Amistaad

The three women on the bus came to consensus that this road was the best one to take to La Escuela de Magdalena, so I paid my eighteen cents and stepped out into the sunshine. The bus pulled away in a cloud of diesel smoke, leaving me staring up a dirt road just drying from the previous nights rain. Mud walls with adorned with shoots of green grass and flowers in yellow and pink lined the camina and it was quiet, minus the birds. I began walking, feeling the clean air fill my lungs, and feeling grateful that this didn’t hurt after my respiratory infection. I moved my feet quickly over the soft earth and felt light. What was remarkable about that morning was not just the clear weather and stunning walk up into the mountains, but my complete lack of self-judgment. I was not worried about what connections I might make or fearful of mistakes- I was simply allowing myself to be a traveler, walking this road, taking in the steep patchwork mountains, the clucking hens and grunting pigs. When I encountered an abuelita on the road, we talked about where we were headed and why, sharing pace for a little while, and when I was ready to walk quickly again, I bid her farewell and did not worry that my western pace was keeping me from making friends. I have not made many what I would consider friends here.

Cameron has commented on my hierarchy of friendship, and how sometimes I am so intense about my friendships that I let more casual friendships go and do not give them much value. I was at first insulted by this, but since have mulled it over and realized, yes this is true. I suppose I have looked at it in this way: I only have so much energy, and I want to be sure that I use it wisely, and so I will carefully chose where I put my social energy. In the last few years I have spent much time, energy, and money maintaining these friendships that are so important to me, and also geographically very distant. I have had to ask myself more than once if this fierce commitment has at times gotten in the way of creating community where I live, and then I arrived in South America where Cameron and I have both felt very far away and alone.

Are Cameron and I a part of this community here in Zuleta? I don’t know. Will our absence be felt when we leave? Without a doubt. Here we have a multitude of friendly acquaintances. When we walk down the road we are greeted by name, nickname, and a million different friendly phrases that make me smile. Today one of the kitchen staff took my hand and made me run with her to the Patron’s kitchen, for no other reason than the company. It is true, there is no one here besides my husband with whom I sit and bare my soul. There really is no one with whom I feel I can ask to go for a walk, or have a cup of coffee. I have spent so much time since we have been here wondering if this is my fault, chastising myself for moments when I was shy, and laboring over the consequence of any and all of my social interactions. Now, towards the end, as I accept it for what it is, without judgment on myself or the community for the whys, I began to see all the ways I have been welcomed here. I already feel nostalgia for the beauty of the whole town knowing my name and saying with it with friendship, even if they do not invite me into their homes. I realize that if I really want the community I dream of, I have to make sure that I have the energy to build it. I have to open to the casual acquaintances and friendships, and value the people who always greet me with affection almost as much as those deep soul friends that I lean so heavily on.

As I walked away from the grandmother carrying her onions to continue briskly towards the school, she called out to me, Dios le pague, mija, Dios le pague. God will pay you, my daughter, god will pay you (this I assume in thanks for the work in the schools). It felt good to be called daughter, even though she did not know my name, and it did not in any way cheapen the power of the word, just as embracing those in the community around me as friends will never diminish the depth of the long term friendships I share.