Updates from RachelRachel Dexter is a 2006 alumna of the University of Washington and an active member of our community while at the UW. She just finished serving for a year in Argentina with "Young Adults in Global Mission" of the ELCA (Evangelical Lutheran Church in America). While there she worked for the Latin American Council of Churches and their Gender Justice Program.
To my sponsors: This is my last month, and I am going back North now. Thank you so much for making this year possible. This is not something I would have been able to finance on my own, and it is only due to your generosity that I have been able to be here in Argentina for this year. THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!
To my fellow YAGMs: Congratulations to all of you. As I'm sure you already know, you should be proud of yourselves. I hope to see you all Stateside.
To everyone: This newsletter has the update for July AND it has some thoughts as I get ready to go back to the States. So as a result, it's a little longer.
JULY NEWSLETTER:
On the 9th of July it snowed in the capitol and Greater Buenos Aires area, including my town of José C. Paz . This is the first time it has snowed here in 89 years! Imagine what it would be like to live your life and never know what snow is. It also happened to be Independence Day in Argentina, so there was no work and no school. Everyone took to the streets to have snowball fights and make snowmen and dance in the falling snowflakes. Older people were playing alongside children and were just as joyful. I have never seen people so excited for snow!
The sad part amidst the excitement of the snow was the kids who live in Barrio Providencia. We went to the shantytown and there wasn't a single kid outside. At first I wanted to go door to door, inviting them all to a snowball fight, but it was explained to me that they can't come outside if they only have one pair of shoes; if they get wet, they will have nothing to wear tomorrow (thanks to high humidity, it takes things forever to dry). I've never seen the shantytown so quiet.
A consequence of all the cold weather has been school cancellations. Not because of snow, but because of the energy crisis. The schools don't have gas to heat the classrooms and they don't have space heaters either. So most of the kids in the shantytown had the whole week off from school, even though there was only one day of snow. The current energy crisis as a whole is complex and I don't understand it all, but gas and electricity prices have gone up and there have been many shortages. There were moments were you couldn't get gas and taxi drivers couldn't work, and there were black-outs, etc. Because the heating of houses and cooking is done with gas and electricity, the increase in prices and the shortages have had a huge financial effect on people, especially the poor.
The Día del Amigo (Friend Day) was July 20th. This is a very popular Argentine holiday which I had never heard of and which was indirectly started by the United States. The holiday is based on the day the first man walked on the moon. According to the story, all the world was united, watching the TV, and sharing together the awe that is walking on the moon. Apparently the feelings of friendship and unity across the world were so profoundly felt in Argentina that they decided to always remember that day and to use it to celebrate the friendships in their own lives. Everyone here was shocked that not only to we not celebrate this holiday in the United States but that I had actually never heard of it before.
My first Día del Amigo began when some of my younger friends stopped by to wish me a Happy Friend Day. I got a few text messages as well. In the afternoon I got together with the women from the Sewing and Gender workshop at the shantytown and we celebrated by eating cake and cookies. That night I got together with my college-aged co-workers from the shantytown for a long night of festivities. Throughout the whole day there was a lot of exchanging of candy, nick-knacks, cards, etc.
July also included the confirmation retreat of Los Puerkos (The confirmation group from the shantytown where I help out on Friday nights). The kids who form the confirmation group are diverse. Some of the kids live in the shantytown, some are from middle class families, and the rest fall at various economic levels in-between. In addition to huge class differences, there are also age differences, with the kids ranging from 12 to 17 years old. So naturally, when we took them all on a three-day retreat to the country, we were a little apprehensive. It ended up being an amazing weekend, full of lots of self-reflection, new friendships, and many tearful moments. In addition to Bible and theology, the content in this confirmation group always has a huge emphasis on human rights and social justice issues, as well as general self-esteem building. Most of the kids are what you call "high needs" and many of their personal, familial, and economic struggles were discussed and worked on this weekend. I saw huge changes in this group over the three days. Apart from the growth in spiritual and social justice areas and self-esteem, there was a genuine effort to include the boys from the shantytown and many new friendships were formed. While many of the confirmation kids are poor, it's the boys from the shantytown whose poverty seems so much greater when contrasted with what some of the other kids in the group have. One boy in particular is physically much smaller than normal for his age group, wore the same clothes with homespun patches the whole weekend, and used paperclips to close the zippers on his bag. It was a joy to see him grow during weekend and to see the others kids reach out, accept, include and form friendships with him.
There have been some difficulties in the shantytown this month. The first is that the 9-year-old mentally handicapped boy lit the field beside the shacks on fire. It was a substantial fire, and the firemen had to come to put it out. No houses or people were harmed. While this boy is a joy, we all struggle to control him and the fire incident is depressing because it is another sign of how as he grows he is getting harder to control. While I won't be at Barrio Providencia when he's older, I do fear that when he is too big to be controlled with physical force that he will be sent away somewhere. His mother has just had a beautiful new baby, but it is difficult to watch her breast feeding the new baby and hitting her other son with a stick to try to keep him in line. It is possible and likely that his mother will continue having children (right now she has 5) and I worry about what happens when he is too big and doesn't respond to the stick.
Another difficulty this month has been with the older boys of the shantytown. The community center has only been in existence for five years, so it is only as some of the original kids of the shantytown have grown up that there are teenage boys who participate in the activities. This age group faces lots of pressures: drugs, gangs, stealing, etc., so they are an important group to reach out to and include in the community center. But a couple weeks ago two of the boys were drugged up and got into a fight. Then one of the boys pulled out a gun. While things like this are not abnormal for the shantytown, it is the first time it has happened inside the grounds of the community center. The situation was handled calmly and even I didn't realize a gun was involved until one of the kids told me afterwards, as I was inside the building when the fight occurred.
This specific incident has been difficult and disheartening for everyone who volunteers at the shantytown. It is upsetting to see a huge step backwards in the lives of these two boys, especially the one brought the gun. It is yet one more example of the difficult lives the kids have and the struggles they face. It makes us feel powerless, like there is nothing we can do to get through to some of the boys. It is scary for us, to realize that the work we do puts us in danger. It is scary for the little children who participate, realizing the danger that they were in. And it is a violation of trust. I fear for the safety of all my co-workers at the shantytown in the years to come. While I will be leaving and returning to the "safety" of middle-class U.S. life, I know that they will continue the work in the shantytown, regardless of the personal risks. The incident also raises questions for me of how to do this sort of work. I know that the boys in that age group are the ones who most need our help, accompaniment and friendship, but that they are also the most dangerous to be with. The ones who most need the help are the most difficult to help. How do you find a balance between helping the most needy while still protecting yourself?
Another huge issue in the shantytown is the outbreak of scabies. Two families have very bad scabies. (I wrote about a boy last month who has a rash; well, it's scabies). Scabies is treatable with medicine, but it also requires enormous work on hygiene, like bagging all clothes and linens for two weeks, heat drying, etc. These steps are impossible for these families as they have very little clothes and no clean sheets/blankets. They also have a dirt floor and dirty dogs which come in and out. Medicine was obtained for the kids, but because of the extremely low hygiene standards, they are not getting better. The kids are covered with tiny scabs all over their body, which are the result of the burrowing of the parasite, and larger scabs from secondary infections mainly due to scratching with dirty fingernails. One baby in particular had her head shaved to reveal what to me looked like one giant scab covering her entire head. To try and combat this outbreak, we are now making all kids wash their hands before they get their snack. We also found a doctor who will be coming later this month to work with the families and to work with us volunteers. We are also planning on trying to get the local government to help with the cost of medicine. It is worrisome though, because without good hygiene in the homes re-infection will occur. And it is not coincidence that the most infected family has the mother with the lowest involvement in the lives of her children. It has been difficult to see the evolution of the disease in the children, to see their scabby hands reach for a cracker, to see them itch so hard they can't concentrate to finish a math assignment. Since I am leaving soon, I think of everyone I am leaving behind. Will these precious kids ever get better? Will more kids become infected? Will my co-workers become infected too?
In happier shantytown news, we got 40 free tickets to the Barney Circus (as in the purple dinosaur Barney). Since the tickets were for Thursday, we took the kids from the Homework Help workshop. It was tons of fun to watch their faces, especially the littlest kids, as they were mesmerized by the air acrobatics, twirling batons of fire, and dangerous knife throwing tricks. A few of the funnier moments for me were 1) Seeing Barney, Mickey Mouse, and Scooby Doo singing together in Spanish and rocking out on musical instruments 2) The obvious body-language signs of fear coming from the person inside the Barney costume as 40 kids with no idea of personal physical limits came charging at him and 3) One of the street dogs from the shantytown who not only followed us on the mile-long walk to the circus, through the center of José C. Paz and across a busy highway, but also joined us inside the tent for the show. Don't worry, he made it back to the shantytown okay.
This month at my women's rights job I helped work on a presentation on the Millennium Development Goals. During that process, I came across some good quotes on justice which I wanted to share with you all:
"Charity is an act that responds to the broken and sinful nature of humanity by helping a person or persons in need. Charity is a temporary response to a human need. Justice is an act that seeks to change the broken and sinful conditions that create human need in the first place. Justice is a permanent solution to human need. Both charity and justice are important, but justice is the most fundamental action because the purpose of justice is to create a world where acts of charity are no longer necessary."
"On the one hand we are called to play the Good Samaritan on life's roadside, but that will be only an initial act. One day we must come to see that the whole Jericho Road must be transformed so that men and women will not be constantly beaten and robbed as they make their journey on life's highway. True compassion is more than flinging a coin to a beggar. It comes to see that an edifice which produces beggars needs restructuring." The Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.
(Both quotes from "God's Mission in the World: An Ecumenical Christian Study Guide on Global Poverty and the Millennium Development Goals" which can be downloaded here http://www.elca.org/advocacy/one/06-03-29-resources.html).
FINAL THOUGHTS:
Transitions are always hard. A year is a long time to live somewhere. "Home" with a capitol "H" is a confusing word for me right now, but I can say that I have made a home here in Argentina, even with all the difficulties, challenges, and dark times I had this year. As with any home, it is always tough to leave. When I think of my home here, I think of my tiny cinderblock house which I have loved so much, even though I sometimes cursed its hardships. I think of my neighborhood, the houses of Irma, Omar, Rosy, Juan/Santi, Gaby. I think of Gaspar Campos street and all the businesses I so often frequented, the internet cafe, the grocery store, the bread store, the fruit stand, the cemetery. I think of Joaquín V. Gonzales street and the walk to the barrio. Junín, the dirt road which ends at there. The wooden shacks of the shantytown in their rows, with tarps and aluminum and tar paper. The smooth, milky color of the dirt roads when they are dry and the rich brown of the mud after the rain. The dogs that are constantly underfoot. The trash, and the flowers that grow among it.
I think of José C. Paz and everything it means to live there. The collective struggles of the people who live in one of the poorest, most corrupt cities of the province. The concrete-greyness and the washed-out colors of the buildings and storefronts. The dust. The sidewalk vendors. I think of taking the San Martín train to the capitol, of every station stop name, of the landscape that always appears out the window in the same order.
I think of working in the capitol, of CLAI, of gender justice work. Of Judy and all that was our work together. All the conversations, all the mini-sermons, all the meals, all the projects (and all the deadlines!), all the wisdom and knowledge and life experience that she shared with me. I think of the all the people I have met this year, who I've gotten to know, who have influenced me, and who have become dear to me: Rosy, Omar, Irma, Alicia, José María, Gladys, Agustine, Juan, Santi, Joaquín, Facu, Julián, Kate, Judy, Gaby, Analía, Pali, Leo, Christián, Javo, Maca, Juli, Juli, Mati, Cintia, Roly, Maxi, Panchi, Dani, Fede, Facu, Sandra, Carola, Lucía, Brian, Ayelén, Anahí, Lourdes, Karin, Katy, Noelia, Milagros, Walter, Alejandra, Karin, Kevin, David, Elías, Agustín, Franco, Emilio, Lucas, Joaquín, Jonny, Javi, Nati, Emanuel, Lucas, Gonzalo, Yanina, Mikaela, Mili, Lolo, Fiama, Nauhel, Cintia, Elías, Juan, Ramiro, Tamara, Carrie, Justin, Stacey, Meredith, Lesley, David, Emily, Matthew, and so so so so many more!
I think about how much I've learned, how many things I've experienced, how much I've changed. There is so much I want to take with me, but I worry that I'll leave it all behind, that I'll forget. I've been thinking a lot about the future and I have a lot of questions, some big and some small: Will I hold on to the Latin American mentality of living in the moment, of not stressing over the small stuff? Will I remember that I can't plan everything in life? Will I incorporate the open and inviting attitude I've experienced here, the always-room-for-one-more mentality that includes everyone, regardless of the limitations of food, money, space, etc.? Will I still use the goofy and endearing Argentine hand gestures? Will my Argentine accent slowly fade away? Will I continue the progress I've made away from thinking of everything in black and white? Will I continue to see all the grey in life and will I be comfortable with it? Will I be hasty to make value judgments? Or will I be able to accept new ideas and concepts for what they are and not immediately decide if they are "good" or "bad"? Will I loose the Global South viewpoint I've gained while being here or will it continue to grow? Will I learn more about issues like economic justice, poverty, international debt, human rights, etc.? Will I lose the critical, questioning viewpoint I have been forming this year? Will I continue to dig beneath the surface or will I accept things at face-value? Will I question? Will I remember what it was like to be an outsider and will I welcome those who are new? Will I forget how to dance the Murga? Will I loose the patience I've learned this year? Or will I be upset at the "inconveniences" of daily living? Will I be affected by materialistic and consumer society? Will I be able to identify power structures in action? And will I be able to reject them? Will I "visibilize" the "invisiblized"? Will I integrate social service and social justice into my daily routine? Will poverty fill me with the pain that it does now? Will I respect and fight for the dignity of all human beings? Will I remember the lives of those who have touched me and shaped me this year? Will I take everything that I've experienced, learned, seen, heard, touched, and felt this year and will I place it all in a box and hide it away? Or will it continue to shape who I am and what I do? Will I live my life in a way worthy of this year?
August 12th is my birthday (23 years old!) and I will be celebrating it with as a combined birthday/going-away party. Birthdays are a really big deal here and since I've been here for almost a year now I have been to almost everyone's birthday party. I haven't celebrated my own birthday in years, so I'm excited to celebrate it here with everyone.
I will fly out on the evening of August 13th and 12 hours later I will be in Washington D.C. From there I will fly to Chicago and then to Portland, Oregon, where assuming all connections go smoothly I will arrive the afternoon of August 14th. As Henry Nouwin says, "My mind cannot yet do what the plane will do."
I plan on staying in Portland for at least a month. I have no job lined up, nor a concrete idea of what I want to do next. I plan on taking some time to rest, to continue processing everything that has happened this year, and to explore options and ideas for what will come next.
I plan on sending out one last newsletter after I have been back in the States for a little while, and I will be doing at least one talk in the Portland area.
I am grateful to all of you who have been faithfully reading my newsletters all these months, which has been no small task. I thank all of you for your support, love, letters, emails, and prayers. Thank you to all of you who have been cheering me on.
Peace and love, Rachel
On the first day of June one of the girls of the shantytown gave me a drawing. It was a boy bundled up in winter clothing and in the background were two trees with their branches chopped off (a common practice here so you don't have to rake leaves). The month of June, with its wintery cold, had begun. And with the humidity, the cold feels even colder. I know few people with central heating, and the cinder block/concrete houses we live in do not keep in the heat very well. When I'm at home I am usually beside my space heater. But there are no space heaters when I'm at the shantytown, or during my 3-hour (round trip) commute to my other job in the capitol, or when I'm walking around town, buying groceries, etc. In Wintertime in the States I was usually only outside long enough to get from one place to another. I put on the winter clothes just until I could take them off when I reached my destination. But here, where the temperature inside is often the same as outside, I put on all my layers of warm clothes and I rarely take them off. As frustrating as the cold has been for me, it is a reminder of yet one more thing that I've always taken for granted in life: being warm.
The month of June as a whole has passed very quickly. My weekdays have been just as busy as usual (I get home usually around 9pm) but the weekends have been overflowing with activities, meetings, parties, get-togethers, etc. And as weekend activities in Argentina usually end around 4,5,6 a.m. or later, the rest of my weekend free time has been devoted to sleep. So the combination of the full work week and the full weekend has made this the month fly by, and has left me a little tired.
At the beginning of the month I went with the other Argentina/Uruguay volunteers from my program (we're six all together) and our Coordinator to the office of the Madres de la Plaza de Mayo (Mother's of the Plaza de Mayo). These women are the mothers of people who disappeared ( i.e. were secretly kidnapped, tortured and murdered) during the dictatorship in the 70's and 80's. The visit was a powerful one as each Madre shared her story of the disappearance of her child and how the group began to gather together publicly, risking their life to demand information about their children and bring international attention to the issue. Even though it's been about 30 years since all this happened and the original Mothers are Grandmothers now, they are still unwavering in their persistence and dedication. During the meeting, we sat beside of a wall of photos of disappeared people, including photos of their own children which they pointed out to us afterwards. Together, we realized that we six volunteers are the same age as their children when they disappeared, and that we are doing similar work as they were.
Later on in the month I went to the Architecture department of of the University of Buenos Aires to run an errand. It's a huge building and the inside is open so you can see all the floors and look up to the huge skylights. Inside, along one whole side of the building is a mammoth banner. It's a couple of stories tall and as wide as the inside atrium area. It's covered with black-and-white photos of every architecture student who was disappeared during the dictatorship, along with their names and dates. It overwhelms everything else inside the building and it's impossible to ignore.
The Sewing and Gender workshop at the shantytown has been making great strides in the past weeks. This is a new workshop that we started this Fall (Spring in the Northern hemisphere). It started slowly, with a few women sitting outside on benches and struggling through diagrams of sewing patterns and becoming confused and bored. Eventually we gave up on the paper patterns and started sewing fabric in simple, straight lines to make blankets. The women got excited and our numbers doubled, tripled, quadrupled, etc. Not only are the women learning a concrete skill, but they are growing in confidence, pride and self-esteem. My favorite day of the workshop was when we sewed the edges of some silky donated fabric to make scarves. Instead of each women claiming her own material and sewing her own scarf, we sewed each scarf communally. So the scarf that I have and wear wasn't made by me but by another woman from the group. Instead of sewing for ourselves, we were sewing for each other. Since that day, the simple scarves have taken on a life of their own and every Wednesday the women come wearing them. It's become a symbol of this community of women. There is so much excitement and energy in the workshop now.
A difficult thing for me this month has been seeing the changes in one of my favorite boys in the shantytown. This month he came down with some sort of rash or parasite. I don't understand completely what the medical problem is, but his whole body itches and is covered with spots that look like pin-pricks. It's contagious so he has had to miss a lot of school and stay at home. But his home is a tiny wooden shack filled with his seven sisters, so it is natural that he is upset and has pent-up energy. And as his mother does not always take on an active parenting role, we have our doubts as to how and when he will get better. He has changed greatly this month, and is full of anger and more violent than I've ever seen. It has been upsetting to see his little sisters the victims of some of this violence. It has been so difficult for me to witness these physical and emotional changes in him. I am tired of feeling powerless.
I've been thinking a lot this month about what it means to live in another culture. While there are a lot of things I have adapted to, there are many areas where I am still trying, and some where I never will. Living in another culture is more than eating new foods, listening to different music, learning a second language, or adjusting to a different climate. It's learning how to take on a new perspective, a new worldview. It's a willingness to learn new opinions and points-of-views, and to re-examine your own. It's learning how to approach problems from a different angle. It's learning different rules for social interactions. It's learning to structure your day differently and to have different priorities. It's learning a different definition of what's popular or "cool", and realizing how far you are from it. It's learning a new history and how that affects the people collectively. It's being willing to open your eyes to see how things you've always thought were ugly are actually beautiful. And vice versa. I didn't realize how much my culture had formed me until I lived fully in another one.
A large part of the month of June, and the whole year really, has involved many struggles on my part to fit in here. As I've been dealing with frustrations resulting from that, I've finally accepted that part of being a U.S. citizen and living in Latin America means that I will never fit in. I can talk Spanish rapidly and with Argentine slang words, but my accent will always call me out. I can buy Argentine clothes and do my hair the Argentine way, but my tall body and large feet and blond hair will make me stand out. I've worked hard to understand the world-view of the Global South and Latin America, but the more conversations I have the more I realize how much my thoughts and opinions have been influenced by where I am from (for better or for worse). As much of an effort I make to live simply and economically, I am still from a rich country and even though I have always identified myself as middle-class, I am filthy rich by Argentine standards. These are just a few examples. Self-acceptance is easier when you fit in and feel like you belong. It's a lot harder when you always feel different. This year has taught me a lot.
I also had my first good-bye this month. The guy who works at my internet cafe left for the gas tank business (i.e., driving a truck around and delivering new gas tanks, like the one I use in my kitchen). I wasn't expecting to have to say goodbye to anyone until August and I didn't like starting the goodbye process so early.
Thank you for all the emails. Even if I haven't had time to respond to them all, I've greatly appreciated receiving them.
Peace and love, Rachel
Argentina is a country of contrasts. Extreme poverty lives alongside extreme wealth. When I reflect on my two part-time jobs, one in the shantytown and the other at a women's rights organization, I see lots of examples of these contrasts. These examples have been especially frequent this last month as I've been attending more mini conferences and lectures for my women's rights job. The conference halls and auditoriums where these events take place are always so elegant and high tech that I feel like I'm back in the U.S. It's so different from the tiny aluminum building we use at Barrio Providencia. I always attend these events in my nicest clothes and still feel underdressed. When I go to the barrio I wear my oldest, grungiest clothes but they still mark me as rich. As these events usually take place in important buildings, security is super tight and sometimes I can barely get through. In the shantytown stray dogs and cats pass through the doors almost as frequently as humans and because of the ever constant fear of being robbed I always try and leave my valuables at home. The food at these events is often quite spectacular, and two of the better food-related moments have been 1) eating a kosher Middle Eastern meal and remembering what it's like to eat ethnic food (something not very common in Argentina) and 2) snacking at a buffet that included huge silver platters of almonds, walnuts, and raisins, which are all so expensive here that it's difficult to purchase them on my food stipend. At the shantytown we spent MONTHS eating the boxes and boxes of low-quality pan dulce (sweet bread) that was donated after Christmas.
Sometimes I feel like I am living in two very different worlds. One world full of Parisian architecture, wide boulevards, and lush parks. The other full of cinder blocks, muddy dirt roads, and garbage heaps. One world full of fashionable clothes, fine dining, and spacious high-rise apartments. The other full of ill-fitting hand-me-downs, tortas fritas*, and crowded one-room shacks. When I step into the more wealthy world, I once in a while forget all about the poverty I temporarily left behind, but normally the contrast only makes me feel it all the more deeply.
*a torta frita is basically fried bread. It is commonly eaten in low-income families.
It was Maundy Thursday at Barrio Providencia, the small shantytown where I work part-time. They couldn't get a priest to come and do a mass so we did our own little celebration. The bread was placed on the table in the center of our circle and my jaw dropped at the sight of the largest Communion bread of my life. It was a couple of feet in diameter and about half a foot tall. Omar, my supervisor at Barrio Providencia, said a short speech about how that night we were going to do Communion a little differently. He explained how way back in September he attended the closing worship service for my orientation, along with all the other site supervisors. Like many of the people there that day, it was Omar's first exposure to Lutheranism (probably Protestantism in general). After all these months, he still remembered how we did Communion that day: We stood in a circle and each person served the bread and wine to the person beside them. And everybody participated (not something that usually happens among adult Catholics in the Catholic churches here).
I'm not sure what message Omar took from the Communion circle that day in September, but it made a significant enough impression upon him that months later we were recreating it in Barrio Providencia. That Maundy Thursday was special for me because I got to see EVERYBODY participate in Communion for the first time. The congregation also got to learn a little about my Lutheran background. And, for the first time, I was able to share in the bread and wine with my community there.
Argentina is 98% Catholic and the average person knows little about Protestantism or most other religions. For example, people often ask me if Lutherans are similar to Mormons. There is a Lutheran church in Argentina with 25 congregations throughout the country and neighboring Uruguay. But the Lutheran church here struggles with a huge financial crisis, very low membership, and governmental policies which unfairly favor the Catholic church.
"Humility" and "learning" are common themes for me in my daily life in Argentina.
Through my job in Barrio Providencia, the shanty-town, I am humbled both by the poverty I see and by my lack of understanding of it. I am slowly learning more about how the families live and the struggles they face, but the more I learn the more complex all the issues seem. I am continually presented with my own uncomfortableness and inexperience with poverty. I am slowly learning how to relate to the children and how to be a part of the community there, even though I have such a radically different background. Sadly, I'm also learning about the stereotypes and animosity that other people have towards those who live in shanty-towns. I can't help but wonder what groups of people in the States I am prejudiced towards...
In my job with the Latin American Council of Churches and their Gender Justice Program, I'm becoming aware of how wide and deep the arena of human rights is and how much there is to learn. I'm realizing that my own life has been privileged, and that the issues we work on I know only as statistics, not from personal experience. I'm learning that while changing behaviors is difficult, changing attitudes and beliefs is very, very difficult. I'm learning that making changes on a governmental or international level is an extremely slow process and requires something greater than patience.
Living in another culture is quite likely the most humbling and learning experience I've had yet. I've had to learn how to do most things over: like how to greet people hello and goodbye, how to turn on the oven, how to mail a letter, how the bus system works, how to use military time, etc. I'm having to adjust to a different schedule, to go with the flow more, to learn to be late to everything and to expect everything to be late. I'm working hard at learning to live without many of the conveniences I took for granted by in the States. I'm learning to depend upon other people and to ask for help. I'm getting used to people talking to me like I'm a child and explaining things to me multiple times. And I've realized that a small child will always be able to speak and understand Spanish better than I ever will.