A mother´s day like no other

Mother’s Day is the same day in Honduras as in the States, but down here it is more widely celebrated. The high school puts on skits. The dancing troupes perform. Mothers are serenaded beginning at 3AM (in which I participated, foolishly). Alternatively, those who no longer have a mother get plastered at the local cantina. Such was the case this Mother’s Day, when I met a Honduran friend’s dad.

This was no ordinary dad—by the time he came home he was a raging bolo. He came stumbling in to the delight of his multiple children, sat down and began leering at me and engaging in slurred conversation, ecstatic that a gringa had come to visit. He entertained my harsh questioning (Me: “Have you heard of AA?” Bolo: “Of course, I go every week!”) and then invited me to a hotel in front of his wife, who was laughing merrily along with the rest of the family. Hmm.

Bolos are much more accepted here as a part of the community at large, and indeed are present at the majority of functions (don’t even get me started on the bolo at Palm Sunday mass). So when a bolo with his wife and five kids in the room asks me for sex and money, what is a bewildered gringa to do? I tell you what to do—HIDE. So I hid. I told him I was leaving, ran to the back of the house, and kept running around while the bolo clumsily chased me. It wasn’t long before he got tired and fell asleep in the kitchen, whereby I casually made my departure with my friend and host sister.

“Come back soon!” said the bolo’s wife.

Will do!