I’ve come to welcome blisters on my hands. Blisters mean I played wheelchair basketball, that I played hard, was part of a team…and that I smiled.
Basketball has unexpectedly woven itself through my auto-biography. When I was 15, new to Berkeley High, I made my first friend (shout out to K-Dawg) through basketball. When I studied abroad in Ghana, I started having a richer experience once the University of Ghana women’s team began their season. Wheelchair basketball became a thread through my college years. At BORP I found an extended family, I found my favorite father figure, and my partner in crime, all from just playing around with kids, wheelchairs, and basketballs.
If I had to write an auto-biography, playing wheelchair basketball in Antigua with the Transitions team would be a new chapter, if only because the setting deserves its own section. Our basketball court just happens to sit 50 feet away from Spanish ruins. So the backdrop as we play is unreal.
We practice/play every Friday afternoon. Afternoons here, often mean rain. So today, when it began to pour, we rolled under some bushes to serve as our umbrella. However, soon thereafter, everyone started pulling everyone else out into the rain. Our play continued with more water, and more laughter.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Monday, September 28, 2009
Español
What does “fluent” mean? Does it mean I can send Spanish text messages with ease? Am I fluent if I can bargain at the market? How about if I can share my ideas on health care, the economy, earthquakes, my father, and gay marriage with my Spanish teacher? Does it matter that my verbs aren’t always correctly conjugated? When will I be able to completely follow a Spanish film?
Amongst the Spanish-language students in Antigua, there seems to be little conversation about how we learn language, which is why I’d like to share with you how I got to where I am on the fluency scale.
When I was 10, I was asked if I wanted to take Spanish or French in Middle School. I didn’t know of a monument I’d like to see in Mexico, but I did know the Eiffel Tower meant baguettes and berets. French it was.
I came to regret my 5th grade decision daily in Spanish 1 at UC Berkeley. The summer after Spanish 1, I went to Honduras. For 3 weeks, I took Spanish classes, but was by no means fully immersed in the language, as I spoke English with my language-school friends, and could also do so with my Honduran host family. Thank goodness I continued studying Spanish my last year of college, it has proven to be invaluable in my first weeks here.
My Skype conversations with Mickey and my mom, and my time emailing, are the only moments I speak English. If I need to say something here, I can always express it. It might take me 10 minutes, because I don’t know every word. And I guarantee my verb conjugations are off, but I do know that by the time I stop talking my counterpart has some idea of what the heck I’m saying.
Yesterday, I asked my Spanish teacher (pic of us below) if she thought I could ever be fluent. She responded “Ya eres casi fluente, casi.” Gracias a Dios, I’m close! I think because we have pretty good conversations and because she doesn’t have to teach me the verb “to go,” my teacher Brenda thinks I’m close to being fluent. Some days I agree. But other days, I feel like I’ve got everything wrong.
On Wednesday I had a Spanish exam so I could move on to the second book at my Spanish school. I passed, but going over my mistakes the next day (guess I don’t know how to spell my numbers), made me feel like I need more than a lifetime to ever speak more than one language.
With my first two weeks behind me, I wonder how much more time I’ll need to become an oh-so-cool “fluent Spanish speaker.” I also wonder how others become fluent, and why our experience with language often goes un-talked about.
And I’ve been thinking that no matter how fluent I get, English will always be the language of my family, the language I cry in, and the language I share my love in. And I know I’m lucky to have one of the most important languages in the world, as my first.
I am so in awe of bi/multi-lingual people, and I want to know their stories. I also want to know if I can ever be fluent. Oh, and how bad is my accent? Vamos a ver (we will see).
Amongst the Spanish-language students in Antigua, there seems to be little conversation about how we learn language, which is why I’d like to share with you how I got to where I am on the fluency scale.
When I was 10, I was asked if I wanted to take Spanish or French in Middle School. I didn’t know of a monument I’d like to see in Mexico, but I did know the Eiffel Tower meant baguettes and berets. French it was.
I came to regret my 5th grade decision daily in Spanish 1 at UC Berkeley. The summer after Spanish 1, I went to Honduras. For 3 weeks, I took Spanish classes, but was by no means fully immersed in the language, as I spoke English with my language-school friends, and could also do so with my Honduran host family. Thank goodness I continued studying Spanish my last year of college, it has proven to be invaluable in my first weeks here.
My Skype conversations with Mickey and my mom, and my time emailing, are the only moments I speak English. If I need to say something here, I can always express it. It might take me 10 minutes, because I don’t know every word. And I guarantee my verb conjugations are off, but I do know that by the time I stop talking my counterpart has some idea of what the heck I’m saying.
Yesterday, I asked my Spanish teacher (pic of us below) if she thought I could ever be fluent. She responded “Ya eres casi fluente, casi.” Gracias a Dios, I’m close! I think because we have pretty good conversations and because she doesn’t have to teach me the verb “to go,” my teacher Brenda thinks I’m close to being fluent. Some days I agree. But other days, I feel like I’ve got everything wrong.
On Wednesday I had a Spanish exam so I could move on to the second book at my Spanish school. I passed, but going over my mistakes the next day (guess I don’t know how to spell my numbers), made me feel like I need more than a lifetime to ever speak more than one language.
With my first two weeks behind me, I wonder how much more time I’ll need to become an oh-so-cool “fluent Spanish speaker.” I also wonder how others become fluent, and why our experience with language often goes un-talked about.
And I’ve been thinking that no matter how fluent I get, English will always be the language of my family, the language I cry in, and the language I share my love in. And I know I’m lucky to have one of the most important languages in the world, as my first.
I am so in awe of bi/multi-lingual people, and I want to know their stories. I also want to know if I can ever be fluent. Oh, and how bad is my accent? Vamos a ver (we will see).
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Nuestros peces. Our fish.
I got pretty dirty after playing wheelchair basketball yesterday afternoon, especially because the rain turned the court’s dust into mud, and needed a shower. As I walked out of my bathroom, I noticed my host father cleaning out the small family aquarium.
As we were eating dinner, Gabi, the 5-year-old, was counting the fish, and then suddenly screamed, “¡Papi, un pez esta muerto!” (A fish is dead). Flor, my host mom, left the table to check the tank and attempt to calm her daughter. Five seconds later, Flor screamed “¡Gustavo, todos están muertos!” Gustavo and I both left our plates, and quickly saw all the fish limp on their sides.
In cleaning, Gustavo, my host father, didn’t fully rinse the chlorine he had used to clean the tank.
It’s embarrassing to admit, but in thinking about last night’s incident, I can’t help but smile. I so vividly remember the same exact thing happening to my family’s fish when I was young. What makes me grin is not that as we were enjoying our elotes, our little peces weren’t so much enjoying the chlorine, I smile because, some things (even amidst different countries and decades) never change.
As we were eating dinner, Gabi, the 5-year-old, was counting the fish, and then suddenly screamed, “¡Papi, un pez esta muerto!” (A fish is dead). Flor, my host mom, left the table to check the tank and attempt to calm her daughter. Five seconds later, Flor screamed “¡Gustavo, todos están muertos!” Gustavo and I both left our plates, and quickly saw all the fish limp on their sides.
In cleaning, Gustavo, my host father, didn’t fully rinse the chlorine he had used to clean the tank.
It’s embarrassing to admit, but in thinking about last night’s incident, I can’t help but smile. I so vividly remember the same exact thing happening to my family’s fish when I was young. What makes me grin is not that as we were enjoying our elotes, our little peces weren’t so much enjoying the chlorine, I smile because, some things (even amidst different countries and decades) never change.
¡Estoy aquí!
Shedding goodbye tears through the airport security line made me good and sleepy for my flight to Houston, and then to Guatemala City. A few minutes after I walked out of the aeropuerto, I was met by two Transitions employees. Hugo and Edwin apologized for being late, they explained that the traffic was bad. Traffic at 10pm? As we drove through the airport gates, I understood why – hundreds of people were running through the streets, torches in hand! But before I began panicking, my hosts explained it was the eve of the Día de Independencia. ¡Gracias a Dios!
My first full day in Guatemala just happened to be Independence Day. ¡Que suerte! At 8am, my host mother knocked for breakfast. The moment I opened my door I realized the beauty that is Antigua – a big blue sky, with big white clouds, and what isn’t blue or white is green. Lush mountains, including 3 volcanoes, tower over Antigua. And the city seems to love its greenery. There are more public parks here than in Berkeley, and the majority of houses here have courtyards in the center. My door opens out to an array of tropical potted plants.
With a full stomach from Breakfast, I ventured into town to see the “Bandas de Guerra” (bands of war) my host mom told me about during breakfast. To celebrate independence, there were over 30 high school marching bands parading through Antigua’s small cobblestone streets. To be honest, my attention started to fade after the 12th band, but the baton girls (with some added Latin flavor) never failed to entertain.
I spent the afternoon playing with my 5-year-old host sister, Gabi, and unpacking. At 4:30, I walked 100 ft. down the street to the Transiciones office, as we had a presentation to make at a nearby café at 5. More about Trancisiones to come.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Getting Ready
Hello and welcome to Brit Speaking Spanish. My name is Brit, and I will be speaking Spanish...once I arrive in La Antigua, Guatemala on Monday night, that is.
So the last few weeks I've been "preparing," which has mostly consisted of eating Chinese food, getting vaccinations, and staying in bed till 11am every morning listening to NPR. Although not needed, this has been a perfect break for me, a chance to reflect on my college years and get mentally ready for the adventures to come. My trend has been to be busy all the time, and my non-busyness this past month has taught me to love the in-between periods in life.
This Saturday is BORP's Opening Day Celebration, and a celebration it will be! Exactly 4 years ago, on this Saturday, I started volunteering at BORP. I hope to see a lot of friends during the day on Saturday, but if you can't make it, virtual hugs are a perfect substitute!
Lastly, if you've been thinking you should maybe get me a going-away gift...don't! Instead, bring me a book from your bookshelf you'll think I'll enjoy during my travels.
Hasta poco, Brit
So the last few weeks I've been "preparing," which has mostly consisted of eating Chinese food, getting vaccinations, and staying in bed till 11am every morning listening to NPR. Although not needed, this has been a perfect break for me, a chance to reflect on my college years and get mentally ready for the adventures to come. My trend has been to be busy all the time, and my non-busyness this past month has taught me to love the in-between periods in life.
This Saturday is BORP's Opening Day Celebration, and a celebration it will be! Exactly 4 years ago, on this Saturday, I started volunteering at BORP. I hope to see a lot of friends during the day on Saturday, but if you can't make it, virtual hugs are a perfect substitute!
Lastly, if you've been thinking you should maybe get me a going-away gift...don't! Instead, bring me a book from your bookshelf you'll think I'll enjoy during my travels.
Hasta poco, Brit
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