The Sleepover

My host family, including a 12-year-old brother and 9 and 7-year old cousins, never quite understood why I could live alone. And why I would possibly request to have an entire big house to myself, especially when before I moved in, they used to stay there during the week because it eliminated a 30-minute walk and river crossing on their way to school. It seems ridiculous that I would want to be there alone, night after night, among the witches and goblins that lurk nearby, and in my typical gringa selfishness, had never even once thought to invite them over to spend the night.

So, I finally caved. In my final months, I am relaxing the iron fist with which I have traditionally ruled and letting people, especially the kids, get away with a little more than before. Last week, after my host-brother Kaicer asked me WHEN CAN HE EVER COME AND SPEND THE NIGHT WITH ME, I responded, ''How about Sunday?'' A look of grateful disbelief spread across his face, and I could tell he was thinking, that´s all? All I had to do was ask? I invited him and his cousin, Marvin, and told them to bring their uniforms ironed and ready so they could leave straight for school on Monday morning. He skipped out of my house with a smile plastered to his face, but stopped at the gate to ask, ''What will we eat?''

Feeling particularly generous, the words, ''What do you want?'' tumbled forth, and I immediately regretted it, thinking I would have to go find fish or buy some type of meat that I usually wouldn't prepare. Instead, he said hopefully, ''Rice and a boiled egg?''

DONE. I can do that. ''And for breakfast?''

''Coffee and bread?'' I thought these might by far be the easist house guests I had ever entertained.

So about 5:30 Sunday afternoon the boys arrived with backpacks filled to the brim with books and clothes, and Marvin's little brother, Geovani tagged along. It immediately occurred to me I should have planned something to do in the hours that stretched before us until bed time, but we quickly settled into some easy conversation and Farkle playing. Dinner time came and I busied myself in the kitchen while the boys played outside and started making jokes about how such a white girl could have such three dark-skinned sons. I presented them with their meals, and shortly after, had to get up to boil some yucca because it became obvious that little Geovany is a man of root vegetables and bananas, and did not appreciate my attempts with store-bought rice.

By that time, the neighbor girls had come over and asked if we would be ''doing exercise,'' which is their way of requesting that we do yoga. (I made the mistake of indulging their interest in my yoga magazines a few weeks ago, and am now hounded by daily requests from my little yogis.) Within two minutes, all of the other neighbors had arrived, and I was leading about nine children through a few basic moves. The boys wobbled and giggled, asking ''CATI HOW ARE YOU DOING THIS?!'' as I instructed them to stretch out and reach their hands to the sky in triangle. It was one of the many moments I've had in my service, where I all of a sudden zoom out of the moment, and see what I am actually doing and can hardly contain my laughter. In the Peace Corps you can do anything, including becoming an amateur yoga instructor.

After we took our last vinyasa, I shooed away the riff-raff and offered the boys some hot chocolate, hoping to signal an end to the evening. All of the liquid nourishment I had offered throughout the evening was clearly overwhelming to little Geovany, who stood up to pee through my fence at least half a dozen times. We played cards for a little while, and made sure everyone's uniforms were hung up, and then I tried to get everyone upstairs and settled . They fell asleep right away, and I considered that they settled down a lot easier than most sugar-high-riding American children who stay up half the night, sending pangs of regret and rage through the parents who agreed to host them.

Morning came, and I woke everyone up and went downstairs to put the coffee on. The boys' giddiness from the night before was undiminished as they were visibly reveling in the idea of being in Catí's house and Cati making breakfast for them. Coffee was served with the bread, the boys dressed and scampered off to to school.

A sigh of relief. That was way easier than I thought. Everyone ate, no one complained, fun was had, very little chaos. Until I went up to clean up the blankets where the boys slept, and encountered a sopping, urine-soaked blanket and sleeping pad, which indicated to me that next time, if there is a next time, it is better to err on the side of mild dehydration when it comes to tending to your little guests. Oh well, nothing a little laundry soap and a mild bleach solution can´t fix.






Above: Kaicer, on his 12th birthday in May. Below: Geovany, 7 going on 79