An amazing week...with a few itty bitty problems

Last week was another crazy week, filled with interesting experiences, fun adventures, and, unfortunately, its fair share of angst (and I’m not just talking about Good Friday!). Overall, it was a really really good week...I just have a few things bugging me. Please remember that wording for future reference. Or don’t remember it, because if you do, you will hate me and my horrific punning. However, before burrowing (argh!) into the angst, I would LOVE to start with the more interesting stuff.

For instance: Wednesday and Monday I started working in El Comedor, the community kitchen in the community center where I volunteer. Every weekday the center serves lunch to about 60ish people, all of whom either work in the center or live close by. Sophia, the British girl who is also volunteering with me at the afterschool program, and I ¨help¨ by chopping vegetables, cutting bread, doing dishes, putting things away, and other basic tasks. I’m not sure how helpful we actually are, as the ladies who run the kitchen do this every day, are highly experienced, and have a very particular way of doing things. Even so, I’ve enjoyed having the chance to just hang out at El Comedor and see what’s going on. I’m hoping that as time goes on, the ladies will open up a bit and I can actually get to know them a little. As it is, it’s been fun and interesting (seeing how they make a delicious meal for so many people from scratch, listening to what they talk about, eavesdropping on the interesting meetings that happen in the community center while we work, practicing my Spanish...all very interesting), but also kind of exhausting (trying to constantly strike a balance between being helpful and not being in the way, being competent but not doing something wrong, being forthcoming but not pushy or rude over the course of four hours...all pretty tiring). That being said, I think I’ll be happy working in El Comedor twice a week for my time here—and I think I have to give up fretting about being ¨useful¨ and instead just enjoy myself and try to be as present and as helpful as possible.

Another very interesting (albeit slightly frustrating) aspect of last week was the introduction I got to Argentinean nationalism. What provoked this introduction? Well, last Friday, April 2, as well as being Good Friday, was also the day of memory for the Falklands War, aka La guerra de las Malvinas. Helpful hint if you ever happen to come to Argentina: DON’T accidentally or on purpose call those little troublesome islands in the south Atlantic the Falklands Islands because you will be, at best, calmly but firmly corrected, and, at worst, rabidly attacked and told that they’re are actually called Las Malvinas and they are ARGENTINA´S. Don’t worry, I was most definitely NOT rabidly attacked, and it wasn’t even that big a deal here. The only impact this day had on my week was the sudden blossoming of graffiti saying ¨Malvinas son Argentinas¨ (The Malvinas are Argentinean), and a change in the curriculum at the afterschool program where I work three times a week.

Last week, half of every class was devoted to discussing La Guerra de las Malvinas. I shouldn’t have found this frustrating, except that for some reason I DID. Part of my frustration comes from the fact that being exposed to nationalism—particularly in a classroom setting—is just plain uncomfortable when you’re a foreign person in a country. Honestly, I’m sure 4th of July is a really frustrating day to be a non-American in America, even if the festivities, etc, are really fun and an interesting cultural experience. It’s not like I felt threatened or unwelcome or anything like that...I just felt left out/out of the loop. Even more off-putting than this slight discomfort, however, was my frustration at seeing both how little of their own history the kids in the community center know, and how simplified the version of the story of the war we were teaching them was. Park and Milton both taught me that history—and, crucially, the study and teaching of history—is really important, really powerful, and really dangerous. Things like the battle over the revisions to the Texas history textbooks (let’s not even get started about whether there even should BE history textbooks...I am a proud convert to the Milton primary source obsession...a discussion for another day...even writing about the Texas MESS makes my blood pressure rise...) are so heated because both sides know how important history is. Remembering history completely ¨accurately¨ is not really possible, because history is always going to be subjective; it’s so important, though, to shoot for accuracy, for facts, and to try to be as aware of bias as possible. Basically, I’ve always thought that history is something to be handled carefully, with intention. I think the lessons I watched/sort of helped teach were designed with the best of intentions—but because the kids had so little base knowledge, it was almost impossible to talk about anything complex. Part nationalism-infused-geography lesson (ie ¨Here’s Argentina on a map...here’s England...here are the Malvinas...now, kids, which country is closer to las Malvinas?¨...I’m absolutely not exaggerating) part veterans appreciation lesson (we focused a lot on how young and under-equipped the Argentinean soldiers were, and how many of them died or were mentally or psychologically crippled)....I think the wonderful women who run the afterschool program did a pretty good job given the circumstances. I think my frustration comes from the fact that this was the first time in Argentina that I’ve encountered a huge gap between my understanding and what’s accepted as fact here. No one (or, at least, no one I talked to) seemed to see the war the way I was taught it: that it was basically a distraction measure by a weak and failing military dictatorship, designed to bring the country together around a common cause that even the left/pro-democracy people would support and therefore stop their actions against the government, that it was a lost cause from the beginning, that Britain only fought back because of the oil and natural gas deposits on the islands, that Argentina’s rapid and complete defeat served to undermine the dictatorship so severely that the government was ousted and democracy established just a year later. And that’s a horribly oversimplified version. In the lessons we taught, there was no nuance—or even a mention that it was a complex situation. Just: Argentina is closer and therefore the islands belong to Argentina, and the war was really sad because lots of young men died. Part of me knows that my problem is really just that—MY problem. The lessons, in the grand scheme of things, weren’t that bad, or that harmful, and were really truly well intentioned. Teaching history, especially complex and recent history, to young kids is really really hard (especially young kids, or not so young kids, who can’t find England on the map, who barely know that the Malvinas are islands, etc). So hard, that I don’t remember ever being taught about issues like the Vietnam War or the first Gulf War until the last years of highschool....Park didn’t even attempt. So I think my frustration is mainly just the frustration of someone who really loves history seeing history oversimplified (basically I have history OCD?), and who was actually only bothered because of the slight discomfort which comes from having to confront any cultural difference head-on. And having to teach this lesson three times to three different groups of kids (but in slightly different forms) just added salt to the wound.

Wow. I just ranted for such a long time about something that wasn’t even that big a deal. I guess I just had to get that out of my system. Whew. Really, it wasn’t a bad experience at all...it was just very interesting and thought-provoking to think about how to teach history, and the relationship between history and nationalism.

Alrighty then. Moving on to the other major happening of the week: Good Friday and Easter! Alleluia! Being in a Catholic country for Easter was another fascinating aspect of this week. I had a wonderful Easter weekend. Friday night there was a massive Via Crucis (Way of the Cross) down Avenida de Mayo, the street where I live, from El Congreso to Plaza de Mayo. There was no traffic, and the street (which is very wide...three or four lanes) was completely packed with people. The walk started with a live performance of the first part of the Passion story. Then we (the crowd) shuffled down Avenida de Mayo following a giant cross as well as giant statues of Jesus and Mary (who, I guess, played a much bigger part in the Easter story than I’ve ever thought...we kept praying to Mary...Catholic country thing I guess?). People had candles, babies (some people were holding both candles and babies...alarming...), there were food vendors who kept yelling out their wares even when we stopped to pray..... I’m being flip, but it was actually a lovely experience, even if part of my Episcopalian self was cringing at the massive collective demonstration of faith. The live action shows were not my favorite part, that’s for sure. I definitely prefer listening to the texts. It either has to be ¨Jesus Christ, Superstar¨ or the NRSV...This is the land, though, of Tierra Santa, the world’s only (I actually don’t know if that’s true...I’m just HOPING) religious theme park. Live actors perform the different parts of the Passion story (including the Resurrection) every hour or something and there are rides and a fake Jerusalem and stuff. There are all these advertisements for it on the subway that read ¨Tierra Santa: A verdadero ACTO de fe¨ (Holy Land: a true ACT of faith). Hardy harr harr. Another entertaining aspect of Easter in Buenos Aires was the giant blow up Resurrected Jesus doll that appeared in the Plaza de Mayo next to the city cathedral, all white, a full story tall, his arms stretched out as though he was blessing us passersby/rising up to heaven. This would not have been that funny, except that they tied down his arms so he wouldn’t fly away (it was super windy...) but not his head...so in the wind, Jesus was holding out his arms beatifically, but his head kept nodding dramatically and irregularly like he was falling asleep. It was funny, I swear.

Alright, so now for the cause of this week’s angst (as if there weren’t enough already haha with my history rant): I found a bed bug in my room on Friday night. I know it’s a bed bug because I killed it and compared it to pictures on the internet. And I know it’s a bed bug because I’ve been getting mysterious bites that I’d been hoping were mosquito bites but are big and last forever. HUGE FREAKING DRAG, RIGHT? I can only joke about it now because I’ve had like five days to stop freaking out. I vacated my room for two days, they fumigated and vacuumed it, I slept there last night and didn’t get bit, thank goodness, but we’ll see how things develop. I’m not entirely confident in the eradication measures they took, just because they weren’t really specific about what they did. I took all my clothes to be cleaned/dried at high heat in case they were infested (YUCK AHBFJDFGEF) and am now keeping them in plastic bags. Have also covered my head board and footboard with plastic trash bags, not because I think it will make any difference but just for peace of mind. Basically, it’s been a bit of a horror show. And led to a lot of feeling bad for myself on Saturday until I went shopping and found a beautiful leather bag to replace my stolen bag (Easter definitely helped too...all my favorite hymns in church...getting to say ALLELUIA again...oh, and Jesus being resurrected is the ultimate upper...). And then Sunday after church I went for a beautiful bike ride in this ecological reserve on the edge of the city by the river that feels like you’re in the middle of nowhere but is surrounded by highrises. So hopefully this AWFUL ANNOYING problem has been ERADICATED and life can continue to be BEAUTIFUL. Fingers crossed. I know that it can’t be that big an infestation because I didn’t get that many bites over the course of three weeks, and it took three weeks for me to see a bug, but still, it’s just the worst feeling to not wanting to even BE in your room, let alone sleep there. YUCK UGH. Again, just like last week, I’m going to qualify my freaking out by saying (for my own benefit because I need to remind myself) that this is a totally solvable problem, that much much worse things could have happened, and that I should just get on with my life and enjoy my time here. So that’s what I’m going to do.......by going to bed now......oh dear.