Deja vu is a real thing. However, is deja vu in another country
realistic? You may know it as a “motor taxi” but I know it as “keke na
pepe.” I never thought I would see it again until one hot afternoon on
September 1st 2019 – I experienced deja vu in Peru.
It rode right past me and I gazed as if it was the first time I had
seen “keke na pepe” again. The last time I had entered one was in
Nigeria when I was just 10 years old. I never thought that a country
9,479 km away from my hometown could remind me so much of it and bring
back a little part of my Nigerian identity.
When I was 10 years old, my mom, little brother, and I would normally
take a “keke na pepe” almost every Sunday in order to get to church. In
Peru, I entered one for the first time in on an afternoon when I was
returning from my internship. Immediately, a flash of memories, and a
feeling of deja vu took over me. I heard my mother’s voice again, taking
me back to my 10 year old self. I could hear her say “Chiamaka ri da ta
motor a hu” which means “Chiamaka get down from that vehicle.” I could
see when she paid the driver, I could hear her laughter and see my
little brother as an 8 year old child. For the first time in 6 years –
something, one thing, a vehicle reminded me of my hometown.
I have always pondered whether Peru is my home. I have come to the
conclusion that it is different – they speak Spanish not Igbo and
English, they wear different clothes, they have different traditions
that are not similar to mine. However, I and Peru both have “keke na
pepe” also known as “motor taxis.” I and Peru both have a rowdy market, I
and Peru both have a culture, I and Peru both have a language, I and
Peru both have a sense of appreciation for our identities.
Even though I live in Cleveland, Ohio now, I feel a sense of home
here in Peru because I may not have my family, may get homesick every
now and then. However, I have everything else that makes me believe
“Yes, this is where I should be.”
I stood in the freezing cold, as the grass rustled tentatively
beneath my feet. It’s 11pm, and I peered up into the night sky,
expecting darkness. Instead, I was greeted by the stars, glistening in
their brilliance and filling up the atmosphere. Then, amidst the
speckled sky, a shooting star appears, shimmering and fading in the same
moment. I bask in the moment, and think to myself: “I’m not in
Singapore anymore, am I?”
Living 18601 kilometers (or 11558 miles; that’s almost halfway around
the world) away from home is undoubtedly a rare experience in my life,
and is one that I’m still coming to terms to. In Peru, it feels like
I’ve exchanged familiarity for adventure, my daily Bee Hoon with Egg for
Sopa de Verduras y Pollo, my Singlish for Spanish, my gardens for
mountains and my family for a Peruvian one. Within my group, I catch
myself fumbling to switch from British English to American English, and
attempting to understand the culture of a continent that has faced its
own challenges for centuries, while reorienting myself within a totally
different and new community. From personal possessions to lifestyles,
these changes become indicators of my presence in Peru and consequently,
my absence from home in Singapore.
Yet, upon the beginning of my 3rd week here, I have begun to discover
myself from a different perspective. My favorite view (besides the
Incan archeological sites and the mountains) is always moving: the
7:30am autobus ride to Calca where my internship placement is located in
provides me a unique view of local agriculture, and how buildings are
built with Adobe bricks (made of dried clay and straw). As I munch on
breakfast, I pass by Catarata Arin (a waterfall in the town of Huaran)
and am pertinently aware of the Sacred Valley’s towering heights and how
it flanks me on both sides constantly throughout my journey, as the
journey ahead seems like it opens up while the road behind looks like
it’s being devoured by the mountains. Each new workday offers a visual
invitation to embrace the unknown.
In my internship placement, I am sometimes confused by the
intricacies of planting and harvesting (coming from a country with an
almost nonexistent agricultural industry), as I prepare the soil for new
seeds, harvest vegetables, and bond with my new found friends in
Eco-Huella Farm. Nonetheless, I lose myself within the work, with every
stab of the shovel and pull of the rake, I get closer to learning about
Incan irrigation systems, how altitude affects everything, and the
philosophy behind Quechua agriculture. In Peru, there are no
difficulties, only opportunities to learn and, in time, to serve.
In my new home in Urubamba, I (try to) speak exclusively Spanish,
stuttering and muttering as I think about how to translate from English
to my new language, while hoping that I don’t end up breaking the flow
of the conversation. I hope that my Spanish will improve such that I
don’t need to hold onto my phone and open up SpanishDict, but till then,
I grit my teeth and continue onwards, hoping to have the audacity to
try and the discretion to appreciate the opportunity that has been given
to me.
The incessant internal comparisons of the constants and the
differences of life will continue. However, in retrospect, an exchange
of the familiar for the different sounds like a compromise. As I’ll be
here for 3 months, it feels less like compromise, and more like
accumulation & assimilation. The idea that I may speak with a
different accent (and even in a different tongue), but my eyes light up
equally whether I see shades of white & red (my national colors) in
the bracelets made by the local weaving collectives or the waterfalls
and mountains in the region. That my heart feels a little warmer when
the gardens in my farming internship remind me of the ones I have back
at home. That I feel a rush of adrenaline on hikes, because being close
to the earth and air and wind remind me of my time in the army when
creature comforts were not as near, but the opportunities for
self-discovery are.
I guess ‘Home’ will always be Singapore, but the idea of what constitutes as home is fluid & always changing for me. And while Bee Hoon with Egg will always have a special place in my stomach, so might Sopa de Verduras y Pollo.
By Yujie “Claire”, Tufts Civic Semester Participant
I have always had a fascination for stars. My dad, the
very person who brought me into the early business of watching stars,
owns a small telescope that he uses weekly till this day. Living in a
compound full of apartments and not many gardens, my dad and I didn’t
have many options to position the telescope in an open space; we later
climbed all the way up to the top of our apartment, which is the 18th
floor, and settled down our “unusual” hobby on this empty roof.
Before using the telescope, my dad would ask me to
identify a few stars on a phone app called “Star Chart.” If I raise the
cellphone and align its position to the direction of a star, “Star
Chart” will identify its name and history. Oddly enough, Shenzhen is not
known for a heavily-polluted city, but most stars are still barely
visible. However, one star, located vertically above us, persists to
shine at all times regardless of possible obstruction from thick clouds
or thunderstorms. I later learned that this star is called “Arcturus.”
“Arcturus never goes away. If you find Arcturus, you find your way of
life.” My dad said.
Almost a week ago, I experienced my first chilly evening
in the beautiful town of Huarán, Peru. When I left La Sala and headed
toward the dining room, I looked up and was amazed to see a skyful of
stars of diverse luminance and sizes. I pulled out my cellphone,
installed the newest version of “Star Chart,” and raised the cellphone
directly above my head. Shockingly, instead of seeing the label
“Arcturus” on the star straightly on top, I found “Jupiter” claiming its
rightful place.
All of a sudden, the realization that I am no longer in
the northern hemisphere struck me hard to the core: Arcturus is no
longer directly above me at night; instead, I set my feet onto the earth
that temporarily erases its existence at that very moment. Everything
is suddenly upside-down; everything is suddenly different from what I
have experienced in my last 19 years in the northern hemisphere. All of a
sudden, I was overwhelmed with a mixed feeling of amazement and
uncertainty: How should I redefine my way of life now if Arcturus, the
star that I have long kept in heart since childhood, cannot be seen or
felt anymore?
My dad was partially right about his personalized theory of Arcturus, but not correct in its entirety: I once succeeded a quite fulfilling way of life, but one that may not be sustainable in the long run. Arcturus once filled my childhood with unforgettable memories, but I have already started a new phase of life as an adult. Maybe this is why Jupiter has emerged to replace Arcturus; maybe this is what coming to Peru, a country in the southern hemisphere, is all about: the exploration of a sustainable and exciting way of life under the guidance of a new cosmic power. Keeping that Arcturus part of me as an invaluable documentation of my past, I look forward to seeing how the future three months will change the course of my life and instill me with a new sense of purpose.
I started my gap year with a lot of doubts and likely would not have done it if not for the people around me, who pushed me to try something new. I remember feeling tremendous anxiety and also some frustration about having to push college back. However as soon as I began City Year, I stopped thinking twice. City Year, while rewarding, has been incredibly challenging. Despite several weeks of “basic training” I had little to no training about how to work in a classroom environment. Everything I learned was on the job. I didn’t know how to foster a relationship with students or my partner teacher. I was able to push through and make a challenging experience rewarding, by shifting how I looked at my life. I learned to focus entirely on the present, rather than waiting for the weekend or constantly imagining what my freshman year at Tufts would look like. This past year became like a bubble for me, I felt free to explore who I was outside the confines of an academic environment. City Year consumed me so much that there were long periods where my freshman year of college seemed as distant as it did when I first started high school.
I want to make it very clear that City Year occupying my time was not by any means a bad thing. If anything it was a great thing. As someone who is always second-guessing himself, it was vital that I enter an environment where I had to develop leadership skills on the spot. The class I supported was hectic, for lack of a better word, and my partner teacher needed someone who could be reliable and attentive. As an untrained teacher’s assistant I didn’t always make the best decisions; in fact, I know I made a lot of poor decisions. However, I’m glad I’ve learned that I can fix my mistakes when I was 19. Those mistakes were important. Without them, my relationships with my students never would have changed, and I would still be on my first lesson of Do the Math with my small group.
It’s jarring to know that this period of my life is winding to a close. As I said earlier, my freshman year of college has seemed distant, but suddenly it seems closer than ever. City Year has taken up most of my free time, and I’m excited to see what my life will be like now that I’m moving on. I have a lot of new knowledge and experience to use. But it is also going to be challenging adjusting back to a more normal teenage life. I’ve spent almost a year with total independence, living in a city all by myself and having an adult working lifestyle. On some levels, I worry about how this experience will impact college for me, but mostly I am very excited for the future.
In my life, there are few times that questions have truly stumped me and left me scrambling to formulate a clear response. The majority of these instances are linked to any question asked by TSA that turn me into a clammy, stuttering mess for absolutely no reason. Although, I suppose all the “random” security checks really did a number. However, the questions that I am referring to specifically have to do with questions pertaining to language, culture, and identity. I did not give myself the space to think about these aspects of my being and, as a result, had to rush words out of my mouth. Well, at least that was the case. My time in Hyderabad gave me the time to reflect on the questions that I never had clear answers to and also the added vocabulary to add to my repertoire.
बोलो – Bolo (Speak)
My first month I was reasonably quiet; living with new people, in a new environment, and in a new country warrants the occasional uncomfortable silence. However, there were times that I wish I would have spoken up. My host family at the beginning were under the impression that I was Mexican, i.e from Mexico. I figured it had to do with my description on my profile and clarified that I was Mexican-American. Nevertheless, they continued to introduce me as an international Mexican student who would live with them for the next 8 months. While this was all seemingly harmless, it caused me to notice the inner turmoil of the way I identify. My family could not have known that they had begun a cultural exploration that I would take home. While that is all great, looking back I would have wanted to tell myself: “बोलो”. Speak for yourself. But how could I when I didn’t even know my own truth?
My senior year I shared a part of my Mexican-American childhood with my school and this year I wondered where that part of me had gone.
चुप – Chup/Choop (Quiet)
Thoughts
began running through my mind that I didn’t have clear answers to: Do I have a
claim to Mexico? Can I call myself Mexican or is that disrespectful, as I have
the privileges of an American citizenship/passport? Would people of Latin
American consider me as Latina as well? What am I- चुप !! I needed time and
space away from my own thoughts to reflect. Thankfully, I had all of Hyderabad
to take up my time, until I was mistaken as Indian. My racial ambiguity had
always been a source of entertainment to see what people would come up with
next; however, at this time my racial ambiguity was a reminder how my outer
self matched my inner confusion around race and identity.
See, prior to arriving in India, I had an encounter with a Latino who had asked me where I came from after hearing me speak Spanish. Quickly becoming flustered, I began with “Well, my parents are from Mexico but I was born here in the states…” to which he responded, “Oh, so you’re not really Mexican”. My identity had just been discredited by what I considered to be a “real” Latino. My Mexican card had just been rejected. That encounter left my world crumbling and had left me in an existential crisis before my year abroad even began.
This picture is of my mother’s naturalization in becoming a United States citizen. This signified the end of fearing being removed from her family, children, and the country she grew to know as home.
बस – Bus (Enough/Stop)
There came a point where I recognized how far away from myself I felt after constantly questioning my truth; where I allowed my desire for validation to speak for me instead of claiming myself and my story. It also helped to have a friend to tell me “बस”. Enough. Enough of the questioning. Enough. She said all the things I knew and it was up to me to believe. The perceptions that people hold about me are not a representation of what I actually am. I am not to be put in a box just because the world isn’t equipped to broaden the world of identity. Self-care and self-love require you to hold space for your own truth, even if it isn’t what the world considers to be “true”.
Food has always been a way to connect; whether it be serving curry at the table or making a makeshift tortilla station, love and culture are always shared.
शुक्रिया – Shukriya (Thank you )
All I have to say to my experience is शुक्रिया. I needed this year to fully accept the answers to questions the world made of me and to start seeking questions of my own. I was fully complacent, after being awarded a scholarship to a private school, and thought that the golden ticket in my hand meant I couldn’t question what I saw around me.
I have come to realize now that a part of me was right. I have no real roots and that is okay. My family has roots to Mexico and from those, I am able to learn the wisdom and knowledge they carry. Although my roots to the United States are nonexistent, they begin with my sister and me; as well as every first-generation born person in America that will be the roots for their descendants.
Before this year I couldn’t question the intersections of race and identity or the nuances of going through this world as a literal and figurative world traveler as I couldn’t see it. My experience in both American and Mexican cultures equipped me with tools to make a wonderful year living with a wonderful family. I was able to regain my trust in my sense of self and now will not become panicked by questions regarding my identity, language, or culture. While my exposure to language and culture expanded so did my appreciation for all India has to offer the world.
Thank
you for a year where I was able to question my surroundings and also myself.
Thank you for the diversity that India has to offer.
I called my mother when I arrived in Agra to show her where her genes, her history had made it to; my growth is a continuation of the journey our family began.
Since coming to Brazil and working at R3 Animal , I am constantly confronted with the challenging irony that is my relationship to animals and the environment. As much as I am fascinated by wildlife (it was the first “encyclopedic passion” that I had) and fostered a great love for nature and environmental protection, the very method that I live my life states otherwise. Back in my life in the United States, I live in a house that is much larger than my family of three need (high water and electricity usage), utilize an enormous amount of single-use plastics (which take centuries to at least partially degrade), and want to engage in worldwide travel (contributing to the already large quantity of greenhouse gas emissions attributed to air-travel). It only adds another layer of complexity to add the fact I consume meat, including a good amount of red meat, one of the biggest contributors to global warming and land development. I chose Florianopolis Brazil in part to work with this remarkable organization that is deeply committed in the conservation of native wildlife, yet the way of life I have brought with me, especially what I eat, contributes to the contrary.
The very Brazilian society that I have become immersed in sends mixed messages. Even though the biodiversity and beauty of the land is a source of national pride, there lacks a consciousness and motivation to protect it. Brazil is the land of the Amazon (the world’s lungs, producing 20% of its oxygen), the Pantanal (the largest wetlands in the world), and the Mata Atlantica/Atlantic Forest ecosystem (the most bio-diverse ecosystem in the world), to name a few. Yet it is the land where it is most dangerous to be an environmentalist, especially in the frontier regions to the west, where logger barons, agricultural developers, and rogue mining companies take advantage of weak law enforcement and currently, a government that is friendly to construction rather than conservation. I have conversed with many Brazilians (not only those in Florianopolis and the South where I live, but also in the Southeast and Northeast regions from my travels) and a good many of them mentioned that Brazil should exploit more natural resources to increase national wealth. In times of economic strife and financial ruin, the environment and its protections are often the first to go. Factor in limited government spending on environmental initiatives/projects, a dysfunctional national parks system, and lack of education and awareness among the populace, and the demise of Brazil’s natural integrity looms close by.
MATA ATLANTICA ON SANTA CATARINA ISLAND
In addition, Brazil is a land of carnivores; the diet and many classic recipes are dependent on meat. Churrasco, the Brazilian barbecue, is fundamental to social gatherings, where cutting boards of picanha (grilled sirloin cap) and linguiça (Portuguese-style pork sausage) are passed around. There are even churrasco flavored chips sold in supermarkets, which are very popular. Beef is the preferred meat of choice (in addition to being the most environmentally taxing), going to/in everything from steak, burgers (which have taken their own radical spin in Brazil), to being ground in pastel (the Brazilian-version of empanadas). Even many snacks, salgadinhos, contain meat, with among the most popular being mini-pastel (containing ground beef), coxinha (a fritter filled with shredded chicken), and misto-quente (literally a pressed ham and cheese sandwich). Although the vegetarian and vegan movements have been gaining traction in the country, for many Brazilians, a meal is not a meal without meat.
PREPARING THE FAMILY SUNDAY LUNCH
I have grown up eating meat and I love its flavor; it is something personal that is hard to give up. As I travel and learn about cultures around the world, food plays an integral role in what connects us together, crossing borders and generations. Specially here in Brazil, meat plays a crucial role in not only diet but also in social bonding. Yet, given the unique apprenticeship that I have, as well as my personal desire to be a aware and sustainable traveler, I am constantly confronted by one central question: where is the line between engaging with a nation’s culture and refusing to engage in it on the basis of moral grounds and the welfare of our planet? Culture is supposed to be perpetuated and esteemed through generations, yet what happens if the culture is literally too environmentally unsustainable to continue at our current trajectory? I am a lover of humanity and its culture, yet I am passionate about doing my part in protecting this one planet we have. For me, it is only when I came to Brazil that these two sides have been at odds, the lines clearly blurred. The personal debate is ongoing, one I’ll take back to the United States and my continued journey. I write this to hold myself accountable to whatever roads I choose to take and the lifestyle choices I will make in this personal and complicated impasse.
