Thoughts On Getting Angry

Pretend that I posted this two months ago:

At our retreat last week, for one of our devotionals, Krystle talked about Mark 4:35-41, when Jesus calms the storm on the sea. He woke up and yelled at the wind and the rain. He didn't tell the disciples to stop being babies. (He did get annoyed that they didn't trust him, but that's different, right?) He got mad at the situation.

How often do we blame people for the way they handle situations? This last week, I had to break up two fights at my nonprofit placement. They were nine and ten year-old boys and no one was really hurt, but I'm not very big and it was just kind of a scary thing to be a part of. In both cases, they were boys that I see almost every day and generally really like. But when they were fighting, I did not like them at all. I was so mad at them. And yeah, we're all responsible for our actions. But it is important that I recognize that these boys see violence in their daily lives as a viable option for settling disputes. A big part of what we do at Compartiendo un sueño is to try to teach them otherwise, but it is part of their reality. So is it really fair for me to put all of the blame on them?

What I should be doing is paying attention to the bigger problems this points to. Domestic violence. Poverty. Broken education systems. I should be getting angry that these things happen. Like Jesus yells at the storm to stop, I should be losing my voice yelling at these big storms in the world. I can't make them stop on my own, my voice isn't as powerful as Jesus's voice, but at least I won't be getting mad at the disciples for waking me up.

A Small Victory

Today I decided that I am going to make my favorite chocolate chip cookies this weekend. Monday is a feriado which is basically the Argentine equivalent of a bank holiday, so most of my housemates are out of town for the long weekend. It also means that I have to get the difficult-to-find ingredients today or else the stores might be closed Sunday and Monday and no cookies for me. So I set out for a trip to the Disco, which is the big supermarket chain conveniently located a few blocks from my house. But! The dietética next door was open. I knew they would have the things I needed. But I was scared.

The thing about our diétetica is that most of the things I need to buy there are behind the counter. So you have to actually ask the people working there for what you need and the amount. This is difficult because a) spanish and b) metric system. I've gone to the dietética three times. The first time I was alone. I wandered around and accidentally found myself behind the counter. I was mildly embarrassed and so I quickly left. The second time was with Chechu and we bought popcorn and had a pleasant conversation  with the girls working there about horror movies. The third time I successfully bought honey and yeast to make bread. So today, when I saw it was open, I summoned up all of my courage and walked in.

I needed brown sugar. But here's the thing: it's not called azucar moreno here. That would be the literal translation and too easy. Brown sugar goes by a few different names in Latin American Spanish, so I was pretty unsure of myself as I entered the store. I had heard from another volunteer that it's called azucar rubio here. I also needed baking powder. Baking powder is harder to find here because there is a kind of flour called harina leudante which has baking powder mixed into it. I've been using that for baking, but with these cookies, I wanted to stick to the recipe as close as I could. Because they are so great.

So now that you know all the reasons I was afraid, I will tell you why I should not have been even a little bit nervous. I walked in and was the only one there. The guy behind the counter asked me what I needed and I kind of stammered out, "Tenés azucar rubio? Y polvo de hornear?"  and he was like (in Spanish), "Yeah, we've got that. Am I speaking slowly enough? I want you to understand. Where are you from?" I answered his questions and told him what I'm doing here and he told me that he spent two years in the UK and he speaks English. So we chatted a bit about the difficulties of learning another language while he measured out the dry goods.

This is how most interactions with strangers go for me. Once they realize that I am a foreigner, they try to speak slower and listen more intently. Everyone is so patient with me and so helpful. I often think about the ways we treat foreigners in the US. I hope that we are patient and helpful. I fear that we are impatient and rude.

When I went to pay, I guess he didn't have enough change, because it didn't cost much and he told me I could just pay him next time. So I guess it's a good thing I got over my fears today because I have to go back on the regular now.

I'll let you know how the cookies turn out.

La Luna

A few weeks ago I looked up at the sky and saw something wonderfully familiar: the moon. I was happy to be reminded that everywhere in the world we can look up at the same giant rock stuck in our gravitational pull. I slowly realized, however, the moon didn't actually seem that familiar. I was trying to find the "man in the moon" (which I have never really been able to see, like is it a whole person or just a face?) and realized the face of the moon looked completely different.

Today I did some research and found that much like the notifications button on Facebook, your location on planet Earth determines the way you see the moon. So this is how it works: Imagine you are standing exactly on the equator and the moon is directly above you. If you go north, the moon would be in the southern sky. If you move south, the moon would be in the northern sky. Standing on the equator, if you look at the moon facing south, you would see it as the northern hemisphere sees it. If you turn around and face north, you would see the moon how the southern hemisphere sees it. It looks like it is flipped upside down. Got it?

It's all very relative. The moon itself is not changing, just the way you look at it. There are approximately 100 metaphors that I could make about this, but I don't want to push it too far. I'll let your mind wander there on its own. I'm just going to bask in the comfort that I have found in seeing my beloved moon, despite his unfamiliar face.


If I did a bad job explaining the whole moon face thing, check this out.

5 Beautiful Things in La Plata

I guess I haven't really written much about what La Plata is like as a city. Now that I have been here for 2 months, I am basically an expert*. La Plata is laid out on a grid, with diagonals connecting parques and plazas. The streets are all numbers, so it is hard to get lost, although the diagonals can make it confusing. There is a lot of green space. You are never more than 7 blocks from a park or plaza. There is a large university here, so you will usually find groups of students in the plazas, drinking mate and hanging out or studying. The following pictures are places and things I think are beautiful in my host community.

My hogar:

This is my street. My house is is the one with rounded doors. I live on a diagonal so it is usually pretty busy, but I took this picture on a Sunday morning, so there weren't many people out and about. There is a dietica just a few doors down where they sell healthy foods. It's kind of like a specialty food store. They are about as common as supermarkets.

Street art: 

Murals are everywhere in La Plata. One of the colleges here has a mural art major. I don't understand the meaning behind most of them. I like to think that is because I am from another culture and not because I don't know a lot about interpreting art.

This mural honestly just makes me laugh a little. Also, the phrase "Mutate Argentina" is the same in English and Spanish. It's pronounced differently, but it means the same thing.

A lot of street art and graffiti has a social message. I think that is something I have grown to love about Argentina, and really a lot of Latin America. Graffiti is such a negative thing in the US. I like the idea of graffiti being used for social change. 

 Springtime:

This is a street that intersects with my diagonal. Again, it usually is busier, this was taken on a Sunday morning. The leaves are new and the weather is getting warmer. The cobblestone streets are pretty, but also difficult for my slightly clumsy feet to maneuver with grace.

 The kitchen:

I have grown to think of this gas stove as beautiful because it means food is on its way to my belly. Pictured above is my breakfast: toast and water for coffee.

 Fresh fruit:

I get two strawberry seasons in one year! Life is good.

BONUS PHOTO FROM LAST NIGHT!

There was a free folklore festival last weekend. Chechu, Alexis and I went for the last band, Chaqueño Palavecino. 

*I am definitely not an expert.

Palomas

Do you guys know how I hate birds? Well, I do. They are unpredictable, sometimes they fly at your head and they could poop on you at any moment. I'm currently living in a city, so naturally, there are pigeons everywhere. Today I found myself under a tree next to a pigeon, fully anticipating it flying into my face. But that didn't happen.

I actually haven't had any bad experiences with the pigeons here besides fearing their wings and their poop. So this post is actually going to be about linguistics. That's right. We're solving a linguistic mystery.

At orientation, Sally and I weren't sure what the word for pigeon was in Spanish. We decided to start calling them "las ratas del cielo" or "the rats of the sky" because they're gross and they are all over the place and the males just hop around with their feathers all puffed out, trying to jump on the females. It's just gross.

Fast forward to last week. In my church, there is a broken window way up high in the sanctuary. On Saturday, during Bible study, we kept hearing noises. Carlos went out to check on things and said it was just the palomas. I have always translated paloma as "dove" but I just checked Word Reference and it can be translated as pigeon when you are in the city. So, mystery solved, right? Wrong. Mystery just started.

I read on Word Reference that many other languages do not distinguish between dove and pigeon. So when speakers of these languages learn English, they have to learn the difference between dove and pigeon. They have to learn that pigeons are the rats of the sky and doves are beautiful, white symbols of peace. Can we talk about how symbols can be crazy different between cultures now?!

On Sunday during the sermon, Iván mentioned the part of Jesus' baptism where the Holy Spirit descends as a dove and blesses Jesus. Only he used the word, paloma, obviously, which I had just learned means pigeon. I looked up at the pigeons sitting on the broken window, and was reminded of the times God is okay with getting dirty. When God plants a garden. When God puts Abraham to sleep and walks between some bloody carcasses. When God becomes wind in a desert. When God comes into the world as a baby placed in a feeding trough. When God chooses to wash the feet of God's friends.

The linguistic mystery here can be solved by looking at etymology and finding that pigeon comes from French and dove comes from German. Since English just picks up words from all over, we get two totally different words for two very similar birds. I think the symbolic mystery here is a lot more profound, and a lot more beautiful. Given the prominence of liberation theology in Latin America, which says that God sides with those who suffer, it only makes sense that God would take the form of a humble pigeon.

So this week, I'm learning to embrace las ratas del cielo and remember that God is present in all things, both the doves and the pigeons.

The Vulnerable Baker

Good news! I made cookies!

Remember how I was afraid of the oven? I learned how to light it and now I'm a pro. Well, probably not. But I have a working knowledge of our oven.

I have been thinking about making these cookies for a while now. But it has taken me some time to translate the ingredients, find them in the crowded supermarkets, and eventually put them all together and build up the courage to light the oven. Additionally, if I were in the states, I would use my hand mixer to at least cream the butter and sugar, if not mix the whole recipe together. I would preheat my oven using automatic temperature settings, and it would tell me when the oven was ready. Without these gadgets, I was feeling a little vulnerable. On top of that, measurements here are different. Obviously, they use the metric system. So when I converted the measurements for one stick of butter, I found out that a metric cup is different from an imperial cup. I figured the difference was small (and it is) but with baking, precision is important.

I made them anyway. Without a thermometer on our oven, I had to just wing it. I checked the cookies every few minutes and trusted my sense of smell to tell me if they were burning. I never expected a batch of cookies to be a lesson in presence. But I was so present with those cookies. None of them burned.

I've gained a lot of confidence from helping out with the cooking class for the kids at Compartiendo Un Sueño. We have made bread, cakes, cookie bars, and more! It has helped me feel more relaxed in the kitchen because I have a better idea of how Argentines cook: what ingredients they use, measuring spoons, mixers, techniques, etc. So that has been really helpful and really fun.

Cookies in the oven.

I've been acquiring the ingredients for some lemon cookies this week. So I'll try again soon.

Nuevacita

Today at the verduleria, the cashier asked me if I had any smaller bills. I had no idea what he was asking because the whole concept is kind of vague to me in English, so I definitely was not understanding his castellano. He made a joke about British pounds and then asked me where I'm from. I told him and he said, "Nuevacita?" Are you pretty new?

Yeah. It's been a month since I left home, three weeks since I left the States, and a little over two weeks since I left my traveling community. I still feel pretty nuevacita. But I would like to highlight a few little moments in the last couple weeks that have made me feel a little more at home.

I've done laundry twice. Almost half of my clothes smell different now! We have a washing machine so it's pretty easy. Once the clothes are washed, you have to put them in a little spinner thing that basically does a really intense spin cycle and gets most of the water out. Then it's straight to the clothesline! Thankfully we have had more sunny days than rainy days.

I have figured out my bus route to work! It is about 40 minutes once I get on the correct bus. But it is only one bus the whole way, so that's nice. Eventually I will probably read a book on the bus, but for now I'm okay with memorizing what is outside the windows.

I've been mistaken for an Argentine a few times already. Always before I speak and usually when I'm wearing my hip new glasses. The other day when I was walking home from the grocery store, a woman stopped me to ask for directions. As soon as I opened my mouth and said I did not know where the bus terminal was, she said, "Sos una turista!" and laughed a lot. I did not explain to her that I am a little more than a tourist and that's why I had this loaf of bread and backpack full of groceries. It was just nice to blend in.

A few of the older people from my church gave me a ride home from church last night. It was a little rainy and dark, so they told me to ride with them. It seems kind of insignificant, but it meant a lot to me. It's nice to be taken care of and I think I just missed riding in a car.

I'm getting the hang of using a gas stove. It was scary at first to light the burner, but I'm kind of a pro now. I haven't lit the oven yet. That one really scares me. But I bought ingredients for chocolate chip cookies, so I'm going to have to get over that fear soon. I'm learning about cooking with mostly all raw ingredients. It seemed daunting at first, but I've had small victories. I bought a butternut squash last week and made squash pancakes all week. They were delicious and I felt like a chef.

Obviously I've had less graceful moments, like eating all the chocolate I bought for the week in one night, and tripping over the cobblestone sidewalk literally every time I leave the house. But right now I feel like I'm going to be okay. Every day I learn a little bit more. Eventually I might even feel pretty comfortable.