Junglepixiebelize - Recollections of a Gringa Pioneer
Nancy R Koerner - Copyright@2021 - All Rights Reserved
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
"Simply Speaking, Abuelita"
I don’t remember the reason I visited this little house in San Antonio village in April of ‘76. Perhaps I was in the village that day to pick up my scabbard from Don Tiburcio. Or perhaps I was there to see Don Elijio Panti, the great Mayan healer, about an herbal remedy. Nor can I recall this particular family's surname. I do remember chatting with this lovely young Maya woman, comparing babies, doing my best in English, Kriol, and a few words of Spanish. But the greatest memory of the day was Abuelita, sitting inside by the fire hearth, cradling twins in her arms. I close my eyes and remember…
The young Mayan woman beckons me to enter to meet her family. The room is full of offspring: infants, toddlers, children, two teenage boys who are bringing firewood for the comal, two more grown daughters preparing food. In this multi-generational family, Abuelitais well-practiced in her role as “venerable ancestor.” I stand before her, and all brown faces turn to me. I am expected to speak. I nod politely to the old woman, and decide to say something clever and funny.
“Wow. So you’ve never held many babies in your life, right?” I wait for her to get the joke. She does not. I re-phrase my comment, “I can see that you haven’t raised many children in your life, have you?” She still does not laugh. In fact, the old lady looks confused and annoyed. What Abuelita is really thinking: this gringa must be out of her mind. After all, there are children everywhere; I am holding two of them right now. What is wrong with this white lady?
What is *wrong* with this white lady is that I am treating Abuelita as if she were a contemporary from my own culture. My attempt at “humour” does not translate into Maya. Why? Because I am actually using sarcasm. Although I’m not intending to sound unkind or inappropriate, the words I speak are, nevertheless, sarcastic.
The problem with sarcasm is that it requires a certain amount of mental gymnastics to translate the concept of irony. Sarcasm actually requires decoding – the overcoming of contradiction between the literal and the actual. So, when used in a foreign setting, there is great potential for confusion and conflict. In this context, my remark is neither funny nor clever. It is a minefield. I have just engendered distrust and contempt.
In that moment, I am baffled. After all, my purpose here is to make a joke, to break the ice. But, instead, I am disrespecting a village elder, and creating discord. No one speaks. The eyes of her daughters narrow suspiciously. The teenage boys set down the firewood and stare. Even the children have paused in their play, and look up in confusion.
And then it dawns on me. Like a light-bulb.
“I mean to say, it looks like you have held PLENTY of babies in your life. I see you have raised MANY, MANY children.” And I give them all a huge smile. The smile is contagious, and a veritable flood of goodwill instantly fills the room. It is as though the dam has burst. The old woman’s face splits into a broad grin, her eyes sparkle, crinkle at the corners, and she emits a happy cackle.
Yes, she nods. Yes, indeed. She has HELD MANY babies in her life; she has raised MANY children. She points to my son; I have a BABY too. We are both mothers. Now the daughters nod at this simple truth, and return to their cooking. The teenage boys smile, and head out the back door. The children resume their play. All is well.
Now, the old woman likes me. There is much laughter. Abuelita has never seen an American baby before. She fusses over his pale-skin, gently squeezing his fat thighs and pink cheeks, remarking on his green eyes. She touches the yellow hair, feels its silky texture. It looks like the golden tassels of green corn in the spring. The daughters join in the conversation. Now we all speak – about cooking, the coming summer rains, breastfeeding, about growing tomatoes, cabbages, and watermelons. We talk about when each of the respective babies started walking, and how many teeth they have. In a heartbeat, my world connects with their world through the common bond of mutual motherhood in a harmonious multicultural experience.
“La senora tiene leche,” says Abuelita, indicating me to her daughters as we conclude our visit. The beautiful compliment sticks with me. She is speaking both literally and figuratively. She is referring to mutual caring and compassion, the milk of human kindness.
Long after I’d left, I'd continued to ponder the question. How could I have been so unaware? Why had I chosen to speak the opposite of what I’d really meant? What a loss if I had missed this opportunity. And what a great lesson I have learned.
Yes, within my circle of gringo friends, I would still engage in the verbal playfulness of sarcasm, where it was understood and accepted. But never again would I use it in careless speech with local people with the potential of creating misunderstanding. I would always maintain my demeanor as a guest and honour my hosts.
All people deserve respect. Be aware and sensitive to ethnic and cultural differences. Relationships are complex. Trust is built over time, but lost in a moment.
Speak plainly. Speak truth. Speak from the heart. Words matter. Life is hard enough.
“Wow. So you’ve never held many babies in your life, right?” I wait for her to get the joke. She does not. I re-phrase my comment, “I can see that you haven’t raised many children in your life, have you?” She still does not laugh. In fact, the old lady looks confused and annoyed. What Abuelita is really thinking: this gringa must be out of her mind. After all, there are children everywhere; I am holding two of them right now. What is wrong with this white lady?
What is *wrong* with this white lady is that I am treating Abuelita as if she were a contemporary from my own culture. My attempt at “humour” does not translate into Maya. Why? Because I am actually using sarcasm. Although I’m not intending to sound unkind or inappropriate, the words I speak are, nevertheless, sarcastic.
The problem with sarcasm is that it requires a certain amount of mental gymnastics to translate the concept of irony. Sarcasm actually requires decoding – the overcoming of contradiction between the literal and the actual. So, when used in a foreign setting, there is great potential for confusion and conflict. In this context, my remark is neither funny nor clever. It is a minefield. I have just engendered distrust and contempt.
In that moment, I am baffled. After all, my purpose here is to make a joke, to break the ice. But, instead, I am disrespecting a village elder, and creating discord. No one speaks. The eyes of her daughters narrow suspiciously. The teenage boys set down the firewood and stare. Even the children have paused in their play, and look up in confusion.
And then it dawns on me. Like a light-bulb.
“I mean to say, it looks like you have held PLENTY of babies in your life. I see you have raised MANY, MANY children.” And I give them all a huge smile. The smile is contagious, and a veritable flood of goodwill instantly fills the room. It is as though the dam has burst. The old woman’s face splits into a broad grin, her eyes sparkle, crinkle at the corners, and she emits a happy cackle.
Yes, she nods. Yes, indeed. She has HELD MANY babies in her life; she has raised MANY children. She points to my son; I have a BABY too. We are both mothers. Now the daughters nod at this simple truth, and return to their cooking. The teenage boys smile, and head out the back door. The children resume their play. All is well.
Now, the old woman likes me. There is much laughter. Abuelita has never seen an American baby before. She fusses over his pale-skin, gently squeezing his fat thighs and pink cheeks, remarking on his green eyes. She touches the yellow hair, feels its silky texture. It looks like the golden tassels of green corn in the spring. The daughters join in the conversation. Now we all speak – about cooking, the coming summer rains, breastfeeding, about growing tomatoes, cabbages, and watermelons. We talk about when each of the respective babies started walking, and how many teeth they have. In a heartbeat, my world connects with their world through the common bond of mutual motherhood in a harmonious multicultural experience.
“La senora tiene leche,” says Abuelita, indicating me to her daughters as we conclude our visit. The beautiful compliment sticks with me. She is speaking both literally and figuratively. She is referring to mutual caring and compassion, the milk of human kindness.
Long after I’d left, I'd continued to ponder the question. How could I have been so unaware? Why had I chosen to speak the opposite of what I’d really meant? What a loss if I had missed this opportunity. And what a great lesson I have learned.
Yes, within my circle of gringo friends, I would still engage in the verbal playfulness of sarcasm, where it was understood and accepted. But never again would I use it in careless speech with local people with the potential of creating misunderstanding. I would always maintain my demeanor as a guest and honour my hosts.
All people deserve respect. Be aware and sensitive to ethnic and cultural differences. Relationships are complex. Trust is built over time, but lost in a moment.
Speak plainly. Speak truth. Speak from the heart. Words matter. Life is hard enough.