I guess I am progressing in the Spanish language because my gardener Juan chewed me out on Monday and I understood every word. He was upset because I did not tell him that I had injured myself recently, even though he had worked two days after the accident and I'd tossed him a wave from the window sans a word about it. His wife Lola saw my stitches on Saturday while she was cleaning the house and she asked about it, so I told her. She informed Juan about it on Sunday while they were having a family dinner with brothers and cousins.
A longtime gringo said the chewing-out was because, in Juan's cluelessness, he was embarrassed in front of his wife and family. While we pay Juan and his wife to take care of our garden and house, in their culture, they believe they are taking care of me, too. So, I should report all large occurrences in my life to Juan so that he can be of greater assistance, because that is what makes him tick - being helpful to the Senora. He is very happy to do extra tasks around here.
I pay Juan a little more for extra tasks. The gringo says not to pay him too much, if anything, when he does extra things because it might insult him. By paying too much, I am implying, "you aren't part of my household; you're just a worker," and that builds resentment.
I struggle with the whole Senora-gardener relationship. In my childhood home, my father taught me that everyone on earth is equal and I accepted that fact in its simplest form. I had no trouble being a boss in my former occupation - but someone who is part of my household or community? Equal. My brain says, "You have things; they need the same." Or, "If he were a plumber, he'd earn around $100 pesos for doing that, and he can use the money because he has five kids." That is not done down here and I have heard enough compelling arguments that I just feeling cheap by paying a pittance.
What I have accepted is that everyone on earth is of equal value and, therefore, should have equal access to opportunities. Now, that is something worth fighting for. Our cultures are not equal, though, and in Juan's, he's accepted a role that he deeply embedded in his psyche - the Patron Culture. (Read a book on Mexican history after Cortez if you are interested.)
Juan likes his role - he is one of the most peaceful guys I know. He whistles while he gardens and loves talking to me about the plants. He is humorous, kind, and the tender way he treats his children brings tears to my eyes. He and Lola have a loving relationship, too. I often hear them giggling out in the bodega at the end of their day; Lola says it is the only time they have alone.
They seem to have a good life without much money. There is enough to dress their kids up for school, church and all the celebrations, a high value activity down here. They live with Lola's father free while they provide him elder care, and for that, they will inherit the house and lot one day. It is painted in sunset orange, has three rooms (rooms, not bedrooms), a kitchen under an awning out back and peach trees in pots on the side. It sits on the hillside of Chapala just six blocks down from the impoverished area. They have enough food and Lola is a good cook so they often share dinner with the neighbors on their front step. They're trying to find a way that their oldest son can afford preparatory school in two years as he's very bright and should go on to higher education. I am sure the Senora will see to that.
Today, he is in a better mood. He has perched 16 feet up on a ladder, clipping the bougainvillea on the high wall, which I asked him to do whenever he had the time. I learned from the gringo that if you do not clip it, it would not make much color. Last fall, Juan asked me whether I wanted it clipped back, but I said no, that I liked it bushy and natural. He did not say, "I told you so" today, but I could see it in his eyes.
