In San Juan Cosala, good neighbors good friends make
If you've never lived in San Juan Cosala, in the exciting state of Jalisco, in big, beautiful Mexico, you may have missed Guadalupe and Maria Guzman.
Their home is deep in the village, on Avenue Morelos, a couple of blocks off the carretera and a long block and a half from where Lake Chapala meets the sand.
Their children are in California and sometimes the Guzmans go for extended visits but mostly they are pillars in this bustling Mexican community midway between Ajijic and Jocotepec.
Sometimes Maria transforms her courtyard into a bazaar and sells hand-me-down clothes for half what they're worth. Sometimes Guadalupe runs errands for others in his pickup truck or hurries down the cobblestone street with his tools to repair a stubborn lock or a sagging door.
The Guzmans are good neighbors.
Way back in the winter of 1998-99, Guadalupe came up with the brilliant idea of integrating a couple of aging Americans into village life. He wanted to know if the retired journalist and his bride would consider exchanging a few words of English for Spanish.
Considering the blanket of hospitality that had kept us warm, and how little we had retained of an aborted Spanish class in school, of course we'd participate in language lessons. When do we begin? Tonight, at the Guzman casa. Refreshments will be served.
It was a short walk from our house to their house. What we found in that living room were nine young people, from mid-teens to early 20s, bright-eyed and freshly scrubbed, ready, even eager, to learn more English -- with the hope of getting better jobs. Only later did we discover that Guadalupe had been schooling them for weeks and had concluded that, with his limitations, he had taken them as far as he could. So, he had recruited a replacement.
Sarah, life-long advocate of public education, part-time teacher in Tennessee and a loving and patient (but firm) grandmother, was the unanimous choice for chairman of this project. So, what shall we use as textbooks? Guadalupe suddenly had 12 copies of a children's book, imported from California. This is a barn. It is red. See Richard run to the red barn.
Sarah and even her plodding husband learned that granero is barn and rojo is red. Everybody cheered.
That first lesson could have been a birthday party. There was a lot of laughter and finger-pointing and back-slapping and a jolly good time was had by all. Cake and fruit punch (made with purified water) were also good.
Sarah smiled when one of the students asked about next week and the next lesson. She was surprised when Guadalupe suggested a restaurant menu. She was more surprised when he explained that becoming a waiter or waitress in Ajijic would be several steps up the economic ladder for many in San Juan Cosala. Even tiny tips make an impact.
We went the next day to Ajijic, to the square and Tepalo's, our favorite stop for roasted chicken, leg and thigh or split-breast and wing, with rice and slaw, for 18 pesos. OK, so it has gone up to 27. The years do take their toll.
One of the restaurant guys, Roy or Chris or maybe Jonathan, gave us a mimeographed menu to go, English on one side, Spanish on the other, a perfect teaching tool. Sarah took it around the corner to make a dozen copies. Let there be school!
This menu became lessons 2 and 3: What would you like to drink? The soup is beef and barley. Yes, we have ranch dressing for your salad.
Some were shy about play-acting. Writing orders correctly was an adventure. Guadalupe pretended to be a crazy Canadian who couldn't make up his mind. Maybe he'd have pork burritos. No, make it beef. And three instead of two. And I wanted coffee instead of this Pepsi Light. What's more, the check is too much. I owe 12 pesos. OK, so it is 13. Guadalupe was a delightful assistant coach. Maria covered her face to keep from laughing out loud.
The language exchange eventually shifted to the West casa but continued all winter. The students took turns providing after-class treats. One couple married. One young man got a job in Guadalajara. Guys and girls who remained in the village waved enthusiastically if they saw Sarah's blanco VW dodging potholes and hopping along bumpy streets.
There is joy in adopting an entire neighborhood of almost-grown grandchildren. You get only the good reports. If there is bad news, somebody else deals with it. You are spared.
In time, we moved away, on down the lake toward Jocotepec, for a better view of water and mountain. We don't see the young people much any more but we're still in touch with the Guzmans. Good neighbors make such good friends.
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