Well, the tests are done, the results are in. Folks, it seems I have been attacked by a mob of amoebas... Though microscopic in size, these little hooligans have done quite a number to my stomach, my energy level, and thus my ability to feel in any way useful to this community. Its been a struggle not to get totally disheartened by this mess while I continue to grow further and further out of the loop with each passing day. Let me tell you, I've spent a lot of time watching subtitled movies in Spanish...
On a brighter note, I've learned some really interesting things while on bed rest (or bathroom rest, whichever you prefer) that I might otherwise never have known about. For example, my host mother, Mercedes, and Lindsey's host mother, Marisela, have given me a number of natural remedies to common ailments. For example:
1) If you have an achy stomach
-Down two tablespoons of olive oil. The oil smooths out the irritated stomach lining. I can think of almost nothing more repulsive, but apparently its a cure all for sour stomach. Who knew!
2) If you have a stomach bug that wont quit (note: discounting amoebas of course, they apparently play on an ENTIRELY different level)
-Mince a fresh clove of garlic and mix with a small amount lemon juice. If you are a weakling, dilute with water. Apparently, bugs that get in the stomach have an intense aversion to garlic and often purge themselves from the body when in contact with it. Good to know for us poor in-college or post-college kids who don't want to drop 10 bucks on a bottle of TUMS!
3) If you have red eye from allergies
-Make a pot of chamomile tea and let it sit out until it is at least room temperature. Apparently chamomile is safe on the eyes and alleviates red eye. Use the tea as eye drops in the affected eye, and the redness will go ka-put!
So there you have it, some homemade remedies for all you naturalists out there in cyberspace!
Oh, and as promised, I have something to add to Ramon's advice of the Day:
Ramon found it imperative that we understand the time differences between Mexicans and Americans. Our first two weeks here, we found ourselves the victims of gringo time. Ramon explains this phenomenon to us with the following tale...
An American and a Mexican decide to have a business meeting the following day at 10am. They say, ok, we will meet at this bench at 10am. The next day comes around, and the American checks his watch ten times before he is supposed to be there, you know, so he doesn't run a minute late! The American gets to the designated bench promptly at 9:50 am. Right on time, he thought to himself. Ten o'clock strikes and the American starts to feel a little restless. "I wonder where he is?" the American wonders to himself. After five minutes past 10am, the American begins wringing his hands, wondering if something terrible happened to his friend. The time is 10:05 am
Meanwhile, the Mexican is enjoying a pleasant, leisurely breakfast with his family. Ten o'clock rolls around, and he muses, "Well, its a bit of a walk to the bench, so I suppose its time for me to leave," He strolls tranquilly down the road, looking forward to a meeting with his friend.
The Mexican approaches the bench at 10:45am and the American is all shaken up and begins to interrogate his friend. "Why are you so late? I thought we were supposed to meet at 10 o'clock!" The Mexican gives him a strange look and glances at his watch. He responds to his American friend, "What do you mean I'm late, its 10:45. It IS still ten!"
This piece of advice may sound wildly overgeneralized, but I must admit that we see the cultural difference on a daily basis. Our weekly conversations start promptly at five every Tues and Thurs. However, this start time is what we call the "gringo start time". It is so amusing because even though the class always "starts" at 5, the only people present are white, English-speaking Northamericans trying to learn Spanish like us. Thanks to Ramon, we have learned better, and now we arrive promptly at 5:15 for every class, and as sure as the sun sets, there are our Mexican friends, ready to engage in conversation to learn English and help us gringos with our Spanish!
Needless to say, living in a new culture is a total trip, and we are constantly being humbled here. But thanks to Ramon, we have a heads up on these things :) More advice from Ramon to come, I'm sure!
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Monday, March 1, 2010
When Mexico Hurls You Into a Pit of Lions...
You know, when I knew we were coming to Mexico I assumed that I would be met with culture shock of some kind. I thought I might do or say a few "silly gringa" things here and there...you know, like realizing two weeks into my stay that instead of saying "I'm excited" I've been saying, "I'm turned on" the whole time...to my horror that NOBODY had corrected me. I expected to make a few of these innocent language hiccups that got me a few mocking laughs here and there. I really didn't think I'd be hit hard with any real soul shifting culture clashes...I mean, I'm an International Studies major, right? Riggght....
It was our first Sunday at the church, and I'm feeling all warm and fuzzy in my new Mexican community. I sang in joyful ignorance to the Spanish worship songs, gave myself a headache from not blinking throughout the entirety of the pastor's moderately incomprehensible sermon, and introduced myself with the rest of our little team in front of the congregation. To my pleasant surprise, two teenage girls from the youth group approached Lindsey and I following the sermon, and asked us if we would like to accompany them the next day to one of the more impoverished areas on the outskirts of town to go hang out with the children of a couple families. We said yes of course, and were so excited (not to be confused with turned on) to go with them. I was beginning to feel so comfortable here…I suppose I forgot for a moment that Jesus never promised us lives of comfort…
So the next day Linds and I don’t really think too much about the coming event considering we were just asked to accompany these girls the day before. We walked toward our designated meeting place, and were met on the road halfway by the two girls. Without any explanation, we head in the opposite direction, and head to a nice house we had never seen before. Mildly confused, but already well-acquainted and unphased by the sensation at this point, we absent-mindedly waltzed into the woman’s house. We quickly exchanged the usual formalities, and took a blissfully ignorant seat on her couch. The two other girls sat caddy corner to Linds and I on another couch, and the woman, Barbara, began to speak rapidly to them in Spanish. I desperately tried to decipher the details of the conversation, as I was already confused enough as to why we were in this woman’s nice house instead of on our way to the rancho. Barbara began to look a tad disgruntled as she spoke directly at the girls, and I could only make out the phrases “No Bibles,” “No prepared,” and “Lets go then, the children are waiting.” This conversation goes down without one word spoken to Lindsey or myself, so we just continue to do our best to not get in their way and play our well-rehearsed role of the ignorant foreign girls.
As we get up to leave, the three phrases I did manage to decode began to sink in, and I felt a very uneasy feeling in my stomach. As we load into the car I ask Barbara in the best Spanish I could muster, “Barbara, what are Lindsey and I doing today at the rancho?” Barbara looks at us, and pointedly states in Spanish, “You are going to teach the lessons to the children today. The other girls are not prepared, so you will teach them.” At this point my stomach is sinking deeper and deeper into my bowels as I try to envision Lindsey and I planning a Bible lesson in Spanish. I’m trying to stay calm, thinking, ‘ok, I’m sure this place is pretty far, so maybe we will have time to put something mediocre together on the way.’
“Barbara, how long a drive is it to the rancho?” I ask. Barbara waves her arm in the air nonchalantly and says, “Oh not far, like 10-15 minutes.” Can I be quite honest with you all in cyber space that in that moment I am quite certain I have never felt so panicked in all my life. Me, Tarah Anne, NOT prepared, NOT in control of the situation!? It was a swift and crippling blow to my confidence and my sense of self as I know it! Well, I began fighting the urge to have a massive panic attack as we bump and rock down the uneven roads all the way to the rancho (all 10 minutes). First of all, let me start by saying that children terrify my. I don’t speak child, and I never have I don’t think. So the notion of teaching a children’s Bible lesson on the fly that would hold their attention struck the fear of God into my shuddering soul. Lindsey and I quickly decide to tell the story of David and Goliath by acting it out, giving away candy as prizes for right answers, and playing a really simple game that involves making pig noises in the other person’s face. I thought to myself the whole way there, “I’m toast.”
Now, I’m a little embarrassed to say that everything went perfectly smoothly, and that I completely overacted. But if I didn’t tell you how outlandishly stressed I was, then I wouldn’t be being honest with you all. There were five children there, and they laughed and smiled their way through the whole story. It even held significance for them when they described different times in their life when they felt as small as David up against a big, strong Goliath. It was actually one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen, watching those kids internalize ancient scripture in a very real and tangible way. All through a 10 minute, propless and lesson planless act performed by two English speaking gringas and a teenager who (thank God) did her best to translate. We led the class again today, and our little group of 5 became 20. Next week Barbara predicts twice as many as the kids begin to tell their friends throughout the streets of the women who bring stories and sweets. Glory be to God. He works wonders regardless of whether we are prepared, or even speak the same language. The children responded to the story of Jesus walking on water today, and I realized that his message transcends any of my lesson plans or my painful inadequacies of their language; because the language I speak is a language of love, and I’m pretty sure they understood everything I said.
So while I’m learning that the Mexican way is to simply throw yourself into things rather than over analyze, over prepare, and over stress is both petrifying and purifying. It strips me of the control issues I hold dear to my heart, and bears me open and raw to the world, when literally all I can offer is love. Oh Mexico, the things you do for my soul. A DIOS.
It was our first Sunday at the church, and I'm feeling all warm and fuzzy in my new Mexican community. I sang in joyful ignorance to the Spanish worship songs, gave myself a headache from not blinking throughout the entirety of the pastor's moderately incomprehensible sermon, and introduced myself with the rest of our little team in front of the congregation. To my pleasant surprise, two teenage girls from the youth group approached Lindsey and I following the sermon, and asked us if we would like to accompany them the next day to one of the more impoverished areas on the outskirts of town to go hang out with the children of a couple families. We said yes of course, and were so excited (not to be confused with turned on) to go with them. I was beginning to feel so comfortable here…I suppose I forgot for a moment that Jesus never promised us lives of comfort…
So the next day Linds and I don’t really think too much about the coming event considering we were just asked to accompany these girls the day before. We walked toward our designated meeting place, and were met on the road halfway by the two girls. Without any explanation, we head in the opposite direction, and head to a nice house we had never seen before. Mildly confused, but already well-acquainted and unphased by the sensation at this point, we absent-mindedly waltzed into the woman’s house. We quickly exchanged the usual formalities, and took a blissfully ignorant seat on her couch. The two other girls sat caddy corner to Linds and I on another couch, and the woman, Barbara, began to speak rapidly to them in Spanish. I desperately tried to decipher the details of the conversation, as I was already confused enough as to why we were in this woman’s nice house instead of on our way to the rancho. Barbara began to look a tad disgruntled as she spoke directly at the girls, and I could only make out the phrases “No Bibles,” “No prepared,” and “Lets go then, the children are waiting.” This conversation goes down without one word spoken to Lindsey or myself, so we just continue to do our best to not get in their way and play our well-rehearsed role of the ignorant foreign girls.
As we get up to leave, the three phrases I did manage to decode began to sink in, and I felt a very uneasy feeling in my stomach. As we load into the car I ask Barbara in the best Spanish I could muster, “Barbara, what are Lindsey and I doing today at the rancho?” Barbara looks at us, and pointedly states in Spanish, “You are going to teach the lessons to the children today. The other girls are not prepared, so you will teach them.” At this point my stomach is sinking deeper and deeper into my bowels as I try to envision Lindsey and I planning a Bible lesson in Spanish. I’m trying to stay calm, thinking, ‘ok, I’m sure this place is pretty far, so maybe we will have time to put something mediocre together on the way.’
“Barbara, how long a drive is it to the rancho?” I ask. Barbara waves her arm in the air nonchalantly and says, “Oh not far, like 10-15 minutes.” Can I be quite honest with you all in cyber space that in that moment I am quite certain I have never felt so panicked in all my life. Me, Tarah Anne, NOT prepared, NOT in control of the situation!? It was a swift and crippling blow to my confidence and my sense of self as I know it! Well, I began fighting the urge to have a massive panic attack as we bump and rock down the uneven roads all the way to the rancho (all 10 minutes). First of all, let me start by saying that children terrify my. I don’t speak child, and I never have I don’t think. So the notion of teaching a children’s Bible lesson on the fly that would hold their attention struck the fear of God into my shuddering soul. Lindsey and I quickly decide to tell the story of David and Goliath by acting it out, giving away candy as prizes for right answers, and playing a really simple game that involves making pig noises in the other person’s face. I thought to myself the whole way there, “I’m toast.”
Now, I’m a little embarrassed to say that everything went perfectly smoothly, and that I completely overacted. But if I didn’t tell you how outlandishly stressed I was, then I wouldn’t be being honest with you all. There were five children there, and they laughed and smiled their way through the whole story. It even held significance for them when they described different times in their life when they felt as small as David up against a big, strong Goliath. It was actually one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen, watching those kids internalize ancient scripture in a very real and tangible way. All through a 10 minute, propless and lesson planless act performed by two English speaking gringas and a teenager who (thank God) did her best to translate. We led the class again today, and our little group of 5 became 20. Next week Barbara predicts twice as many as the kids begin to tell their friends throughout the streets of the women who bring stories and sweets. Glory be to God. He works wonders regardless of whether we are prepared, or even speak the same language. The children responded to the story of Jesus walking on water today, and I realized that his message transcends any of my lesson plans or my painful inadequacies of their language; because the language I speak is a language of love, and I’m pretty sure they understood everything I said.
So while I’m learning that the Mexican way is to simply throw yourself into things rather than over analyze, over prepare, and over stress is both petrifying and purifying. It strips me of the control issues I hold dear to my heart, and bears me open and raw to the world, when literally all I can offer is love. Oh Mexico, the things you do for my soul. A DIOS.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
