Bingo and Theater

While our village’s team would not be playing, our village was selected as host site for the regional soccer championship. Everyone, including us, gathered at the shaded edges of the soccer field – truly a field, replete with bumps and edged on one long side by dozens and dozens of rags tied together to make a rudimentary, ropy fence. Our local friends called out loudly at various plays, shaking their heads and commenting on how they likely could have done better, despite not making it to the play-offs. Boys cheered the players on from branches in the trees, and little girls chased each other on the school lawn across the dusty road.

Next to the soccer field is a brand new cocina/kitchen for the village church. This 40-ft.x20-ft. building is constructed of concrete walls that extend half way up on two sides. Iron railings extend to the metal roof. The full back wall anchors the kitchen, where tiled counters have three deep squares cut in them, also tiled, that hold small wood fires under iron grates. A sink stands at one side to allow the cooks to throw kitchen scraps through the iron railings and into the nearby jungle. In front of the kitchen is a long counter for ordering food and casual loitering.

At the far end there is a small stage. In between the kitchen and stage are a dozen or so rustic tables and chairs, with the chairs, as in most restaurants here, about the size of those in an elementary school classroom. It is comical to see Pecos sit at one of these tables, knees up. The tables come just below our chins when seated at these little chairs.

During this past year, the 50 or so persons of our village got together and built this new kitchen, truly a point of pride for the community. The cost was $6,000 for materials and it was raised over several years. Local wages are $1.75-$2.50 per hour, thus the fundraising effort was significant.

Following the day’s soccer tournament, there would be bingo and a small theater production. We purchased bingo tickets a few days ahead of time for 500 colones (approx. $1) each. Grand prize would be the equivalent of $40. I hoped to win in order to turn the money back to the church.

Entering the cocina near the hour of bingo, the seats were already full and there was barely standing room. Every horizontal surface – floor, cooking area, grassy entrance – had a person patiently waiting with bingo cards ready. It looked as if every single person we’d met in Costa Rica had come. We turned in our bingo tickets and were given two very faded and frayed cardboard bingo cards.

One of the village men walked around dropping handfuls or dried corn in front of everyone; apparently, these were the bingo markers. A loud cheer went up when Francisco stepped up to the table on the stage, ready to call the first game. He held a battered, plastic bleach jug filled with metal chips. For each number, he’d rattle the jug loudly while everyone held their breath, and then he’d shake a chip out on the table.

“BAY OCHO!” Francisco shouted and the entire crowd yelled “OY!!!” in response, then silence as everyone studied their cards. B-8; so far, so good for me. Pecos was standing across the cocina, and I could see an elderly woman, her head barely up to his chest, point to his card for him and place a withered corn kernel on it. “EEE [QUATORZE? QUARENZIA? QUARANTE-SOMETHING-UNINTELLIGIBLE?]” shouted Francisco. “OY!” screamed the crowd. Oh lord, I was already lost. Was that forty-something? Fourteen? Or something-four? A smiling man who’d I seen walking a few villages over, elbowed my arm and pointed to I-34 on my card. Ah yes, triente-quattro.

More numbers, mas rapido, and soon I was completely lost. I pushed my bingo card over to the helpful man, whose elbows leaned on the kitchen counter nearly against mine. He smiled and placed a corn kernel on my card on whatever-was-that-number that Francisco had just called. The loud “Oy!”s continued through each number of each game – played just like bingo in the U.S. with the diagonals, the squares, the X, the four corners, the full card.

Each time a person won, he or she would simply jump on the nearest chair and wave wildly. Francisco would mumble something and the entire crowd would groan loudly. This was a serious game. Children played as attentively as their parents. My 10-year-old grand-daughter, sitting across the room in a group of Tico children, won 2nd prize – 10,000 colones ($20) which she later tried to give to her papa as she said “he works so hard, he deserves it.”

Then it was time for the theater production. A few sheets with holes and a worn blanket with faded rockets on it were clothes-pinned to a rope stretched in front of the stage. There was much commotion behind the makeshift curtains as the scene was set and much friendly visiting by the crowd who all stayed for the theater. Babies were passed around, person to person, like little footballs –cheerful wherever they landed.

A record began playing on an old turntable and the crowd hushed. The curtains were pulled back and two of the local students, about 14 years old, began dancing to flamenco music. The boy was dressed in a man’s suit that had its sleeves and pants rolled back. He wore a black paper mustache and a bolero tie and a dandy cap. The girl wore a long purple satin skirt, fishnet stockings, high heels and a lacy blouse. Her hair was pinned up and a long black feather was stuck in it. They danced elegantly and swiftly, back and forth across the stage floor and the crowd cheered loudly.

Wait! They weren’t dancing! This was a pantomime of flamenco – no actual dance steps, but rather, quick steps and pseudo-sweeps to the floor, to which the men blew whistles while the crowd cheered and applauded.

Now up on a chair, now sashaying back and forth, and then the grand finale where the young man pretended to swirl the girl in the air as she gracefully jumped up and over a chair. The music stopped, the performers bowed deeply and the crowd cheered wildly, nearly everyone had leapt to his or her feet.

The curtains closed and a few moments three little girls came out and bowed. The curtains opened and the three sat at a table, dressed in Sunday best with their lacy socks and shiny shoes dangling from the chairs. An older girl came out and poured tea, and the three little girls looked at the audience and giggled. Ah, this was a restaurant! Elegantly dressed waiters came out and the girls placed their orders and giggled some more.

At this point Pecos and I had to leave. It was getting dark and we had borrowed my son’s car that day. For this year, the ever-troublesome vehicle had only intermittent headlights – sometimes working and sometimes not.

We decided not to chance getting stuck on the winding road as we hadn’t brought flashlights. At two points between our casa and the village, there are creeks to cross where the road narrows considerably above the crumbling culverts, barely allowing all four wheels to touch ground at the same time. 