Growing Up, All Over Again

If you ever want to feel like a kid again, start learning a new language.  If you really want to infantilize yourself, do so while living with a host family.

Though I started learning Spanish in late adolescence, it wasn’t until being emerged in Cartagena that I truly feel like I am developing an ear for the language.  My “nieces” in New York have Spanish-speaking nannies and  are learning English and Spanish simultaneously.  Living with the host family and hearing Spanish all day is akin to having a nanny, because I know that I’ll be fully taken care of and that my needs will be met even though I can’t understand all of the grown-up talk around me.  I feel spoiled, having my meals presented to me, only keeping my room neat because it’s my preference to do so, not having to do my own laundry or clean the bathroom.

The idea of regression to childhood and adolescence seems even more accurate as my body adjusts to this new environment.  Though I don’t go so far as to ask for help when wiping, my family here does know when I have intestinal distress.  I’ve also had slight skin outbreaks on my body (resolved, except for the constant bug bites I seem to collect) and remember how before I left for Prague back in 2000, Seth gave me some really expensive facial products because he warned me that while traveling your skin can go through hell.

Before departing for Colombia other friends also advised me to bring a few fancy products because while living in a developing country it’s nice to indulge in a shower with expensive soaps after sweating through pollution all day.  What was more important though was bringing tampons from the States because the paltry variety available here is expensive.  However, another consequence of adjusting to a different environment is missed periods (also resolved!), which shouldn’t have been cause for concern, but paranoia is a persistently invasive bitch.

Though the only way I could have been pregnant would be through miraculous conception (Jesus does stare down at me pretty hard while I sleep), I took two pregnancy tests before I was convinced that it was just my body getting used to a new place and living with new women that messed up my hormonal balance.

I’ve been video-Skyping with my family pretty regularly, so they have virtually met Angelica, Glennis, Maria Andrea and Jorge.  It wasn’t until this week though that they met my host mother, Gloria.  She showed an intense curiosity for seeing my parents, and lingered at my side while I talked to them.  My parents thanked her for taking care of me, and she replied, “A la orden” which is used by people who serve you, to say something like, “At your service” instead of just the customary “de nada” (literally, “it’s nothing” but Spanish’s equivalent of “you’re welcome”).

Gloria told me that I look like my mother, which is undeniable, and how nice my parents seemed.  It was good timing for her to see my father because he looks healthy again (the treatments he’s received have thus far been miraculously successful, and we’re all grateful for his wonderful care at Duke Medical Center.  Say what you will about the basketball team, but the medical team has been champs).  He’s even starting to get the first stubble of facial hair back, which must be reminiscent of puberty, though the hairs coming in are white rather than dark.

It was fascinating for me to see my parents interacting with Gloria.  It felt like my birth parents and adoptive mother were meeting for the first time and I was this proud little girl who’s lucky enough to be loved by both sides.

Later that evening over dinner, Gloria told me that even after I leave Colombia, whenever I come back, this will be my home.  I assured her that she and her family will always have a place to stay in the States too, even though I know that she will never come – a trip for her and the girls would be prohibitively expensive and very difficult for everyone to get visas.  I really meant it though and it was so touching to hear her tell me that I will always have a place to stay here.  I imagine coming back one day with my own family (or maybe just a partner), but I know it won’t be the same.  Jorge is 87; even if I came back in a year he wouldn’t be the same smiling saint, offering me equal doses of sweets and medicine.

Since I’m avoiding eating sweets this year, medicine is more useful and came in handy this weekend.

Fridays are always tough for me because I wake up at 5:30am and teach two classes starting at 7.  This past Friday, I taught three classes in a row because I was subbing for another teacher, and so by the time I got back home, I was ready for a big lunch and a nap.

Lunch was perfectly satisfying: Ajiaco Santafereño, a soup of shredded chicken, potatoes, rice, herbs, and corn on the cob, followed by avocado salad.  After socializing with the extended family and guests (I could actually follow along with some of the conversation and contributed to it at times), I excused myself and headed to bed.  I caught up with a friend over Skype for about an hour and couldn’t fight my fatigue any longer, so I turned off the lights, drew the curtains, and settled in.  It was 5pm and the moment my head hit the pillow, I should have been asleep.  Instead, a child’s birthday party in the gazebo across from my apartment started up, complete with an MC guiding the children through songs.  Of course, no Colombian party is really a fiesta without 3-foot speakers, so the insufferably loud music and goofy voice of the MC made my nap impossible.

I decided that grading papers might lull me to sleep, but I was too distracted by the initial scratches of a sore throat and some bouts of sneezing to pass out.  I figured I just had to rally through the evening, and after receiving an invitation to go to a concert downtown with the godmother/aunt of my host sister – a new Colombian friend! – I hopped in the shower and went downtown for an evening of language exchange and Colombian music.

As we ate our delicious gringo food at Crepes & Waffles, my sore throat progressed and not even the Aromatica tea, a Colombian herbal tea with evaporated and dehydrated sugar cane juice (panela pulverizada), could make it better.  We walked through a slight drizzle, an excuse for Cartageneros not to leave the house, and arrived at the concert, which started about 3.5 hours after the time on the ticket indicated.

The venue was freezing and though I would typically be grateful for super pumped up air-conditioning, I was shivering.  My sore throat was now more than a scratch and non-stop shaking from the cold exhausted my body.  It was very odd feeling chilled during one of the hottest weeks in Cartagena.  It became difficult for me to keep my eyes open, so after downing a bottle of Gatorade, I got into a collective taxi to make my way home.

It was a comfort to arrive back to the apartment, and though I only had 1000 pesos left (about 50 cents), I knew that after a night of sweating out my fever, I’d wake up to a family who cares about me.  I knew that I’d get another hearty lunch and afterward that I could just return to my room to sleep the sick away.  I have no other obligations other than just to get better.

I had a temperature of 100.2, which isn’t terrible, but when you’re away from home, any kind of illness feels more serious than it usually is.  The worst part of being sick in a foreign country is feeling like you’re all alone.  I know that I am not alone here though, especially since Jorge offered me Colombia’s equivalent of Vicks-Vapo-Rub, which I accepted, and some Colombian acetaminophen.  I was hoping for something a bit stronger since prescription drugs are very cheap here and a prescription is not often required (I have not taken advantage of this situation yet but give me your requests and I’ll see what I can do).  As cheesy as it sounds, the greatest cure will be the love of my adoptive family and right about now, I’m okay with trading my independence for some good old-fashioned CTC (Cuidado Tierno y Cariñoso).

Brother from Another Mother

Last Tuesday we celebrated International Women’s Day, El Dia de la Mujer, and it seemed like a much bigger deal here in Colombia than in the US.  Previous to this year, the only reason I knew that there was such a holiday is because I worked at the UN.

On my morning bus ride, I noticed men and women carrying bouquets or single roses and so it seemed that the way to honor a woman was to give her a flower.  I wanted confirmation, so I asked a Colombian friend how people here celebrate and he said, “If you have a boyfriend, you fuck him. If you don’t, you fuck anyone.  It’s the best way to honor a woman; to give her sex.”  While he seemed to be on to something, I didn’t receive either the traditional or the practical gift.  Instead, in between using the past continuous or simple past tenses, my students wished me, “Happy Day, teacher!” and my phone company sent me a text message reminding me that violence against women in unacceptable and to honor the woman on her special day.

It’s fascinating that in Colombia, El Dia de La Mujer is a commercialized and widely acknowledged holiday, especially considering the way women here are treated.  I was prepared to see women (either mothers, grandmothers or the maids) as the head of the household, making decisions about finances, schooling for the children, being a strict disciplinarian and a good cook (in fact, many women hold high-level positions in political offices here, but still women are primarily responsible for keeping the home).  What I wasn’t prepared for is how typical it is for them to be cheated on.

Now that I’ve been able to speak to more Colombians (my Spanish is slowly improving), I’ve heard more and more stories about second families.  One friend in the States proposed that this might be occurring because there are more women in Colombia, and it’s better to have half a man than no man at all.  Although my friend in Cartagena told me that for every man there are 6 or 7 women, I looked up the statistics and according to the UN data, there are 96.9 men to every 100 women, so not exactly a wide enough gap to merit all the cheating, but even more people have told me that one man generally has two or more women here.  And yet, so many men here have children outside their marriages that it’s socially acceptable for people to open up about finding out they have half-brothers or sisters or knowing that their husbands won’t be at a family celebration because they have to take care of their illegitimate children for the evening.

This phenomenon is a result of living in a predominantly Catholic, machismo country, where only in the past decade or two has it been possible for Catholic couples to get a divorce.  Even in my host family, my “mother” has been separated from her husband for at least six years (I don’t even know his name) and there is no chance for reconciliation, yet they will not divorce.

Most men who cheat here also have the bad fortune of impregnating their mistresses.  A Colombian friend told me that his uncle once advised him to try to impregnate every woman he slept with, as a demonstration of virility and masculinity.  When he saw the shock on my face upon hearing this, he reassured me that the younger generation understands the benefits of using protection, and that usually the men will stay with their wives and often support both their legal and their second families.  That seems a lot more expensive than a box of condoms.

The stories about second families come up over and over again.  My first exposure was from an incredibly artistic and talented woman who has a beauty salon set up in a room of her apartment.  She looked especially sad when she was giving me my first Colombian pedicure.  I hadn’t had a pedicure in over a month, and I really didn’t think that my toes were that bad, but in-between her painful and blood-inducing exploration into my nail beds, I managed to ask her why she seemed so distraught.  She responded that she hadn’t been sleeping well because her husband has another woman and it’s upsetting her.  Since her salon is in her apartment, I caught a glimpse of her señor and he was painfully unattractive – actually he looked a bit like a gray-haired version of Luis Guzman. I suppose that even if your husband isn’t hot, you’re still not especially pleased that he’s having kids with another woman.  She was waiting for him to respond to an ultimatum – he had to choose which family he wanted to be with and leave the other behind.  When I got my second pedicure from her a month later, he was still hanging around, and she was still impatiently waiting for his decision.

Students in my “speaking corner,” an informal gathering of students who want to practice English conversational skills, opened up without prompting about how their fathers have second families.  One student, we’ll call him Juan, told me about how he only found out a few years ago that he has a half-sister who is 5 years younger than him, and he’s carrying around a lot of anger and resentment towards his father.  He has no desire to meet his half-sister and said that his mother saw her on the street one day and ignored her and that’s what he would do if he saw her as well.  His friend Jesus chided Juan and encouraged him to embrace a relationship with his sister (it would be like Jesus to give advice about turning the other cheek).  Jesus told us he’s best friends with his half-brother from his father’s extra-marital affair.  They’re the same age.  He told me that his parents are happy that they’re friends, and apparently his mother even approves of the relationship Jesus has with her husband’s illegitimate children.

Another instance of this comes from a man we’ll call Lionel, whose wife is pregnant and who just impregnated another woman (and has a daughter from a previous marriage).  He said that a few years ago, his own father confessed to having other children and encouraged him to go find his half-brother.  He started searching for the man, and even knew that the man lived in the same area as his sister, but they were having trouble confirming his identity when they looked through the phone book because he wasn’t using his father’s last name.  Eventually, while watching TV one day, his sister saw a very-familiar looking man on screen.  He looked almost exactly like her brother Lionel, and so she found out his name because he kept appearing on TV and after a few phone calls, she was able to confirm that it was their half-brother.  He was running for President of Colombia.

Lionel called up the campaign headquarters and told them his name and why he was calling, and was able to set up an appointment to go and see the presidential candidate.  Something like that would be a complete scandal in the States and would probably ruin the man’s candidacy.  Yet here, the presidential candidate had apparently known all along about his father’s legitimate family, and had been waiting for them to approach him.  Lionel became emotional as he told me about his initial meeting with his half-brother; once they saw each other and the strong resemblance, the two men embraced and cried and now feel united as one family.

I know that infidelity is universal, and whether or not women are empowered and independent makes no difference in the tendency for their partners to cheat.  Or could it be that women who are empowered and independent seem to drive men away because they are not as necessary?  I put this question to my best friend, a social worker with a specialization in relationship abuse prevention, and she said, “It might be a question of whether women who are independent and empowered choose men more wisely.”  She purports that they’ll seek out men with better qualities than a woman who is less empowered or self assured and who might settle for a man who is not as upstanding as she is.  She also reminded me about the Dan Savage camp, who thinks that monogamy is not natural and that the majority of people will cheat in their lives, so even an empowered woman in a stable relationship with a loving man, might find herself or her man cheating and it would have nothing to do with the empowerment of either person.

I looked up some statistics about infidelity and reasons for cheating, and discovered that 60% of men and 40% of women admit to having affairs.  Men in higher social statuses tend to cheat most often.  Most cheaters say that it’s not about the sex, but instead it’s about forging an emotional connection with someone outside their relationship who they feel appreciates them more and communicates with them better than their spouses.

Of course, cheating begets jealousy, which often begets violence.  Just as second families are much more visible here than in the States, so is domestic violence.  For example, when prompted to write a journal entry about witnessing crimes or crimes that they’ve heard about recently, one of my students wrote the following, “One day in the morning, I was in my house with my parents when we heard shouts.  When we looked outside, a woman was running because her husband wanted to kill her.  She didn’t run fast enough, and he reached her and killed her with a torch.  It was horrible!”

My student WITNESSED that – it wasn’t just a story she read about in the news (though plenty of other students did write about domestic violence stories they read about, like one in which a husband was jealous and so poured gasoline all over his wife and lit her on fire in their bed, or another jealous husband who cut his wife into pieces and kept her body in the trunk of his car).

These stories could be in papers in the US as well – domestic violence unfortunately happens everywhere – but here, where Catholic dogma forces people into both very public displays of affection because of the taboo restrictions of being alone with someone of the opposite sex in your room if you’re unmarried (I see young couples making out in alleyways and behind apartment complexes all the time) as well as covert affairs where couples go to secret rooms downstairs in bars to get it on, both violence and an abundance of sexual energy is all around.  Perhaps the two go hand-in-hand, but as Colombia strives to erase its reputation as a violent country and instead promote the warmth of the people and its natural beauty, it’s time also to work on that machismo attitude of seed spreading and instead spread around some protection.

Maybe I’ll start a campaign so that next year for El Dia de La Mujer, women will receive a bouquet of these instead of roses!