And what an adjustment it has been... it is really hot here, did you know that? But you have to bring a sweater with you everywhere, because it's so highly air conditioned everywhere you go. And there are an odd number of stray dogs here, and as many of you may know, I don't mix so well with most animals, especially most dogs, so that isn't my most favorite thing. "Y'all" is a constant reminder that I'm not in Kansas anymore, and I am still holding out on adapting it... I survived four years in Providence and I only managed to pick up the very occasional "wicked," so I think I'll be ok in Texas for a year.
Sunday night, we immersed ourselves into one aspect of Houstonian culture that is right outside our door, and that we work with every day, but we never really get to the culture of: the immigrant community here. I teach students who are immigrants themselves and children of immigrants, I struggle to teach proper English grammar to students whose second language is my first, and I drive past Spanish signs and hear Spanish every day. Some of these immigrants are Mexican, many are not. I live with two children of immigrant parents, and while I know this and am aware of it each day, my actions in school are the limit of my involvement with this aspect of the culture.
But then, there's food. One of the reasons I love food is that it's so universal- everyone has a favorite dish, and our culture as a whole is so fascinated by food, and whether it's viewed in a positive or negative light depends on where it's coming from. Eva took us to a restaurant on Sunday where I got to participate in the immigrant culture and really be immersed in it, and by doing so, I got to eat some delicious food.
Papusas. Pupusas. Popusas. Ever had them? They're spelled in different ways depending on who you ask, but while I don't really know how to spell them, I know I really like to eat them. They're a treat from El Salvador that Eva has talked about since day one of JVC, and she was shocked when I told her that I hadn't ever had one. They're made of corn flour, and stuffed with cheese and other excellent foods... as simple as they sound, they're a wonderful treat.
We went to a Salvadorian restaurant around the corner from our house, and it was definitely an experience when I was the minority in the room and could feel it. I was with my fellow gringas as we marched in a line led by Eva into the restaurant. Lots of weird looks and side glances, followed by Spanish conversation that I couldn't understand, and we were seated. Eva had to order for me, because though so many of my fellow Americans speak Spanish, I have yet to learn and am still that white girl who doesn't know how to communicate, though not for lack of trying.
Eva ordered me a really yummy fruit juice, and while I already forget the word for it, I remember that it's from the fruit that cashews come from. It was surprisingly sweet, and tasted like pineapple juice... it was a big hit. I again followed Eva's advice and ordered 3 papusas- one plain cheese, and two beef and cheese, though I meant to get three different ones. I was flustered by not knowing how to communicate, and I told Eva a different thing than what I actually wanted. Regardless, the papusas were delicious, and it was a really interesting experience to not be able to communicate with my waitress.
I felt like I was five again, so dependent on someone else to get what I needed. I felt guilty for not knowing how to ask for what I wanted. My few murmured "gracias"es were not enough- I couldn't connect with another human being, and I felt dumb for it. It gave me insight into how so many people feel every day when they're trying to get things done that they need to get done: describing their ailments at a health clinic, asking for food at a pantry or restaurant, or describing their lives at an intake desk at any one of the many social services agencies in Houston. My awkward yet delicious experience opened my eyes to just how much of a role English has in terms of success in the US.
It's given me an extra push as a grammar teacher, and has opened my eyes to the prejudices around me. I'm working on my Spanish again, because if I want to be able to help my students and interact with their families, then I need to communicate in a language in which they feel comfortable. English, with all its irregularities and spellings that don't make sense, is a complicated language.
As I sit here observing John's "Hyphenated Americans" class on 9/11, it's a little overwhelming. Today is always a hard day for me, and I think as I get older and have a deeper understanding of what happened, it gets harder. Experiencing 9/11 in Texas as compared to on the East Coast is certainly different due to the physical separation from the attacks, but also because of the people here. So many people here have actively chosen to make America their country, and they see the attacks in a different light. Today, the seniors are discussing a prompt: What's more powerful, love or hate?
Always, love.
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