Our life in Oaxaca, finding our groove

I am finding it difficult to write about our life. Our everyday.  Perhaps when the extraordinary normalizes it is hard to share, as routine and sameness blend the days and appear unremarkable.  However, I will plow through this wall and if nothing less I have a journal of our experience to enhance our memory years to come.

We are neither traveling or permanently living here, and yet here we are in Oaxaca for the summer, just over three months.  We needed to figure out a schedule, some semblance of a normal routine, otherwise we will go nuts.

We are a solid 25 minute walk from the center of town which has its benefits and pitfalls.  One benefit clearly is that we are walking a lot.  Also, we have decided to get in shape and the whole family runs in the evening ( although separated into a boys and girls team)

We are living in a real neighborhood, that lacks charm, parks or wide sidewalks. 

We buy most of our food and supplies from the women on the streets who set up daily stands on the side walks and sell Chile Rellenos, tortillas, tacos, salsa, rice and beans.  Thier industry is impressive and these sorts of small sidewalk businesses abound throughout the city and are the life blood of the local economy.  The food is hot, delicious and appreciated by many.  Catering services for the masses.

Our apartment is the 3rd floor of a complex owned and lived in by the same family.  Our airbnb host is Ezekiel, and he lives with his wife, young children, niece and mother.  Lucia, his mother is always working, constantly doing laundry or cleaning.  Thier dog, Dino, a sleek pit bull, initially scared of us, now wags his tail in shy greetings when we come home.  There is a loud parrot who will bite you and a Siamese cat who attempts to get in our room often.   There are five apartments in our small gated complex, and we all share a courtyard that is cool from the hot sun.  Our life’s soundtrack is dogs barking, children crying, bells and announcements from vendors and the daily fiesta of horns and drums.

This morning I awoke to the sounds of a full-fledged parade and fireworks, no doubt from the nearby church.  Normally I enjoy these sounds, but it was still dark and my watch said 0530!  However, one of the skills that we have acquired this year is the ability to sleep through any noise, and I was able to go back to sleep.

It is a pleasant temperature most of the time, only hot in the middle of the day.  The wind whips through our space frequently, cooling us and making it impossible for mosquitos to land.  We sleep with our doors and windows open and there are no screens.  Nature’s fan serves us well.  Our space is small but adequate, full jugs of clean water are provided and Lucia cleans our apartment every Monday.

Our weekdays are settling into a nice routine.  The kids have school Tuesday and Thursday;  math, writing and spelling in the morning and Mexican history in the afternoons.  Cork is their teacher.  Monday, Wednesday and Friday the kids and I walk to International School Oaxaca and attempt to learn the Spanish language.  While the kids play bingo and learn the names of animals, I work with Juan learning Spanish grammar, irregular verbs and pronunciation.

I also take classes on Tuesday and Thursday at another school, Ollin Tlahtoalli and again struggle to put the parts of this language together.  In addition I have a class focused on healthcare and grammar specific to a clinical situation  Por favor Senora suba a la bascula.  (Please Madame, get up on the scale) My teacher Fiorra and I practice patient and nurse dialogues.  We discuss important cultural norms and mores that I must understand to earn the trust of my patients.  My ultimate goal is work with Latina families in a clinical setting when we return to Portland.

My first time visiting Oaxaca city was in 2003.  A recent graduate from Nursing school, it was my goal to learn Spanish.  I enjoyed working with the Spanish-speaking families at Doernbecher Childrens Hospital where I worked as a CNA during nursing school and also had my senior clinical intensive.

My first patient who died was a Latino nine-year old with a terminal brain tumor.  I was a student nurse at the time.  I was an observer in an intense family meeting discussing his prognosis and code status.  The family did not speak English and the staff did not speak Spanish.  This highly emotional and very important discussion took place with the assistance of an interpreter. I wonder what was lost in translation?  About an hour after the family decided to make their son DNR he massively herniated in his brain and died.  It was a time where I felt that energies in the universe were acting beyond our sight or control.  I felt the anguish and sadness in the room but was insulated from engagement as I did not understand the language. The meaning of the words disappeared in the air.  I also could not offer any words of help.  Although, in that situation, there are no words in any language that are helpful.  I remember gently washing the body of their boy and removing the IV catheters, knowing that my every move was an important form of communication. I had this experience before having children.  I am pretty sure that I would not be able to participate in the same way now.

My experience working with Latina families at Doernbecher, coupled with my strong desire to communicate clearly led to my decision to study Spanish in Oaxaca for one month.  I attended language school and lived in a homestay.  I did learn a lot, but my loneliness drove me to seek out English speaking students, thus my language skills did not improve as much as I wanted.  After I returned, I missed the window of hire for new graduates at Doernbecher Childrens Hospital.  I got a job at the VA hospital on the Cardiac and Oncology floor.  Veterans do not speak Spanish, and thus my skills diminished over the years.

Twelve years later I returned to the Oaxacan coast with Cork, Jack and Addie and spent a wonderful two weeks in a small village called San Agustinillo on the beach.  In preparation for that trip I took Spanish language classes in Portland twice a week.  Due to a boarding mixup on our return we were delayed a day.  Aeromexico gave us four roundtrip tickets to Mexico as an apology.  Seizing this opportunity,  I was able to return to Oaxaca city twice, first with Cork the following July and then with my sister Hannah for La Dia de Los Muertos in October.  I studied Spanish in Portland for a year during that time.  However, since I was not speaking Spanish on a daily basis, I lost it.  Now I have the chance to find it again.  I believe that this may be my last chance to really learn this language.

Language is like a puzzle in my head and I receive new pieces every day that make the picture clearer.  When I am constructing a sentence the verbs and nouns descend in my mind like in a cartoon thought bubble, and plunk down to complete the sentence.  Sometimes I have to close my eyes to see the words fall into place before the phrase can leave my mouth.  Learning French at a young age wreaks havoc on my pronunciation.  I roll the “R”s towards the back of my throat instead of off my tongue in the front of my mouth.  I am an eager excited student and it feels miraculous when I am able to understand those around me.  My teachers speak to me only in Spanish.  Like the ultimate magic trick, I understand them!  I no longer translate when they speak, the meaning of the words travel directly to my brain. I am giddy with possibility.  My energy for this new skill is boundless.  My enthusiasm is slightly embarrassing.  I have even begun to dream in Spanish.

I feel that we are hitting our groove now.  This life, in this town.  It is early yet, but all signs are positive.