Mi familia here in Antofagasta is amazing. The way my program works is we are assigned to a family in our respective cities and they're supposed to house us, feed us and look after our well-being so that we can at least make it to class to teach our "well-planned" lessons on time and in good health. My situation is somewhat unique. My host mother - I'll call her Maria for simplicity's sake - actually works in Santiago during the week so she has to fly out of Antofagasta at 5:00AM every Monday morning, work during the week (she stays in a hotel that her company pays for) and then fly back Friday night. It sounds hellish but she doesn't complain much. Last Friday night her mother (mi abuela) and a friend came by around 10:00, had tacos, smoked cigarettes and chatted til after 1:00AM in the backyard. I joined for a bit and tried to keep up in the conversation but it was too quick for me. I got a laugh with a bit of Chilean slang (they love it when the gringos catch on) and then followed up with a dumb aside/joke but apparently the word "punchline" doesn't translate. The awkward silence that followed got a big pity laugh and a couple of "Oh, Daren"s. I took them without shame.
More to the point, during the week, it is just me and her daughter - Patricia, again for simplicity - a dancer, who had to leave her studies at University last year when she tore a muscle in her leg. Patricia is incredibly sweet and patient with my horrendous Spanish and I have dinner with her and her pololo (boyfriend) most nights and we talk about politics, 90s music and rental rates in the States. It's good practice. And whenever we hit a road block Carlos is there with Google translate on his phone to clear up any confusion. Oh shit, Carlos is his real name. Well, I guess that's as simple as it gets.
My situation allows me a lot of independence and freedom that I don't feel many of the other volunteers have the opportunity to enjoy. I am grateful. You see, I'm a very solitudinous (not a word) person and I need my alone time. Not too much of it, mind you. It's a delicate balance. Depression is always right around the corner. But I'm on a good wave right now. Also, the time that I spend with mi familia is wonderful and fills me with warm fuzzies. POR EJEMPLO:
Last weekend was my host mother's sister's birthday. My host mother and I grabbed a micro to the north of city in the evening. Lisa (my host mother's sister) and her husband and her two daughters and her little gordito baby boy live in a neighborhood comprised mostly of carabineros (police - pacos if you want to get slang-y about it). When we arrived the whole family was sitting around the table. Abuelo, abuela, daughters, et al. Son-in-law was on the couch watching TV. After extending my "Hola"s around the table (complete with the Greeting Cheek-Kiss) a sharp noise came tumbling down the stairs. The grandchildren.
To back up momentarily, Eddie, 10 - my host mom's youngest sister's son - and I are cool. My first Sunday in Antofagasta we went over to mi abuela's (where said youngest sister and son live) and we played some Mario games on his Wii. My spanish may be bad but my video games skillz are much worse. Still, Eddie was patient and friendly and laughed hard whenever I lost the Yoshi because I did something stupid.
Then the temblor down the stairs. I saw Eddie first and we exchanged a friendly fist bump. But then, I came face-to-face with a 8-year-old girl in dog makeup. She looked at me, well, less looked and more squinted suspiciously. She said something in Spanish I didn't quite catch. But trying to make light of the situation I said, "Oh! Quien es el perro?" My mind still in self-correcting Spanish mode, I adjusted the gender, "I mean, la perra." A sharp silence. It didn't last long but there were a couple of voices who tapped in from the nearby table, "El perrito. No es perra. El perrito." Although no one brought it up afterwards, I think in that moment I called this 8-year-old girl in dog makeup that I was meeting for the first time, in her house, in front of her entire family, a "bitch."
Maculine-Feminine-Innocent-Dumb. The first of many faux-pas, I can assure you.
But the dinner that followed was filled with warmth and smiles and delicious peanut butter and jelly Chocolate cake. So my embarrassment soon faded. And I got lost in the rhythms of Chilean Spanish, that I'm still trying to make sense of. Through trial-and-error, and much offense, I will prevail. Right now I'm just enjoying the sounds. And the laughs - especially those of mi abuela. I have a sneaking suspicion that she's hilarious. But I have no real evidence of this quite yet. In due time.
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