On the Edge or... In the Edge (San Juan del Sur, Nicaragua)

Normally at this time, as per my daily routine for the last few days, I would be sitting on the rooftop patio of my hostel either in a hammock or at a desk, doing my spanish homework. Today I thought I would have a bit a of break so to speak, so here I am writing a post.

As I have said before, I work with immigrants, I volunteer closely with refugee families, I have tutored english, I have taught English as a second language, I have traveled to various countries of different languages, I educate Canadians about the struggles that newcomers experience while in a new country, and I have studied spanish as a second lanuage before; however, I am only now realizing how bloody difficult it is to be in this situation of knowing and not knowing.

I often say that language does not define a culture. I get offended when people tell me that just because I do not speak tagalog (filipino) that I am therefore not a 'true Filipino', whatever that may mean. Language is only on the "tip of the iceberg" when analyzed by many scholars who write about what culture truly is, and I often convey this same message in my intercultural communication workshops. But, and this is a big but, I believe that language is definitley a doorway or a gateway into another culture. I guess I am speaking about a huge difference here. Language does not define a culture, but yet it is the gateway into it. Again, using the iceberg analysis, you must get past the tip of the iceberg in order to get to the bottom of it I suppose.

So, I have been taking intensive one on one spanish classes through the "Latin American Spanish School of Nicaragua", a fancy title for a small school with six teachers (and no a/c or electric fans mind you) that sits above a small shop on the corner of an undescript street here in the town of San Juan. It has only been three days since I started, but I feel like I have been swamped with information, 4 hours each day. Some stuff sticks, and some stuff does not.

My teacher's name is Silvio, a young guy who I am getting to know since a chunk of our time is spent together in "conversation". Nevertheless, the conversation is genuine. Today I was amazed that I was able to have a full on talk about stuff I normally talk about in my workshops, diversity. We got into a big discussion about homosexualilty, religion, and equality here in Nicaragua and in Canada. Of course I was not able to be as articulate as I normally would be in english, but I was still able to get my point accross and understand his viewpoints as well. I am glad that we did not get into a debate and have opposing views, that would have been difficult for me in spanish.

Anyway, Silvio has an interesting life, so he tells me. He is 24 years old, divorced (married at 20, divorced at 22 with no kids), has 9 siblings, lives on a 45 acre farm with a few other family members, goes to school on Saturdays in the capital city to study animal biology and chemistry, castrates bulls by cutting off their testicles, gives birth to baby calves and reaches into the cows' wombs elbow high, and teaches spanish on the side when he can't find other work in primary schools. Once he is done school here in Nicaragua he hopes to go onto university in Mexico and eventually become a university profesor in animal biology. Ahhh... all this information I was able to comprehend in Spanish!

One thing that I find interesting about Silvo, as a native born Nicaraguan, is that whenever he gives me time to copy what's on the board, he stands by the window hoping for a breeze, tongue out like an exhausted dog, with a piece of paper that he waves in his face, as he tell me how hot it is. It makes me laugh imagining him do it. And yet, I don't understand why there are no fans in the concrete room. Trying to save money I suppose.

Anyway, back to my original point, trying to learn a new language, and a new culture for that matter, is so frustrating and overwhelming. I often feel like there are hidden codes to the norms here, esoteric rituals that the gringos are not aware of, and cryptic hand signals that will only be passed on once I learn the "way". I feel like language truly is my gateway, my key, into this world called Nicaragua, Central America, Latin America.

I look at other backpackers that speak spanish and I become quite envious. I have been hanging out with this French guy the last couple of days, Cami. Cami speaks almost fluent spanish, he has sailed accross oceans in the last year from continent to continent, and has now purchased a bicycle here in Central America and will ride across various countries with it, stopping in petite, unbeaten communities where the locals are more than welcoming to have a stranger stay in their house for an evening. That's a pretty exciting experience, I look at it and say to myself, 'gee, I gotta learn me some spanish'. Obviously, I would also need the guts to buy a bike and travel for hundreds of kms in the hot sun as well, but that's another post perhaps.

On a lesser level, Cami and I hung out at the lounge in our hostel last night and we sat at the bar wtih Andres, the bartender. Normally when I am in a restaurant or a bar, my exchanges with the local staff are minimal with pleases, thank-yous, and "una cerveza por favors". But with Cami, we were able to joke around, swap stories, and actually get to know the guy.

So, with all this said, I am learning more and more. I feel like I am close to the 'edge'of knowing something. At the end of class today Silvio told me that I should just go out and practice, don't be nervous or shy about, just do it. So, for the last few days, another one of my dorm mates is from Argentina, Mikayla is her name. I have only spoken to her in english, up until a couple of hours ago when she asked me how my classes were going. I then invited her out to have lunch and she said, sure but only if we speak in spanish. So that's exactly what we did! For close to 90 minutes I had a full on conversation in spanish, with a bit of Spanglish every now and again for clarification. I didn't understand every single thing that Mikayla said to me, but I got the gist of most parts.

However, I feel like I am still very, very, very far away from knowing. I am on my way, but have much more to go, much, much, much more! I am in this constant flux of translating things in my head, slowly. Half of the time I am searching for words to which I am certain I do not know the translation for, but I search anyway. Sometimes I am able to find a way around a specific word and use alternative words or phrases instead. No one has once laughed at my spanish, in the end, that what all the fear is about; embarassment.

So here I am, on the 'edge' of something. I hope I tip over soon. I remember when I lost a bunch of weight a couple years ago, everybody knew that I was dieting and on weight watchers and I would get a few compliments here and there. Then one day, I tipped. I was over the edge. All I would hear for the next few months was how skinny I had become, and how I had lost so much weight.

And so I am once again at the beginning of  a different journey to reconfigure myself, with a new language. I hope that in a few months people will say, "Wow Dean, you can really speak spanish!" I will be at the point where I will be sitting in a restaurant or walking down the street and locals will be having a conversation and I will be able to say in my head, 'haha, that's a funny joke', or 'I can't believe that guy just said that', or 'I totally disagree with what that woman thinks'.

Then I will know...

Entonces, necesito ir a mi hostal y estudio mas. Poco a poco...