I am Coming Home

I am coming home.

This just keeps running through my head, over and over.  Honestly, I thought it would drive me crazy.  I thought I would be dreading it.  But I’m not.  There’s part of me that so, so badly wants to come home.

In fact, I’m making small, hypothetical plans; about people I’m going to see, what I might do, where I might go, what I might eat.  More often than not, the image of sharing coffee with my family on my mom’s back porch just keeps running through my head over and over and over.  

But, there’s a problem.  I’m so looking forward to everything at home that I know reality isn’t hitting me.  A little over a year ago, I made the decision to come to a new place, and I could plan on everything feeling new and different.   Now that I’ve been here for almost a year, Uruguay doesn’t really feel different anymore; it doesn’t really feel new, either.  It does feel like home.  I came to Uruguay not knowing anyone, but now I have friends here who I can’t imagine not seeing every day.

I think my biggest problem is this; in my head, there’s a continuum between where I am now and my people here and the people I’ll see in Wisconsin.  I have yet to fully grasp the fact that these two communities uniquely meet in my experience; I won’t be able to reference people who I’ve met here in Uruguay and have my friends in Wisconsin know who they are, just like I felt at the beginning of this year, when I came here and none of the people I met knew anything about my stories from home.

I’m coming to the realization that I’m going to have to be reintegrated at home, and that it may take time, like becoming integrated here in Uruguay did.  

There is a huge focus on the transitions and changes that a YAGM goes through during their year of service in their host country.  But I’m about to enter another phase of this program- crossing back, coming home.   I think the gifts, fruits, and lessons from this year won’t be fully revealed for a long time.   And that is going to take patience, both on my part, and for those who might be so kind as to listen to me.  Right now, I can’t promise I’m going to know how to be patient in this.

So, I want to ask all of you fine people at home a favor.

Please drink mate with me.

Mate is proof that God is good and wants us to be in community with each other.   Let me explain.

Mate has three parts:

·         The mate- the squash gourd from which you drink

·         The yerba- the tea leaves that you put in the mate and infuse in hot water

·         The bombilla- the metal straw that you sip the tea out of

When you drink mate, the majority of the time, you share it.  You sit with your friends, and you pass it along, refilling it between each person.  It is done in community- in fact, before you can even use a mate gourd for the first time, it has to be cured.  To do this, you need old, used yerba leaves, which you get from someone else’s mate.  You can’t even start this tradition without relying on someone.  It’s wonderful.

My fellow volunteer, ready to share a mate.

Sharing mate was one of the first things here in Uruguay that helped me identify that I was part of a community.   It’s a simple act that lets people know they’re included and helps them feel at home.  It’s a simple way of marking time together; drinking the mate is a small act of “doing” while, in reality, it creates a space for friends to just be with each other.  During this year, I’ve laughed, cried, been bored, been crabby, been content, all while sharing a mate.

As I come back to the U.S., I know that sharing mate is something I’m going to want to bring home.  I’m going to want to have that set time of just hanging out, where I hear about your year and you hear about mine, or we just talk about the day.

Seriously, though; you + me + mate.  It’ll be a small way to combine my two worlds. It'll be great. 

See you all soon.

This is a picture of where I got my stitches taken out.  (Oh, I had to get stitches a few months ago- two, in my right knee, to be exact.)

Anyway, this is where the doctor took out my stitches.  It’s a very open room, and did you notice those glass doors looking right onto the street?  It’s this cool medical theory they have here- patients should have a visual reminder of the outside world during doctor’s visits so that they remember, when all’s said and done, they’re going to re-enter into society.  So, while I waited to be free of my stitches, I watched others walk around, care-free.

No, I’m kidding.  This isn’t a doctor’s office, and I just pulled that theory out of nowhere.  It’s actually the foyer of my building…which is also the Lutheran church…and a dental office. 

But, part of that was true- a doctor really did take my stitches out in that foyer.  And I want to use this as an example of the sanitation of our culture.

…the “sanitation of culture” is kind of a loaded, anthropology-ish sounding phrase.  Rightly so, as the only time I’ve heard the phrase “sanitation of culture” in real life was in an anthropology seminar…but I still want to use it to talk about some stuff I’ve been sorting out.

I got my stitches taken out in my home, by a doctor I happen to know through my church.  She came to the building where I live to open the doors for the Alcoholics Anonymous group that meets here a couple days a week, and then suggested we take advantage of her presence by taking out my sutures.  So, in between greeting people, she removed the tiny threads from my healed wound (in a totally hygienic and safe manner- Mom, Dad, Heidi).   And then we both continued on with our days.

I guess that’s not too crazy, my accident prone younger brother informed me I could have just taken the stitches out myself, like he does…that seemed a little too un-sanitized.

Anyway though, back to what I wanted to say about that sanitation stuff.  I feel like back home (the U.S.), we have this need to categorize and to arrange in neat corners of our brain what goes where.  We have vacation time, down time, family time, etc.  And I can’t help but feel that this is true of religion as well.  For one, we often want to keep our church-ness to Sundays.  And for another, we want to keep those Sundays, well, clean.  We dress up, we smile nicely, we pretend we don’t swear or speak badly of things. 

But then, if we look at the stories, there’s just no way Jesus was that clean.  He was walking around barefoot, vulnerable to the hospitality of others.  I’m currently reading Life of Pi, and the narrator describes Jesus in this way;

          “This Son is a god who walked, a pedestrian god- and in a hot place, at that- with a stride like any   human stride, the sandal reaching just above the rocks along the way, and when He splurged on transportation, it was a regular donkey (p.56).”

Guys, I think Jesus was kind of a dirty hippie.

No, I am not suggesting that we all stop showering and mimic the actual hygiene practices of this time period.  Metaphorically, I’m trying to figure out why religion is so compartmentalized in our lives, and why it’s hard to let all parts of our lives flow together freely. It extends beyond religion- I think it is often a challenge for us to find continuity between whom and how we are at work, how we are at home, with friends, in new situations, etc.

As I think about being the second half of my year in Uruguay, I have started to reflect on how I will carry this experience home. What do I have to expect when I get back, what will I be able to bring home, how will I make sure that I don’t file away the experiences I’ve had here, in Uruguay, as only relevant to now?

I feel like I’m putting a lot of questions and thoughts together in this blog, but I like this image of my foyer/ doctor’s office as a sounding board and I wanted to share it.  I simultaneously was in my home, at the doctor, with a friend, opening the doors for an AA meeting and watching all walks of life go by outside.  And I like wrestling with the duality of these faces of religion as I know it- the crispness of a Sunday morning, and the image of the Son of God as a common person, walking down the street next to you.

I’m just questioning how to let it all flow together.

My Dad Tells a Lot of Jokes.

My dad tells a lot of jokes.

That was a total lie.  He does not tell a lot of jokes.  My dad has told the same four jokes for my entire life.  And, they are more are less puns, and more or less things only dads find worthy of repeating.

A couple weeks ago, when I was on skype with him, he started in on one;

“So, Kari, last night I went to bed really, really hungry.  And I had this dream that I ate a giant marshmallow.  And then when I woke up, my pillow was gone!  Boy, was I down in the mouth.”

I think I pretended to laugh or something. 

A couple days later, something weird happened.  I was with some of my friends here, and I said “my dad told me his joke again the other night.”  And then I listened to myself retell it.

And then something even weirder happened.  My friends laughed.  No, not a polite, “thanks for trying!” laugh, they legitimately laughed.  Like, it shook them deep down in their bellies; one of my friends was even doubled over, supporting himself on his knees he was laughing so hard.  And I couldn’t even translate the “down in the mouth” pun, which is arguably the only clever part of that joke.

So, why does this story make it onto my blog?  Well, boys and girls, I want you all to know, that with enough ambition and a good ol’ college try, you can all someday, just like my father, turn your pillows into giant marshmallows.

Totally kidding.  Aren't I funnier than my dad??

No, but really, here’s my point.  There is a lot of beauty in this YAGM year that we have been given, but arguably one of the most beautiful and valuable parts is that it is new; we are hearing the jokes for the first time. 

I can’t role my eyes at the “punch line” of having friends and a community with whom I can share, and I am constantly amazed at the difference a good listener and a good conversation can make in my day.  Simple every day, repeated tasks are painted with the fresh coat of my new surroundings.  This year, I experienced Advent and Epiphany during summer, so I had to look at the seasons differently, and re-examine what had previously seemed so familiar back home. 

Now that I am about half way through with my year, I am understanding the context more and am more able to laugh along with those around me, while still appreciating the surprise and newness in each day.

I think this is where my joke metaphor ends, but I feel as though for the sake of parallel structure, I should end with another one…Here we go:

Pete and Repeat were in a boat.  Pete fell out.  Who was left?

(My dad was a big fan of that one in the 90’s, thank goodness it has since fallen out of his repertoire.)

Abram's List

When people here ask me what my job was back home, I have a pretty standard answer; it goes a little like this:

“Era la niñera por el chico más precioso del mundo.”

(I was a nanny for the most precious child in the world).

It’s a pretty strong statement, and it’s also kind of a lie.  In reality, I was a nanny for several equally wonderful children; and furthermore, I don’t know every child in the world, so I don’t have the credentials to make this claim.

However, when I do make this statement, I’m usually referring to one little boy in particular- Abram.

Abram!

Hmm yes, that’s not exactly fair, but let me try to explain it.  I’m not playing favorites; he’s just very, very special.  For one, he’s two and a half, which is a great age for so many reasons.  And for another, he has a “list”.

The first couple of days I was watching Abram, I was a little confused about this “list”.  You see, he would just stop in the middle of what he was doing and start naming people.

“Mama, Daddy, Eden, Kodi, Donna…”  and the list goes on.

It took me awhile to realize it, but I finally understood that he was just stopping, and naming the people he loves.

You have to agree with me- that has to be one of the most precious things you’ve ever heard of, right?

While I’ve been here, and while I was preparing to leave, I’ve been surrounded by a tremendous amount of support and love and generosity.  I felt it before I left, and I feel it all the time now- whether it’s through messages I get from home or from fellow Yagms around the globe, through prayers, or through the new people who have become my community here.  Being away from the familiarity of this season is hard, but it is made easier by this web that has been spun around me by all the people I am blessed to know.  This Christmas season, I wanted to come up with a way to show my gratitude to all of you, and the most sincere thing I can come up with is this:

I feel like Abram.  At any given point of any given day, I just want to stop and name you all, and name out loud how grateful I am that this list continues to grow.

You are all on my “Abram’s List”.  Merry Christmas and a happy New Year.

Abrazos,

Kari

Something Awesome.

Something awesome happened Monday, and I really want to tell you about it.

But I have to tell you a few other things, first, so you can fully appreciate the awesomeness.

At the Obra (my placement site), there are various workshops for the kids.  One of these workshops is health, and it takes place on Mondays. Recently they’ve been learning about the environment, and as a part of this, they decided as a class to clean up the public plaza that’s across the street from the Obra. 

So, they went over with sticks and garbage bags and picked up the trash, but then they decided they could go even further.  One kid had the idea to collect old plastic soda bottles from the neighborhood around the Obra, fill them with colored water, and then plant them around the lamp posts.  It actually looked quite nice.

See? It's pretty.

Since this plaza is a public plaza, the rest of the neighborhood was free to benefit from this beautifying project.  Unfortunately, this also means that a few of the kids in the neighborhood were able to dig up and break these plastic bottles.  Some of the kids from the Obra found the broken bottles the next day, and with much urgency, marched them back the Obra and asked a teacher what they could do about it.  Well, the culprits were tracked down, and you know what the teachers did?

(This is where the real awesomeness starts.)

They went up to those kids and said, “Listen!  This is your plaza, too.  You’re going to join us next Monday, and we’re all going to paint that old bus stop together!”

So, on Monday, those of us from the Obra walked over to the plaza, paintbrushes and paints in hand, and met the kids who had previously uprooted the beautifying project.  Then, both groups of kids worked side by side, asked for each other’s opinions, and created this fantastic mural together.

Check out that team work!

…I guess that’s it.  It was just really, really cool- that idea of reacting to destruction with collaboration and creation.

 And I just thought you all might like to know about that.

I, for one, got really into it.

“Grown-ups never understand anything by themselves, and it is tiresome for children to be always and forever explaining things to them.”  -Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

Each day at the community center where I’m placed, we share merienda with the kids at around five o’clock.  I hadn’t heard of it before arriving, but basically it’s the third meal of the day and usually consists of bread, yogurt and a fruit.  I was mildly confused by it at first, it seemed like it was turning dinner into “fourth meal”, but I’ve come to embrace it.

Each Tuesday and Thursday, we take the kids via bus to a pool for swimming lessons.  They’re divided into two groups, and the younger kids go first, have their lessons first, return to the community center first, and eat merienda first.  The older half of the kids follow suit.

A couple of weeks ago, while at the pool, one of the 10 year old girls from the older group called me over (I know it’s wrong to have favorites, but this girl happens to be one that I’m especially fond of).  She told me her stomach really hurt, and was near tears as she was telling me.  So I asked what she’d eaten that day.

“Nada.” She said.

“You haven’t eaten anything, all day?”

“No, nada.” 

She asked if she could go back earlier with the first group and arranged with one of the teachers to do so.  But, I really didn’t know what to say to her.   It was 3 o’clock in the afternoon, and she’d eaten nothing all day.  I just gave her a hug and rubbed her back and told her to go ahead with the rest of the group.

I lagged behind with the stragglers of the younger group, and rushed with them to meet up with the rest of the group who were now waiting at the bus stop to return.  As we approached, I saw that my friend, who had eaten nothing all day, was busy combing and fixing the hair of a 7-year-old girl.  She was patiently and gently untangling a knot that had found its way into the little girl’s hair during the swimming lessons.  Then, she made sure the younger kids all got on the bus before she boarded.

She hadn’t eaten all day.  Her stomach hurt so badly she’d cried.  And then she’d cared for the little kids.  Patiently and kindly, putting their needs before hers. 

My year here is about others- it’s about learning and caring and community.  But when things are still new to me and the language isn’t 100% clear to me, I forget and I often think of myself, first.  When I’m hungry, I can let it be my excuse for not giving as much of myself in whatever I’m doing. 

We have these basic needs- food, clothing, shelter.  They are instilled in our brains and in our ways of maneuvering our lives as the most important things.  But we also have this incredible need to be cared for and to care for others.

I didn’t tell you the name of my friend in this story, and this is why:  I don’t want her name to be associated with something you think of as starving, or as struggling.  I don’t know how often it happens that she doesn’t eat until we share merienda, I don’t know how many of the other kids I see every day wait to eat until five in the afternoon.  I don’t know if this whole not eating thing was some fluke and rarely happens to any of them.  I just know that she showed me, completely unintentionally, that as humans, we not only hunger for food, but we also hunger for interdependence and companionship. And a simple, small action can fulfill that need.  I think this girl could be anyone, for any of us.  Whether it’s a warm hug from a good friend, or a stranger stopping to hold the door; these small gestures can sustain us in times of need.

Once, I heard a Hurricane Katrina survivor talk about being trapped on his roof after the flood.  He said, “I was up there with my little dog, and I looked at him and said- ‘If I can just take care of you, I’m going to be all right.’”

Sometimes that lesson is best explained to us through the action of a child.

Go Big or Go Home.

I got sick here.  Well, I just got better, actually.  Here’s how it happened.  Three weeks ago my body was like, “BAM Kari, you’re in Uruguay and I don’t know what to do about it!” So, I got the flu.  And I went to the doctor.  And it was really overdramatic and involved a fever and missing an outing with the kids at work and people coming to check on me and I really wasn’t that sunshine-y during all of this. 

After about 5 or 6 days I was under the impression I was better.  And I was pretty pumped to be moving away from these sick days.  And then, about a day later my body went, “you know what, Kari, go big or go home.  And right now you’re not technically at home, so BAM again.”   And then I had all these awesome cold symptoms like conjunctivitis and a possible ear infection and a cough that didn’t let anyone in this building sleep.  It was great.

**Short interjection here to give you a little cultural lesson.  People here drink mate.  All the time. 

(Above: People sharing mate)

See that little metal straw?  It’s called a bombilla.  When you drink mate, you share.  You pass it around the circle and you all join in this collective experience of the sharing this age-old beverage.  It’s quite lovely, really and a wonderful reflection on community.  But for our benefit, I’ll cut this short and just let you know- we all drink from the same bombilla- which means that most of the other people I live with were coming down with some sort of cold-like symptom as well.

All except Erin, my fellow YAGM volunteer.  She was flying high, taking good care of all of us, you know, living the dream so to speak.  Then, Sunday morning she woke up to find out that her body had also gone “OMG URUGUAY!” and she’d come down with something, and it really wasn’t great.  We sent her back to bed to recover and the rest of us went to the church service.  The pastor asked where Erin was, and when we explained she had a fever, we found out a member of the congregation was a doctor (she was drinking mate during the service, just as a side note).  After the service, she came upstairs and examined Erin.  Erin’s body clearly wanted to make the biggest impression here, so it had given her some lovely sort of strep-throat type illness.   Eventually the doctor got Erin all set up with antibiotics and let us know we could call any time day or night.  

The doctor also helped me out, and came by to check out my various attractive symptoms.

But here’s the really cool part, and the actual point of this entry.  The doctor came by for the next few days to check on us.  First, she came with her doctor materials and examined us.  Next, she brought me cough syrup; Erin antibiotics; and both of us dinner.  More than that, she’s an extremely friendly and comfortable person.  So she doesn’t just bring the physical things, she brings a smile and encouraging words that let us know it’s ok to be a little homesick and that we shouldn’t feel bad asking her for help.

At the end of that week, as I was brushing my teeth, I thought I heard a familiar voice.  I went in the common room to find a friendly couple from the congregation.  They’d come to check up on us, too.  The women asserted, “When the doctor told me it was both of you who were sick, that’s when I said, that’s it! I’m going to see them and I’m bringing cake!”

And she did bring cake.  And it was awesome.  More importantly, they stayed for a while and talked to us, and invited us to their house anytime, because they knew it had to be hard for us to be away from everyone back home.

So, I learned about community.

Going to the doctor at home isn’t that fun.  Having a wonderful lady come to see you and bring you food? That’s better.  Having her let other people in our new community know about us?  That was pretty cool as well. 

So, you know what, body?  I’m not really that mad at you.  You made me realize how nice people here are, you made me realize we're interconnected.  But, just one thing- next time you want to pull a stunt like this, just remember this is my home now, so try not to go too big.  Thanks.