Don Santiago is a seventy-five-ish year-old man who owns no property but is a caretaker for a property down the road from us. The owner is supposed to pay him for his work but hasn’t in a decade. His stick-walled house and thatch roof washed away several times when the rains flooded the river. This last year a local missionary church built him a rough-sawn wood house with a tin roof. He cooks over a wood fire and uses kerosene to light his house by soaking a rag and putting it through a tin “candle holder.” It gets a little bit smokey inside.
We sell kerosene from Campus to help those who use it to start the fire in their wood stoves, for the “candelas,” and to wipe the surfaces where the biting ants invade. We charge L.15 (about 65 cents) for 3/4 of a liter.
As a farmer, Santiago has very little cash income. So he trades us “bastimento,” the “filler food,” for his kerosene. He mostly brings us roots like ñame, which is like a big slimy potato. It is delicious thinly-sliced and fried. He is generous with what he brings so we almost always end up giving him a second bottle of kerosene.
He is also generous with his little ripe bananas that he grows. Most of the older people in our community grew up eating boiled green bananas or green bananas sliced and fried. Many don’t have a taste, as it were, for ripe bananas. A good stalk of bananas will have sixty to one hundred bananas on it. Since Don Santiago lives alone, that’s a lot to eat by himself.
About every two weeks he will stop by Campus with a small plastic bag and tell me, with the enthusiastic growl that is his norm, “I brought bananas for Lenchito!”
“Lenchito” is a name for a child named “Lorenzo.” And since we call our son “Isaiah” instead of its Spanish equivalent, many people just call Isaiah “Larry Junior” or “Lenchito.”
The great part about Santiago bringing Isaiah bananas is that this kid is crazy about bananas. When we have a stalk of bananas he barely eats any other food. And for those of you who cringe at this, the bananas here have so much more flavor than what you get in the US. They are essentially like candy. And when you freeze them it is like ice cream. They are a wonderful treat.
I digress.
Isaiah loves bananas and Santiago brings bananas. To follow the syllogism, the two-year-old loves Santiago.
Isaiah is a pretty friendly little boy in general, but the skinny man with only two shirts and the same hat who brings your favorite food is pretty easy to remember. Often, Isaiah will look Santiago right in the eye and at least smile or say thank you when prompted.
That may not sound like much, but Santiago is not well-respected in our community. He can’t read or write, doesn’t own property, his wife and daughter left him, so people don’t pay a lot of attention to him. He has seemingly nothing to offer to others.
Except bananas.
Eva is eight-years-old now, but I remember a time when I would order her inside when Santiago came to our gate. He drank a lot and had not honored his role with several women in his life. I didn’t want Eva to see him or to be seen by him.
But a few years ago, Santiago met Jesus. He stopped drinking and smoking, began attending church, and best of all, there is now a light in his black eyes that are filled with joy and gentleness. The other day I was talking with him and he told me, “isn’t being a Christian great? Ha. There is nothing better than loving Jesus! What else is there?” It brought tears to my eyes as I looked at the man for whom I once had healthy fear who is now such a special brother for our family.
So now when he comes to our gate, all the kids greet him and smile. He brings us bananas and bastimento, and we give him kerosene and acceptance.
We invited him to dinner when we were having rabbit soup, since Larry had taken him down to see our rabbit raising operation. The first thing I noticed when he came is that he had bathed. I’m not sure I have ever seen him that clean before. He also took off his hat when he entered the kitchen, which I’m not sure he even does at church.
We had good conversation at dinner, and the man who lives alone loved the chaos of eleven kids running around after a good meal. (We had a few visitors.)
When Santiago got up to leave, I picked up Isaiah. I walked toward the door while chatting with Santiago. Suddenly, and without prompting, Isaiah waved and said, “Adios, Don Santiago!” I looked surprised and told Santiago, “He doesn’t usually do that!”
Santiago shrugged it off. “Of course he did. I always bring him bananas.” He shook Isaiah’s smooth chubby hand with his long-fingered hard-labored hand and said goodbye. Isaiah looked back at me with the same shining eyes Santiago had when he told me how great it is to love Jesus. Because at that moment, we all knew its truth.
We sell kerosene from Campus to help those who use it to start the fire in their wood stoves, for the “candelas,” and to wipe the surfaces where the biting ants invade. We charge L.15 (about 65 cents) for 3/4 of a liter.
As a farmer, Santiago has very little cash income. So he trades us “bastimento,” the “filler food,” for his kerosene. He mostly brings us roots like ñame, which is like a big slimy potato. It is delicious thinly-sliced and fried. He is generous with what he brings so we almost always end up giving him a second bottle of kerosene.
He is also generous with his little ripe bananas that he grows. Most of the older people in our community grew up eating boiled green bananas or green bananas sliced and fried. Many don’t have a taste, as it were, for ripe bananas. A good stalk of bananas will have sixty to one hundred bananas on it. Since Don Santiago lives alone, that’s a lot to eat by himself.
About every two weeks he will stop by Campus with a small plastic bag and tell me, with the enthusiastic growl that is his norm, “I brought bananas for Lenchito!”
“Lenchito” is a name for a child named “Lorenzo.” And since we call our son “Isaiah” instead of its Spanish equivalent, many people just call Isaiah “Larry Junior” or “Lenchito.”
The great part about Santiago bringing Isaiah bananas is that this kid is crazy about bananas. When we have a stalk of bananas he barely eats any other food. And for those of you who cringe at this, the bananas here have so much more flavor than what you get in the US. They are essentially like candy. And when you freeze them it is like ice cream. They are a wonderful treat.
I digress.
Isaiah loves bananas and Santiago brings bananas. To follow the syllogism, the two-year-old loves Santiago.
Isaiah is a pretty friendly little boy in general, but the skinny man with only two shirts and the same hat who brings your favorite food is pretty easy to remember. Often, Isaiah will look Santiago right in the eye and at least smile or say thank you when prompted.
That may not sound like much, but Santiago is not well-respected in our community. He can’t read or write, doesn’t own property, his wife and daughter left him, so people don’t pay a lot of attention to him. He has seemingly nothing to offer to others.
Except bananas.
Eva is eight-years-old now, but I remember a time when I would order her inside when Santiago came to our gate. He drank a lot and had not honored his role with several women in his life. I didn’t want Eva to see him or to be seen by him.
But a few years ago, Santiago met Jesus. He stopped drinking and smoking, began attending church, and best of all, there is now a light in his black eyes that are filled with joy and gentleness. The other day I was talking with him and he told me, “isn’t being a Christian great? Ha. There is nothing better than loving Jesus! What else is there?” It brought tears to my eyes as I looked at the man for whom I once had healthy fear who is now such a special brother for our family.
So now when he comes to our gate, all the kids greet him and smile. He brings us bananas and bastimento, and we give him kerosene and acceptance.
We invited him to dinner when we were having rabbit soup, since Larry had taken him down to see our rabbit raising operation. The first thing I noticed when he came is that he had bathed. I’m not sure I have ever seen him that clean before. He also took off his hat when he entered the kitchen, which I’m not sure he even does at church.
We had good conversation at dinner, and the man who lives alone loved the chaos of eleven kids running around after a good meal. (We had a few visitors.)
When Santiago got up to leave, I picked up Isaiah. I walked toward the door while chatting with Santiago. Suddenly, and without prompting, Isaiah waved and said, “Adios, Don Santiago!” I looked surprised and told Santiago, “He doesn’t usually do that!”
Santiago shrugged it off. “Of course he did. I always bring him bananas.” He shook Isaiah’s smooth chubby hand with his long-fingered hard-labored hand and said goodbye. Isaiah looked back at me with the same shining eyes Santiago had when he told me how great it is to love Jesus. Because at that moment, we all knew its truth.