November Newsletter from Cuernavaca - Katie in Mexico

"I am because you are”
Cuernavaca, Mexico Newsletter
November 2007
By Katie


I am American because you are Mexican.

It’s official folks, the honeymoon phase is over. This is life. I do not see everything through the rose-colored glasses of a fresh-faced volunteer out to save the world. I am no longer enchanted by all the day-to-day differences in a new culture. I am no longer awe-struck by the romanticized idea of life in a foreign country. This is life, with all its joys and imperfections. This is a blemished reality but a wonderful one nonetheless. The rose-colored glasses are off and I feel like I am seeing a bit more of the truths of my experience here.

I never really recognized myself as part of the majority in the United States, and now I am constantly aware of my identity now that I am a minority and an outsider. Oh, and the men on the streets make a habit of reminding me too. I am white, I am American, I am privileged, and I came here with more baggage than just my two suitcases. I came here with my own understandings on life, on society, on the political and economic reality, on how people interact, and on how I fit into the mix. Mexicans have their own understandings too, and I am learning that they are almost always different than mine. I am noticing just how much I am American because they are Mexican.

**DISCLAIMER: I am not a fan of generalizations. The differences that I wrote about below are solely my own experiences and I hope that those reading this do not think this encompasses all Mexicans, not even all Cuernavacans. Additionally, the generalizations that I wrote below obviously can’t be made about all Americans either. **

I am white… and blonde. I stick out like a sore thumb down here in southern Mexico and I cannot seem to walk more than a couple blocks without someone whistling, whispering, or outright shouting at me and announcing the existence of the güera to everyone within earshot. To avoid insanity and unpredictable bursts of retaliation I have started to sarcastically say “gracias” under my breath after I walk past. Always trying to be the optimist, I’d rather ignore my own cultural perspective that these cat-calls are annoying, unnecessary, and sexist. Rather, why not take it as a compliment – they think I’m beautiful. Although I have to admit, optimism aside, I can’t help but roll my eyes
I am American. I am a representative of a country that frustrates and takes advantage of the people here. I have become an ear to listen to people’s dissatisfaction; I have become a sounding board for those who want to argue the injustice of our government and our policies that ripple down and affect the quality of life here; and most of the time I cannot argue with their dissent. Through this, I am seeing a very raw and real side of humanity. Despite our differences, these are some expressions of anger and hurt that cross all borders and racial lines.
I am American. I operate on a schedule. I expect people to show up on time, and “late” is defined as ten minutes behind any given agreement. I like having an efficient plan to run errands and take care of my work. I am so completely and utterly American. People here do not have schedules for anything, not even buses or garbage pick-up. Time is relative and “on time” encompasses everything up to a couple hours after any given meeting time. “Efficiency” is relative too as I learned at the fabric store when I had to get the fabric, bring it to someone to get it cut, have the cutter write up an order, wait in line for someone to cut ribbon for me, have the ribbon cutter make write a different order, take written orders of products to the cashier, pay the cashier, take the stapled receipts and orders to the pick-up window, and finally receive my stuff. Whew. A simple trip to the fabric store becomes quite an ordeal.
I believe in the FDA and things that seem like “common sense” rules of food and health. The market is an incredible place, I love it very much, and I know that I will miss it when I return to the sterile and week-old imported foods at the mega grocery stores. But the market is also an interesting trip into another world that would make a food inspector cringe. People here also have very different understandings of the cause of illness and the ways to cure it, and sometimes the opposite of my perspective of healthy living in the US. For example, to relieve constipation eat a lot of cheese. To take care of diarrhea, eat a lot of vegetables and fruits. I have been warned me not to eat hot bread, it will give me diarrhea. I should also avoid jicama (a sweet root vegetable that could be compared to the texture of a flavorless piece of crisp pear, often served with lime, salt and chili) because if eaten at night it will give me a cough. To cure me of some stomach infection, Marce made me drink a spoonful of olive oil and drink a homemade tea with a couple different plant leaves she got from our rooftop garden, an avocado pit, some powdery substance and Lord knows what else. She is also convinced that I have an ulcer. I politely nod and express interest in this new knowledge, but wish for a similar understanding of health.
I am privileged. I am always surprised that people here don’t seem to understand the word “volunteer” - which is often demonstrated later in a conversation when they ask me how much money I make… well, I’m a volunteer and I make nothing. And I am becoming more aware of the strange truth that I can afford to work for a year and not make a single dime (or peso). People here have to work more than one job, seven days a week, and still struggle to make ends meet. “Volunteer” is not part of their vocabulary, as I doubt it is part of the vocabulary in the vast majority of countries in this world.

And the differences could go on and on…

But the truth is, my way of doing things at home is not better nor is it worse. It is different, just as I am different. The way of life in the United States would never function here and to be totally honest, I do not think I would want this life to be more like home. Despite the occasional frustrations, I love that this environment is putting me in challenging situations that force me to reconsider what I know about life and my own abilities. I am learning a world of patience and understanding that only comes from being thrown into this type of lifestyle change. I am American because they are Mexican, and neither one of us is going to change, but I hope to learn to live within those differences with respect, kindness, and humility.



Take care and I hope you are all enjoying the holiday season; you will be missed very much this month as I prepare to celebrate Christmas in Mexico.
Abrazos (hugs),
Katie