passed some soldiers that were busy brushing their teeth and bathing in the creek. Once the police post was put into San Jose, the military took full advantage of having some more ground and use just outside of San Jose as a base before going up into the mountains.
The rest of our hike was vacant of armed actors, however we were accompanied by the voices of the cicadas and the grasshoppers.
We were sweaty and had just walked the 1.5 km along the road from the displaced community of San Josecito. This displacement occurred in the aftermath of the Feburary 2005 massacre of 8 community members including 3 children and one of the founding members of the PC. The community is convinced that it was the military that execute the massacre so when the government decided they needed to protect the PC and they would do this by putting a Police post in town of San Jose where most of the habitants were Peace Community members. To stay devout to not supporting any armed group, having police with arms posted in their community was against everything they stood for, so they displaced. Every family but a handful collected their life, locked up their houses and walked the 1.5km to the plot of land that Holland had gifted them. There they erected makeshift shacks and dug some trenches for their plumbing. Many families were crammed into these shacks, there was malaria epidemics and the conditions were that of a displacement camp. Despite this, the community was solid in their solidarity and worked laboriously together to create their new community. That was 21 months ago, now everyone has a wooden home that many have decorated with flowers growing out of old cooking oil containers that hang from their front wall, or a small collection of flowers in front of their houses that have managed to evade being eaten by passing horses, pigs and chickens.
San Josecito, also called La Holandita (in thanks to the country that gifted the land to them), is accompanied semi-permanently by Peace Brigades International (PBI), whereas we as FOR stay up in La Union.
We jumped off the chiva (jeep-like vehicle that transport folks to and from San Jose to Apartado) and changed from our sandals into our boots for our hike through San Jose and up to La Union.
The town of San Jose has repopulated itself, but non living there are part of the Peace Community. All the PC members houses still stand empty, boarded up hoping that one day the police post would leave and they can return. It’s a bit ridiculous that there are more police present there than civilians.
We passed by the basketball court in San Jose where at half court, the Police have built a shelter and a few of them come down from their post up on the top of the hill to occupy during the day. As we passed by, we were horrified to see a police officer dressed in his uniform (that looks equal to that of military except the police’s are solid green and that of the military is camouflage). However the police still have a big guns slung over their shoulders. This young police was on the basket ball court playing volleyball with some of the children from San Jose, his weapon hanging loosely over his shoulder as he tossed the ball to the eager children.
Disgusted, we walked on. This was exactly why the PC would not support having armed actors in their community because once one side is present with weapons living amongst civilians. The other armed groups then accuse the civilians of supporting the group that they are living by the other groups that they are helping one side, making them targets
As we were passing the creek at the beginning of the windy path up to La Union, we passed some soldiers that were busy brushing their teeth and bathing in the creek. Once the police post was put into San Jose, the military took full advantage of having some more ground and use just outside of San Jose as a base before going up into the mountains.
The rest of our hike was vacant of armed actors, however we were accompanied by the voices of the cicadas and the grasshoppers.
Christs Celebrated day of brith in La Union
Amanda and I were asked to stay in La Union for 2 weeks during the holidays because the community was feeling particularly scared as the usual string to threats that they receive, had in the past weeks dwindled down to being nonexistent. Interesting how in a conflict zone when things are calm, it is a time of great preoccupation as a quiet yet awake angry dog is always more worrisome than a barking dog. So the level of tension within PC members was being pulled tighter, even the police were concerned about the National level of quiet from all the armed groups. We crossed our fingers that it would continue quiet with no unfortunate events.
Being away from home without the traditional gathering of family and friends, the usual snow-playing events (that apparently was not present for many parts of North America), the strength of the heat as we lay in our hammocks with sweat forming on our faces…it was just different and during the time of the holidays, feelings-positive or negative- always seem to be magnified in a crazy way. So here we were, feeling particularly…well the only word that seems to capture our sentiments is ‘BLICK’. This was soon interrupted by the blasting of the Vallenato music (the local type of music that is a mixture of ranchero and mariachi accompanied by an accordian) that was emanating from the usually empty brick building that stood across the ‘way’ (‘way’ because it’s not a street but more than a path) from our house. The local DJ was busy hooking up the music system and ensuring that the sound quality was just perfect. To do this, apparently it was necessary for him to begin blasting a rotation of the same 20 songs a 10:00. Even if one chose not to be showered with this music, it was inevitable because it reverberated throughout the small community.
Friends and family of many of the PC had arrived in the past few days to spend some time away from their lives in the cities to be in el campo with their family. It was wonderful to see new faces and meet the children and grandchildren of those we hear the community so often talk about. There was much sharing of food and visiting.
During festivities, depending on the grandeur of the celebration, an animal is killed and a sancocho (a stew of sorts composed of boiled meat and yucca and plantanes) is created. Today the community had killed a pig and in a house in the school yard a group of womyn were busy all day preparing the meat. A cloud of potent smoke rose from the roasting meat over the open fire, the stench of slaughtered pig was heavy in the air, sickening, torturing our noses with its death…the smoke laughing at the shades of colour our faces were turning.
This thick smoke settled over us and we bathed in the smell of cooking flesh, vallenato music and ‘blickness’.
As the evening approached, the community kids flocked to the Nun’s (who accompanied the La Union for years, but left 2 years ago) house where they had been gathering for a week every evening. Two of the youth back for the holidays had built a ‘Peservre’ and the little people of the La Union would sing songs and listen to prayers. Tonight was the last night, and we watched just a smidgen of it before being invited to enjoy some beans, yucca and rice at one of the Leaders house. They seemed to be feeding half the community, folks coming in, sitting down at the table in front of the little plastic Christmas tree and TV (showing the evening News), would eat and leave in less than 10 minutes before the next wave of people awaiting at the door flowed in to fill their bellies.
Folks prepared themselves for the dance by either put on their washed dancing boots (gumboots) or those that preferred to enjoy watching others dance found a convenient place to observe the dancers through the bared windows or on chairs. AJ and I put on our brow shirts and Santa hats and headed across the ‘way’ to the bubbling dance. The small room was filled with couples dancing and others sitting on plastic lawn chairs. The smell of copious amounts of cologne, perfume and sweat also swirled around the dancers.
Aj was immediately pulled onto the dance floor by a young non-traditionalist dancer. They bounced and jumped all around the other dancers as those sitting in chairs watching smiled and laughed at the enthusiastic pair. I was asked to dance the traditional way, pressed to my partner, his sweat mixing with mine as our shirts soaked up each others sweat. My hands on his shoulders, his on my lower back as I looked down at my little dance partner, my knees in very precarious position as I try my best to not lift it too high and put him in more pain than a dance should be. We hardly moved as he naturally giggled his hips in a way that I did not think
humanly possible and turned me in a shuffle to the left and to the right. I awkwardly and ineffectively trying to copy the hip giggle and not step on his boots, it was great. We shuffled in little circles, never making eye contact as we shared this sexual hip-dance. Despite the intimacy bodies shared on the dance floor, as soon as the song finished, couples promptly separate without looking at each other nor muttering a word and tried to squish through the one door. It is quite amusing to watch them dance and I couldn’t help but smile. Even though their bodies are engaged in a very intimate activity, the looks upon their faces appear that they could be washing the floor with a toothbrush and still show the same amount of emotion. AJ and I were apparently the only ones that thought it was hilarious that they would play the same song three times in a row.
After a while, sweat was pouring off of everyone and I had had enough of trying to manouver my hips in a way that is foreign to them so AJ and I retreated to our house. We lay in our hammocks and popped in the end of The Davici Code and the beginning of Monty Python’s ‘The Holy Grail’ as we hid under sheets from the mosquitos and tried to hear the movies over the blaring music. The music continued to 08:00 the next morning, with a few endurance dancers going strong.
!Merry Merry Day!
Being away from home without the traditional gathering of family and friends, the usual snow-playing events (that apparently was not present for many parts of North America), the strength of the heat as we lay in our hammocks with sweat forming on our faces…it was just different and during the time of the holidays, feelings-positive or negative- always seem to be magnified in a crazy way. So here we were, feeling particularly…well the only word that seems to capture our sentiments is ‘BLICK’. This was soon interrupted by the blasting of the Vallenato music (the local type of music that is a mixture of ranchero and mariachi accompanied by an accordian) that was emanating from the usually empty brick building that stood across the ‘way’ (‘way’ because it’s not a street but more than a path) from our house. The local DJ was busy hooking up the music system and ensuring that the sound quality was just perfect. To do this, apparently it was necessary for him to begin blasting a rotation of the same 20 songs a 10:00. Even if one chose not to be showered with this music, it was inevitable because it reverberated throughout the small community.
Friends and family of many of the PC had arrived in the past few days to spend some time away from their lives in the cities to be in el campo with their family. It was wonderful to see new faces and meet the children and grandchildren of those we hear the community so often talk about. There was much sharing of food and visiting.
During festivities, depending on the grandeur of the celebration, an animal is killed and a sancocho (a stew of sorts composed of boiled meat and yucca and plantanes) is created. Today the community had killed a pig and in a house in the school yard a group of womyn were busy all day preparing the meat. A cloud of potent smoke rose from the roasting meat over the open fire, the stench of slaughtered pig was heavy in the air, sickening, torturing our noses with its death…the smoke laughing at the shades of colour our faces were turning.
This thick smoke settled over us and we bathed in the smell of cooking flesh, vallenato music and ‘blickness’.
As the evening approached, the community kids flocked to the Nun’s (who accompanied the La Union for years, but left 2 years ago) house where they had been gathering for a week every evening. Two of the youth back for the holidays had built a ‘Peservre’ and the little people of the La Union would sing songs and listen to prayers. Tonight was the last night, and we watched just a smidgen of it before being invited to enjoy some beans, yucca and rice at one of the Leaders house. They seemed to be feeding half the community, folks coming in, sitting down at the table in front of the little plastic Christmas tree and TV (showing the evening News), would eat and leave in less than 10 minutes before the next wave of people awaiting at the door flowed in to fill their bellies.Folks prepared themselves for the dance by either put on their washed dancing boots (gumboots) or those that preferred to enjoy watching others dance found a convenient place to observe the dancers through the bared windows or on chairs. AJ and I put on our brow shirts and Santa hats and headed across the ‘way’ to the bubbling dance. The small room was filled with couples dancing and others sitting on plastic lawn chairs. The smell of copious amounts of cologne, perfume and sweat also swirled around the dancers.
Aj was immediately pulled onto the dance floor by a young non-traditionalist dancer. They bounced and jumped all around the other dancers as those sitting in chairs watching smiled and laughed at the enthusiastic pair. I was asked to dance the traditional way, pressed to my partner, his sweat mixing with mine as our shirts soaked up each others sweat. My hands on his shoulders, his on my lower back as I looked down at my little dance partner, my knees in very precarious position as I try my best to not lift it too high and put him in more pain than a dance should be. We hardly moved as he naturally giggled his hips in a way that I did not think
humanly possible and turned me in a shuffle to the left and to the right. I awkwardly and ineffectively trying to copy the hip giggle and not step on his boots, it was great. We shuffled in little circles, never making eye contact as we shared this sexual hip-dance. Despite the intimacy bodies shared on the dance floor, as soon as the song finished, couples promptly separate without looking at each other nor muttering a word and tried to squish through the one door. It is quite amusing to watch them dance and I couldn’t help but smile. Even though their bodies are engaged in a very intimate activity, the looks upon their faces appear that they could be washing the floor with a toothbrush and still show the same amount of emotion. AJ and I were apparently the only ones that thought it was hilarious that they would play the same song three times in a row.After a while, sweat was pouring off of everyone and I had had enough of trying to manouver my hips in a way that is foreign to them so AJ and I retreated to our house. We lay in our hammocks and popped in the end of The Davici Code and the beginning of Monty Python’s ‘The Holy Grail’ as we hid under sheets from the mosquitos and tried to hear the movies over the blaring music. The music continued to 08:00 the next morning, with a few endurance dancers going strong.
!Merry Merry Day!
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