Im back in Santiago. We landed yesterday to a big cloud of smog... Santiago in winter. I found myself standing in the same jeans, with the same backpack, ringing the bell of the house on Simon Bolivar. Deja vu..... 2 months earlier, standing in this same place-- with no idea what to expect. This time the family came to greet me at the door. It was nice to see familiar faces, and they were all smiling when they hugged me and followed me into the room that they had rearranged (bye bye most uncomfortable hard as rock pillow!!!). Within twenty minutes I had downed the Chilean bread and palta (avacado) that I had oh so dearly missed and was gearing up for a siesta... ah....
Before I could do so my 88 year old Chilean host grandmother knocked her steaming hot cup of tea onto her lap, and all I could see was steam rising from her purple skirt. For a moment we were both frozen- in shock or fear or disbelief. Another second went by and she was up on her feet, jumping around in little circles waving her skirt back and forth. It was only me and her in the kitchen, what do I do!?
She first brought her skirt up by her shoulders and then, with only a second thought, pulled her skirt down around her knees. Unfortunately she also had on a slip, and bloomers and tights. She tried getting these down too (do I help? do I call for help? Do I invade her personal personal space like that!)...
So now she has her skirt and slip hugging her knees, her white bloomers she is puffing out with her hands... and Im trying like Ive never tried before in my life, not to laugh.
Because at the same time, she is still jumping around in little kangaroo circles, saying oo-oo oo-oo in distinct Chilean grandma but with her skirt and slip around her knees. You can imagine what kind of a picture this would be.
Finally she lets out a laugh, I let out a laugh. We laugh and then she waddles out the door to find a bathrobe. What do you do in this situation!!!??
Two seconds later, as Im supporting myself on the refrigerator recovering; my host mom comes in with two pairs of underwear in her hand. One is a very large stark white pair of Hanes. The other is a dark blue pair of Chilean mens briefs (very brief briefs). Are they mine? She wants to know... they found them when they rearranged the bed.... No, I swear Ive never seen them before. Nor would I ever be caught dead in underwear like that. They arent mine, especially not the blue ones, ah! Two chilean eyes look back at me "this is your underwear." No, its not, its not, please dont make me take it... The eyes think, they focus on me, they wait, okay, I believe you. The mystery of the abandoned underwear continues...
Oh, I forgot what it was like to be here in Santiago. Oh, the shenanigans.
I woke up today and as I was washing my cup, looked out to the patio. The leaves have all changed since Ive been gone. The ginko tree has a skirt of yellow leaves below it. And the mountains, the mountains that were once so dry and brown and wrinkly are filled with white. They are illuminating, with what looks like snowy ski slopes filling the wrinkles of the Andes.
Its funny to come back to a foreign place and find it familiar.
Its hailing right now, my mind is in a million places. And I have at least 10 more pages of my thesis to write before tomorrow. But I just cant shake this image of my host grandma, her shiny white hair bobbing up and down as she jumps around the kitchen in her bloomers.... So I thought Id share.
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
I want to share someone with you.
His name is Oscar Lautaro Hueravilo. My advisor had set up an interview with him for yesterday at 7:30 at the Café de las Madres. Yesterday, I ran off the subway, got to the café, ordered a tea and quickly scribbled some notes. A few minutes later he walked into the café smiling; an older man with a bright red scarf and black moustache. I waved him over- he had no idea who I was, as we had never met before! He greeted me with 2 kisses on the cheek and sat down across from me. It was the easiest beginning to an interview I have ever had. He eased my nerves immediately and brought out a newspaper from his bag. There was a small picture in the bottom corner of two people, with 70s hair and black and white features. The man had the same moustache and features as Oscar.
“This is my son and my daughter-in-law” he told me.
I knew what happened to them. The picture was like so many pictures fathers and mothers here carry with them. Oscar and Mirta, the faces in the picture are 2 of the 30,000 people who “disappeared” during the dictatorship. Two people whose families are still waiting to find out what happened to them… two people whose crime was nothing more than being young and having dreams. He was 22, she was 23. He was studying to be a lawyer, was the president of the student Communist organization. She was a teacher, who loved Italian, English, and French. They had been together for 8 months and she was 6 months pregnant with their first child.
Their picture was in the paper because it was 30 years ago from Saturday that military men, dressed in civil clothes bombarded their apartment, bringing them both to the ESMA, the most notorious concentration camp/torture center in Buenos Aires. It’s been 30 years since Oscar has seen his only son.
Something so difficult to deal with, to process, is how the dictatorship took control of the Argentinean youth, of the future. How they ripped apart families, marriages, an entire country. I don’t have any children but I cannot imagine the feeling of losing your child to the government of your country; of the hope, the waiting, the despair, and the denial you must go through.
There are 500 cases of either pregnant women or children who disappeared during this time. We know now that most babies born in the ESMA or other places of detention were given to military families who couldn’t have children of their own. There is an organization of grandmothers who have fought for 30 years to find their own grandchildren, to reclaim those whose identities have been completely rearranged.
Mirta was 6 months pregnant- four months after she was taken away, a baby appeared at a hospital in Buenos Aires. Hidden in the baby’s clothes and blankets, as well as inside of a doll the hospital workers found a little paper with the name Emiliano Hueravilo. The baby also had a little mark on his ear that had been made with a pin. With these clues, the nurses were able to identify Emiliano as Oscar’s grandchild and in an act that you could call miraculous, Emiliano was returned to his paternal grandparents. Now Emiliano is 30, and his grandfather couldn’t be prouder of him. He is the first of 82 grandchildren who have been recovered.
I spent 40 minutes talking to his grandfather, originally Mapuche from Chile- a man who has fled Chile & Argentina- who suffered so much because of his work with work unions. The right to decent work is a human right, he has spent his life working to improve and uphold this basic human right.
This 74 year old man had more life in him than I can possibly express. After telling me his story he asked me about my family, what are their names, what are they like, what are your little siblings like? He gave me his phone number, we are going to keep in touch aren’t we? Do you have a camera, I want to remember you. He walked me to the subway stop and waited until I bought my ticket to leave, waving to me the whole time. It would take him an hour and a half to get back home. Its been a pleasure knowing you, he said.
Oscar loves to dance, he loves to spend time with his friends, drink mate. Oscar has suffered a lot of hurts but he doesn’t ever forget how lucky he is. I didn’t want to leave; I wanted to express how much one hour talking with him had affected me. I wanted to thank him, hug him, call my grandparents; I wanted to never forget how lucky I am.
“This is my son and my daughter-in-law” he told me.
I knew what happened to them. The picture was like so many pictures fathers and mothers here carry with them. Oscar and Mirta, the faces in the picture are 2 of the 30,000 people who “disappeared” during the dictatorship. Two people whose families are still waiting to find out what happened to them… two people whose crime was nothing more than being young and having dreams. He was 22, she was 23. He was studying to be a lawyer, was the president of the student Communist organization. She was a teacher, who loved Italian, English, and French. They had been together for 8 months and she was 6 months pregnant with their first child.
Their picture was in the paper because it was 30 years ago from Saturday that military men, dressed in civil clothes bombarded their apartment, bringing them both to the ESMA, the most notorious concentration camp/torture center in Buenos Aires. It’s been 30 years since Oscar has seen his only son.
Something so difficult to deal with, to process, is how the dictatorship took control of the Argentinean youth, of the future. How they ripped apart families, marriages, an entire country. I don’t have any children but I cannot imagine the feeling of losing your child to the government of your country; of the hope, the waiting, the despair, and the denial you must go through.
There are 500 cases of either pregnant women or children who disappeared during this time. We know now that most babies born in the ESMA or other places of detention were given to military families who couldn’t have children of their own. There is an organization of grandmothers who have fought for 30 years to find their own grandchildren, to reclaim those whose identities have been completely rearranged.
Mirta was 6 months pregnant- four months after she was taken away, a baby appeared at a hospital in Buenos Aires. Hidden in the baby’s clothes and blankets, as well as inside of a doll the hospital workers found a little paper with the name Emiliano Hueravilo. The baby also had a little mark on his ear that had been made with a pin. With these clues, the nurses were able to identify Emiliano as Oscar’s grandchild and in an act that you could call miraculous, Emiliano was returned to his paternal grandparents. Now Emiliano is 30, and his grandfather couldn’t be prouder of him. He is the first of 82 grandchildren who have been recovered.
I spent 40 minutes talking to his grandfather, originally Mapuche from Chile- a man who has fled Chile & Argentina- who suffered so much because of his work with work unions. The right to decent work is a human right, he has spent his life working to improve and uphold this basic human right.
This 74 year old man had more life in him than I can possibly express. After telling me his story he asked me about my family, what are their names, what are they like, what are your little siblings like? He gave me his phone number, we are going to keep in touch aren’t we? Do you have a camera, I want to remember you. He walked me to the subway stop and waited until I bought my ticket to leave, waving to me the whole time. It would take him an hour and a half to get back home. Its been a pleasure knowing you, he said.
Oscar loves to dance, he loves to spend time with his friends, drink mate. Oscar has suffered a lot of hurts but he doesn’t ever forget how lucky he is. I didn’t want to leave; I wanted to express how much one hour talking with him had affected me. I wanted to thank him, hug him, call my grandparents; I wanted to never forget how lucky I am.
Friday, May 11, 2007
Someday you might find yourself
toasting to good friends
in a cafe on a street
in which you know not the name.
Maybe one day you remember who
you used to be- the dreams that
on schoolnights kept you up late.
You remember, on a bus in
a nameless town looking out a
windowfull of mountains.
Have you ever written a word
on some paper, somewhere
and realized you've given it
a new meaning. You've given
it a memory.
There are times you might
get lost in thought
only to look up and find
someone someday
somewhere on the subway
is smiling at you.
Someday your expression
might change when you realize
You're exactly where you need to be.
toasting to good friends
in a cafe on a street
in which you know not the name.
Maybe one day you remember who
you used to be- the dreams that
on schoolnights kept you up late.
You remember, on a bus in
a nameless town looking out a
windowfull of mountains.
Have you ever written a word
on some paper, somewhere
and realized you've given it
a new meaning. You've given
it a memory.
There are times you might
get lost in thought
only to look up and find
someone someday
somewhere on the subway
is smiling at you.
Someday your expression
might change when you realize
You're exactly where you need to be.
Friday, May 4, 2007
Temuco, Southern Chile.
MAPUCHE:
Mapu= land
Che= people
People of the land. Pictures of the land and the people we met in Temuco. 5 days that touched, affected and changed all of us.
Temuco- google earth yourself to find yourself at almost the end of the earth. Full of farmland, cows in the streets, yarn, yerba mate, pigs!
A neighbor gathering wood for the wooden stove in the kitchen. I admit I stole this photo from Kira- pretty good, huh? With the Mapuche you sometimes feel like you've somehow happened upon a National Geographic special- privy to share a little bit of their lives and the hours start taking on a whole new meaning.
Me, Mauru, and our host mom in the front yard. Note the jacket and scarf- I swear we all came in bundled in all the clothes we brought, while the Mapuche walked around in sweaters!
Side view of the house and one of the 4 dogs... this window was more popular than the TV. They loved to sit in front of the window and watch everyone who passed by- there are about 80 families in the community and everyone knows and is (in some way) related to everyone.
Mauru and Guante, the white building in the background is the central school house. Its a 3 room school house with a soccer field and a dining hall. All of the kids are Mapuche and are beginning to learn about their traditions- dances, songs, language that is being lost with each new generation. The kids taught us Mapuche games, danced, and let us sit in on their classes.
Well... the inner vegetarian in me bit her lip and took this picture since they asked for it. Never have I been so close to my bbq ribs. They killed the biggest pig for us to eat as a barbeque (asado) on our last day. It was a kind gesture and one where you eat the meet excaiming QUIE RICO after every bite. My family got to keep the head because we hosted the bbq. The head sat in the kitchen for at least 2 days. Also, the uncle came over and was served one half of a pig face... with teeth and the hairy snout still intact. To Mapuche, land is everything and everything that mother Earth provides they use- it wasnt barbaric at all, and for the first time I saw a house funcioning pretty self-sufficiently. Still, watching the uncle cut off pig skin and rest his bread on the open jaw- I couldnt help wondering where the other half of the pig face was...
After the dance, our group and our new friends. I have to thank them for their tag games as it was some of the only exercise we've all had in the last 2 months. Needless to say, we usually lost. But when it was our turn, they got some good Duck duck goose and frisbee time in.
The most beautiful kid in the world. Thanks dad for teaching my some card tricks.. the 3 robbers (Jacks) was a big hit.
Our grandpa, Francisco- one of the community leaders who asked me about Lincoln, Kennedy, had a picture of Hilary Clinton and counted off proudly on his fingers 1-10 in English. I can also thank him for teaching me some of the only words I know in Mapundungun.
My new best friend.
Our parents- some of the two quiestest, kindest and most sincere people I've ever met. Also, the Mapuche have great laughs.
Mapu= land
Che= people
People of the land. Pictures of the land and the people we met in Temuco. 5 days that touched, affected and changed all of us.
Temuco- google earth yourself to find yourself at almost the end of the earth. Full of farmland, cows in the streets, yarn, yerba mate, pigs!
The neighbors putting their wool out to dry after being washed. They knead it between their fingers to make the yarn- a traditional Mapuche woman job- our house was full of pictures of the grandma at different stages of her life knitting. It sort of became the family joke "Otra vez tejando!"
Mauru, my 2 year old host brother. I spent most of my time with the Mapuche building block towers only to have them knocked down within seconds by Mauru!
A neighbor gathering wood for the wooden stove in the kitchen. I admit I stole this photo from Kira- pretty good, huh? With the Mapuche you sometimes feel like you've somehow happened upon a National Geographic special- privy to share a little bit of their lives and the hours start taking on a whole new meaning.
Me, Mauru, and our host mom in the front yard. Note the jacket and scarf- I swear we all came in bundled in all the clothes we brought, while the Mapuche walked around in sweaters!
Side view of the house and one of the 4 dogs... this window was more popular than the TV. They loved to sit in front of the window and watch everyone who passed by- there are about 80 families in the community and everyone knows and is (in some way) related to everyone.
Mauru and Guante, the white building in the background is the central school house. Its a 3 room school house with a soccer field and a dining hall. All of the kids are Mapuche and are beginning to learn about their traditions- dances, songs, language that is being lost with each new generation. The kids taught us Mapuche games, danced, and let us sit in on their classes.
Well... the inner vegetarian in me bit her lip and took this picture since they asked for it. Never have I been so close to my bbq ribs. They killed the biggest pig for us to eat as a barbeque (asado) on our last day. It was a kind gesture and one where you eat the meet excaiming QUIE RICO after every bite. My family got to keep the head because we hosted the bbq. The head sat in the kitchen for at least 2 days. Also, the uncle came over and was served one half of a pig face... with teeth and the hairy snout still intact. To Mapuche, land is everything and everything that mother Earth provides they use- it wasnt barbaric at all, and for the first time I saw a house funcioning pretty self-sufficiently. Still, watching the uncle cut off pig skin and rest his bread on the open jaw- I couldnt help wondering where the other half of the pig face was...
After the dance, our group and our new friends. I have to thank them for their tag games as it was some of the only exercise we've all had in the last 2 months. Needless to say, we usually lost. But when it was our turn, they got some good Duck duck goose and frisbee time in.
In case you forgot what I look like.
The most beautiful kid in the world. Thanks dad for teaching my some card tricks.. the 3 robbers (Jacks) was a big hit.
Our grandpa, Francisco- one of the community leaders who asked me about Lincoln, Kennedy, had a picture of Hilary Clinton and counted off proudly on his fingers 1-10 in English. I can also thank him for teaching me some of the only words I know in Mapundungun.
kofke- bread. mely- four. mari mari- hello, good morning/night.
My new best friend.
Our parents- some of the two quiestest, kindest and most sincere people I've ever met. Also, the Mapuche have great laughs.
The school. The pride of the community.
Rene, our director (on the right) and Juan Antonio the Mapuche director. Two amazing people with a capability to teach and inspire and give you opportunities like this photo- to not take life too seriously.
Leaving. When you leave somewhere, they hold your hand with their two hands. They look you in the eye and wish you the best of luck in life. And you just know that they mean it. I wasnt really ready to leave, but maybe I'll find my way back there someday.
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