El Colocho (Curly hair)

When I was 4 years old, we lived at a place called El Palomar, which translated meant “The Pigeon House”. The pigeon house was a place where poor people or young couples lived. Many were just starting out and could only afford to rent a single room. It was a great big house with many separate rooms that shared a common yard, and a set of two outhouses that sat in the middle of the yard. There was also a set of pilas which were sinks made of concrete. There was a water reservoir in the middle that served as a water supply to all the sinks which had no faucets. Water had to be drawn out of a deep well which was very dangerous for kids.

People would take turns washing their dishes and clothes. Of course there were always those people who would take too long or those who would create conflict. This often resulted in the ladies arguing and sometimes when the husbands got involved, there would be fist fights. Other men would intervene and sometimes it got bad enough that the police would come and take a few men to jail. I remember my dad closing the door and ignoring the trouble. He said it was not smart to get in the middle of that because you could get hurt, end up in jail, or make enemies. He kept a piece of car belt (a long very hard strip of rubber with steel threads) about foot and a half long behind the door to use as a weapon if he ever had to protect himself out there.

I was just a little guy at the time. Only Chino and Rafa were living with my mother and father. Mama Tula rented another room and lived with Oscar, Marina and Percy. My mom would go out to work, and Mama Tula would take care of all of us. At that time, my father was a taxi driver and would play in a marimba band. My mom was not very fond of the marimba jobs because although my dad made a little money, it also involved drinking and staying out really late.

Colocho was my cousin from my father’s side of the family and was a couple of years older than I was. His mother was my father’s sister. We called him Colocho because of his curly bushy hair. Sometimes we would play together, but he would pick on me and my mom would call me back into our room. Colocho would just stare at my mom as he walked away.

As a rule, I usually stayed really close to my mom. Sometimes, I would sit on the doorstep and watch the kids playing in the yard. The threshold of our door was made of concrete and had a few cracks. I would sit there and clean the dirt out of the cracks with a little stick. I could not understand how it always got dirty again. Colocho came around one day and sat next to me. He had a hand full of dirt and started filling the cracks up again! That really bothered me, and when I told him not to do that, he stood up, pulled my hair, knocked me down to the ground, and then ran away to his room. My mom came out and comforted me, she went and talked to my aunt about it and she assured my mom that it would not happen again. I was scared and hurt.

A few days later, he came by again with another handful of dirt.  This time, as he walked by, he threw it in my face then he ran away. With dirt in my eyes, I sat there crying. My mom came out and took me inside to wash me up. I could see that my mom was really upset and heard her say under her breath, “What that kid needs is a good whacking!” Of course she meant a spanking. At that age, I guess we are very resilient to situations, so not long after, I went back to playing with Colocho. It still bothered me that he always wanted everything to go his way, and I often retreated into my room with my mom.

  Not long after, sitting on the doorstep, I saw Colocho pick up a hand full of dirt again and start to walk toward me. I pretended not to see him and as he threw the dirt on my face, I turned my face the other way. Suddenly, to his surprise, I grabbed him by the hair and whacked him on the face with my father’s piece of car belt! I was so mad I felt as if I was in a dark tunnel and I could only see him! I hit him again and saw his face bleeding… My mom came running when she heard the screaming!

Colocho was bleeding and had to get some stitches on his eyebrow. I was so scared, I thought I was going to have to go to jail like the people who got in fights in the yard. I remembered having dreams about it, over and over again. It was hard for me to get over it.  My mom told me later that she worried about me because I would not eat, just wanted to be next to her, slept a lot during the day, and cried often. She would have Rafa and Chino take me with them to the fields and fly kites or play soccer so my mind would be on something else. I remember Rafa making a big parachute with the cloth from a large umbrella. He also made a little wooden war tank, with a piece of wood and a pipe. He would load it with two firecrackers. The first firecracker would explode and propelled the second one which in turn would explode in the air! I always thought Rafa was a genius and was proud of him.

Soon after that we moved away from El Palomar. My father got a different job and we rented a house. Mama Tula and the rest of the kids moved in with us. I didn’t see Colocho as much after that but he never bothered me again. Decades have passed. I still see him now and then when I go home to Guatemala. He may still have a slight scar.