La gordita

I immediately had a flashback to my host family in the Dominican Republic. I was often the only person in the family who would be forced to sit down to three complete meals a day -- gluttonous meals . When no one else was eating -- you could be sure to find Megan at the kitchen table. My host mom's goal was to make me fatter before I returned to the United States. She was pretty blatent about here objective with the portion of food that I was served, not wanting to be rude I would eat the two sandwiches on Wonder bread with ham (one of my all time favorites), 32 oz. chocolate milk (which I truly enjoyed) and a mammoth size fruit salad too. When neighbors stopped by and inquired how her new "daughter" was doing, she would say something along the lines of she will be "una gordita" (a fatty) when I am done with her. Let's me just say she succeeded at the very least. I came back to the US 20 pounds heavier after only living with "mi mama" for less than two months.

After being in the house of Jota's grandparents for less than five minutes, I had been served a massive plate of traditional food of Barranquilla, Colombia. Furthermore, there were numerous side dishes to complement my main course --(fried yucca, platanos, salad, soup, fresh juice and coca-cola). The quantity of food sitting on the table implied that Jota's grandparents had the same idea -- except their time table was limited to 48 hours. I glanced around the room and realized that all eyes were on me.

Perfect...right?

Then it hits me. If I mess this meeting up I will forever taint the image of my best friend and the United States. I realize that the gaze has not shifted away from me. I pick up my fork and pray to the gods that I will like the food on my plate. Props to the chef -- I didn't have to pretend to love the food. Right away I assured Jota's grandparents, his great aunt, his Mom and cousin that the food was outstanding. Which quickly put everyone at ease and saved me from being chopped liver. After trying to put a decent dent in all of the foods on the table I realized that the next couple days were going to be filled with eating, trying to understand Jota's grandfather and practicing my Spanish.

It was a successful couple of days. I got to see where my best friend's boyfriend had grown up. I also went to the ice cream parlor that Gabriel Garcia Marquez wrote about in Love In the Time of Cholera and had the traditional ice cream of Barranquilla. Furthermore, Jota's grandfather was the the biggest hoot. He would go off on tangents about US politics and what my opinions were; however, I would only catch about half the conversation before I was completely lost with his train of thought. Then he would proceed to say how I didn't understand a lick of Spanish, which I found to be rather entertaining. I am starting to comprehend some parts of the language. I think a lot of people still think I am completely lost like a few weeks ago, but not as often (I don't want people to know that I know what they are saying). Because let me tell you it's the best way to find out people's deepest and darkest secrets. Just learn another language.

Peace and Love,

Megan

PS -- When I got back to Cartagena, Lani informed me that she was the first girlfriend that Jota's family liked. Thankfully, she didn't tell me that before I left. Lani and Jota are doing well. And la familia de Consuegra was thoroughly entertained for those 48 hours.