Another week, another day of tryin´ to speak. That´s the thing about Spanish, there just aren´t as many ways to be creative or witty . Or I just haven´t learned the magical formula yet. Like how I want to say "I was wondering," or "I challange you to read so and so chapter of the Book of Mormon." There isn´t really a word for wish or for challange, at least, not a challange as in, a duel. How has the Latin community survived without these words for centuries? That is the real reason I´m here now, to figure out the answer to that question.
So no one has to suffer in suspense of what the title of this blog means, the rough translation is that there are thugs in the street. I know this because every time I say goodbye to someone, they say "cuídese," which means, be careful. And I have to be careful because of the thugs in the street, or the ones that everyone is convinced are out there. I feel like I haven´t seen a whole lot of tigers, but I´ve seen a whole lot of tools. Like the ones who blow kisses or, as was discussed in a previous blog entry, ask if us Americanas can be their visas. And most of them are "sin verguenza" or without shame. One guy totally stopped in our path so he could get a good view of us in our knee length skirts and button up blouses. You´d get more of a rush looking at some of the billboards around here. But the only part that made this worthy of mentioning is the firm tounge lashing he received from my companion for having a "mala educación" or bad manners. He just claimed it was a compliment and that he likes attractive things as he gave me the biggest, creepiest smile ever. It´s pretty absurd. But I have to say, maybe I´ll just stay here after my mission. It´s good for my self esteem.
The other part of the title refers to the chickens that are always pecking around in the trash and cawing whenever the urge strikes them (not just in the morning, it turns out). I´ll have to send some pictures of them, because the are really just too funny and I can´t get over how many of them there are. I think I was a little afraid of them at first, but they´re really pretty harmless. I mean, we eat them, for crying out loud. I did see a dog and a chicken start to get into a fight, and I was really curious which would win. It turns out they were more interested in finding scraps of food than entertaining me, but it does raise a good question of who is mightier: the chicken or the dog? Any thoughts?
But speaking of runaway food, or that is, food that can move, I get the priviledge of buying my produce from a talking truck. Everyday, a really shady looking truck comes down our street and a man with a bull horn announes that he has aguacate, platanos, tomates, eggs, and all sorts of goodies. And yes, we buy them. I really thought I was going to die from some sort of disease the first time I ate a truck egg, but it turns out that they´re a lot fresher than the ones in the store (well, sometimes). And it feels good to help the hardworking people out, the real salts of the earth, because believe it or not, a type of WalMart has made it´s way here, (I was told Wal Mart owns the chain) and it´s called La Sirena. Wal Mart just won´t be happy tell it has every country in it´s power.
Well, I have more to say, but no time to say it. Next time, I will regale you with more tales in the life of an Hermana. Cuz I´m always giving the people what they want. Till then...