Ho, ho, ho

Once again it is Christmas time in Olanchito and, just like last year, I’m still here. Just like in the States, for most of the past month people have been going to work but haven’t really been working, instead passing their time in the office gossiping and dropping hints about what they want from their Secret Santa. Of course the Christmas bonus is discussed, as is the number of times you were almost assaulted in broad daylight by petty thieves trying to steal it from you as you walked home from the bank. The number of 100-lb bags of flour your aunt bought to make holiday cakes to sell to all of her friends, and the quantity and types of livestock to be brought into town from your cousin’s farm to be slaughtered for the holiday dinner also pass as Christmastime office talk.

And holiday cheer is surely in effect on the streets of Olanchito. “Feliz Navidad” has been playing on the radio since, well, late October. Christmas lights are up in the central park and on the houses around town. Cattle destined for dinner struggle hog-tied in the backs of pickups on the highway into town, their resigned tails drooping over tailgates.

Remembering how fun it was to spend last Christmas with Sandra’s family, and knowing that I will see my mom and brother in just three days when they come to visit, it feels good to be here. I accidentally missed the nacatamale-making-fest last night with Sandra’s mom, aunts and grandmothers, but that’s OK because always rip the banana leaves anyway. The rest of the festivities start tonight at Sandra’s house with members of her family visiting from all over the country, and I’m armed with more than 50 tissue-paper wrapped little bags of candy I spent all of yesterday preparing. I took a nap to brace myself for staying out until nearly dawn. I even know to have a pre-dinner at my own house so I can hold out until midnight when dinner will really be served.

Somehow I have already been gifted a fruit cake, yes, that dense, questionably edible brick-like American tradition that even comes in a brick-colored Claxton wrapper. I can’t choke the stuff down, but one is always skulking malevolently around my family’s house in the States this time of year and I almost shed a few tears of familiarity upon receiving it. The tears almost came again while walking down the street today as I was suffering the sticky streams of sweat running off my face in the 85-degree heat. I sweat like that every day here, but it’s Christmas, for god’s sake! But even so, for Christmas this year Olanchito is home.