Since arriving in Buenos Aires I have been desperately trying to practice my Spanish and recall every piece of Latin American literature I have read in my Latin American Studies classes. When taking the Subte, (subway, first one built in South America by the way, est. 1913) to school the first thing that struck me, besides being squeezed into mass of strangers where there is no room, was how many people were completely oblivious to anything besides the novel in front of their nose. It’s a beautiful thing. As a bookworm who is hibernation, it is so encouraging to see so many people invested in literature. So when I heard yesterday Gabriel García Márquez, one of mine and everyone else’s favorite author, passed away it was surreal that earlier yesterday I was looking around at a book fair trying to find some small novellas in Spanish hoping to find some of his short stories.
On this program we have individual comparative analysis projects, and as I have mentioned mine is about art in public places and public art (there is a difference, believe it or not). Within this project I am so fascinated by how powerful images, music, and literature are to how we identify with other people. Each cultural medium brings its own bias of course, but there are connects that are formed from the shared understanding or enjoyment of a piece of street art, listening to rock n’ roll, or sharing the words of your favorite author. Sharing those appreciations with people around the world has been one of my favorite parts of this trip.
We have been getting an overall overview of the city from lectures, but we also went outside the city to see a community’s effort to combat unemployment and problems in their neighborhood through a cooperative school. Our group got to spend some time learning about this cooperative by touring their classrooms, singing songs together with the kids, and I spoke in Spanish to a large roomful of people, attempting to introduce our group. Let me make it clear, there are multiple fluent spanish speakers in the IHP group, but the methodology of this coop was that everyone has something to teach and everyone has something to learn, thus they wanted to hear from someone who still has a lot to learn about the language and who would struggle through an introduction. Boy, did I struggle well, but apparently it fit the bill. It has taken me a long time to work on speaking spanish and it still is something I need to study and practice more. Every opportunity I have I try to speak here, because I know this is invaluable time to practice. However, it has also been my experience that I can be very sensitive about my language skills, but I also have learned the only way to get better is to try and fail as often as possible. There have been moments of victory, but generally I am amazed how much more I need to study and it has made me anxious for Spanish courses. But as far as I know my Spanish hasn’t seriously been detrimental to anyone, so thats ideal.We have been out exploring nearly everyday after class and I think if I were to be here for a whole semester, it still would not be possible to fully know this city, but maybe my Spanish would be a lot better!
Easter weekend was spent catching up on sleep from my first indoctrination to Buenos Aires nights, where nightlife ends when the sun comes up. Also I got to attend a Good Friday mass in the closest square, which was a beautiful open air service, where I ducked out right before communion, because one of the few rules of Catholicism that I am certain about is that you do not take communion unless you are Catholic, no if, ands, buts, or exceptions. Another weekend activity was taking some walks and jogging around the parks close to my house. Let me tell you, there are some lush, expansive green spaces in my neighborhood, and they were occupied to full capacity. More people should take advantage of parks. Then Saturday I joined some friends to go to the China Town of Buenos Aires where we ate some delicious food and enjoyed the dragon statues. Even though there is a very strong Italian presence in Buenos Aires there people from all over the world going through the streets. In class we interviewed young immigrants from Peru, China, and Senegal.Out and about, we have talked to a few of the Senegalese vendors in a combination of Wolof, French, Spanish, and English which has probably been one of most absurdly global moments on this program.
On Easter Sunday I walked to a presbyterian church about forty minutes from my house, where despite the language I felt just at home. The pianist had a blues shade in his manner of playing Easter hymns and the minister slipped me a English Bible just before the service began. A really sweet young couple with an 11 month old welcomed me in and I was sitting next to them until they needed to slip out to take care of their little boy, and it being easter, the pews filled up quickly. It was a typical presby service with prayer requests from the pews, the same liturgy, and the sermon ended with the minister asking for people to say “He is Risen” in all the collective languages known by the congregation, which there were at least eight languages represented in the sanctuary. After the service a woman came up to me and introduced me to her teenage daughter, gave me her email and phone in case I needed anything at all while I am here in BA. Not to mention everyone I talked to knew about Memphis, and someone had friends who went to Second Presbyterian, which was so surreal. Their Memphis knowledge, hospitality, and worship added so much to my Easter experience, I was so thankful to be there. Afterwards I took a walk to go meet up with some folks at a tea shop, but through more expansive parks full of statues, art, dogs and runners.
There is so much I want to see and experience in Buenos Aires, which makes me want to return here someday. The more I learn about the histories here, the more I think about Memphis, how the suffering and brokenness present in the history and present really inform a necessary passion to work towards justice in a city. We are working on projects this week and I am looking forward to drawing some comparisons to the Mississippi River and the Riachuelo when I return to Memphis.
“What matters in life is not what happens to you but what you remember and how you remember it.”
With many of his novellas and short stories, Márquez plays with historical memory and uses magical realism to communicate stories of history rendered unbelievable. This quote not only applies to the histories of countries, but also in recounting memories from this trip. Personally, I am afraid of forgetting, whether that be my home stay families, the lessons learned from professors, but more importantly the people I encounter daily, the small details that make up my memory of a place. I am still figuring out how I will remember Argentina, and the rest of my IHP experience. At the end of the day this whole journey seems like it could be fiction.
Gypsy Journeys 