The Only Gringa

There is no direct translation of the verb “to get” in Spanish. Did you get my message? Did she get groceries? Did he get his degree? This is just one reason I have had trouble communicating this week.

As an articulate person, I am not used to being at a loss for words. My whole life I have taken my ease of communication and understanding for granted, never realizing how fortunate I am to constantly be surrounded by people who understand me. Words can hardly describe the respect and appreciation I have for those who have been patient with me, and others who find themselves in the same position I have been in the last two weeks: stuck; able to understand but unable to respond; catching every third word but missing the question; frustrated.

I am lucky there are many children here. I am amazed each day by their patience and am so thankful for all they have taught me already. They speak slowly, use small words, and gesture when I do not understand. On more than one occasion a child has stepped in to help when I was failing to communicate with an adult.

Last Saturday, for the first time, I was the only gringa on the mountain. Since arriving at MdL I had been surrounded by other English speakers: the YAB group, Anyssa and Brad, and Morgan. I believe this helped immensely with my transition into Honduran life and culture. I was able to ask for clarification on whatever I needed whenever I needed to. It kept me from feeling disoriented or afraid as I met new people, tried new foods, and slept in a strange bed. I have, however, spent the first two weeks heavily relying on this crutch.

Going to breakfast alone I was nervous. I hesitated a moment before walking through the door. Was I even allowed to be here? I walked up to the window, smiled, and handed over my bowl over to Tía. She returned my bowl with Special K, Fruit Loops, and Cocoa Krispies piled higher than the rim and doused in milk. I glanced around the table wondering if everyone was given this much cereal. It seemed to be the standard serving. I began to eat and talk to Nuno, who was sitting next to me. My mouth was full when Tía appeared in front of me and said hello. I felt my face turning red as I hurried to swallow. She spoke so quickly at first I did not catch a single word. Apologizing, I asked her if she could repeat herself. Still, I could barely understand a few words. I turned slightly towards Nuno. She nodded feverishly. “Sí,” I responded, not knowing fully what I was agreeing to. I figured out Tía Claudia had something to give me after breakfast. I finished eating, took my plate to the sink, and ventured into the kitchen to investigate further. When I saw the giant bags of cereal on the counter I suddenly understood. Two days prior I had asked for more cereal for the kitchen in my building. The grocery run is typically on Fridays, so they had picked some up for me. I went to get the Tupperware’s and returned once again to fill them up. There were too many to carry at once, so Nuno picked up the rest and followed me to the comedor. “Gracias,” I said, “gracias por todos.” She smiled. “You’re welcome. I love you,” she responded in English.

This is the most beautiful place in the world. Forget the rolling mountains and brown grass, the mango trees and the burning trash. There is a love here that sees no color, hears no language, and speaks through laughter and tears. I am blessed to carry this love in my heart wherever life takes me and beyond.