Feliz Dia das Mães

“Can you remember what you wore on the first day of kindergarten?”  My mom posed this question to me the night before my first day of language school. “Of course,” I replied, smiling back at her over Skype. “Blue overall shorts, with an orange fish on the front and a white t-shirt…” We laughed, reminiscing about the cute outfits I presented myself in during the first days of elementary and middle school. She even requested I have someone take a photo of me in my first-day-of-school-outfit. “Mom,” I sighed, “I think I’m getting a little old for that.”

My first class in Portuguese was a reality check- Katie Coldwell is not “too old” for anything. I’m not referencing the fact that I am the youngest student enrolled here by nearly a decade, or my secret desire to disregard the 10pm curfew. I’m talking about the fact that my very first exercise in language learning was an A to Z recitation of the Portuguese alphabet. Smiling, Professora Susanna held up flashcards. One by one, I watched her lips move, trying to mimic the way she pronounced each letter. I was immediately whisked back to Mrs. McDonald’s AM kindergarten, where every student sat on the floor, in a circle as Mrs. McDonald explained the letter of the week. 

Of course, the ABC’s are not the only part of my Portuguese crash course that makes me feel like I’m five years old. I only attend class for four hours a day, including a “snack break” half-way through, where I play with the other students in the hammocks. Breaks are also spent picking up poisonous caterpillars with sticks, or playing intense games of ping-pong. Homework assignments include listening to Brazilian music, making a family tree, and preparing a food from our native culture (I made chocolate chip cookies).

It sounds ridiculously simple, but when every piece of information my brain receives comes in a cryptic break-the-Portuguese code, even the easiest task can take a long time. I encountered thirty-two new words while making the family tree and spent an hour converting butter and flour from cups to kilograms. Oh, and the energy it takes to respond in Portuguese. I never thought I would need five minutes to form a five-word sentence… but sometimes, I do. The difference between kindergarten class and Portuguese lessons is clear- learning Portuguese is mentally exhausting. Really hard. Quase impossível.

A month ago, I broke from the routine and spent one week living with a host family in Cêilandia, a working class neighborhood an hours drive from school. Here, I experimented with Brazilian food in the kitchen and tested my ability to mop the floor. I listened to my sister leave for work at 5:30am every morning. I picked up my little brother from school. I shared a bedroom where my cousin kindly tolerated my sleep-talking in English. I accompanied my mom to social outings and gatherings at the local parish. Everything about the day-to-day with my new Brazilian family intrigued me. And everywhere I went with my mom, I was introduced as minha filha - my daughter.

But what I loved most about my homestay was feeling loved. I loved my mom asking me if I was hungry. I loved hearing my mom insist on giving me another blanket at night. I loved listening to my mom share stories about her faith. I loved how slowly and patiently she spoke to me, making sure I understood what she was communicating. I loved the beach bag she made me using her antique sewing machine. I just loved having a mom take care of me. All the little things my host mother did were a reflection of the unconditional love only a mother knows how to give.

And maybe that’s why learning Portuguese is so hard- my real mom, the one and only mom I’ve ever had, is nearly 5,000 miles away! She is not here to write notes on napkins for my paper bag lunches. I don’t have her creative spirit coupled with endless art supplies to inspire me on my latest project. Without her silly dance moves, I have no excuse for rolling my eyes. No one is here to ask me about my day while giving me a foot massage and slowly rubbing my back. And, perhaps most significant, I was unable to document my first day of language school with the ceremonious first-day photo. No matter how old I become, I think there will always be something irreplaceable about my mom’s love.

I thought the lyrics of this song expressed my sentiments simply and sweetly.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PInPedCLGFo&NR=1&feature=fvwp

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom. I love you.

Estar Chovendo!

For me, summer is about flip-flops, tank tops, and avoiding the color black at all costs.  I like having an excuse to grab the scissors and slice open a blue freezie.  I love getting to indulge myself in the scent of Neutrogena’s spray-on sunscreen!  I enjoy the feeling of walking barefoot over blades of green grass, cool kitchen tile or squishy sand.  I appreciate escaping the air-conditioned workplace and stepping outside into warm sunshine.  Riding in the car with the radio blaring, the windows down and the sunroof open brings a smile to my face. I love summer in Minnesota, and right now it’s summertime in São Paulo.

São Paulo summers are a little bit different than Minnesota summers though.  Here, I drink about a gallon and a half of water every day.  This does not include the freshly-squeezed juices I’ve come to love, the variety of light cervejas (beers) I’ve acquired a taste for, or the avocado milkshakes (don’t knock it ‘til you try it) that cool me down each afternoon.  Of all the liquid I am consuming, I’d say about a gallon of it comes out in the form of sweat, so every night I take a freezing cold shower to scrub the dirt from my feet and cool my body down.  In the morning, I lather my arms, face, and legs with SPF 100 before exposing it to the scorching rays. 

 

Sunscreen is essential because I spend at least three hours outside everyday- walking from destination to destination in 85 degree weather.  Besides walking, the metro (subway) is my second main form of transit.  I have a new definition of “personal space” after riding the São Paulo metro during afternoon rush hour.  Shopping bags, wheelchairs, strollers, Mp3 players, suitcases and people in a hurry, pack onto the public transit tighter than sardines.  My five feet and two inches puts me at [the] perfect armpit level of strangers, and within seconds it’s clear which of my fellow riders needs a bath.  As the doors of the metro open, bodies spill into the station, like a school of fish flowing up the escalators and stairwells.  When I finally reach the metro exit, I look to the horizon to see a thick layer of smog lingering above the skyline.  One phrase seems to stick this week, “Estar muito calor!”  (It is very hot!)  Welcome to summer in São Paulo, Brasil.

But finally, eight days after my arrival - estar chovendo!  (It’s raining!)  Human faces are hidden under a sea of cheetah print, flowers, red stripes or classic black umbrellas. Umbrella salesmen place themselves strategically outside office buildings- making a killing from men discouraged at the prospect of ruining a business suit.  I step gently over the cracked sidewalks to avoid the miniature rivers that have interrupted my walking path.  The rain in São Paulo seems to have a mood of its own, the innocent pitter-patter, the angry sting, or the leaky faucet droplet.  And despite the lack of trees in this city, things just seem a little greener after a cool summer rain.  As much as I love summer time, I think I’m learning to love the rain in São Paulo just as much!  Estar chavendo!  Yay!

Obrigada!

No falla Portugués (I do not speak Portuguese).  But from the moment I stepped on the plane headed for Brasil, I recognized that knowing absolutely no Portuguese was going to present a few problems.  When the gentleman sitting next to me on the plane offered to stow my carry-on in the overhead compartment I couldn’t understand him.  I knew he had said something to me in Portuguese.  Was he commenting on Toronto’s freezing weather?  Was he informing me he was a frequent user of the barf bag? A smile was the only response I could give.  After gesturing with his hands, I caught on, and gladly handed over my bag.  Then it came to me, by the grace of God, the one word I knew in Portuguese “Obrigada,” I said to the man.  “Obrigada” is how a female Brasilian says “Thank you.”   

It happened again on Friday while at the drug store trying to buy neon pink nail polish and at the dollar store acquiring a blue polka dot umbrella.  I was at a loss of words at the papelaria (stationary store) trying to purchase a gluestick, and once again as I desperately attempted to buy some soft serve ice cream.  Through a series of hand gestures I was able to find what I wanted, but my response was always the same, “Obrigada.”  I wanted to make casual conversation and let the clerk know that neon pink was my signature color.  I wanted to tell the gray-haired owner of the papelaria that I was using the glue to make a scrapbook.  Sigh.  I simply couldn’t.  I had to be content with giving them a small thank you.

            Thursday was my first full day in the city of São Paulo, and a friend of Maryknoll named Jose gave me a tour around the neighborhood where he grew up.  Jose was raised in a favella (slum) called Brasilandia.  Jose showed Catherine (another missioner) and I his primary school, and introduced us to his neighbors and family members.  With each introduction, we were offered water, mango juice, snacks and given a place to sit.  We would observe Jose interact with his family, translating pieces of the conversation for us.  I paid close attention to body language and intonation, but the only word clearly recognizable was “Justin Bieber.” Jose’s teenage nieces had some serious Bieber fever!  When we got ready to leave each house, I turned to the homeowner and said, “Obrigada.”  This was the only word I could offer in exchange for their kind hospitality.

            When I arrived off the plane in São Paulo, got my bags and walked through customs, I was greeted by Father Dan, a Maryknoll priest who has lived in São Paulo for thirty years.  Dan embraced me with a warm, sweaty, humid, Brasilian hug.  It was exactly what I needed after nineteen hours of travelling.  Dan then took me to the apartment where I would be staying temporarily with other MKLM missioners.  I was greeted by six other missioners, two Maryknoll sisters, and some friends of MKLM.  We had lunch together and I was able to drink lots and lots and lots of water.  I found a room with a bed made for me, and was able to take a shower and brush my teeth.  Again, the only thing I could say in response to the generosity I received was “Thank you!”

I am overwhelmed by love that has been poured into me as I entered São Paulo.  Whether it is the stranger on the plane, the stranger on the street, or the strangers turned housemates, it’s humbling to be the recipient of real compassion.  At the same time, “Obrigada,” is a continual reminder of the love that brought me to São Paulo in the first place.  I’m talking about the love of my brother, mom, dad, extended family and dear friends. To each of you, I say, “Obrigada.”  Thank you for sending me off to Brasil with your love, and may it continue to nourish me as I begin this journey. 

Àte logo!

I never thought saying goodbye to people was that big of a deal.  You talk about the next time you will see the person, maybe you give them a casual hug, or plant a kiss on their cheek.  Goodbyes where one might shed some tears, or even require Kleenex are often seen as being dramatic.  Sometimes goodbyes force us to say things that have been bubbling up in us for a while; the lack of time moves us to speak on behalf of what we feel in our heart. Other times, goodbyes turn previous conflicts into unspoken resolutions.  Suddenly, that grudge you were holding or that frustration that overwhelmed the relationship dissipates.

Often, there are words of encouragement that are tacked onto the goodbye moment- things like, "You're going to be amazing!" or "It's going to be great!"  While these statements may be true, they only briefly overshadow the sadness of the parting.  Sometimes life gives you the unplanned goodbyes- when a life is cut short unexpectedly.  Goodbyes over Caribou Coffee or Alterra are common in Minneapolis and Milwaukee areas- doing the quick catch-up on each other’s lives before parting ways again.  There are always laughing goodbyes, or what I like to call "Going out with a bang!"  These usually consist of doing something crazy- going skinny dipping or rocking out to Rihanna.  Nostalgic goodbyes, where you sit at a quiet bar with a pint of Guinness and remember all the fun times you shared with the other person during your high school or college years. And of course, there are those I-need-to-be-at-the-airport-in-one-hour-and-still-haven't-packed-my-suitcase goodbyes, or what I'd like to call "flustered" goodbyes.  This type of goodbye calls for patient accompaniment (in my case, patient parents) who remind you that everything is going to be okay, and even offer to pack your suitcase for you!  Saying goodbye can feel very final, while some goodbyes feel unsettled and incomplete.

Over the last few months I have said hundreds of goodbyes to grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, friends I have adopted as family, housemates, neighbors, professors, co-workers, clients, acquaintances, even dogs!  Each goodbye has its own unique tone to it, and none of them came easily.  I’ve come to realize that goodbyes are in fact, a very big deal. They are a big deal because they are always difficult for me.  These goodbyes have been a testament to the real love that is shared between me and the person to whom I am saying goodbye.  And even though I will miss the physical presence of people from the United States while I am in Brazil, it comforts me to know that we are bound by love.  Even if I don’t see someone’s face, hear their laugh, or exchange an email with the person, love will still remain.  The love we share cannot be lessened; it can only continue to grow in new and unexpected ways.  Àte logo is Brasilian Portuguese for “See you later!”  So to all those people I am bound to through love, Àte logo!