Race Relations

A funny event a few evenings ago in a hacienda of a small town...

I arrived just as the extended family was finishing their evening supper. The grandmother of the house was clearing the table and everyone was lingering in the twilight. I went to the kitchen sink to wash my hands before eating my plate of beans and tortillas when the grandmother noticed how dirty my tee shirt was - carrying half the desert off on my clothing. I admit, my shirt was nearly too dirty to even wear, but what else does one do?

It was too much for her to fathom, and by the looks of the kitchen, she's the perpetual cleaner type. There at the kitchen sink, in front of the tableful of family, she started screeching at the condition of my shirt and pulled it right off over my head, proceeding to scrub it on a washboard with what looked like a wire brush and plenty of boiling water from the kettle on the woodburning stove. In the meantime, before I had a chance to react to the imposed modesty of standing in my sports bra in front of a mixed group of strangers, the smallest of the group climbed over each other with words like 'she is a white person', 'like the white of an egg' and 'with chili flakes' (pointing at some freckles). The adolescent boys giggled uncomposed and the older men laughed heartily at the grandmother's unstoppable audacity. By the time one of the men stepped out and snapped a flannel shirt off the line under the veranda, everyone was laughing, even the grandmother at her own behavior. It was a good learning experience for the little kids, and frankly I doubt any of the adults had seen the white flanks of a gringa before, and I came away with a very clean, slightly lardy smelling, tee shirt. Pointellistically freckled arms and face, white as egg whites everywhere else.