Well, after months of attempting to figure out a way to wash my clothes and dry them, without them ending up smelling like a pile of moldy leaves, I finally succumbed to the temptation of hiring an impoverished local woman to do the dirty deed. Our landlady, Ramona, a generally intemperate and skeptical woman, who, for some reason, liked me a lot, offered up the services of her housecleaner, stating that this person needed to supplement her income. And, since she worked next door most of the day (our landlords lived within a stone's throw), it would be very convenient for her geographically.
After mi lavadora (as she would be affectionately called) washed and dried one load, and the clothes were cotton-ball soft and smelling gloriously like detergent, without a hint of mold, I knew I had made the right decision. I sometimes wished, in the weeks after, that I could eavesdrop on mi lavadora as she plied her trade, forcefully pushing and wringing my clothes against the pila, and then gently hanging them to dry along a line that stretched clear across my landlord's broad front patio. Watching my intimate and not-so-intimate garments hanging for all the world to see, getting baked by the Cofradia sun's ruthless rays, I felt deeply grateful.
I probably paid mi lavadora more than she earned from non-gringos, because it felt right (wealthy Hondurans were always cheaper than foreigners when it came to dealing with their less fortunate paisanos). Mi lavadora spent two to three hours a week stroking my undies and stretching out my socks, massaging my khaki work pants and caressing my t-shirts, getting her hands wet and chafed from the residue of powdery detergent (the only kind I ever saw in Honduras).
Mi lavadora was a special woman, an essential person in my life in this country, and I will always feel a huge debt to her.
If only, for my next "third world" experience, I could figure out how to wring enough water out of my clothes so that when they are hung out to dry, they don't end up smelling like moldy leaves.
If only, for my next "third world" experience, I could figure out how to wring enough water out of my clothes so that when they are hung out to dry, they don't end up smelling like moldy leaves.
