My community counterpart, Felipe, has checked out for awhile because his 2-year-old son is not well. And by not well I mean that I'm probably going to take photos when I get back to have a gift for the family. I have my fingers crossed, but he's been in and out of the hospital for about two months now and the doctors aren't optimistic.
My counterpart cares deeply for his children, a quality that doesn't seem to be found among the majority of Ngabes in the region. The volunteers all share stories of what we would view as neglect, let alone a lack of compassion. A child passed away in my community a few months ago. I tried to give my support to the family asking if there was anything I could do. Could I attend the funeral? Anything. There was no funeral. The family didn't really seem to mind what had just transpired. "¿Que va?" I was appalled. Then again, this is a culture that normally doesn't name their children until they've reached a few years of age.
I wasn't sure what I was going to write about when I started this post. When I think about my time here and the things I struggle with most, my mind seems to always drift towards the cultural differences.
It's funny. When I got here I thought the lack of creature comforts would be hard. No electricity. No running water. Latrines. Insects of the extremely large variety. But that's the easy stuff. It's the cultural differences that are hard. How do you have a conversation about improving health in the home when there doesn't seem to be the same level of caring for youth? And maybe there is and I just don´t know it. That's the rub. When we were in training, we saw a picture of an iceberg. The tip of iceberg was filled with words like clothing, food, music, etc. It's the parts of a culture that are visible or at least apparent. Then there's the gigantic part of the iceberg below the surface. Faux pas´ you never knew you made. Actions that are completely lost upon you. That's where the frustration comes from.
I know my language skills could use some TLC. I speak Spanish like a six-year-old that had Spanish spoken in the home. They speak Spanish like a six-year-old that has never been to school and had Ngabere in the home. It makes for fun conversation. And as for Ngabere, that's a difficult one. It's not that Ngabere is an inherently hard language. It's actually fairly simple with it's limited vocabulary and verb forms. The problem is that since no one in the community has ever been through the American public school system, they can't teach in a way I can understand. Replace grammar diagrams with saying a phrase really fast. Replace alphabets and pronunciation with repeating that same phrase really fast even if you ask them to slow it down. Replace a written language with regional variations. Replace constructive feedback with a Ngabe thinking you fully comprehend what you're saying when you blindly repeat what they just said. After all, that's how they are learning English. But even with all the progress yet to be made on the language front, I feel like I would hit many of the same communication roadblocks from the cultural gap alone.
As I close, I don't want to leave with a feeling of despair. While there are many moments I will never fully understand, there are many shared stories and laughs. And those moments of frustration make for good stories most of the time. You just take those tough times in stride. You learn to laugh at yourself, to not take things too seriously. Patience and humility. Exercising both is the difference between the good days and the bad.
My counterpart cares deeply for his children, a quality that doesn't seem to be found among the majority of Ngabes in the region. The volunteers all share stories of what we would view as neglect, let alone a lack of compassion. A child passed away in my community a few months ago. I tried to give my support to the family asking if there was anything I could do. Could I attend the funeral? Anything. There was no funeral. The family didn't really seem to mind what had just transpired. "¿Que va?" I was appalled. Then again, this is a culture that normally doesn't name their children until they've reached a few years of age.
I wasn't sure what I was going to write about when I started this post. When I think about my time here and the things I struggle with most, my mind seems to always drift towards the cultural differences.
It's funny. When I got here I thought the lack of creature comforts would be hard. No electricity. No running water. Latrines. Insects of the extremely large variety. But that's the easy stuff. It's the cultural differences that are hard. How do you have a conversation about improving health in the home when there doesn't seem to be the same level of caring for youth? And maybe there is and I just don´t know it. That's the rub. When we were in training, we saw a picture of an iceberg. The tip of iceberg was filled with words like clothing, food, music, etc. It's the parts of a culture that are visible or at least apparent. Then there's the gigantic part of the iceberg below the surface. Faux pas´ you never knew you made. Actions that are completely lost upon you. That's where the frustration comes from.
I know my language skills could use some TLC. I speak Spanish like a six-year-old that had Spanish spoken in the home. They speak Spanish like a six-year-old that has never been to school and had Ngabere in the home. It makes for fun conversation. And as for Ngabere, that's a difficult one. It's not that Ngabere is an inherently hard language. It's actually fairly simple with it's limited vocabulary and verb forms. The problem is that since no one in the community has ever been through the American public school system, they can't teach in a way I can understand. Replace grammar diagrams with saying a phrase really fast. Replace alphabets and pronunciation with repeating that same phrase really fast even if you ask them to slow it down. Replace a written language with regional variations. Replace constructive feedback with a Ngabe thinking you fully comprehend what you're saying when you blindly repeat what they just said. After all, that's how they are learning English. But even with all the progress yet to be made on the language front, I feel like I would hit many of the same communication roadblocks from the cultural gap alone.
As I close, I don't want to leave with a feeling of despair. While there are many moments I will never fully understand, there are many shared stories and laughs. And those moments of frustration make for good stories most of the time. You just take those tough times in stride. You learn to laugh at yourself, to not take things too seriously. Patience and humility. Exercising both is the difference between the good days and the bad.
