A Thank you Note to my Family

By Zach, Tufts 1+4 Participant

As I’ve been approaching my last month here in Ecuador, something that’s constantly been on my mind has been gratitude and how I can thank the people who have played a role in making my gap year as positive as it has been. When I think about the people who I am thankful for here, my mind immediately jumps to my incredible host family. My family here has been a massive part of my time here and before I leave, I certainly plan on showing them how thankful I am for them. One of the ways which I planned on doing so was to write them a note which they could hold on to. Of course, that letter would be in Spanish— and despite the fact that my Spanish has immensely improved this year, I do feel like I can express myself much better in English. That being said, I wanted to write my host family a letter in English, and despite the fact that they wouldn’t read it, it would be a lot more honest and expressive than that which I will write in Spanish.

To the Galans:

The only proper way to start this letter is to say thank you. To thank each of you for being so kind and loving to me this past year.When I first saw the family description that was listed for the Galan family, I was honestly a little worried. I saw that your family was described as being an elderly couple who lived a quiet life outside of the city. And of course, I was excited to get to meet you guys, but it’s just not necessarily what I was expecting. I grew up with two brothers in a loud house. I was used to sharing a room with my little brother and doing everything together. The prospect of living with a much quieter family would be a new experience for me.

I’m sure that you guys could understand my surprise once you had brought me home and I met all nine of you plus your three dogs. I was ecstatic.

When I first got here, I must have been much more boring than I am now. My Spanish was pretty poor which definitely affected how much fun I was with you guys. I remember sitting through our Sunday night dinners being completely lost. I remember taking car rides with Mary and just nodding to the stories that she told me— although I couldn’t understand exactly what you were saying, I really appreciated you making the effort to try to include me.

And perhaps because of that, I feel like part of this letter should come with an apology. Even now, I still feel sorry that despite my hardest efforts, I simply cannot communicate with you guys in a way where we all completely understand each other perfectly. There will always be little words, pieces of slang, or jokes that I just won’t get. When I’m not paying total attention to you when you’re speaking I struggle to follow what you guys say. And that’s incredibly frustrating, even though I’ve been here for a year, I feel like if I spoke Spanish perfectly, we would all be so much closer. My inability to speak Spanish fluently inevitably comes with a level of insincerity on my part. There were times— especially when I first got here— that my Spanish would not allow me to keep up a conversation with any of you. But rather than sit in silence, you would tell me stories or try to fill the space with some speaking that I wouldn’t really understand.And I would just smile and do my best to play it off as if I understood what you were saying. And of course this was just a lie, but in my position, it’s so much better to at least pretend to know what’s going on rather than just sitting at the dinner table noticeably clueless. Ultimately, I’m sorry for not being able to understand you guys in the ways that I wish I could.

But it’s honestly incredible to me how far we’ve come since September. Time has flown. I was just driving home from Amauta with you guys. We were just in Gualaceo having fights with the bubble toys or in Turi spinning upside down in a massive swing. Now Angie is pregnant and having her baby shower next week, Paúl has his own tattoo studio, and despite my constant jokes that I can’t speak Spanish, I actually speak the language pretty well.

I’m just so grateful for you guys welcoming me as much as you did. You made me into your family when you didn’t have to— it would have been so much easier for you to just brush me aside as being an exchange student who was just staying in the house for a year. But instead of that, you made me into an uncle, a brother, and a son. I wasn’t just the gringo living on the 3rd floor, I was the family that you had living upstairs. Welcoming me into your family like that was a choice that each of you made, and I will forever feel grateful for the acceptance that you extended to me.

It’s impossible to sum up this incredible year into a letter, but the laughter and memories are something that you don’t need a piece of paper to remember. Rather, the letter is to thank you all for the packed lunches, late night drives, and spontaneous empanada trips. Words will never be able to describe the gratefulness that I feel towards you all. Please keep in touch, come visit, and let me know if I can ever do anything for you to repay the love and compassion that you have all shown me.

Much love,

Zach


Owning Happiness

By Becca, Tufts 1+4 Participant

It’s my last night in Brazil and I’m….happy? I set aside time tonight to write something profound. A pontification on life’s beginnings and ends, a graceful foray through my best memories in Brazil, and the things I’ll miss most of all, hammering the keys as tears stream down my face. And yet it’s here and I’m just… happy. There’s no question in my mind, I don’t want to leave, the last 8 months have been the best of my life and I very firmly believe that if I were to stay longer, my personal growth and happiness would only continue to develop. But alas, faz parte. That’s life. I’ve had an incredible experience here, and I can genuinely say that I regret nothing. I went through cycles over the last few days and weeks emotionally. Most of the time I was incredibly happy. Then something would happen, I’d realize it was the last time I’d ever do, see, feel that thing, and I’d be sad for a moment, maybe two. Then I’d lift my head, and realize there were 300 other things to turn my attention to, and my sadness passed quickly. I’ve thought a lot about why that is. My life in Brasil really has been my best life. The idea that any component of that is sealed away into a thing of the past is sad for me, because I’ve been so intensely enjoying the present. But at the same time, I’m immensely and authentically grateful for every bit of happiness I’ve experienced, because I viewed absolutely none of it as given. I had no expectations up until just a couple months before, that any part of this year would happen, certainly not in the way that it’s happening, and I was happy with where my life was at before. With zero expectations and zero sense that I deserved my happiness, every good thing that has happened to me has just been icing on the cake. That, and I really do feel like I did this year right.

I’ve formed meaningful relationships with people from all 5 major continents. I befriended a churro man with a startup, and a Chilean woman who aligned my chakras to ‘life’s tunes’. I made my own drum, performed in Carnaval. I went to Serra do Tabuleiro, Garopaba, Curitiba, São Paulo, Rio de Janeiro, Salvador, Florianópolis. I went paddle boarding and surfing. I saw a penguin, cheered on a turtle, chased puppies. I climbed a tree and fell out of that tree. I reveled in the banal, and scoffed off the profound. I chased after many buses and missed many buses. I missed a flight. I had an entire airport conspire against me. Twice. I hitchhiked with a woman on her second day back from living in Kenya, and took an uber with a Palestinian man married to a Brazilian Jew. I collected pounds of trash, made paper, re-imagined my concept of waste. I contemplated the meaning of purpose, and the purpose of meaning. I had my phone stolen, then a month later got it back. I learned Portuguese, sucked at Portuguese, and absolutely slayed at Portuguese. I reveled daily in the wonder of language learning. I conducted interviews, and made a documentary. I protested and debated, and way more importantly, I listened a lot. I cooked pão de queijo and nega maluca and really awful beans and rice. I let other people cook me beans and rice and ate enough to last a lifetime. I developed addictions to açaí, Guarana, and paçoca. I drank way too much coffee and escaped a caffeine addiction. I did an obscene amount of paper machê. I gave speeches, and attended lectures. I went to bars and just talked for hours. I took long walks on the beach, and long walks through the city. I sat watching lightning until 3am. I swam in a thunderstorm, danced in the rain, danced Samba and Forró, danced and fought and played Capoeira. I fell in love. I cried, I laughed until it hurt, caught my breath, and laughed some more. I’ve learned and grown, and struggled and triumphed, and I don’t know if its just gap year cliches or if there’s some greater meaning, but this was my life, my real life, and I owned it. So yes. It’s my last night in Brazil. And I’m happy.

Creciendo en Cuenca

by AJ, Tufts 1+4 Participant

Turi swing

One of the reasons I decided to participate in the 1+4 Program was because I thought it would be a fantastic opportunity to grow as a person. Instead of reentering the familiar structure of school this year, I am navigating the working world of a foreign country, interacting with people by myself in a foreign language everyday, and independently working to create my own structure and routine. So much growing up, learning, and maturing has happened already and I’m only a month and a half into the year. There have been simple learning experiences, such as buying my own toiletries, commuting to work on the bus everyday, navigating the city (and having to ask for directions in Spanish), and managing emails. There have also been more challenging experiences that have facilitated a more profound personal growth, such as forming relationships with my host family, helping to take care of the kids at home occasionally, regularly breaking out of my comfort zone to connect with people I meet here, and creating a productive schedule for myself and by myself. The beautiful thing about this year so far has been that it truly is what you make of it.

Yesterday, I took three classes: a two hour drawing class, an hour long salsa class, and then an hour long muay thai class, one after the other. The drawing and muay thai classes were both not only my first time in the specific class, but also my first time ever learning about those things. I never would have imagined doing these things here, but what I have learned is that if you are willing to put yourself out there and take risks, you can learn new things and grow as a person. I would go so far as to say that that is the only way you can grow as a person. Not only am I learning about those three activities (drawing, dancing, and muay thai), but I am feeling more confident in myself and adventurous. First classes are scary experiences. It’s even scarier when you aren’t speaking your native language and are struggling to communicate and understand basic things. Nonetheless, my risk-taking has payed off. I’ve met new people from these classes, learned new things, and have taken hold of my life like I have never done before. Another thing that I have noticed is that when I am speaking to someone in English–and that’s anyone, familiar or stranger–I feel so comfortable and confident compared to when I’m speaking in Spanish. I believe that this demonstrates the overall growth that I am making for myself here. I remember pondering the benefits to the self that this type of program would begin before I decided to sign up for it, and I wanted to hear more than just learning new things, interacting with new people, expanding my world view, and experiencing personal growth. What I have discovered is that the greatest rewards from this program have been exactly what I was told about. But they are so much more profound than I ever imagined now that I am experiencing them for myself.

Navigating the city with friends

Man at work on La Catedral de la Inmaculada Concepción

Iglesia de Todos Santos

A Potential Reality: Gaining More Than I Give

by Jamie, Tufts 1+4 Participant

I was in a Tufts 1+4 orientation session when I scribbled down the phrase that “success can be more abstract.” I scribbled this phrase into my notebook after I asked a question about the potential guilt that will accompany gaining more from my gap year than the community I will be working with. One peer mentor responded by saying that I was most likely thinking of success and improvement in a tangible way and that I needed to adjust what success meant to me. She then gave me an example of intangible success; building a relationship that would not only influence me positively but the other person in the relationship as well. At that moment, I began to include intangible successes into my definition of success. However, after three weeks in India, I started to feel guilty again with my impending apprenticeship, Teach for India.

Thinking of success in intangible terms is hard when I feel guilty. I cannot get over the idea that I will be gaining more from this experience than people who already have had less than what I’ve experienced even before this gap year. I do not think it is fair for me to walk away from this gap year benefiting from something that most of them will not be able to experience solely because they come from a low income household.

I am a teaching assistant for a third grade teacher. This is unlike any third grade classroom I’ve ever been in due to the lack of electricity and the sheer amount of children crammed into one, average sized classroom. A question that keeps coming to my mind is, “how can I think of intangible change when one classroom holds 110 children?” At the present, there is no importance in my self-growth when the children that are supposed to be learning cannot because of an overcrowded classroom. Where is the tangible or intangible success in that?

I know that, realistically, I won’t be changing the lives of these children drastically. I, also, know that just because I want to improve the world does not necessarily mean that the space I am going into to “help” actually needs my “help.” However, I still feel I should be a part of a bigger change. I feel like my individual growth is not a big enough contribution to bettering society.

As I reflect on what success means to me and why I am feeling guilty, I also begin to put my upcoming experience into perspective. Here I am, in Hyderabad, India, about to begin my apprenticeship with Teach for India, and my nerves are shot because I’m afraid of  not bringing enough good to my work and to the children I will be working with. I can only bring what I know I have: compassion, happiness, and love. As I bring these three attributes I will, hopefully, see a positive impact manifest (even if that manifestation comes about in a surprising, indirect way.)

Overlooking Old City, Hyderabad during Sunset

“Anyone Can Cook” : Lessons from Ratatouille

by Gus, Tufts 1+4 Participant

As I have started to adapt to life in Ecuador, one of the biggest changes I have experienced thus far has been the food. While you might be saying “duh, Gus. What did you expect?” please allow me to elaborate on one of the deeper differences which accompanies the more obvious differences in flavor and strain of potatoes.

During our orientation one of the things we discussed was the differing definitions of success. For those in the United States, success is often defined by the final product. In contrast success is more about the journey in many Latin American countries. Though I would have never thought to apply this to the realm of food, I have realized, through my experiences cooking with my host family, that this difference does hold true.

To elaborate, cooking for me has never been a social activity, but more of a necessary step preceding consumption. Sure, I know how to scramble eggs and make a grilled cheese sandwich, but I’ve only ever used these skills to fulfill caloric needs. Certainly, I wouldn’t describe myself as someone who would regard four hours of meal preparation as a fun or fulfilling use of time. Nevertheless, this was exactly what I found myself doing this past Saturday, and I found it quite enjoyable in fact.

The process started around 10 a.m. when my host sister dispatched my brother and I to the market to gather the necessary ingredients for our upcoming lunch. The main course was to be sweet barbeque chicken wings prepared by my sister supplemented by tater tots (a Minnesotan delicacy) prepared by yours truly. Disclaimer: I’ve never actually made tater tots from scratch. However, as the famous Chef Gusteau from Ratatouille once said, “anyone can cook.”

“Anyone can cook.” -Chef Gusteau

Well, to put it bluntly, the first attempt was a disaster. The potato balls disintegrated and I was left with a soupy version of what might be considered hash browns if looked at with less than 20/20 vision and an optimistic perspective. Thankfully, I was not alone in the process. Much like Linguini, the son of Gusteau in Ratatouille, I needed a small amount of guidance in order to create an edible product. Thanks to the advice of my host siblings on a couple small changes, I was able to get a much closer approximation of tater tots the second time around.

Attempt 2: Quite doughy on the inside, but exquisite in terms of improvement

Through this process, I not only learned to prepare tater tots from scratch, but also enriched my understanding of the culture surrounding food and cooking in Ecuador. In many ways, I think my prior conceptions about cooking were blinded by the fact that I could swing by the freezer aisle of the nearest supermarket any time I wanted tater tots. The traditional markets of Ecuador couldn’t be more different, nearly completely comprised of food straight from the Earth and without significant previous preparation. As a result, cooking is, almost by necessity, a much more significant part of everyday life. Furthermore, cooking is about more than meal preparation, it also includes the spirit of community which arises from creating something together.

Returning to the wisdom of Ratatouille, a similar lesson can be found in the relationship between Remy and Linguini. On his own, I would argue Linguini can’t cook (and neither can I), but this is irrelevant because the spirit of community formed through cooking is the more important part. What can be concluded from this is that though I have resigned myself to an observer status in many of the more complex cooking tasks, I can still be a part of the cooking. Undoubtedly, anyone can cook from this mindset so long as they partake in the communal spirit.

As I consider my expectations of meaningful cross-cultural experiences, shelling peas was nowhere near the top or even the bottom of the list. In spite of this, I often look forward to Saturday afternoons when I know another bag of the raw legumes will be waiting. Despite a complete lack of culinary ability, I will continue to appreciate these times for the community I have felt with my host family throughout.

Luzia

by Laura, Tufts 1+4 Participant

Barely 24 hours in Brazil, the National Museum of Brazil burnt down. On Sunday evening, the day we completed our 30 hour journey to Florianopolis, it caught fire, and was destroyed by the time we woke up. In the run up to an election, discussion of political blame was immediate: austerity and a lack of investment in culture, reliability of emergency services and the excessive spending on the World Cup and Olympic Games. Although these conversations were inevitable and essential, my initial reaction was of sadness, and almost mourning. I had never heard of this museum beforehand, or known what it held but I deeply resonated with the photos I saw online of the residents of Rio crying in front of the carcass of the Portuguese Palace, because the value of holding objects in places and in ways accessible to educate all people is something I have experienced many times.

I have just started my apprenticeship working at Comcap – the waste disposal department of the city council in Florianopolis. Only a couple of days in, I have been struck by the sheer volume of waste a relatively small city can produce. The school children on tours are reminded that the first two “r’s” (reduce and reuse) are just as important as recycling. Being presented with the reality of consumerist society, my brain began running in circles; how do we stop producing so much stuff? And how, as a species that differentiate ourselves from all others by our ability to make tools, do we attempt to use them more frugally? In a book I was presented with, there was one phrase: “O  lixo e o sobra entre o desejo e a necessidade do ser humano” (roughly translates to “Rubbish and leftovers are a  necessary part of being human” ), which encapsulated the precarious position that human material culture holds in our world, and its importance. Remembering a time that the value of material culture far outweighed its problems in my judgement, I wanted to share one of my experiences working at the Blackden Heritage Site in Goostrey, Cheshire:

I had arrived early one day to Blackden, and was waiting in the visitor’s seating area for Tim, the resident archaeologist, to arrive and continue sorting the pottery we had begun the day before. Alan wandered in and spotted me waiting, and walked over with a medium sized plastic box in his hands. He presented me with a stone and asked me what I thought. I was slightly taken a back, having never had any experience with artifacts older than the 1200s, but decided to give it a go. It seemed to fit snugly in my hand in one particular orientation, with a rounded edge in my palm and a dent for my thumb, leaving a blunted blade at the top. No doubt it was a heavy duty tool, impossible for use in projectile hunting, so I came to the conclusion that it may have been a construction tool, most likely from the upper European Stone Age. Incorrect, I was informed. “Try again,” he said. I was struggling by this point, and started hypothesizing the ritual use of the tool – in my small hands it really seemed impossible for the blade to have had a mobile use. What I had failed to consider, as Alan then told me, was that not all human had hands as small as ours, as not all humans were homo sapiens. Now realizing the age and importance of the tool I had in my hands, I put it carefully back in the box as Alan explained that this tool was actually made by homo heidelbergensis in excess of 200,000 years ago.

Objects tell stories. By holding objects in our hands, we can cross cultures, millennia, and even species.

In the “Museu do Lixo”, some of the most interesting rubbish thrown away in the city is stored – it is both shocking in wastefulness and presents a fascinating material cultural history simultaneously. To work there I have already realized will be a great privilege, and maybe and I will begin to reach more clarity in my own mind on the place of human material culture in a world with a degrading environment. Every day at my apprenticeship I help to decide what is kept, what is thrown and what is burnt. When is the story an object holds invaluable and when is it a pollutant; when is something a physical form of education and when it is excess, and when is the world is a poorer place if an object is lost to a fire?

I plan to visit Rio this year. There, I won’t get to greet Luzia, the oldest human skull found in southern America. And I won’t get to see or handle the invaluable indigenous collection that her people left behind in the National Museum. But I endeavor to learn as much as I can about Brazil now; by holding the stuff of such a diverse and complex country in my own, homo sapien’s hands.