Tea with the Bottom Cleaners

Initially I hired folks to clean Habibi’s hull so I could learn how to do it. Then, the next month, I wanted to learn how to replace the sacrificial zinc (the anode becomes corroded instead of the propeller shaft). Then I was injured and wanted to keep Lefty Foot clean and dry. 

They are friendly, the bottom cleaners, and sometimes sing as they approach in their skiff. They tie onto Habibi’s transom, don wetsuits — “¡Hace frio!” — and start the compressor-hookah that pumps oxygen into their mouthpieces.

It is colder now, both water and air, so this month I ask if they want hot tea afterward.

“¡Yes! Gracias!”

As I brew lapsong souchong (a smoky black tea), they scrape and clean off barnacles underwater, poking a screwdriver into the through-hulls. I hear them fore and aft — rrch, rrch, rrch. They emerge after awhile, and climb back onto their boat.

Tea is served in small white bowls, along with honey and dried fruit. I hand the bowls across to the man in the bow, one by one; a pot holder protects our fingers. We chat in Spanish, with (at least) one hilarious exhange because I misunderstand.

“Where did you spend Xmas — here?” asks Ramiro.

I don’t always catch past tense. “Posiblemente in Mazatlán,” I reply.

He politely repeats the question more slowly. 

“¡Sí, aquí!” Here. In the high wind.

Soon, they pass empty bowls over the transom, along with the honey jar and spoon. “Muchísimas gracias.”

“De nada,” I say, then before they leave, explain, “I have a New Year’s tradition,” and hand over, one by one again, an orange and a couple of dollars for each of them. “Próspero año para todos.” May we all have a prosperous year.

“Igualmente,” they reply and wave, drifting off toward the next boat on their schedule.

“I don’t mind company,” sings Aretha, “company’s all right with me, every once in a while.”