I’m sorry to report that this Sunday I had my first experience of being taken advantage of for being a gringa. I had been sick for most of the weekend, and hadn’t been eating much. I knew that I had to eat to keep up my strength, so I bought some toasted bread and peanut butter. I was also craving an avocado. On my way back from the internet café, my housemate (Sherry) and I passed through the square of Iglesias de San Francisco, a shortcut that I take back and forth to school. In this square are merchants of traditional Guatemalan goods… Clothing, hand-woven tapestries, candles for the church, and people selling food. I had noticed several women selling avocados during the days that I had passed through the square and felt the need to buy one.
There are two kinds of avocados in Guatemala. The traditional avocado that we find in the states, small and black on the outside. The Guatemalan avocado is larger and green, and almost completely round. I had never had this type of avocado before, and decided to give it a taste. I looked at the señora, sitting with her basket and said, “Un aguacate para hoy, por favor” (one avocado to eat today, please). “Pará hoy?” she asks. “Si”, I say. The woman picks through her basket and pulls out this huge avocado, as green as a beautiful tropical garden. “Es bonita aguacate para tu” (a beautiful avocado for you), she says. “Seis quetzals” she says… then changes to broken English, “but for you, cinco quetzals.” ~~ Keep in mind that cinco quetzals is equal to about $0.63 American. I give her the 5 quetzals in the bills that I have in my pocket. She looks at my money and says, “oh no, este dinero es no bueno” (this money is no good), she takes 2 older quetzal bills and gives them back to me. “Por que”, my housemate says. Apparently the Guatemalan government is in the process of updating their bills, as the States has done for the past several years. However, some merchants will now not accept any older bills. This woman insisted that I go to the bank and exchange my older bills for newer ones. Sherry and I looked at each other and I pulled two 1 quetzal coins from my pocket to replace the older bills.
I brought the avocado home and set it on the counter. Marta (my house-mother) walked by and asked who’s avocado it was. I told her that it was mine. She looked at me and said in Spanish that the avocado was no good and that she preferred Mexican avocados. Sherry and I decided that maybe she just didn’t like that type of avocado, and that Marta was just really picky about her produce. This was a new food for me, and I was excited to give it a try.
Later that evening, I was studying at the table at la casa and decided to try my avocado. I cut the avocado open, and the pit literally fell out of the fruit. The avocado stank. The woman not only sold me a rotten avocado, but she then complained about how I was choosing to pay for this avocado. I was later told to NEVER buy anything in the square at Iglesias de San Francisco. Had I gone to the grand marcado (big market), not only would I have gotten amazingly delicious avocados, but I would have paid half the price.
Lesson learned.
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