SO?!
August 15, 2004The Reverend Anne Felton Hines
Journal entry, Saturday, January 8th, 8 a.m.: “My last morning in my own bed before I take off for two weeks in Cuernavaca, Mexico, for a Spanish Immersion program; yikes!
“I will be in a foreign country, where I know no one, living with a family who will speak only Spanish with me! I’m scared about the plane flight (as always); the trip from the airport to…where? The school? The home? And what about the actual accommodations: Will they honor my request for a private room and no cats? Will there be those huge, awful bugs, and/or cockroaches? Will I have access to decent coffee? E-mail? A telephone? And of course, the classes themselves: Will I be able to learn anything new?!”
Same day, Midnight: “The plane has taken off from LAX, and oh, how I wish I weren’t going! Already I’ve filled out the ‘Migratory Form’ incorrectly, and have to ask for another one.
“Oh, how I wish I’d come with someone! What possessed me to do this alone?!”
*****
The idea of traveling to Mexico to study Spanish had been in the back of my mind for several years – really ever since I spent a week in El Salvador in 1988. When I began my ministry here at Emerson, my desire to learn Spanish re-surfaced, as I knew how heavily populated our neighborhood is with people whose native language – and in many instances, their only language – is Spanish.
So when we realized last Spring that we wouldn’t have enough funding at Emerson to give any staff raises, and the idea was floated to give our Office Administrator and me some extra time off instead, I accepted the idea, and said I wanted to spend two weeks in Mexico learning Spanish.
The next step, then, was to choose the time and place. Everyone told me that at least three weeks was needed, and preferably a month or more. But I didn’t feel I could carve out that much time during the church year, so settled for two weeks; even that felt difficult. I knew it wasn’t enough; but it was a beginning.
I spent hours and hours searching the Internet for programs. In the end, I chose the Spanish Language Institute in Cuernavaca, because it came highly recommended by Karen Slovin and her family, who spent some weeks there last summer; it was a good choice.
And of course, this could not have happened without the dedication of many of you who filled in the holes while I was away. I am deeply grateful to you all.
****
Journal entry, Sunday, January 9th, 5:45 p.m.: “What a day it has been! The plane ride was perfect, arriving a little after 5:00 a.m. My baggage came quickly, and it was quite easy going through Customs. But then there was nothing to do except wait to be picked up at 10:15 – the time I’d originally planned on arriving. Nor were there any chairs anywhere on which to sit while doing nothing.
“I must have looked lost, as a man speaking perfect English (indeed, was that a slight New York accent I heard?!) asked me if he could help me find something. When I told him I was simply wandering around because I wouldn’t be picked up for several hours, he offered to take me on a tour of Mexico City. ‘Perhaps we’d even stop for breakfast somewhere,’ he suggested. He assured me he’d get me back to the airport by 10. When he told me he’d only charge me 50 dollars for his tour, I thanked him and said no. From time to time I would see him walking with other new arrivals, trying to convince them to take his tour, but he didn’t seem to have any better luck with them than with me. I wonder how he survives?
“I spent those five hours wandering around the airport, schlepping my luggage behind me; occasionally stopping for food or coffee; trying to use the phones with no success; and sitting on the floor, resting my aching feet. I was bored and lonely.
“Suddenly a young man came over to me and showed me a sign he was carrying with my name on it; I almost kissed him! His name was Rafael, and he spoke very good English. We walked to his car and began the hour-and-a-half drive to Cuernavaca.
“The home to which he brought me – owned by a widow named Palmira Torre – is an amazing place. Built on a hill, it has several studio apartments and cottages scattered on the hillside below. Mid-level is a pool and patio; it’s all quite lovely.
“My apartment is down near the bottom, beneath the patio. It has a large porch, a floor made of beautiful red tile, and lovely Mexican wood furniture. It’s very spacious, and has its own bathroom. I should be very comfortable here!”
*****
So began my experience in Cuernavaca. The next day, Monday, I joined the other students from my house – three young men from State University of New York – in a taxi ride to the school.
Each morning from 8 to 11, I joined three other women for a class on vocabulary, grammar and pronunciation with a wonderful teacher named MariCarmen. MariCarmen is a big woman with a terrific sense of humor – not to mention incredible patience. She would often refer to us as “Baby,” as in “Oh, come on, Baby…You can do it!”
The other students – Sarah, a 28-year-old Canadian who works with the Canadian Mounted Police; Susan, a 59-year-old woman from Maryland; and Kathy, a 60-something woman who told me she was a Methodist minister, but who I later learned was only just beginning Seminary – had all been at the Institute for a week prior to my arrival.
The first few days we studied Irregular Verbs, and practiced pronunciation: “bie, bia, bio, bue, bua, buo, bei.”
From 11 to 2 p.m., we met with Norma – another wonderful teacher who helped us speak to one another, using the verbs that we had been learning from MariCarmen. This class included one other student – the only male among us: Jon, a videographer from New York City.
For three hours each day, we would struggle to talk about ourselves, our lives, our families, etc., in Spanish only. We continually failed, of course; but Norma would patiently and with good humor correct us and push us on.
But the learning did not come easily to me. The verb I still have the most trouble remembering is “olvidar” – “to forget!”
****
Journal entry, Martes, January 11th: “This has been a painfully difficult afternoon. After lunch I tried to pay Palmira the money, in pesos, that I thought I owed her for the first week. I knew that I was giving her more than I owed, because I didn’t have the correct change; I was hoping she might. However, she began talking on and on in Spanish, quite fast, and I could not understand any of it. I thought she was probably pointing out that I was giving her too much, but she seemed to think I couldn’t count, and kept going over the figures with me in a very frustrated tone of voice. Finally she got her coin purse and gave me 20 pesos – the amount she gives us each morning for the taxi to school. But when I asked her if it was for that, she said no, and said something about the other students going to the store. But whether she wanted me to go with them to get change, or just give it to them for her, I have no idea! They’d already left for the store, anyway.
“I finally left because I was on the verge of tears, and besides, there was nothing else to do or say. I am sure she can’t stand me! I came back to my room and sobbed; I felt so utterly alone and stupid.
“This experience, coupled with my experiences at the airport, have given me a glimpse into what it must be like for all those immigrants coming to the United States for the first time. I think of immigrant parents who do not speak English, trying to make sense of their children’s school homework and reports, or just maneuvering through the system. How frustrating and frightening it must be.”
*****
Most days weren’t as bad as that. And I made some lovely friendships during the two weeks – the most surprising of which was Susan, my classmate from Maryland. One day that first week, she and I decided to go into town after class. In the course of our conversation, I made mention that my mother was a very active Episcopalian. Susan then informed me that she and her husband had left the Episcopal church because of its liberal stand on the ordination of gays and lesbians; they now were active in what she described as a “conservative, Bible-based Christian church!”
“Well,” I said, “you and my mother would have an interesting conversation! She feels completely the opposite from you on that issue, as do I!” And that was the last we ever talked about the subject.
Later that evening, however, over dinner in a restaurant, I told her a little about Unitarian Universalism; I didn’t want her assuming that I was something I’m not, just because I’m a minister. Her first question was whether I believe in Jesus. I said I believe he existed, and that his life and teachings are certainly a model for me as I try to make choices in life. When she pushed me on what teachings I was referring to, I mentioned his lessons of inclusivity, of caring for the poor and oppressed, of being peacemakers. About then the waiter came with our bill, and we wended out way back home. It was pretty much the last time we talked about religion.
Here’s what I wrote in my journal about Susan: “It is odd to find myself hanging out primarily with a woman who’s a fundamentalist Christian – who’s very conservative on issues like abortion, gay rights, and the teaching of Creationism in the schools. But she has a great sense of humor, and I think is truly a good person; she has a good heart.”
Back at school we continued to practice our pronunciation: “bala, vela, cielo, todo, gala, gente, hola, calle.” But the most difficult sound for me was the rolled “r.” I just could not make it happen; it was as if my tongue would get stuck on the roof of my mouth!
“Rojo, rosa, rama,” I would read. “Oh, come on, Baby,” MariCarmen would say with a mock frown on her face; “you can do better than that!” And I would try again. I explained that when I was a young child I couldn’t pronounce my “r”s; my parents put me in Speech Therapy, and I would go around repeating over and over, “Er-wed er-wooster!” But she insisted I could do it – and I can, if I blow really hard: “Rojo! Rosa! Rama!”
I went on two “field trips” while there. The first was to Teotihuacan, a place of amazing pyramids and labyrinth-type structures. The Aztecs gave it its name, meaning “City of the Gods,” because it was already built when they came upon it, so they figured the gods must have created it! To this day, archaeologists do not know its original name, who built it, or what language they spoke.
There are two major pyramids there: The Sun Pyramid and the Moon Pyramid, and people climb to the top of each of them. Another student and I climbed only halfway up the Sun Pyramid, and then walked along the ledge encircling the pyramid at the halfway point. From there, we were able to observe part of an indiginous wedding ceremony being conducted on the ground below. We also caught the end of what looked like some kind of cleansing ritual being conducted right along the ledge on which we were walking! A man held what was probably burning Sage, and slowly waved it around a woman’s body. I was hoping that he might ask us if we wanted it done, as I would have said yes. But he didn’t, and we walked on.
The other trip I went on was to Taxco, a little town that’s known for its silver mining, and for the 240-year-old Santa Prisca Cathedral.
I also went by myself one day into downtown Cuernavaca to see the Cathedral there. It’s a beautiful structure, but what I was most taken with was the Beatitudes, carved into a wall, all in Spanish, of course. Reading these beautiful sentiments in Spanish somehow allowed me to be touched by them in a new and deeper way. It was quite moving.
For the final few days of my visit, I moved into the house where my friend Susan was staying, just a few doors from the school. Here’s what I wrote in my journal:
“I am so glad I moved, even for this brief time; it’s made all the difference! This family – Tere & Arturo Vasquez (and son Christian, daughter Carla, and others who wander in and out) – are so welcoming. Both Arturo and Tere speak slowly enough that I can understand them more easily; they are really committed to helping us learn.”
Indeed, almost all of the Mexican people I met – from our hosts and teachers, to cab drivers, store clerks and tour guides, were kind and gracious. They helped us learn and feel at home in this foreign land; they reminded us of our common humanity.
On my last day of classes, MariCarmen gave me a hug and said something like, “Ana, I so appreciate your willingness to go through this experience. I really respect the effort you’ve put in.” Later I asked Susan if she thought that was like giving me an “A” for Effort, but a “C” or “D” for Content! Susan said, “No no no…I’m sure she didn’t mean that!” But I kinda’ think she did!
*****
Journal entry, Miercoles, January 20th: I cannot believe that tomorrow is my last day at the school; I know and understand so little still! I think another week would help, but this is the time I have. I must take classes when I return to the States.”
*****
And that’s what I plan to do: Enroll in Conversational Spanish at Pierce, listen to Spanish-language radio, watch some Spanish-language TV (I hear the Soap Operas are pretty engaging!), perhaps subscribe to a Spanish-language newspaper. I plan to periodically enroll in other Spanish Language Immersion programs – perhaps back in Cuernavaca, or perhaps try other locations.
And some of you have expressed interest in the idea of a “Spanish as a Second Language” group here, where we could support one another in our efforts to become more fluent in Spanish.
Meredith Graham and I searched for the correct words to express the title of this sermon: “Fluent? No! Hopeful? Yes!” But that hopefulness is fragile. There is lurking always the possibility that I won’t do any of this; that I’ll let myself get caught up in the busyness of everyday life instead. And so I need your help – your nudging and even nagging, for I feel a deep calling to learn more of this beautiful language.
But for now, I keep before me this prayer of Howard Thurman’s:
Keep fresh before me the moments of my High Resolve, that in good times or in tempests, I may not forget that to which my life is committed. Keep fresh before me the moments of my high resolve.
Amen.
© 2005 Anne Felton Hines. All rights reserved.
