Progress progress

I’ve decided that perhaps rainy Latin American nights are good breakthrough nights for me. “Breakthrough” is a bit sensationalistic, really, but I’m currently unable to generate a suitable synonym, so we’ll go with breakthrough for now.

I’ll probably never forget the first time that I decided to venture out into Santiago (Chile – flash back two years) without a sufficiently adept guide. It was within the first month of my arrival, just days after meeting KellyAnne. The two of us, so far just barely acquaintances, decided we’d meet somewhere and find an adventure together. We began our city walkabout speaking to one another only in Spanish, and the two of us were equally unfamiliar with the metropolis which we were exploring. Places such as Bellavista, La Plaza de las Armas, Calle Huerfanos, and La Plaza Nuñoa, areas which are now forever emblazoned in a map of memories on my heart and mind, were totally foreign that afternoon. Having just come from the western hemisphere summer, the two of us were still surprised by a nightfall which came at 6 pm. We ambled aimlessly through the city, generally clueless of our location, being gently rained upon, and somehow adhering strictly to non-English communication.

Eventually, we recognized our own hunger and frustration at lack of entertainment, and decided to search for a restaurant. It took at least an hour before we found a Chilean diner which catered to her vegetarian whims and our price range. Only after we sat down in a restaurant, tired, cold, damp and generally overwhelmed, did we begin speaking in English. Considering how recently we’d arrived, and the language skills we had yet to develop, the fact that we maintained Spanish conversation for so long indicates two things: one, we were working pretty hard at just communicating, and two, we didn’t exactly have much casual conversation.

Our close friendship, I would attest, didn’t develop until after we broke down and began speaking in English. At the time, it felt a bit like defeat. Now I understand that it was foolish to expect myself to convey a personality with such little communicative ability. Jeez, it’s still tough sometimes, after all of the work I’ve done since to improve!

That night, the two of us tackled Santiago together, getting lost and found on the busy downtown streets numerous times. We used the terribly complicated and unpredictable city bus system, turned our maps upside down and inside out, and eventually formed a bond which still exists. When I got home that night, I sat upstairs explaining our adventures to Felipe while rainwater continued to drip from my hair. His response, when I finished telling all about what we’d done, was simply “This has been a good night for you. You went out by yourself, you were even the guide instead of the guided at times, and you had a chance to do something independent of help from one of us.”

He was right; it was my first chance venturing out without an assigned shepherd, and it turned out well. Finally, I was getting a chance to be my normal independent self, instead of being treated as the incapacitated, mute gringa.

Recently, I had a similar night in Guatemala. Last week, while trying to give my midterm test to 150 first-year students all at the same time (who in the hell thought this was a good idea? REALLY?) one of the other teachers came over to help me. I’d crammed two classes into one tiny, unbearably hot room, and lined the rest out in their desks in the hallway. My impossible task was to monitor everyone for cheating. I honestly have no idea why anyone ever thought this would work, but they were wrong. When I asked the other teachers what they do, they insisted it’s not a problem at all for them. I don’t think I’m capable of believing that.

Pablo, the shop teacher, could see I was struggling with maintaining any semblance of control, and came over to help patrol the students. Since this was my second test to administer that day, and the first had been equally painful, I was exhausted, frustrated, angry and desperate. I gladly accepted his help, but was incredibly irritated when he hung around afterwards and tried to make small talk. Honestly, all I wanted to do was go to my room and cry out some of my frustration. I don’t care what they say, that really can make things better.

Instead, I was stuck talking to this schmuck who kept correcting my Spanish grammar and giving me advice on classroom management. He really hit a nerve, though, when he said I seemed more distant than the other gringas who’ve been here. The truth is, I do spend a lot of time entertaining myself in my room, but more than anything it’s because I don’t know how to incorporate better with the school atmosphere. Rather than dealing with the discomfort of new, awkward social situations, I’ve taken on learning to play the guitar, reading a lot, and going to Santo Tomas to hang out at the clinic every weekend. Clearly not the best way to assimilate, but undoubtedly the path of least resistance for myself. He was right, I knew it, and it bothered me that I’ve become a notable recluse.

So, when he suggested we go have a drink after classes earlier this week, I felt compelled to accept. What better way to meet people than accept a direct invitation, right? I rode on the back of his motorcycle down to Santo Tomas, where we ate dinner and had a drink. As a side note, I’ve noticed that drinking in moderation is not a concept which exists here.

I’m sure that last line raised a few eyebrows. Allow me to explain. That statement does not exactly imply that drinking in excess is the only thing which occurs. Instead, it’s one extreme or the other. Pablo explained to me that we hadn’t stayed in Xejuyup because he didn’t want anyone to see him drinking, and then ordered juice instead of beer when we sat down. Only after being told they were all out of juice did he order, and very slowly savor, one single beer throughout the course of our entire, rather long meal. As a general rule of etiquette, I usually try to eat and drink at the same pace as the people or person I’m with. Sadly, this resulted in sipping a lukewarm beer for two hours that night. Hardly worth the effort. There are, apparently, major problems with alcoholism in the poverty-stricken areas. Either people here are life-ruining drunks, or they act as if they’re afraid of the stuff. It’s interesting.

Anyhow, although there was nothing particularly notable about what we did that night, it was a good experience for me to simply converse with a Guatemalan adult for awhile. In the same way that I’d enjoyed passing time with Ruth, spending a few hours with Pablo turned out to be a good chance to finally have a personality in Spanish. In the classroom, I have to adopt a character which doesn’t really correspond with who I am. Firstly, I’m a teacher, which is about as unfamiliar of a concept as Ki’che’. Additionally, I have to be firm, even mean. It’s just not who I like to be. Finally, I’m getting some opportunities to behave like myself with peers, instead of only taking charge of a classroom of kids.
Beyond that, it was nice to see that not only did Pablo recognize that I hadn’t exactly been socializing with the other teachers, but he made a point to keep it from staying that way. Already later this week I was invited for a snack at recess with several of the other staff members. That first step in socializing is usually the hardest for me, and now I’ve both made it with one person and have started with the rest. Definitely good for me.

Kristin, the previous English teacher, also a young American volunteer, had left me some notes about what to expect. Among other things, she’d said that Pablo was always a good partner in crime whenever she’d come up with ideas for projects or activities. Already he and I are planning on doing some coffee roasting, as tons of coffee is produced here and the school has an unused wood-burning roaster. He also has planted and manages the school’s garden, and offered to plant jalapeños for pickling and salsa making after he saw me pouring hot pepper salsa on my beans.

As we rode back up to the school on his motorcycle that night, rain soaking through my jeans and slicing into my eyes, I couldn’t help but remember that night in Chile. Although the weather may not be ideal, I’d had a good night. A night of progress, I guess.

If only I didn’t still have to finish correcting my 300 tests, I’d have been able to stay in a good mood. Bummer.