homestay
Old School Google (Pronounced “Goo-Glay”)
On Wednesday afternoon my sister left North Carolina headed for Germany, and on Thursday I read about the cloud of volcanic ash that a certain volcano in the land of Ice is spewing out, wreaking havoc on air travel in Europe. As it turns out, my sister is now stranded in London, but is taking the train to Brussels tomorrow and then another 2 after that in order to make her way to Germany.
Telling Omar and Josefina about this over dinner, Omar remarked, “Wow! She’s going to travel underneath the ocean then!” Oh, uh, yeah I guess so. I hadn’t thought about that whole English Channel thing.
“How!” exclaimed a disbelieving Josefina.
“Well London is in England and Brussels is in Belgium which is in mainland Europe. So they go through a subterranean tunnel beneath the English Channel, it’s like 80 kilometers!” › Continue reading
On things I will miss and things I won’t
As my time in Nebaj quickly comes to an end – just 4 short days until I leave – I’m left forced to think about the upcoming transition back into my old life. Call it reverse culture-shock or what you will, many basic things will be substantially different that what I’ve grown accustomed to.
So I’ve been reminiscing about my Guatemalan life, the positives and negatives – those things I’ve enjoyed and those I haven’t. I think I can do my best to distill the differences that exist between my lives in Guatemala and New Hampshire into three main categories: things I will definitely miss about Nebaj/Guatemala, things that I will be more than happy to do without, and things that I am still unsure about. Without further ado, I present my list.
Things I will miss: Corn tortillas – Without having spent time in Central America, I don’t think that it’s possible to grasp how much a part of the diet tortillas are. I eat probably 5 per day, but god, they’re so good. And it’s a safe bet that the flour tortillas of the pseudo-Mexican restaurants of Keene, New Hampshire (sorry Armadillo’s, Margarita’s) will not be able to fill the corn tortillas void sure to exist in my stomach and heart.
Things I will miss: My Guatemalan family – As an only child, it remained something of a personal test to see if I could successfully assimilate into a family of 8. Resoundingly, I can. Hands down, there is nothing in this country that I could possibly miss more than Helen, Fredi, Jacinto, Vicente, Maria, Rosa, Catarina, and Elena. › Continue reading
Looking Forward
Josefina and Omar never cease to amaze me. Tonight at dinner while eating carrot cake that I made with Fina, she told Omar:
“Hey listen, I said to Laura the other day, I said: Don’t be jealous of the students that are coming for the summer program, even though they’re going to be staying in your room. They are coming for two weeks and you’ve been here 7 months. And you will always, always have a place to stay here.”
I said, “I’m not jealous, I’m just, you know, envious.”
“That’’s true, Laura, (‘La-oorah’, he says) you’ve robbed my heart, although that might make you laugh.”
I laughed, but mostly because my eyes were accumulating water…
“See– you’re laughing. And now you’re crying!”
“There’s dust in my eye. Cinnamon dust. From the cake.”
“Yeah, cinnamon dust, same with me.” Josefina says.
First two tears of departure.
Fanta
Fanta is so freaking amazing. I had this great conversation with her last night after dinner. It always stems from food. She’s always asking me what food I like in Senegal. But then she stops me halfway through and says, “Okay okay. What don’t you like in Senegal?” And this happens all the time. That’s how all our conversations after dinner start. But this one just kept on going. We started talking about her history. We talked about what jobs she worked. We talked about what she wants to do in the future. Just talking to her, it made me respect and love her even more. I had no idea she was such a traveled, accomplished woman. Let me just give you a profile of her.
Fanta was born in Kaolack, a city in the middle of Senegal. She has two brothers and two sisters, and I don’t exactly know where she is in the age hierarchy, but I know she’s not the oldest or youngest. Somewhere in the middle. Her parents were Malian immigrants who came to Senegal because of the commerce. She grew up speaking Bambara (a Malian ethnic group) first, but quickly learned Wolof since you really can’t go through life in Senegal without speaking Wolof. She attended school and learned French there. She also learned a little English. Even today, she can say simple sentences like, “I am Fanta Cisse. I am Senegalese. I am a mother. I live in Sangalkam. My father is [blank]. My mother is [blank].” She really enjoys saying, “I am old. I am too old.” But the education system of Senegal, and actually of most of Africa, was much better back in her time. Her generation speaks the best French. It’s because after she was educated, there was a fiscal crisis due to the expanding production power of Africa, but a stagnant demand of products. But anyways. Today, she speaks EXCELLENT French. The best French out of every Senegalese woman I’ve met. In fact, people often ask her, “What school do you teach at?” In which she responds, “Oh I’m not a teacher! I only sell fabric!” What’s amazing is Fanta never finished high school. Because of early marriages in Africa, she got married and got pregnant with Pape, so she had to drop out of school before she finished high school. But she was so good at French that she went to Cote d’Ivoire and taught French at a school that her uncle opened. She taught little kids the basics of French. After two years, she returned because of her ailing father.
After he died, she didn’t return to teaching French. Instead, she became a merchant, like her parents. She’s worked a whole range of jobs. › Continue reading
Family Resemblance
“Canche! Que bonita su hija Fina!” Fina and I are standing outside the tortilleria, my absolute favorite spot in Santo Tomas. The woman speaking has coarse gray hair and dark wrinkled skin. I might say she is in her mid 70s judging by her looks but she’s probably around 60, and her agility reinforces that idea. “Blondie” she calls me. What a pretty daughter! A man standing nearby twists up his face in confusion and he says “su hija?” but then it relaxes into acceptance accompanied by a shrug of his shoulders as if to say, “Yeah I guess that could be.”
I don’t know if they really believe I am Fina’s daughter; perhaps her daughter in law, or maybe they’re just playing along with the act Fina and I have adopted, my role being hija importada (imported daughter). We laugh about it as we walk to the tienda to buy dog food for Rocky, and, inexplicably, the store clerk asks “Su hermana, Fina?” Your sister? Now, Fina and I may stick together like beans and rice but we certainly do not look alike. Maybe I’m tanner now but I’m certainly not morena and Fina likes to joke that I’m puro queso– white like mozzarella. My hair is blondish, my eyes are more than blue-ish. I think Fina was as bewildered as I was. Then the woman behind the clerk hits it on the nose, “Ella es de los Estados Unidos!” “Ah, si pues” I see, says the clerk. “Pero es mi hija.” says Fina. Si, pues.
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