Mexico 2007: The Week's End

The last day or two of that week I did not write, because we went to an overnight camp put on at a ranch by another large group of Americans (they had also invited many other groups of Mexican kids that we did not know). Once again, while I enjoyed talking to the Americans, I enjoyed the feeling that my “place” was more among my Casa Esperanza family than among the American church group.

There’s one story I particularly enjoyed and remembered from that day camp… It was a moment I realized that my sense of humor over the past week had begun to lean more towards Mexican humor, which has its slight differences at times.

We were playing a game that was some really chaotic and strange mix of capture the flag and steal the bacon. There were at least four different teams, and perhaps

the Americans expected it to be more controlled and mellow, but… that was a silly expectation if so ;) So the kids were going crazy, and the method of “tagging” each other was by pulling the flag-football-style flags from their waist… and the Mexican kids, being fairly notorious cheaters, would of course tuck in the flags or even tie them to their belt loops to avoid losing). I am not a very competitive or rough person, so I did pretty bad in the game at first. But on my second shot, I was determined. A little boy ran into our square and grabbed a beanbag… I latched my hand onto his firmly-anchored flag, not willing to lose this time. Oh, that little cheater, he had tied it on as well! But I gave a firm yank, hoping the knot would slip. Victory! I was thrilled. But upon examining the flag, I realized that the knot had not slipped at all… and there, still tied to the end of the flag, was a little torn off belt loop! Oops… but perhaps the fair reward for his cheating. Still proud of my accomplishment, I couldn’t keep from laughing. I

told my (what I thought to be) funny story to the nearest American. To

my surprise, her response was “Oh my! How sad!” Oh… should I not have been laughing at his belt-loop-loss? Confused, I found Isba. Grinning, I pointed to the little belt loop tied into the flag I had pulled. “Isba—mira!” With no other explanation needed, she (and a few of the other girls) began to laugh hysterically.

That night, we girls pulled our beds close together and whispered and laughed and goofed off a little before bed.

Finally, the end of the camp came, and we all climbed into the bed of Terry’s pickup and headed back to Casa Esperanza, where my parents would soon be waiting eagerly to pick me up.

Mexico 2007 Day 5: little blessings

(the day's journal entry)

As much as the kids here can wear me out, so much more can the women bless and encourage me mucho. I’m a bit sick today (and pretty tired), but it was a good day nonetheless. I’m even more comfortable here, and I’m speaking better or at least more confidently, and sometimes (okay, more than sometimes) I even think in Spanish or accidentally speak a little Spanish to the Americans that come. Hah. I know the kids better, and (sometimes) they listen to me better. Oh, and the women treat me like a daughter or sister, and call me so (“Mija” or “Hermana”).

Special moments of today: Translating always feels nice, and however I can help the Americans or whoever. Berenice showing me her & Griselda’s room, and pictures and letters from her boyfriend and sister and friends. Talking about her boyfriend and cultural stuff that wy, school, stuff like that, eating good soup, pepino con limon (delicious cucumber with lemon on it), Christian and her cupcakes. The generosity of the women—how much they’re thankful for me and how good they are to me. Tonight, tired, sore, and a little sick, I went to the kitchen for a glass of water; a few women and 14-year-old Olimpia and others were in there. (we laugh when I mess up my Spanish bad or when I can’t figure out what they’re saying, but they’re patient). I noticed that Elizabeth had a fried egg with ketchup; I commented and said that’s how I like it too! I was about to leave, but of course, she asks, “Quieres?” Umm, of course I want some, but my American nature says don’t be a pain, but I always feel a little bad turning down what they offer me…I’m learning to go with their culture. “Si!” and she fried me up and egg (“One? Only?”) in plenty of oil, and I ate it with ketchup…mmm. “More?” she asks. No, but thank you, it was really good. Instead of responding “de nada” to my thanks, she said “Para servirte!”—literally translating “to serve you.” wow. :)

I’m pretty tired… and sore… Buenas noches.

Mexico 2007 Day 4: Un Lugar

(The day's journal entry)

And today… was as delicious and beautiful as this cupcake I’m eating. Ah…. Well? I’m one of them. I don’t know when it happened, but they let me into their world. Of course, it was easy to enter the world of the children (as opposed to the more cautious and reserved women), but I think at first I was just another Americana. We went to the gym with the kids this morning, and later to the beach with the small American group. By the time we went to the beach with the other Americans, I wasn’t “with” the Americans—I was with them. Even the women warmed up so much. I’m not sure they quite sure they understood or trusted me at first, but when we were at the beach, they treated me like one of them. In the back of the truck, sitting and talking, at the beach looking for shells and talking with the Americans, buying bracelets, everything. With the kids and the women, I have a connection now. Wow. It’s a great feeling… amazing. They trust me and enjoy me.

Tonight at dinner, they wanted me to pray in English. I helped serve, and offered to help with the dishes, but of course they wouldn’t have it. Class went well also. I can talk to the kids better, and the women talk to me more too. First friend among the women? Christian, a sweet young mother with three equally sweet children, with her talking and smiling and not-too-shabby attempts at conversing in English. Then there’s the quieter, older Elena, always offering me more food (with a silent, hospitable grin I could never reject), shampoo, whatever. But I get smiles from all the women now.

Some of the older girls

Tonight I walked out to “the tree” with Isba and the kids, her students. I goofed off with the kids and talked with Isba. She began to tell me more about herself (in both of our mixes of English and Spanish). When she was around my age, she said, she was a “gang banger” and a rebel. She’s about 20 or 21 now. She was married, but her husband died when she was 4 months pregnant with her daughter, now about 4 years old. Her mother gained custody of her daughter, though Isba hopes one day to have full custody. Sad about her husband’s death (they must have been quite young, too!) but she said in a way, it’s for the good, because if he had not died she would not have come here and met the Lord. Isba has a boyfriend now—a good guy, she says, but not a Christian. From what I could gather, he has a lot of pain and anger in his heart about God, because his mom has cancer. “It’s difficult,” she says. Isba wants to be a teacher of young children, and hopes to continue teaching at Casa Esperanza even when she no longer lives here and is able to finish her schooling.

It was dark when we got back, and I watched part of Spiderman 3 in Spanish with some of the women and kids before deciding to go to bed. I walked back to the trailer through the kitchen and said buenas noches. Later, I went back to retrieve my own personal toilet paper roll (it’s sorta rationed, so the kids won’t waste) from the kitchen bathroom where I showered. Christian and some of the other women were in the kitchen making cupcakes for tomorrow. Oh man, I have been smelling those cupcakes cooking for two days (and if there’s one thing I miss in a foreign country, it’s American desserts, even the Betty Crocker boxed cakes) and they’re fresh out of the oven! Maybe I’ll take one tomorrow if there’s enough. “ah, muchos postres, que deliciosa!” I commented.

“Yes,” answered Christian, “for the American group tomorrow.”

“Buenas noches,” I said, “hasta mañana!” I begin to walk around the corner, but I hear her call “Hermana!” (sister).

“Yes?”

“Would you like a postre?”

“Me? Sure—it’s ok?”

“Sí, sí, take one, go ahead, Hermana.” I chose one with a funny misshapen top and asked one of the teenage girls, Michel, “Que pasó?” (“What happened?”) She smiled back shyly.

“Muchas gracias,” I told Christian, “buenas noches!”

“Buenas noches, Hermana.”

No frosting… but oh, it was the most heavenly cupcake I’ve ever tasted.

I’m sore and tired… Buenas noches, hasta mañana, Hermanos.

Mexico 2007 Day 3: A Turning Point?

Today was different… I feel more at home now, like I belong in some weird way. We didn’t go to the beach, I think we’ll go tomorrow. I rode bikes with Isba* and the kids up the road to a ranch. A group of Americans came today, from Wisconsin. Mas

Americanas! Kinda cool to see more of those; and I felt more a part of the Casa and a help. I’m less “la americana” now.

A few girl

s and I walked to the little nearby store** during dinner. It was fun, lots of walking and laughing. And as I wrote this, some of the girls

came in to our trailer to hang out, take photos, etc… they’re silly. ;)

I’m happy. Gracias a Dios! Tomorrow is another new and great day.

*Besides being my “roommate,” Isba (picture) is a teacher to the kids—these classes (reading, math, etc) are at the Casa, as a supplement to the learning that may not always be adequate at the local public school.

**Commonly, the stores I mean here are neighborhood stores, or in other words usually someone’s converted living room or garage with lots of packaged snacks and other things. There is generally at least one within walking distance always.

Mexico 2007 Day 2: Un Dia Normal

(The day’s journal entry, with a few more current notes from me.)

Today I hung out with the kids, including lunch, dinner, classes, taking a walk, the playground, bicicletas, ‘carry me,’ you know the stuff. I helped in the garden some too, and saw the chickens, pigs, cows, and horses.

Sundown, I said ‘Hasta mañana’ and walked my very dusty sandal-clad feet to the shower. Turn the knobs, a little stream comes out of the head (pipe, really, the shower head itself is missing, I would find out why later on)—strong and all, but not as thick as my pinky. That’s it? Alright, cool, this works… quick shower and buenas noches, back to my trailer with Isba. The women have devos at 5 AM tomorrow, which I don’t have to go to, but I think I’ll try. We go to the beach tomorrow, then besides class and meals I assume I’m on my own. Basically, only God knows what tomorrow holds. I can’t wait…

It was strange to have very little direction of what I was supposed to do each day. I generally spent time with the kids, familiarized myself with the property, and made whatever small steps I could to get to know the women. The kids are pretty quick to accept a new playmate, especially the young American groups from whom they know they can get endless piggy backs and swing-pushes… I would eventually decide to do my best to have fun with them, while still trying to distance myself from their general expectations of an Americana. My desire, instead, was to fit in as much as I could as one of them. Of course, with my height, blonde hair, blue eyes, and dislike for onions and chili (chili peppers or powder) my chances were kinda shot. But, a "gringa" does what she can do. ;)

Mexico 2007 Day 1: Confusion

So, where we left off. (these next several posts will be detailing my first trip to Mexico by myself, in summer 2007 not too long after i graduated high school).

Dad had just dropped me off at Casa Esperanza, and I can only imagine his thoughts as he prepared leave his 17-year-old daughter for a week in a foreign place that was, quite frankly (and pretty obviously) disorganized and confusing. It’s not as bad as it may first seem, and it’s not all the director’s fault—it is what it is with so many people on a compound and not much of what we Americans take for granted like cell phones, precise schedules, etc.

When we first stepped out of the car and looked around at the compound, a few young kids burst through the unfinished construction and grabbed at my hand, shouting gleefully at me in Spanish, “Come on! We’re running from a monster!” I ducked through the rooms of the unfinished building after them, not quite sure what was going on.

Finally, we saw an adult or two as well. It took us what seemed like an eternity to find the director, who was the only other English speaker on the property. I had in my repertoire what Spanish I had learned in three years of schooling, and got a few different answers in my best attempts at asking where Terry was (come to find out, another woman had a similar name). To our relief (I’m sure my uncertain Dad’s, especially) she finally appeared to greet us and showed us to the old travel trailer (photo) I would be sharing with another young woman, Isba.

Probably feeling as reassured as was possible for the situation, Dad said goodbye and left me to enjoy my first lunchtime with the women and children of Casa Esperanza. With little explanation or clear expectation, I was tossed in the middle of their daily life.

Introduced, and automatically welcomed, I wrote in my journal. ’La Americana’, ‘La Jessica.’ For one, I’d forgotten how Mexican I’m not. For two, I began to realize just how alone I am. Not that I’m lonely, I’m not, but culturally I sure am alone. It’s what I hoped for, but I never grasped the idea of this—I, Americana, no matter how Mexican I think I am, am dumped straight into a world that is not at all my own. It’s a pretty weird feeling… but I can’t say it’s not great too. I knew I’d be on my own here, that was the whole idea, but man, I sure am on my own. Just me and God and my less-than-perfect Spanish. Not quite what I expected… but just what I wanted.

(note: this post is dated according to when it happened, not when it was posted.)