As I waited for some more people to arrive for an intercambio at the Oaxaca Lending Library this morning, the organizer of the intercambios, Flor, said she would chat with me in Spanish to pass the time. She asked me questions about why I am here, what I am doing, the usual stuff about family and work and my knowledge of the city. After about ten minutes of speaking, she said that I can speak Spanish well, that she did not need to correct me. I said that Flor my teacher often has to correct me, that maybe I was having a good morning. She said that Flor has done a good job. I agreed.
As soon as new people arrived, she grouped me with a man named Urbano and a young woman named Trina. Urbano explained that buses are often referred to as urbanos because they are urban transportation. It took me a few tries to get his name because he speaks as rapidly as Trina speaks softly. It took him many times to get the name Heather, so many that he had me type Heather into his phone. He was still frustrated with it and said I had no namesake (tocaya) in Oaxaca, perhaps Mexico. He said while Urbano is not common, he has met a namesake. He also wanted to know why a person would have my name, what it means, etc. We didn’t really get anything settled, but the conversation shifted (as many here seem to) to food. It was nearly noon and so we talked about tamales Oaxaquenas, empanadas amarillas, tacos, and whether I have had them or could have them in Sacramento, the strange foods we have eaten, etc.
Maybe next week I will find the words to invite them to lunch with me.
shewhodaresnothing 