A Peanut Post
It is hard to believe, but we are a month out from Peanut’s official due date, September 21. I am clear that the due date is more of an estimate than a “marked in stone” kind of thing, but it is hard to believe that whatever the actual date, we are approaching B-Day (as we call it).
Our experience here as parents-to-be has been full of wonder, confusion, grace, uncertainty, and love. We have had an outpouring of support from folks in the United States, including pre-Peanut visits from the “abuelos” (grandparents), and tons of concern and care from people here too.
Some things we have gotten used to:
1. Touching, kissing, listening to my belly.
I always heard about pregnant women in the United States who had folks they did not even know come up to them asking (or not asking) to pat their stomachs. I always thought, “How can someone think that is okay?” and “Don’t people have any boundaries? I mean geesh….” According to a friend of mine in the States, when men come up to her and touch her belly, she just reaches out and touches theirs in the same way and that pretty much ends that. Well…wouldn’t work here.
Folks here tend to pat my belly and greet Peanut with a rousing “¡Hola Bebé!” before they even acknowledge me. This is probably good preparation for when Peanut makes the grand entrance because I think Richard and I will fade from view once the Nutter is officially on the scene. And that is fine really because we are blessed to have so many people concerned for us, and I am grateful that Peanut will have a village and a half to take care of him/her. In fact, I think I am clearer here than I would be anywhere that I am merely a steward of the Peanut, because he/she will belong to everyone here and just hang out in our house I think.
2. Paying in cash.
As we are not part of a health system in Colombia, we have to pay for all of our medical
appointments in cash and wait for reimbursements. The system works well, and we get paid back for virtually everything, but I go to the doctor about a blue million times more than I ever have, and the float we manage adds up. For a while we thought we were going to have to pay cash at the clinic for the delivery too. Since we can only get out about $200 at a time from the ATM, we figured that September was basically going to be filled with daily trips to the cash machine to stock up for getting Peanut out of hock at the end of the month. And our ‘hospital bag’ would have to have an accompanying ‘cash bag’ to truck it all there…
3. Being the weird ones.
Some of you may argue we have a head start on being used to this one, but we have found all new ways to fill this bill. The primary one being that we are waiting to find out whether Peanut is a boy or a girl. This is not, I repeat, not normal. We get asked all the time about Peanut’s sex, and when we told the sonogram doctor that we did not want to see or know he asked us no fewer than five times if we were absolutely certain. Yes, thank you.
That of course has not stopped the speculation (as it does not in the United States either). I really should have started a pool just to see which side won out in the end, though I mostly just tell folks that I am confident half of them will be absolutely right. Below is a video of Rev. Diego Higuita, Executive Secretary of the Presbyterian Church of Colombia (think Stated Clerk) doing his own proof test. My favorite part of this time we did not manage to catch on video – when Diego declared that while it was definitely a girl, if it happened to be a boy then it was because the needle was crummy…
We will certainly let you all know the actual results when the time comes. Until then, we are just trying to ready ourselves for the launch of the legume!
Thank you to all who have written, prayed, sent sweet gifts, worried, and more. We are truly grateful, and we hope you will keep our family in your thoughts a little extra in our last month out (…or in I guess)!
[For our original Peanut blog announcement you can click here.]
Desafío
There is a television show on in Colombia called “Desafío,” and it seems to have swept up the whole country. It is very similar to “Survivor” in the United States, with teams of folks that get kicked off of islands after doing something between wacky and grueling physical challenges. It feels a little like déjà vu (all over again…) for me as it was ten years ago that I came back to the US from Guatemala and encoutered the fever of the first season of Survivor.
I have to admit, I remember being horrified. I had just spent a year talking about intentional Christian community and how to live in the midst of differences, and then I sat and watched as someone on a “team” got kicked off of the island and their “life force” snuffed out. It was horrible. I could not understand people’s fascination with this back-biting, inhumane affair that seemed to revel in what felt to me the opposite of the Kingdom of God. I realize that may be putting a little too much on a television show, but it was really disturbing to me.
I was all the more frustrated when I reflected further on the ridiculousness of
that show and many others involving X-treme whateverness. What kind of nation is it that thinks survival has to do with trumped up challenges like making it through an obstacle course with your hands tied to your ankles? After seeing all the true obstacles to survival that people in Guatemala faced, I was irritated with the fake, bourgeois games that could get people hurt but was all undertaken by choice.
Here, in Colombia, the interest has struck me as equally strange, though I think my passions over the concept have dulled a little with a decade of “reality” shows under my belt. Also, I can see the value of the escape factor here as well. After all, if you have actually survived after being forced off your land, searched for a way to feed your family, and dodged death in all the ways it has tried to pursue you…maybe you deserve to veg out in front of a grainy television and watch people drag others through the sand in order to capture a flag.
Still, I am way more impressed and captivated by the people who face the real challenges of life rather than those made up by television executives, and I am proud to work with a church that chooses to look at ways it can serve the community even when members would be totally justified at simply taking care of themselves.
The Bible offers us so many desafíos (challenges) that I think we take as figurative, or as suggestions – that we take as seriously as we take reality 
television. But I don’t think the call to help the widow and orphan was meant as a figure of speech. I don’t think the call to drop your nets (your safety nets…) was just a game to see who could get to the flag first. I told my friend the other week that religious practice (liturgy, ritual, etc) was like comfort food for the soul, and I believe that, but I don’t think that our religious beliefs themselves were always meant to be comforting at all. I think they were meant to challenge the heck out of us because otherwise we sit around watching other people pretend they are in a struggle for survival as they eat some disgusting food or balance on a log over a muddy pond. Or we accept the ethics demonstrated by people who make alliances of convenience and choose to stay stuck in a ditch rather than help anyone get out of it because they are not on “their team”.
And if this seems too theoretical, another friend of mine who works with the Chicago Semester program talked with me this past week about an exercise they do with the juniors and seniors in college they work with. The students are divided up into teams and told to build a community. Each team is given different resources, some very few and some quite a lot, but the teams are together in the same room the whole time. In all her time working there, only one set of students has ever chosen to band together across “teams” to build one room-wide community.
It seems to me the desafío many of us share is that we have to work on how we look at teamwork, and in what ways we can help the real challenges people face in Colombia, in the United States, and all over the world turn into shared tasks that can stretch those safety nets we cling to so desperately a little (okay, a lot) wider. If we do that, maybe we will experience the true comfort of the gospel.
Abuelitas Visit
Great times with the Abuelitas! In early June, both Kit and Margaret made a visit. We had a great time, and they got to see a lot of our life and friends here in Barranquilla.
There are lots of photos of regular life around here on the Coast that we don’t think to take pictures of anymore, so I think you’ll enjoy this batch of shots.
You Know You’ve Lived in Barranquilla for a While When…
So it has only been a little over 6 months, but I feel like a first crack at a top ten list is in order…
10. The waitresses at Crepes and Waffles seem to recognize you when they take your order.
9. Your calculus for a bus ride is whether the driver is going way the heck too fast, or just too fast.
8. You begin to haggle with taxi drivers over $1000 pesos (50 cents US).
7. Your concept of hot changes from uncomfortable to suffocating.
6. Your concept of cool looks a lot like hot used to look.
5. You consider wearing earplugs to tone down the volume at, well, everywhere (but maybe especially at church…)
4. It no longer seems odd that you have no need for your own songs or speakers to be able to listen to music inside your house.
3. You are able to sort out whether a taxi is honking to tell you to get out of the way or to offer to stop and give you a ride without even looking.
2. You begin to view “just a few ants” in your dry goods as extra protein.
1. You are no longer surprised, though continually grateful, for the kindness and generosity of all the people around you.
***
Just to keep you posted, Richard, Peanut, and I are headed to Brazil today for a mission personnel retreat (we lead a terrible life). We will continue posting on the blog while we are gone through the miracle of post-dating, but we might not manage to get the word out via Facebook. If you read this and post there, help us out, wouldja?
Shiny Happy People
What I love best about Colombia is its people. They are kind, hospitable, welcoming, thoughtful, gracious, faithful, and funny. They have a sharp wit and love to joke around. I am grateful for their laughter and joy. Indeed my friend once said to me, “In the face of so much pain, you can either laugh or you can cry, and in Colombia we decide to laugh.” And I respect that…most of the time.
Sadness is a tough emotion, and it can be overwhelming – an undertow that can drown you if you are not careful. Still, I don’t think it should be ignored or brushed aside, and my trouble here is that sometimes I think the scale tips too far in the other direction. Joy (and anger) are acceptable emotions, but sadness not so much. When my friend died earlier this year, folks here were sorry to hear it, but quickly changed the conversation or told me to feel better. I can’t really blame them, with as much death as they have seen they have to find a way to move on and dwell not in things of the past. But at what cost?
Part of my concern is that the war that has existed within Colombia’s borders for more than 60 years now has robbed people not only of their loved ones, but of their ability to mourn. Funerals still happen. People still cry. But tomorrow another story is going to be in the papers about body parts found in suitcases (article in Spanish) or the lack of justice following the massacre of 60 people in El Salado (English translation of the newspaper article in this blog post), so people just move on. Or at least they say they do.
Some people, unable to share their fears/sadness/trauma find they have to leave Colombia in order to recover. Others squash it down so far that it winds up oozing out in bad behaviors like adultery and abandonment. And it isn’t just limited to those who have been directly threatened. Second-hand trauma here is fierce and manifests itself in some really frightening theology at times as when a woman told a friend of mine, “God is really punishing the Catholics for their wrong beliefs because not a single Protestant died in that massacre.” A fact most likely untrue and a statement made much more for self-reassurance than anything, but said with a shake of the head and then a desire to move on to other, happier topics of conversation. And therein lies my other fear – that “moving on” turns into “forgetting”, and forgetting turns into “pretending this doesn’t happen.”
That’s taking it too far, and I know that. I also know that people in the United States can be equally as lost on how to manage grief (particularly someone else’s), but I still flinch at the “Don’t Worry Be Happy” take on life. I don’t want anyone to drown in sorrow, but I also don’t want to require sadness to be pushed aside as a bastard emotion that is more or less socially unacceptable. After all, ignoring the undertow doesn’t mean it isn’t there, and keeping people from going in the water just means they never get to feel cleansed either.
And, as my wise colleague Alice Winters notes, part of the challenge is that “grief needs time, and when tragedies and losses come thick and fast there simply is no time – especially if you have children or must take over other responsibilities of the deceased.” Life indeed does go on. So the question is, how do you accompany people in this context – both as a person from the United States but also Colombian to Colombian? It remains an open question, but a vital one if people are going to have the chance to laugh and cry.
Missing Ashes
It takes a year to get into the groove of things. I keep trying to remind myself that. My first year at college, I still found whole new buildings as late as May, and my first year teaching – well let’s just say every day was an adventure there. And for my entire first year at First United Church, every season brought new traditions and new special services for which I always had to ask, “What does ‘just like last year’ mean?”
So this year as Lent begins – and I barely even noticed – I have to keep in mind that it takes a year to get used to things.
Part of my trouble is just personal. Having not grown up in New Orleans or Barranquilla or Rio or other places in which huge parties happen right up to the start of Lent, it is a srange adjustment for me to go from wild celebrations to quiet penitence in a singe day. I am used to a more quiet approach to Lent, which makes the reflection necessary for Ash Wednesday an extension/deepening of a process rather than a reversal of it. In many ways I think life mirrors the reversal much more than it does the quiet deepening, so I think I have a lot to learn from this seismic shift; I just think I’ll probably learn it better next year.
The other challenge here, however, is that on Ash Wednesday there are no ashes – at least not for the Protestants. I am sure you could have them. There is no law against it or anything. But, very much like the United States in the 1950s, 60s, and even 70s, ashes on the forehead looks so very Catholic, so why confuse matters… Unlike in the United States, I think this confusion has less to do with social stigma and much more to do with the fact that Colombia is about 90% Roman Catholic according to the Department of State. In order to separate yourself from the crowd, as it were, you have to mark somedifferences - or not mark them, as the case may be - and one of those non-markings seems to be about ashes.
I get it. And I will say that in the Presbyterian Church here I have never heard people talk about “converting” the Catholics (as I did so often in Guatemala). But still and all, I miss the ashes. I miss the ritual itself, but I also miss the reminder that I am connected to all things, that life is short, that the wildnerness of Lent is tied to the cross and that journey is part of my journey in these forty days and always.
So I get it. I really do. And that smudge on my forehead? Oh, it must be from the newspaper ink. I’ll get it off when I get home.
Carnavaaaaaaaaaal!
Whew! We survived it! Each year for the four days prior to the beginning of Lent, there is a celebration that lights up the entire city of Barranquilla. To be truthful, the music and preparations begin here at 12:01am on January 1st, but these past four days move things to a whole different level and do seem to live up to the reputation that Barranquilla’s Carnaval is the second largest in the world – second only to Rio de Janeiro in Brazil.
Here Carnaval is a festival of music and dancing with various parades as the main events each day. To be honest, Richard and I never made it to the largest, most traditional parades that happened on the Via 40. We have seen pictures of the street lined with stands (actually half the street was simply taken over by stands, cutting four-ish lanes of traffic down to two and making my neighbor’s commute an exercise in frustration), but watching from there is quite expensive at about $160,000 COP ($80 USD, or about half our rent). I assume that the larger floats and best organized dancers pass through the parades there, but I don’t have any pictures of them to show you.
We did have a taste of this grander experience a week or so ago when we went to the largest pre-Carnaval parade, the Guacherna, which ran down 44th Street. There the seats were only $5 USD a piece, but the queen danced through, and the costumes were – to sum it up in a word – fabulous. We do have some pictures from that evening here, but you can also see others if you go to Linda’s blog (a current accompanier) who wrote an excellent reflection about the fun and frustration one feels while watching the parades.
This past Sunday we did go to an official Carnaval parade, though it was a smaller, neighborhood parade on 21st Street. There will still throngs of people
in attendance with dancers and folks in costumes, but there was a decidedly less formal air. No seats to rent. No crowd control barriers lining the streets. No big floats with famous people on them. It was, as folks euphemistically say here, “más popular” — more “of the people” — a poor man’s version of the bigger, brighter parade going on further away.
I would imagine that the general gist of both parades was the same, but ours was more homespun. Perhaps it is sort of like the Dixie Classic Fair instead of the World’s Fair – you can have a great time at both, but you are definitely talking different leagues. For example, any music at our parade that was not live was likely to come from one or two speakers strapped to a wheelbarrow rather than a larger than life float. The trucks that rolled through were small delivery trucks advertising meat or milk, and the “prizes” thrown out at the crowd were foodstuffs like pasta and syrup.
But if there was a parade that was grander on the other side of town, there was 
not one that was more enjoyed. People dance and clapped, sprayed shaving cream and flung corn meal, wore costumes, sang, and cheered. The political commentary still shown through with figures dressed up as FARC leader “Tiro Fijo”, Hugo Chavez, Uncle Sam, and Osama bin Ladin. The violence people here take for granted was mocked with variations on images of death ranging from the grim reaper to beheaded corpses walking down the street. And always there was dancing – cumbia, mapalé, garabato, and more.
Some churches here preach that Carnaval is heathenistic and immoral, not unlike denunciations you are likely to hear about Mardi Gras or other large festival gatherings. The Presbyterian Church here certainly recognizes that people can make bad decisions in highly festive atmospheres, but they do not denounce participation on the face of it. Instead they see Carnaval as one more way to celebrate the good life God has given us — music, dancing, eating, and all. They know that our God is a God of joy and laughter who can delight in our joy as well as stand with us in our pain, and after all, the pain of Colombians just has to be balanced out with overabundant joy somewhere, doesn’t it?
What I can say for sure is that Carnaval is certainly quite a show, so go ahead and mark it on your calendar for next year and plan to come catch a glimpse of what celebrating can really look like.
Ahora, Ahorita, Ya!
Time is relative. I have known for most of my life that time is not as exact as it pretends to be. For instance, my whole family knew that when my Aunt Eunice said she would be somewhere at 11:30 that we could expect to see her around noon. But there have also been a lot of studies about cultural concepts of time, and the ways in which we judge the time standards of others.
It is often said that Anglo-Americans are super punctual and believe that adhering to scheduled times is a matter of respect and stewardship. People of African or Hispanic descent supposedly have a more relaxed sense of timeliness and do not expect things to start at a precise hour nor feel offended when someone arrives a bit late. In a book Richard and I read called The Sex Lives of Cannibals: Adrift in the Equatorial Pacific, J Maarten Troost talks about the sense of time among the people on the Tarawa atoll in the island nation of Kiribati. Troost notes that on Tarawa, things start once everyone is there. When else would it start? (That means, however, that an outdoor movie announced for 9 in the morning might begin at 4 in the afternoon.)
At First United, the church I served for four years, worship started at its set hour, but everything else was a bit wigglier. In fact I used to joke that we were somehow caught between worlds because though we never started anything at the hour for which it was planned, we seemed to begin rigidly 10 minutes later. Kind of a funny third (4th, 5th…) way. Now, we’ll note that the common denominator at the events to which I refer was me, so maybe now that I’m gone it’s all different.
All this to say, Richard and I are adjusting to Colombian time. Here the official work day (at the Presbytery at least) is from 8-12 and 2-6 with the two hour break in the middle to go home for lunch. The times are not exact, and the work day certainly doesn’t stick to these hours alone as there are night meetings and emails and planning along with conversations and dancing and really sweet soft drinks that can be shared until very late (or on to very early) in the day. There is also a tendency to leave for longer trips VERY early in the morning (4am…5am…these being sadly very precise) to try to take advantage of the daylight (6am-6pm) as much as possible. Overall I think we are taking this in stride and trying to roll with whatever comes our way.
One thing that takes getting used to, however, is the way language plays into this conception of time. In NC high school spanish (always the measuring stick for language learning…), one learns that the word “ahora” means “now.” Unfortunately that is the end of the lesson, but it is not the end of the story.
In Guatemala, “ahora” does mean “now,” but there is also the word “ahorrita” which means “right now” and is sooner than plain old now. Colombia, however, is not Guatemala (that seems obvious I know, but rarely are distinctions made between countries in Latin America by non-Latinos). In Colombia they will still tell you that “ahora” means “now” because that is what they have learned in their English classes, but let’s just say that it does not mean “now” like I think of now.
When my momma said, “NOW, Mamie”, I could almost hear the capital letters, and I was clear that finishing the chapter, the television show, the song, was not the best choice for my future. “Now” meant “NOW!” Here “ahora” means more like “in a bit.” For instance, when talking in the morning about a meeting in the afternoon, this is a perfectly acceptable sentence here: “Listo, nos vemos ahora a las cuatro.” Literally, “All right, we’ll see one another now, at four o’clock.” If the time between were shorter you might instead hear: “Bueno, ahorita vamos” or “Okay, let’s go right now” – as they walk back to their desk to make a phone call.
Closer to our perception of “now” is the word “ya” which high school Spanish will tell you means “already.” And it does mean that. If you say, I have already done that, then you will use the word “ya.” But you might also look at someone who says, “Let’s go” and quizzically say, “Ya?” in order to figure out whether they too want you to get your behind in gear or if this is just an idea being thrown out there. Their response will either be, “Si, ya” (Yes, already…which is to say, right now) or “No, ahora” (No, now…which is to say, in a bit).
Got that straight?
Dia de Las Velitas
Farrolitas hanging outside the party
The Day of the Candles it is called. December 8th is a big celebration in Colombia marking the day in 1854 on which Pope Pius IX solemnly defined as dogma the Immaculate Conception of the Virgin Mary. For those of you non-Catholics out there, this should not be confused with the virgin birth but rather is the celebration of Mary herself being conceived without sin. I swear I learn something new every day.
Today in Colombia, as in many places around the world, the Dia de Las Velitas is still celebrated, and since the tradition is so strong here the Presbyterians even go crazy and join in. The celebration really begins the night before as families and friends get together in parties that last until early in the morning (hence the holiday on the 8th…). As well as eating, dancing, laughing and more, in the middle of the night candles are lit and set out on the street with beautiful farrolitas to protect them from the wind. It makes me think of Advent wreaths I have lit since a child, a tradition that does not seem to be a part of the liturgy here. In theory the Christmas lights (which, along with decorations have been up since late November) are not turned on until this night, though we have seen some serious flaunting of that tradition… 
Medellin River on Dec 7
In many neighborhoods, especially poorer ones, whole blocks will get together to put together a party. There are speakers in the streets, tables blocking the way, and lights everywhere. In Medellin and Bogota I think the lights and celebrations are even more impressive, but in all respects it seems to be a night of pure joy. Lest you think that we were listening to O Come, O Come Emanuel or some other catchy Advent (or even Christmas) tune, we have included a link here to listen to one song from our partying evening:
The next chance to celebrate will be on Christmas Eve as people also get together, though more quietly with families, and people stay up again to see Christmas Day arrive. We are in no short supply on excitement as we await the coming of Jesus this year. Don’t you worry.
90 degrees, feels like Christmas…
Christmas decor at our mall (Photo by Short-Term Accompanier Phyllis Stutzman)
With Facebook updates about breaking out the winter parka in Chicago, snow in Maine, and high 30s in North Carolina, I figured it was time for a post about the weather.
Three weeks before Christmas and we are at 90 degrees…again. It turns out that we are between 75 and 90 degrees pretty much every day of the year here in Barranquilla. Because Colombia is so close to the equator, the temperatures vary according to altitude rather than time of year. In Barranquilla, on the Caribbean Coast, the temperature is always hot but often with a reasonable breeze (especially in December and January). In Bogota, which is about 8,700 feet above sea level, the weather is45-65 degrees all year and in Medellin, which is about 5,000 feet above sea level, the weather is in the 60s and 70s all year (which is to say heavenly).
Speaking specifically of Barranquilla (because we know it best), snow is not a factor here. Which is why it makes it all the more curious to see the malls decorated with snow flakes and Santa Claus in his big heavy coat. I mean really, the man would faint. Not to mention, how is he getting in the house? Ain’t nobody looking for a home with a fireplace here, and he can’t fit through the bars on the windows. We’ll just have to see…
At any rate, as I sit in my tank top and flip flops, trying to hide from the afternoon sun, I realize that the signs of Christmas for me have to change. Our home, which used to be all decked out for the holidays, may not have a bed in it by Christmas time, much less be outfitted with tree, lights, ornaments, etc. There will be no bundling under the covers, or drinking hot chocolate, and even Christmas cards are likely to be fewer and farther between because we are far away and mail takes so long to arrive. We aren’t sending out any presents this year, nor really asking for any, so the shopping craze is not a part of our days.
It seems that this year I may have to just focus on the incarnation – crazy.
Richard and I are still learning what it means to come to a place just to be with people. There are moments filled with great joy and excitement, and there are times that are much more humdrum. There are times of confusion, of distress, of hospitality, of learning, of fun, and of hope. We only hope that this ministry of presence reflects in some way the path Jesus showed to us when he came to accompany us a little over 2000 years ago.
So this year things will be different, and we’ll find new ways to celebrate the greatest gift we have ever gotten, but don’t worry, mom is still bringing the chiclets.
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