Becoming Latina

We were squeezed against each other, my hands gripping the backrest of grimy bus seats – one in front of me and another across the aisle. I never thought I had the talent of a contortionist but there I was.
‘Packed like a can of sardines’ – whoever invented this phrase had never been to El Salvador. The description simply faces shame in front of rush-hour traffic in the country’s capital. My bag was somewhere among the passengers lucky enough to be seated, a trust practice which was surprising to me with the Salvadoreños’ renowned wariness of strangers.
“It is more for caution than for simple snobbery,” he explained. Before I finalized my plans, we had a quite extensive discussion on gang activities and drug trafficking in Central America. “What you read in the news is most of the time exaggerated. Sure there is violence but it has gone down quite considerably in the last few years.” So sure we could be passing drug mules, as long as I keep my nose to myself, I’d be safe. Besides, he’s with me almost 24/7. The latter part convinced me.
How we got started on our adventures was in a bus ride too – in another continent, foreign to both of us. It would have been a boring ride except that I was seated next to him. I didn’t speak Spanish then and, well, he still refuses to speak English. And now, almost two years later, I was halfway across the globe to visit him in his country.
He did warn me that he didn’t have a car.
No one complains as the bus stops to accommodate more passengers. Despite the heavy load it was obviously carrying, the bus was quite adept in zipping through traffic, oblivious to passengers unused to rush-hour speed driving who could die of heart attack from the hair-raising corner bends. The chickens crammed with the passengers looked more relaxed than I felt. From the window with what seemed like a bullet hole in it, everything was just a blur, only defined when the bus would screech to a halt and by then I’d be busy regaining my balance to look out the window. “It’s a good daily dose of adrenaline rush,” he laughed at me. “As if you do not get enough excitement in your country,” I retorted. I felt immensely relieved as we approached the rotunda near his house.
“So I guess you wouldn’t be planning soon of visiting me again,” he said as we fought our way to the rear of the bus. “Are you for real? Go look for a lot where I can start building my house,” I answered, taking his hand.