Casa de Delmi

Let’s go to Delmi’s house! The kids were excited at the prospect of a ride in the car and I was curious to see where and how our housekeeper lived- in an upstairs/downstairs Downton Abby kind of way. The drive was just over 30 minutes by car. Usually, Delmi travels by bus to work at our home, this can take her up to two hours depending on connections and traffic.

Once we arrive at the rustic village on the outskirts of Tegucigalpa, Delmi instructs us to park our car on the side of the dusty dirt road. Together, we hiked the rest of the way by foot since the cobblestone path is too steep even for our 4-wheel drive SUV. We pass chickens feeding in the sunflower fields and a pig chomping on leftover scraps in the neighbours’ backyard. Somehow, the air was fresher here. There were no security guards or busy traffic jams. I let out a sigh and relaxed my near constant vigilance -just a bit. I slowed down and observed the little details of our housekeepers home in the village of El Piliguin, Tegucigalpa, Honduras.

Delmi proudly explains that she bought the land with her husband and that they built the house themselves; brick by brick, window by window. It was a true labour of love over the past 10 years. During the construction of the foundation, walls and roof, they lived with the grandmother and two other adult siblings and their extended families -all together in a cramped three bedroom, one bathroom, home. Delmi and her husband scrimped and saved to add each room on to their construction. The place grew whenever they had the extra money and time to work on the building. (Normal mortgages and loans aren’t readily available here.) She has been living in this “somewhat finished” home for two years now. There are things to complete like the fireplace, tiling the floors, installing glass windows. “Mucho que hacer” she sighed as she waved her hand towards the unfinished ceiling and simple kitchen (sink, stove top, cooler), but they will get there “Si Dios quiere.”

The little cement block, two-bedroom house which is perched on a small lot, has 180-degree view of the rollings hills and the dense forest beyond. As she gives us the tour of her home, she shows us the wood burning stove-oven where she makes tortillas -10 at a time- (every Sunday morning in order to prepare for the week ahead.) She explains that on Saturdays, she hitches a ride on a pick-up truck to go into town to shop for groceries at the market (they own a medium size motorcycle.) There is a primary school and small health clinic within walking distance. There is also a pulpería attached to a neighbours’ home that sells a few essential items – for a premium price.

In the backyard, I can see an abundance of fruit trees: bananas, minimo, plantains, limes, guavas, avocados. And I can smell eucalyptus, citronella, and even rose bushes. I take in the lovely view of the mountains (not a fence or electric wire in sight here.) I breathe in fresh air. I hear birds chirping, and roosters competing with reggaeton music in the distance. We visit the menagerie of animals: a couple stray dogs wander by, three thin cats who live mainly on food scraps (she was saving up the money to neuter them), chickens (which provide fresh eggs daily), lots of peeping baby chicks, and finally a couple of rabbits, which all live on her property. We sit down together on a rickety bench in the sun, take in the great view of the mountains, while we eat fresh sun-kissed guavas picked from the tree.

My son finds a toy dump truck. It was a little old, broken and muddy, but the toddler gravitates towards anything with wheels. He uses the toy to pick up the small pieces of plastic and garbage he finds lying around the grassy yard. I could read his thoughts: “If Delmi comes to my house to clean up, I am going to do the same at hers.” Next, B finds several long pieces of straw which she bunches together and starts sweeping the inside of the house. “Like Delmi does at our house.” (I wish I was making this up!) Update: When we moved back to Canada, I explained to Tristan that papa was going to work, mama was going to work, and he and his sister would go to daycare. He took a moment to process this information then asked me: “But who will clean the house and cook the meals?”

The house is small but quaint. It is simply decorated with Delmi’s eclectic and quirky touch. But most importantly, it felt homey and welcoming. On our third visit to El Piliguin, we are invited to an impromptu fish fry along served with homemade cabbage salad. A member of the extended family had brought over the freshwater fish as a special treat from a lake three hours drive away. Delmi expertly filleted and scrubbed the fish with lime and salt. Then she fried them in a pan of oil over her wood-burning stove. It was delicious and, most of all, served up with lovely hospitality.

I was not sure what to expect on our first visit to the village of El Piliguin on the outskirts of Tegucigalpa. Part of me imagined a windowless dirt shack and less than ideal living conditions -considering that our nanny worked long hours. Although her house was not grand, nor did it have security guards like our place in Quinta Bella, it was more than a house, it was a home. Every brick had been carried up the hill with grit and stamina. It was clean and airy. The home had an indoor-outdoor layout and there was such a nice view (unhindered by a single wall or fence.) The neighbours shared what little they had and helped each other out. Delmi was always grateful.

I recognize the hardships that Central American migrants unfairly endure to compel them to join the migrant caravan headed North. I fear that, as we focus on vaccinating our own and getting through the many waves of the pandemic, we are forgetting those who suffer and feel compelled to migrate North from Honduras, and elsewhere. It is my hope that the wealthy nations continue to support the grass root organizations and governments to assist those who need it most. Everyone has the right to build their own house and transform it into a home.