Happy Families

In order to provide some context to the drivel I write here, I feel it’s high time to concentrate a little on the people, instead of focusing so acutely on the events and the places. Not only have I managed to land myself a year in a country full of some of the most fantastic people I’ve ever had the good fortune to find myself amongst, but I have managed to slot myself into the family life of one of the most genuine and kind-hearted families I could ever hope to spend time with. I don’t actually live with the family; my little ‘casita’ is a self-contained annexe, but I tend to eat a majority of my meals with them, and can wonder into the warmth of the family bosom as and when I like, be it for food or company. It’s not all sweetness and pie though: oh no...this family have a filthy sense of humour and dirty great sets of lungs. In short, they’re perfect.

Doña Callie reminds me comfortably of my maternal grandma: hard as nails, a large repertoire of insults which she oh-so-often hurls at her children, but a beautifully soft side which makes me feel so protected. She always seems vaguely insulted if ever I turn down her food, which thankfully is always delicious, so refusal is a rare occurrence. She more than fits the bill of a mother figure to me, making sure I toe the line.
Her three children, Mabel, Teresa and Enrique are my Mexican siblings. The three of them are as different as myself and my own brother, but they all share a common generosity. Mabel, P.E teacher by profession, scientist and researcher by hobby, lives in the house with her mischievously adorable 5-year old son Eliot. She’s got a much more serious side to her, she was more of a tough cookie to crack, but once she gets started on something she’s passionate about, you just can’t shut her up (not that I would ever want to).
Enrique is now the man of the family. He inherited his dad’s job at PeMex (Petroleo Mexicano), and when he’s not working he’s to be found with the lads, drinking beer, driving around and setting up parties at his palapa.
Teresa, the youngest sibling, is the entrepreneurial offspring with an uncontrollable laugh and as shrill a voice as ever I’ve heard. She and Callie have taught me all manner of Mexican innuendos and slang phrases, phrases that would normally make your mother blush. Not here. The family is completed by Elias, Callie’s grandson who she adopted at birth due to tragic unforeseen events, and Ruth, Elias’ older sister, who is currently doing an English degree, and whose 5 year old son, Caleb, is an untameable monster.

That is my Mexican family. The only members I have neglected to mention are the dogs. I haven’t mentioned them because every time I talk about them I start to get angry, and I remember all the times that they have kept me up in the early hours with their incessant barking at the stray dogs on heat outside who loiter outside the house. But I feel that if I carry out my threat to kill one of them and make dog steak I wouldn’t be such a welcome new addition to the family any more.