In their own words...

Mikeala shares her thoughts from the border:

When I was seventeen or so, my family hosted an exchange student from Belgium. I would always despair when Liesbet’s eyes would gloss over she would begin to pleasantly affirm whatever I was saying. Comfortably stationed in the town of my birth, I was filled with a passionate certainty that one should always ask questions in moments of uncertainty—embrace every learning opportunity! I simply couldn’t understand why she would tune out instead of engaging me and my remarkable command of the English language.

Four years later, 1,000 odd miles south—heaven help me—I “smile and nod” like a bobblehead in an earthquake. Let me join the ranks of marriage counselors, telephone operators and oarsman and affirm that, indeed, communication is hard—but rather essential. For me, losing my ability to communicate easily and well over the last few weeks has been infuriating, humbling, and (depending on my mood) funny.

Beginning my first solo trip back to my home in Ciudad Juarez from UTEP (the University of Texas El Paso), I realized that I would be returning later than planned. Warmed by the internal glow of a daughter doing right (oh mom, you’d be so proud), I grabbed the nearest pay phone and fired up my US calling card. After the operator chirpily informed me that there would be a $2 surcharge for pay phone call, and that my minutes would deplete at eight times the normal rate (my call to a phone four miles away was, after all, international), I dialed and explained in dubious Spanish to my Mexican mama that I would be back an hour late.

I walked briskly to the international bridge and paid my 35 cents to enter Mexico (I even had exact change! A truly unfathomable level of responsibility!). I then hiked over to the bus stop to await the green bus which would take me home. Three annoyed green-bus drivers (the busses, not the drivers) successively (though, apparently, not successfully) informed me that they were not going near my house. A slight chill running through my highly communicative-multilingual-globetrotting-street smart-student-daughter glow, I decided to call my host mama again.

Mexican pay phones (even those 500 yards from El Paso) do not take quarters. This should not have surprised me. I sheepishly bought a 1 peso pack of gum with a dollar and cringed as I asked for pesos in change.

The majority of Mexican pay phones do not, it seems, take pesos either. For reasons which I will claim to understand because I have done tonight’s reading so carefully, the major telecommunications company in Mexico, TelMex ahem, AHEM, is an erstwhile government-run company which has been mostly privatized, but still maintains a de facto monopoly GLEN, ARE YOU READING THIS? Therefore, they own all the pay phones and can require pay phone users to buy special cards from them that make the payphones work.

If you missed the foreshadowing, I had no TelMex card. And the very large man in a cowboy hat behind me was communicating in a trans-lingual manner that he really needed to make a call. Exasperated, I grabbed the next green bus I saw (this driver did assure me that he was going to the major street off of which I live). This major street however, runs the length of town. I was dropped off roughly five miles from home. I dearly hope my poor biological mother has stopped reading at this point.

Long story short, my long-suffering Mexican mama picked me up on the street corner where sits what appears to be the only peso-accepting pay phone in all of Juarez. My host brother had decided to accompany her and chastise me (brothers are pretty much the same everywhere, eh?). Too frustrated with myself and too ashamed to say anything remorseful or even intelligible or in Spanish, I nursed my pride by savagely reflecting that at least I don’t blast the Beach Boys on repeat (sisters are pretty much the same everywhere, eh?).

I have since misconjugated, misinterpreted, misread, and misdigested (sorry) my way through the last three weeks. Ultimately though (oh, you knew the moral was coming), while a mixture of pride and ineptitude keeps me smiling and nodding and making mistakes, I am thankful. I have been (and will continue to be) frustrated, confused, and generally ridiculous, but I am deeply thankful. Aiming to avoid a launch into an awkward love-fest, let me say briefly that I am so excited to spend the rest of the semester with the people I have met here—they delight, support and teach me (oh shit, that was rather love festy, no?).

Lest readers at home did not visit this page solely to hear about my personal Mexican-semi-public-infrastructure inspired epiphanies, an update on the program:
After an orientation week of long lectures and even longer meals (I think most of us consumed more food in that week than we had during the entirety of our summer breaks), we all settled into our new homes. There were the funny realizations (what? My host “sister” is actually a boy? or, wow…nine dogs?) as well as some tougher issues regarding differences in religion and political beliefs between host and student. The realization that we have a three-and-a-half month stay ahead of us has us all walking a sometimes indistinct line between guest and relative—I have no doubt that the coming months will bring challenges and reconceptualizations of this role not only for us the students but for our hosts as well.

Something else that has been an almost universal experience is what our program director Glen lovingly calls “the infantilization by the Border Studies Program.” While I think there are many ways in which this program has already asked me to be far more grown-up than I usually am (or perhaps than I prefer to be), in some aspects, there has been an awkward timewarp back to roughly 8th grade (though I dress even more atrociously now than I did then). The levels of freedom and independence that many of us have become accustomed to thanks to cars, college and cell phones have definitely decreased.

Want to go out on Friday night? You’ll have to ask your host parents for a ride 24 hours in advance, and you shouldn’t ask them to drop you off after 9 PM. If you’re out past 9 (which of course, mom/dad, I never am) you’ll have to find your way home by yourself, but you’re not allowed to ride in a taxi alone or take a bus after the sun goes down—hitchhiking with strangers is also frowned strongly upon. Each morning I smart under this incredible burden of accountability: my host mom always asks me over breakfast when I’ll be crossing back into Mexico so that she can pick me up at the international bridge (at least until I regain my bus riding privileges, ::crosses fingers::). Oh wow, I’m getting 14-year-old-style-angst just thinking about it.

Don’t quote me on this, but as someone who has done her own laundry, “cleaned” her own room, and even poured my own cereal for a good number of years now, having someone else insist on making my meals, washing my clothes and tidying my room has been a sometimes uncomfortable switch. I’ll spare you the tortured ruminations about power dynamics and gender roles, but being done for and being dependant to such an extent (though it definitely varies from house to house) has been an interesting and sometimes frustrating adjustment for many of us.

That said, I would be remiss not to say how incredibly generous all the families have been. From accommodating a new schedule into their lives, to giving up bedrooms, to making sure we’re comfortable, well fed (oh so well fed!) and sleeping well, each family has welcomed their student with open and caring arms. Our host families have dutifully attended group functions (most recently, an Independence Day celebration, filled with chatting, a piñata and mountains of food), bought the lettuce the vegetarians were pining after, and put up with our misadventures (though I assure you, no one (except maybe steph ;)) is as incompetent a bus rider as me).

The in-classroom learning has been good as well. For my part, my favorite thing has been the diversity of classroom experiences: from the 130 person class at UTEP where the students range from fresh-out-of high school to mother of three pursuing a new career to army veteran, to our small BSP Globalization seminar, to our lecture with Senor Schmitz complete with field trips and instruction in Spanish, to our informal Spanish language building sessions—there is a delightful variety. The lack of constant distractions here: no in-home internet (some of us go days at a time without it!), no calendars full of clubs or sports, no jobs, minimal familial responsibilities, no love interests (err, ok, maybe that’s still a distraction—about that cell phone bill mom/dad…) has definitely made life simpler. There is time to spend with our host families, to take the leisurely hike to UTEP, to do homework, and still sleep ridiculous amounts (err, wait, that’s just me)—what a privilege! As for myself, I feel like I’ve been able to concentrate and process what I’m learning and experiencing to a much greater extent than I am normally able. While perhaps providing TOO much time to think, this change of pace and shift in focus have been blessings.

!Que les cuiden!
mikaela

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