One of the many fascinations of Mexican Spanish is the word "coger." In Spain, it means "to get" or "to take."
Recoger, therefore, is a kind of "re-get," which I would translate as "collect." For example, "
Voy a recoger mi ropa de la lavandaría" would be "I am going to collect my clothing from the laundrymat."
In Mexico, "coger" means "to fuck." It's considered an obscenity (though obscenities aren't exactly obscene in Mexico). The reason for this is horrifically simple: during the conquest, the Spanish would "take" indigenous women like they were items, and when doing so used the word "coger." The indigenous people heard this, and thus came to understand "coger" to have an entirely different meaning.
The really interesting thing is that "recoger" still means "to collect." It's a perfectly acceptable word that you would have no problem with your children using all day long. It doesn't seem to bother anyone that its very obvious root word is a
grocería. It's as if "refuck" were a normal word and nobody so much as snickered when they heard it.
Laura (B), at least, should find that interesting. Are you reading?
At the time of my last entry, I was up way northwest of Xalapa in the paradise of Sayulita. As of this writing I am in the extreme southeast of the country in the state of Chiapas. It's both the poorest and (arguably) the most beautiful state in Mexico, and culturally it really bears a closer resemblance to Guatemala (there are clear historical reasons for this, but I will spare you). The Mayan influence here is very strong; in fact, Spanish is a second language in many of the villages, where they are more likely to speak fluent Zoltzin (SP?). After a few days of frustration with the indigenous children who would approach me on the street with their belts and bracelets saying "
cómpralo" (buy it) and seeming completely oblivious to my polite refusals, I realized that they don't even speak much Spanish, which they will later learn in school (if they're lucky). They just learn how to say a few key things ("buy it," "five for ten pesos") so they can be street vendors.
Some are more creative. Cass and I were walking through the
zolcalo (town center) today when we were approached by two boys with notebooks. "Write your name for my school," said one of the boys to me. I asked him why, but he simply repeated "write your name for my school" and showed me a folded over notebook that had two columns: name and age. Suspicious, I took the notebook from him and wrote "Jonathan," meanwhile guarding my pocket in case this was a diversion. "Where are you from?" he asked me. I told him I'm from the US, and he said "Capital Washington DC." "That's right," I said, writing "21" in the age column (I feel like most people are more likely to give their real first name and lie about their age, but whatever). That's when he flipped the notebook over to show the other two columns: nationality and amount donated. Apparently everyone before me had given $50 pesos (five dollars). "Give me money for my school supplies," he said. Then, pointing to the donation column, he said in English: "Fifty, fifty, fifty..." I told him I didn't have fifty pesos and gave him a $10 coin. Cass, meanwhile, had pretty much the same experience with the other kid. As we reunited to walk away, I commented, "We walked right into that one."
There is no way everyone else gave him $50 pesos.
Let me tell you a little story. While I was vacationing in Chiapas, I received notice that the Department of Residential Life at Manchester had never received my application (this is a long and bloody story that need not be published in full). Past the deadline and stranded without my USB drive (and, thus, without the application), I called my main man in Mexico, Jon. Jon took time out of his day to go to my house, talk his way past my host family, find my USB drive in my room, take it to an internet café, figure out which file was the application, and send it in for me. Needless to say, I'm buying the beer.
