I visited a new family today – new to me and new to the block. They moved over this way six weeks ago. The house went up in about two weeks, all their stuff showed up on the back of a pickup piled three-stories tall shortly after that. I’ve never seen anyone move in this country before – and neither has any other volunteer I’ve talked to. It just doesn’t happen. Fifty years ago, yeah, it happened when folks picked up and moved east in their covered wagons behind teams of oxen, but today, unseen. You live where you grew up. Or somewhere on that land. Or maybe move in with a relative somewhere. But onto new land – no way. Unless of course your a Brazilian. Or a crazy American.

My new neighbors are easily the poorest family in the vicinity, but that didn’t stop the señora from making sure I left after the visit carrying a bag of peanuts – a luxury in these parts – and shelled at that. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to openly accepting things from people who’s generosity outweighs their concerns for their own diet.

I’m not sure if I was taught as a child or if it’s just something I learned along the way, that it’s polite to wave off unsolicited gifts with a smiling “no thanks” or a “you don’t need to do that” – even if I really do want that bag of freshly picked tomatoes. There seems to be – or a least once upon a time was supposed to be – this idea in American culture of not wanting to inconvenience others or in anyway take away from them what you could easily acquire yourself. Perhaps over time it developed into what has become a less generous environment, the giver knowing that any offerings will be politely refused and so he saves himself the effort of even asking. But that’s to be debated elsewhere. Or maybe I’m just overly polite. Or just looking for an excuse not to give away my summer squash…

Lettuce, tomatoes, chipa, sopa, milk, peanuts, sweet potatoes, oregano plants, onions, mandioca, honey, molasses, entire meals – I’ve left visits with all of these tucked under my arms or swinging in plastic bags from the right handle bar of my bicycle. And this says nothing of the things consumed during my stay. Until very recently I carried out these interactions with a typical “thank you, really, but I’m fine” approach, much to the confusion of my generous hosts. I eventually always caved under the relentless insistence that I “try some” or “take some” or “no, this is better then what you’ve got”. I filled up my water bottle from the the spigot one day and as I took the first sip I turned around to see my hostess aghast at my consumption of water without ice. “It’s fine,” I insisted, “I like it this way”. We discussed this for the next three minutes and I was left to think I’d made myself clear and was a nice person for insisting that she didn’t need to go get chilled water and ice from the fridge. I placed my bottle under my chair and walked off to see what someone else was doing. Four steps later I hear the splash of water on the ground and turn to see my empty water bottle in her hands and its contents running through the red dirt. It reappeared minutes later filled with chunks of ice.

I’m enjoying a bowl of toasted peanuts now thanks to a culture of generosity that doesn’t seem to have yielded much results to the most generous of the bunch. Hopefully that warm feeling we get when giving something of value to another isn’t diminished with the number of times it’s given – cause if so, folks around here are certainly missing out. I can’t see myself ever getting used to accepting all the produce heaped my way, but once again it’s nice to know that these are the dilemmas I find myself facing. In the meantime, I need to start growing more beets to repay my mounting debts of generosity.

kb