First Impressions

My send-off in Minnesota was, without a doubt, the greatest possible reminder of just how very blessed I am in my friendships.

I came home relatively late the night before leaving, expecting only to finish packing and then get to bed early. Instead, I opened the main door to find Dimitri sitting at the kitchen table, freshly in from Nairobi. An hour later, Sami - who apparently decided at the last minute not to go home to Gaza – comes in, hiding behind one of the housemates. Kacy, too – who I hadn’t seen since December – ran over for a final goodbye. The greetings were so animated that the people living in the flat below had to tell us to quiet down.

Still, after some rousing rounds of poker and delightful tickling-battles and catching-up chats, I was ordered not to leave without rousing my dear friends to say farewell. This was no small thing, considering the fact that I was leaving at 4:30 in the morning and that none of us went to bed before 2. I’ve rarely felt so unconditionally loved, and I cannot even begin to describe how much that final, groggy round of hugs and kisses and “Be safe”s and “Keep in touch”es meant to me. Nor – I suspect – how much it will keep me going in the coming months.

That said…

It’s only been about a week and a half since I first arrived on the Border, and all I can say is that my first impression of this place as a whole is that it is going to quite simply blow my mind. Life on the Border – la Frontera - it seems, challenges all of one’s previous notions of what is what, who is who, and where is where.

For example, our first crossing was from the US to Mexico, and even in our 12- and 15-person vans, with all our baggage, we simply paid our toll and then sped across El Puente Lerdo into Mexico, no questions asked. Which would perhaps not be quite so remarkable if it weren’t for the stark difference between this and the 3-hour long line of cars waiting to enter the US that you see to the left as you speed past with 2 completely traffic-less lanes at your disposal. Having on another day sat in this US-bound traffic with a broken radiator in 103 degree weather, I’ve already had my fill of the automotive experience of the bridges and will from now on be walking across.

So far, my own crossings States-side have ended like this:

Border Patrol, while barely looking at my driver’s license: “Are you a US citizen?”
Me: “Yes.”
Border Patrol: “Have a nice day.”

Or…

Border Patrol: “Citizenship?”
Me: “U.S.”
Border Patrol, while barely looking at my driver’s license: “Have a nice day.”

Maybe being a güera, or white girl, isn’t so bad.

But not all are so lucky. Nicolina, a US citizen of Mexican heritage on the Program was questioned for over 10 minutes at the pedestrian crossing, and Eric – the Juarez-native who has been working with the program for years – gets stuck at the automobile drivers’ aduana (customs) for over an hour and finally has to be rescued by the Program Director, who is furious because she has already spoken with the aduana chiefs on multiple such occasions.

The crazy thing is that just 5 minutes away from los puentes you can drive across the river without a single Migra (Border Patrol) worker watching. Congratulations, you’ve left Texas and are now in New Mexico. But wait, just park your car, walk across a little stone line, and you’re in Mexico. Sometimes I forget which city or country I’m in.

If I can conclude anything right now, actually, it’s that the Border itself is riddled with such confusion and contradictions. At least it seems that way from the outside. I think, though, that living on the Border - o mejor dicho, viviendo la Frontera, living the Border – is really the only way to go about understanding the logic of this place.

To those ends, day-to-day life here – like anywhere else - means lots of studying, host-family-time, and – yes – partying. And, so far, I’m really enjoying myself and – thankfully – finding that all of my last-minute trepidations were for naught. For one, Juarez is nowhere near as dangerous as it’s publicized to be. Also, instead of dressing too attractively, I’m finding that I didn’t bring enough nice clothes. And, hijole, the food! It’s spicy and there’s tons of it, and the staff are all incredibly knowledgeable and supportive, and the other students are all very curious and generous. And as for my host-family… When they walked into the reception with the little girl carrying a bouquet of my favourite flowers I just knew that this Mamá had to be mine.

And, of course, about the dancing thing… Four other students and I went with two of the host-siblings, a Mama, a tía, and an abuela to Ajua! La Rumba. Soft lighting with no ceiling made for a laid-back atmosphere, while the live Cuban music was just chida (particularly great), and the dancers were all experienced enough to leave me blissfully breathless after a single, turn-and-dip-filled dance. It was, in a word, divino.

The Perfect Morning

I woke up late today. Didn’t really get out of bed or my room until a little past eleven. Ended up listening to Norah Jones on the weathered old porch out front while eating Apple Jacks, eggs, and a nectarine. Ended up staying out there curled up in an oversized comforter, reading A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius (yes, that’s actually the title), and sort of losing myself to the sound of the rain and the damp feeling of the wood and wicker furniture. It was just right. A lot this summer was “just right”.

At home, I got to reconnect and somewhat rebuild my relationships with my parents and brothers, though with my father most especially. We ended the summer with what I think will forever be one of my most cherished memories - a moonlit dance in the driveway, Dad singing harmony, me humming out the melody, both of us spinning, smiling for a million reasons.

And after that, there was Explo, which I can't even begin to describe. Suffice it to say that, for the first time, I've made a clear line between myself as an adult and others as children. And that I am infinitely thankful for the great generosity and humour of the staff as a whole. And more tired than I've ever been before. And incredibly calm about the future. This summer as a whole was good for that.

Self-defense lessons have let me regain some of my confidence. Grad school is now – for the first time – a viable option for me. As – I’ve confirmed – is teaching. Preferably at an international boarding school. Perhaps not forever but still - it’s nice to have finally not ruled something out and, instead, to have tried and enjoyed something and found it worth repeating. Which is why I’m 90% certain that I’ll be returning to Explo again next summer.

Aside from that...My domestic/independent side has come out a bit this summer and I’m actually already very much looking forward to having my own place. To choosing where to live (with my Irish citizenship and EU passport papers being pushed through, can anyone say Europe?), to cooking and keeping things as clean as I like… Alas, this is at least a year off and, for all intensive purposes, probably two years away. In the meantime…

I’m off to the Border on Monday and am incredibly excited to be headed somewhere fairly permanently. I’ve changed cities 4 times already this summer, and between this past Sunday and this coming Monday alone I’ll have been on one train and three planes (New York, by the way, was culinary bliss and well-worth the expense if only because I got to see one of my closest friends in their element. The Twin Cities, meanwhile, have been rejuvenating and comfortable, running pre-flight errands has been fairly easy, and seeing friends for the first time in 3 to 8 months has been fantastic).

But beyond looking forward to being somewhat rooted for the next 4 months, my feelings about the Border are somewhat mixed. But I hear that's what the Border's all about. And I guess it means I'm headed towards getting what I hoped for out of the experience, since I chose this program specifically because some part of me wants to be shocked, thrown for a loop, and to have my beliefs and perspective shaken by the marginal and all too often ignored. To - in every possible sense of the phrase - live in translation for a while.

And that’s what the rest of this blog will be about – my life in translation.

Enjoy. The first “Word of the Day” is the name I’m writing under here, Pecosa. It means Freckles :).