She's Just a Small Town Girl

Living in Bollullos Par del Condado can almost make you forget that there are bigger cities in the world. But I know better. So why did coming to Madrid strike me as utterly demasiado, although riveting?

I arrived in Madrid a few days ago visiting a friend, and en route back home for the holidays. Ideally when traveling, you wanna get an early start on the day, but mine started around 2pm yesterady and today. Shameful? Perhaps, but I plan to come back. There is so much to see. From the museums: Prado, Reina Sofia, Thyssien; to the Plazas, the districts, the royal palace... it goes on and on and on and on...

It's kind of crazy too to be in a "foreign" city and realize you know a couple of people either through like a third party or just people you've known. Apparently dancing in high school and getting a masters in international relations had a lot to do with knowing people who were here. I don't really live for travel books, so I look forward to their suggestions and recommendations, albeit knowing that I'll come to my own conclusions and probably walk an unbeaten path that gets me to an interesting photo or a place even the inhabitants of the city haven't been.

In short, Madrid overwhelmed me in a way that Bollullos could not. I've come to appreciate that I will almost always run into someone I know in Bollullos. It kind of gives you the feeling of small-town stardom. But I'd missed the diversity of the big city. The luxury of not being stared at. The convenience of the metro. Interior heating... need I say more. And yet, I feel a slight nostalgia for Huelva and Andalucia. We'll see if I still feel that way after three weeks at home. Can't wait for Noche Buena, Christmas, and New Years, and at the end of it all returning to Madrid to catch what I missed on this trip from sleeping late and catching up on overdue work.

The Traveling Diaspora

I think I'm obsessed with the Diaspora, but whatever! I may not see it everyday, but when I do I feel closer than ever. Must be the proximity to The Continent.

So, here in Spain, at least in Southern Spain - that Andaluz - there's a tradition that's existed for about two hundred years of burning gamonitas every 7th day of December, the day before the Dia de la Inmaculada. According to my rough spoken Bollullo sources, the tradition started a couple hundred years ago when there was an outbreak of tuberculosis, or el peste, and the people had to burn everything that had or might have been contaminated by the enfermedad. Since then, the costumbre has continued, although with slight variations, namely the burning of gamonitas instead of bodies, clothes, etc. As they burn the long twig-like gamonitas, people sing "gamonita, ita, ita!" and raise the bundle of sticks into the air. Apparently, you're also supposed to make a wish while doing this.

I had a chance to burn not one, but at least three bundles of gamonitas last night - the first of which I burned after a performance by a Ugandan dance group at the Casa de la Cultura. Again, you can imagine my elation at seeing mi gente, and how it tripled after the show when I got to talk to three of the dancer/singers, fluent in English, who are studying at the University, Mekelele, when they're not touring with the group.

I've decided that perhaps the burning of the gamonitas came at a symbolic time. Burning signifying renewal and all. With the crisis hitting home suddenly and muy fuerte in the last couple of days, and other peripecias of Bollullos coming to a head, it seemed like a great time to throw everything que no me cae bien into the fire. And I did. I felt a big relief, although I don't think it solved everything I would've liked it to.

On some level, it was a renewal for me, and my outlook on life in Spain. I'm glad that I'm repeatedly and randomly bombarded by the diaspora, which makes me exceedingly happy every time I see it. I also know that while I grow here and make wishes on gamonitas, I have to stay more connected to the conditions at home, and not forget my sense of individual agency, which will ultimately bring me more power than gamonitas alone.

An exercise in buscando la raza

I have a friend who understands the rarity of me going to the gym. Every time I tell my her I've gone, we both get a little laugh out of it. There was a time when my friends would have been amazed at my willingness to voluntarily go the library as well, but as it turns out I've realized the utility in both institutions.

Earlier this week, I paid for a two week membership (since I'm going home in two weeks for three weeks) and then when I get back I'll resume it. Maybe I fought it off for a while, but after I squatted and heard my favorite skinny jeans rip, I decided maybe... maybe it was time to get back to basics and bajo a couple of pesos.

The first class I went to was squatting intensive, so I decided I'd keep it on the elliptical machine and then, following the instructions of one of the owners, do a little "musculacion" after finishing my forty minutes of cardio. I went yesterday as well, after a full day of regalo shopping in Sevilla. By the time I left, the hair was in a state of obscurity, so I just twisted it again and threw on a scarf. I was planning to go out later, and it was cute, not that the standards are super duper high in Bollullos night life, but I have to represent well for la raza.

Going out on a good night in Bollullos involves not actually needing any money because there are rarely cover charges, you keep running into people you know, and on one of the upsides of machismo, the men are paying. I ended up running into a bunch of people I knew, so it was a good night, plus I got to practice a lot of Spanish, although there's always a couple of people who want to practice their English, on the odd occasion of having found a native English speaker in Bollullos. Basically the night starts at one bar Amadeus or John Lennon, moves to another called Don Pina, and then after that closes moves to another one called Zulu. Several people had asked if I was going to go there, and I asked them why the club was exploiting the nombre de mi gente? I did end up going though, and good thing, because I actually found the diaspora.

On the also rare occasion of seeing la raza in Bollullos, I get very excited. And when I walked into Zulu, I saw no less than four. A record high. With the excuse of having something in common, I'd introduced myself to all of them by the end of the night, which was around 6am, and had even taken a photo - since as my mom reminded me recently, life is all about making memories. Right before my friend saca'd the foto, I had the feeling that this was a really cool moment of seeing the depth of the Diaspora, and of being able to bring people together, since the four guys ended up all meeting each other and shaking hands. It turns out one is from Colombia, another is from Brazil by way of Portugal, and two others are from Maruecos aka Morrocco. I got goosebumps just standing there thinking about it. On the one hand it's amazing, and on another it's frustrating because Spanish is only the native language of one out of five of us. Nonetheless, seeing them all together at once, I thought, maybe this is why I came to Spain?

Even if finding la raza aqui en Bollullos is not necessarily my proposito, it brought me back to whole days spent in the library researching for my thesis on mi gente in Argentina, the Afro-Argentines. As it turns out, I don't mind the library when I'm completely interested in the work I'm doing and when it has some relevance to my own life. In short, although I've only just recently joined the gym, a memorable part of my experience in Spain will be that it was an exercise in patience, in buscando la raza, and in being entirely grateful whenever I got to see them and hear their stories. It may not be such a novelty when I return home where there's as high as percentage nationwide as there are people of color in Bollullos (about 13), but I'll embrace the novelty while I can.

La Accion de Gracias

Celebrating Thanksgiving in Bollullos was a trip! One of the couples whose daughters I tutor was hosting a couple from the United States because their companies work together. Combining their enthusiasm for Thanksgiving with the fact that there are eight other Americans, and an enthusiastic young woman from Ireland, teaching here in Bollullos I asked my tutees mom if we could take over her kitchen for two nights to make Thanksgiving dinner. It turned out really well, with everyone bringing a dish, chicken substituting for turkey, wine from one of the Bollullos bodegas, and a pumpkin pie made entirely from scratch.

I got a little choked up when we went around and said what we were all thankful for, since mine involved not having to cook all of the side dishes alone, not that I mind doing it when I'm home, but it was interesting to see what other people eat for turkey day.

I insisted on a trip to the florist shop for an extra gift to the mom of the family, since it wasn;t enough that we were jsut cooking for her, and I'm glad I did. She gave me an extra strong hug when she saw them and went into girly-surprised-flattered mode.

At the end of the night, we all walked home having made some new memories, and slightly less tired than we might have been without the turkey, cranberry sauce and accompanying football game, but happy nonetheless to have spent the evening pretending we were at home. The next day, I left for Huelva to spend the weekend with friends and ended up watching a basketball game of Huelva Recreativo, which ranks kiiiind of low on the basketball totem pole, but it was entertaining nonetheless.