Pelusa La Gata

I would like to introduce you to my little sister Pelusa. Pelusa is one years old. She is one of two pets that my host family currently has. The other is an 8 year old dog named Carnelo.

One week ago, Pelusa's mother died. Also, all of her brothers a sisters died during their birth, so she is the only one left of " la familia Gato." Before you pull out your tissues, I have to tell you that this has not stopped Pelusa from being a rambunchious, fun loving, creature. As you can probably imagine, she personifies the role of a "little sister" and takes this title very seriously, no matter how much I protest.

(In case you were wondering, those black spots on her face and arms aren't natural. Yesterday Pelusa decided to mess with Carnelo and sought refugee on the newly painted fence. LOL)

Pelusa and I currently have a love hate relationship. As some of you may know, I am allergic to cats (and dogs). My host family is doing a really good job of keeping the animals away from me as much as possible because they understand how difficult it can be for someone with asthma and allergies to live with pets.

Carnelo, the family pooch, understands this. He spends all of his days outside protecting the family from birds and bugs. Ocassionaly he sniffs around me and whines for me to pick him up but when I say "afuera" (go away) he quickly obeys. Pelusa, on the other hand, does not seem to understand my condition.

Pelsua is in love with me! No this is not an over exaggeration. Every where I go, Pelusa is hiding two steps behind me, waiting patiently for the day that I will reach down and touch her. It's almost like she thinks that my screaming and yelling at her is just a front for my true feelings. Nothing phases her.

Pelusa's goal, since the day I came into the house, has been to make me love her as much as she loves me. Even when I go in a room and close a the door to keep her away, she sits and bangs her head against the door until I come out or someone comes and gets her. The other night it was so bad that my host mother had to get out of bed and lock Pelusa in the restroom for fear that she would knock her brains out.

For the last three days Pelsua and i have been playing this exhausting game of "who is the fastest". There are two phases to this game:

Phase one is a test of sheer running ability. When she sees me coming, she gets into her hunting position and takes off running to my door. The goal of this phase is for Pelusa to try and beat me into my room before I close the door.

Although there have been a few injuries (mainly on the part of Pelusa's head being caught in the door) this part of the game is the easiest. I am the current victor of phase one.

The second phase is a test of flight and sheer strenght. When I go into the living room to sit down, she takes a few laps around the room and then pretends like she's going to lay down on the floor. As soon as I get comfortable on the couch, Pelusa leaps into the air, heading straight toward me. The goal of this phase is for Pelusa to land in or as close to my lap as possible. Almost like a kitty version of shot put.

My host mother's pillows have proven to be the perfect weapon during this phase, but alas, Pelusa usually wins.

Even though Pelusa is a pain, I have to admit that the chiquita is growing on me. She most definetly has the Puss and boots syndrome: When ever I yell at her she just sits and looks at me with her big beautiful eyes until I fall to putty. What can I say, I'm a sucker for pretty babies!

Pelusa: 4, Mitzi: 3

¿Quien es tu?

I have been in Spain for two days now. Things have already been eventful. On my first day in Mentrida, I ran into “La Loca,” or, from what I have persumed, the designated “town crazy.” As you can probably guess, our meeting was anything but dull.

When the prinicpal of my school came to pick me up from the aiport, he took me to a local restaurant to have lunch (or comida). In case you didn´t know, there are four meals in Spain: “desayuno, almuerzo, comida y cenar.” Desayuno is breakfast. This usually takes place around 8 or 9 in the morning. I woke up too late today to actually experience desayuno but when I do, I will be sure to report what the customary desayuno consists of.

Almuerzo is a snack that you have before lunch. This happens around 11 or 12 in the afternoon. Comida is lunch. This meal tends to be one of the biggest meals of the day and usually happens around 1 or 2 p.m. Finally, cena is dinner which is pretty simple and it happens around 8 or 9 p.m. Last night, for cenar, me and my host family had french bread and a few pieces of meat (one of them was bacon, the other was a tasty piece of pork that looked like a mix of ham and salami).

Contrary to popular belief, comida is not the time that everyone has a siesta. Actually, I´ve heard from some of the locals that siesta isn´t really observed in this town. Yes, things close earlier but there isn´t necessarily a time when people take a long break and then return to work. People usually eat lunch for an hour and either 1) leave for the day or 2) go to lunch for an hour and return to work. My work day ends at 1 p.m. Monday through Thursday. At 1 p.m. everyone eats lunch at the school and then we all go home.

Now that I´ve covered that, I can tell you about my ¨comida¨experience con “La Loca.” Once again, my director took me out to a local restaurant during comida my first day in Mentrida. As soon as I hit the door all eyes were on me, but thankfully no one approached me with any questions. In a way, I had expected there to be some confusion because of the previous research I had done on the town. Even still, my pricincipal warned me on the way to Mentrida from the airport. He light heartedly mentioned that people would be staring and wondering “ what he was doing with una negrita (or young black girl)”. Of course, I laughed it off because I had expected that there would be some curiosity but it seems that I underestimated some of the locals or ,I should say, one in particular.

Once we were seated, my director ordered the customary wine and gaseon (which is carbonated water mixed with wine to make it taste more like champagne). Then, he excused himself to go to the restroom and wash his hands. As soon as he left the table, an older woman came up to me. As you can imagine she was a little fiesty thing. I should have know something was about to happen when I first saw her tiny frame and huge, nose scrunching glasses.

As soon as the coast was clear, she walked over to me, peeped over her glasess and uttered, “¿quien es tu (who are you)?” From there, the questions started coming. It was like a speed marathon.

She wanted to know who I was, if I had married the director, where I was living, who I was living with, what was I doing in the town, etc, etc., etc. I could tell from her line of questioning that she had made it her personal goal to find out who exactly I was. Being that I was nervous and my spainsh is weak compared to theirs, she quickly became frustrated with my simple answers and immediately started in on my director when he came back to the table. Once they started going back and forth, I awkwardly sat in my seat, watching as they talked about me. Thankfully, they talked very fast and I didn´t know exactly what they were saying. Judging from both of their expressions, It was better that I didn´t comprehend all of it.

After she finally left, I told my director the things she had said and he assured me not to worry about her because she was “La Loca,” or the crazy lady. Outside of “La Loca” everyone has been pretty nice, but I have a feeling that this isn´t the last I have seen of “La Loca”.

Lluego Amores,
Mitzi

8 months….what was I thinking?

So I am about six days from my departure to Spain and I am terrified… Yes terrified… like puking, calling my friends at 5 a.m. crying, begging them to reassure me that I’m doing the right thing, terrified. (I can’t believe I just admitted that but we’re all friends now so here goes…)

I know that you all are probably thinking the same thing that everyone has been telling me since the terrified set in about two days ago: What is there to be terrified about? This is a once in a lifetime experience, a new chapter, new start, new________ (fill in our favorite adjective); but that “new” is exactly what scares me.

For the last couple of years I’ve been hopping in my car, getting on planes and traveling where ever my old, beat up suitcases would take me. This time it all feels different. This time, I’m not just a passive traveler sight seeing my way around the country until my money runs out. For eight months, I will be a transplant in the Spanish society. That means that as a transplant, I will (for the first time) be immersed in the culture: taking in the smells, the moments, the faces and not just passively saying hello.

I want you to, just for a second, think about what this REALLY means. In a literal sense, when someone has something transplanted into their body, it’s usually a foreign object that (in most cases) is meant to save their lives. Once that thing is transplanted into the host body (whether it be a new heart, a kidney, etc.) one of two things can happen: either the ‘new’ part can take effect and mold into the body or the body can reject it and the organ is removed.

In a figurative sense, I will (for 8 months) become a part of the culture, the food the dancing, the people, the good and the bad. More importantly, for 8 months Spain will become a part of me. I will no longer be the 10 year old girl vowing to visit that far away land. I will, for all purposes, be a temporary resident in a new country starting over. Like a literal transplant I will never be able to remove this experience and it could, very well save my life or at least change it from now on. Whatever happens, whether good or bad, I will never be able to take this moment back. I know that sounds really weighty and dramatic but

for the last four months I have fallen in love with this country that I’ve never been to; a place that I have dreamt of my whole life and with that comes a WHOLE LOT of expectation.

In all honesty, I think thing that scares me most isn’t that I’m going to go there and hate it and never want to go back. I mean its Europe, millions of people travel there every year so there has to be SOMETHING good about the country. No, my fear is that I will fall head-over-heels with Spain (as all of my friends and family have already predicted) and not want to come back. If I may continue to be honest, that is exactly where the terror comes from: What if I get there, love it and become one of those people that never comes back? What if this becomes more than just a onetime experience? And worse yet, what if I come back, live my life in Texas (as I did before) but continually yearn for that 8 months I spent in Spain? Then what?

Yes I know I am making this all more complicated than it has to be. The simple fix would be to stop thinking about the things and just take in the experience for what it is. Yes that would be the simple fix but is life really that simple?

A border by any other name...

I am about 14 days (and counting) away from my move. Words can’t express how excited I am. I can’t wait to immerse myself into the experience that is Espana.

Now that a lot of my friends and family know about my upcoming move, I find myself having a greater dialogue about the African diaspora in Spain.

The more I talk about it, the more I can’t help but realize the similarities between African immigration in Spain and Mexican immigration in the United States.

Being that I have lived in South Texas for my entire life, I’ve had a first hand look at the illegal immigration issue between Mexico and the United States. In 2006, the United States’ government approved The Secure Fence Act which allowed the construction of a 700 mile fence between the United States and Mexico (Martinez, 2010;Office of the United States Press Secretary, 2006). Just one year earlier the Spanish government announced that they would be building a third fence in the Spanish territories of Ceuta and Melilla on the border of Morocco (Dago, 2005).

Essentially, the purpose of both fences is to keep out the millions of individuals who attempt to enter into these perspective countries each year despite the long trek through extreme desert temperatures and the imminent possibility of death. For the thousands who are able to battle the elements, each country holds a promise of wealth and opportunity that is currently lacking in areas of both Africa and South America.

I recently went back and read some of the stories of African immigrants within Spain that I had come across when I first wrote about this issue. One of the things that really stayed with me was a story about a man named Moussa who had been trying for years to enter into Spain illegally (Winter, 2005). It was interesting to me how this man kept describing Europe as if it were one step away from heaven. He and many of the soon-to-be illegal immigrants in his camp nicknamed the country “Eldorado” (Winter, 2005). To some, it would be understandable why Moussa would feel this way after reading his account of being eaten by fleas and living in unsanitary conditions. In fact, his view of Spain is no different than many of the individuals who enter into the United States from Mexico in search of the “American Dream.”

Yet, (and I might add) ironically, the conditions African illegal immigrants face (much like Latin American illegal immigrants in the U.S.) are as ficitional as the legend of “Eldorado.” Once they enter into each perspective country, the promise of wealth quickly diminishes and the legend becomes a bad story being told over and over again.

Statistically speaking, it’s nearly impossible for immigrants to find a job, let alone wealth, in their new host country and the chances are even slimmer for those who enter into a country illegally. Add to that, the sheer prejudices and retaliation associated with illegal immigration within the United States and Spain. Yet, many (as did the man who was interviewed) still thought it was worth it.

I think the thing that I can’t get passed in reading all of this is why “a wall” is always the answer? For centuries man has built walls to keep neighboring countries out (i.e. The Great Wall of China, The Berlin Wall, etc.). Ironically the United States and Spain have been instrumental in rallying the tearing down of other walls but continue to build their own.

Of course I understand the fear of the unknown and the inherent human need to seek safety. Who can forget this in a time when extremists are ending lives with the press of a button. The only thing more extreme than this, in my mind, is that as a compromise for our safety we have to ignore the fact that the majority of the individuals making this trek just want to feed their families.

No, I’m not saying that it is each perspective countries’ job to take on all the issues of another country. Nor am I saying that it is okay for people to break the law and enter into a country illegal when there are protocols in place to help them arrive legally.

What I am saying is, how can we as humans actively ignore the fact that these people are risking their lives to follow a dream we dangle in their faces?

I am also not saying that these walls are wrong or right. In all honesty, I haven’t set foot in Spain and it would be socially irresponsible for me to write of their process after reading news commentary but at the heart of me I can’t picture how we got to this point: The point where the only fix is to shut out and not to actively pursue a solution. Why is a wall (or no wall) the on only answer? It is my hope to actively come to an understanding all side of this issue while in Spain.

When a kiss is just a kiss...

So I am about 20 days away from my big move to Spain. Thankfully I’ve made a few contacts with some professors and students from my university who will be in Spain at the same time I will. Several of the students I met are in their second and third year of working as ESL teachers in Spain. They will come in handy as far as helping me navigate through my first couple of months since I'll be doing the same thing. In fact, I’ve already found them useful.

Beyond meeting the students I mentioned earlier, I haven’t had much contact with anyone from my region or Spain, in general. Actually the only contact I’ve had with someone in Spain has been through emails with the director of my school. While my contact has been limited, I am learning A LOT about the culture already.

You know how they say a picture is worth a thousand words? Well whoever said that clearly didn’t anticipate the email.

Just in the past two months of trading emails, I’ve learned a lot about Spaniard culture and the all mighty siesta (which will probably drive me nuts since I am very punctual in business settings!!!)

For example, my director (who is male) keeps ending his emails with “un beso”. For those of you who don’t speak Spanish, the literal translation of “un beso” is a kiss. Now you can imagine some of my confusion. In the United States, if your boss ends a letter with “a kiss” you can go ahead and quit your job because after you sue him for harassment, you’ll never have to work again.

All jokes aside, it was a surprise more than anything. I was in no way offended by this gesture, but being that I come from a culture that excludes affection from business situations, this was a bit different.

In the U.S. when we think of someone ending a letter with a kiss, we instantly envision a picturesque, black and white darling patiently awaiting her sweetheart back from the war or maybe, a jolly grandma sending her grandchild a warm box of cookies and a sweet little note half way across the country.

Whatever your vision may be, I’m willing to bet it didn’t include your director or any male for that matter. Generally speaking, that kind of affection is reserved for romantic relationships or women. It has been my experience (and I’m willing to say most of our experience) that men in the U.S. don’t initiate this kind of affection for whatever reason (i.e. gender norms, power relations, etc.).

I know, I know, I know. Many of you are saying: Silly girl, don’t you know that it’s customary to give a kiss and hug when greeting people in Hispanic/Latin cultures? Yes, I did know that but until you actually experience it; your current cultural norms still rein supreme. That’s the funny thing about culture: It shapes our norms and beliefs even in something as small as ending an email.

To add to that, when I traveled to Costa Rica (which for all purposes is a collectivist culture similar to Spain) I didn’t actually experience the kiss/hug until my last day in the country. By then we had known them well enough (according to U.S. standards) to accept a kiss/hug. Even still it only came from other women. All of the men we greeted shook our hands and gave us hugs but that was it. Of course, we did see the natives that worked at our campus and in the hotels greet each other with kisses and hugs but overall they were debriefed on the U.S. culture and were very careful about greeting us with a kiss/hug. In a way, I guess I expected him to identify me as an “American” (read as north American) and act as they did, which in retrospect, is so obnoxious but painfully honest. So many of us have felt that someone should recognize our culture and act accordingly despite the ways it may affect them. Of course this is subconscious but it really gets to the core of how something (such as culture) can be so engrained that we act it out without realizing it.

To seek comfort during our correspondence, I kept ending my emails with “un abrazo” (a hug) to maintain a barrier. Still, I got the un beso. Then I got an email from one of the students at my university and she also kept ending her emails with “un beso”. After some discussions with friends, I’ve come to understand that “un beso” is an endearing way and very friendly way to end a conversation.

Unfortunately this realization has come a little too late. I think he may have got the picture and has now started ending his emails with un saludo (a greeting), which is still affectionate but from my understanding a tad bit more formal. I have to admit I miss the “beso.” It’s only been one email since the change and he was busy so we will have to see if it changes all together.

(I’ll keep you posted)

Un besito (A small kiss...I'm working on it!),
Mitzi