"Es de Francia, y ella lo está necesitando." The desk in my room at the Henriquez house where I have lived since May belongs to Flor's daughter and she needs it back. It is a gentle threat. In this culture where everything is said without saying it, Flor wants me to know he's going to begin taking the furniture from my room whether I move out or not.
This morning, I finally got some help from his wife, Doña Antonia in searching for an apartment. She pointed me to a guy in the neighborhood who brokers houses and apartments. An hour later we went to the corner where I he introduced me to a motoconchista named Pablo. I went with him to a building in the nearby neighborhood of Los Cácares, brightly painted in primary colors and suspiciously resembling a grade school. Unfortunately, Pablo, who is the property manager, neglected to bring the keys to the room so he brought me back to Villa Carolina with the promise of returning soon.
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| My room at my host family's house |
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