I'll be the first one to admit that I've been delinquent in my posting responsibilities. My excuse: writing is hard work. It's a solitary effort that demands that you find enough time--make enough time--to sit back, reflect and report on a day's worth of experiences. Sometimes there's almost too much to say, and sometimes you're almost too tired to say it.
Almost. I'll start simply.
I'm officially at the beginning of week four. If we could rewind for a moment, I cycled from a conference in Houston to Brownsville during week one; stumbled my way through culture shock and ill-founded expectations throughout week two; and met varied "success" over week three. My goal for week four is, ever so slowly, to make my way out of Brownsville/Matamoros and start in on the more Western towns of the Rio Grande Valley and their southern neighbors.
Week one you might have read about already. I was having the time of my life. I had little more to think about than how far I had to travel during the day, what route I was going to take, what I was going to feed myself and where I was going to sleep at night. The rest was all "filler"--playful internal anecdotes about vegetable stand owners who apparently think that bicycles can somehow transmit airborne viruses to their produce; beautiful, bikini-clad young women who appear in the middle of nowhere to wash their vehicles and fuel the imaginative mind of a lone cyclist for another forty miles; and, of course, ravenous packs of teeth-gnashing mosquitos bent on sanguinary world domination.
The second week was a comparative shock. Off my bike and out of my element, I had actual work to do. The first thing I noticed was that almost all the people in Brownsville were Hispanic. A big surprise, right? It was for me. I had spent in enough time in Nogales, Arizona, and Nogales, Sonora, to be convinced that, in every border town you're going to come across at least some Caucasian people. Amidst a sea of dark eyes and dark hair, I learned that this wasn't always the case.
Past the culture shock--I had just come from Austin and Houston, for the love--I met some difficulty just in getting the more formal aspects of the project off the ground. I could ride a bike, but could I actually talk with people? A lot of the time I was nervous--will potential conversants be willing to speak with me? Am I taking too much time from their day? Do I speak with them in English? In Spanish? What the hell am I doing here? It took me more than a few "interviews" to realize that not every meeting was going to be the same. In some, I had to be more formal and better prepared. In others, I needed to relax, be myself, and communicate in whatever language was necessary--thus far Spanish, English, sign and even play.
Whereas the second week I was extremely concerned about both the quality and quantity of my conversations--I would drive a borrowed car across the city numerous times each day in an effort to adhere to a strict, self-imposed schedule--I loosened up considerably during the third week. If I was able to meet with two people in one day, that was great. But If I was able to spend a whole day with only one person, that was amazing. Tangentially I would come into contact with a wider network of people that would help share a more in-depth understanding of whatever issue I had set out to tackle. Maybe just as importantly, on a personal note, I had a friend and a family for a day.
That's been a major concern since I've been in Brownsville/Matamoros: feeling comfortable enough to show up and be present in my interactions with others or, in other words, carrying with me a sense of "home" wherever I go. This task is made a lot easier when, like right this very moment, others open up their homes and extend their full trust to me. In fact, it looks as though I'll be house sitting for the next couple of days at the Calpulli Tlalpalcalli while the owners are visiting a son in Tucson and another tenant left to bury her oldest sister (her words).
The capstone lesson thus far has been to be willing and gracious in accepting the help that the community has to offer. In the last two weeks, I've had a roof over my head every night. One week I had a car. This last week, a different person took me to lunch almost every day.
Giving is gratifying--we all know that. As a society, we must also learn that there is great dignity in receiving.
For me, this means that I have to take a moment to recognize each conversation that I share as a gift. I suppose this also means that I be even more patient when people don't return my calls, blow off our scheduled appointments and generally look at me, in bike helmet and all, like I've just stepped off the mothership.
If you're wondering about my general reception, I'll be honest in telling you that most people are really supportive of the project. Some conversations that I think will last no longer than ten minutes will go on for hours. But other conversations aren't so... fortuitous. It's not uncommon for some to look at me with his or her head cocked to the side like a puppy who can't quite figure out what's going on.
"Aaaaand you areeeeee..." some bark. "Aaaaaaand whooooo are you working with?" other growl. "Aaaaaand whoooose project is this?"
It can get a little predictable, and I have the response down pat. I usually end up repeating myself. A lot. Sometimes it's as though people don't actually want to believe what I have to say, so they question me over and over again to see if it's really true.
It is all true, I swear to you. Enough of this, though. If you read on you'll find posts about what's actually happened over the last two weeks. I'll have more posts coming, and I think that I've worked out a system to better document the more important events of the day. Don't tell anybody, but it's called a "D-I-A-R-Y" or, if you prefer, a "J-O-U-R-N-A-L". We should be mostly caught up now, right?
Ruff.
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