Tisch Global Jumbos

by Elaine, Tufts 1+4 Participant

The wind was, as it is in the summer, hot, dry and dusty, whipping through the cab as we wove through Managua’s constant traffic. I was late to pick up my parents, hence the taxi driver’s urgency as we chatted. The conversation turned to, as it has with many Nicaraguans, different cultural attitudes about family.

It’s common here for children to live with their families through adulthood-three generations in one house, supporting each other. Ricardo for instance, lives with his mother.  “If I wasn’t there to look after her, she wouldn’t have anybody.  Does your family live together?”

My closest extended family, grandparents, live a good two hours away in New Jersey, and the rest are scattered.  “No. Most move away for work and school.”

He tells me he’s got a sister in Atlanta.  “En los Estados Unidos, la vida es dura.  Trabajo y familia después. No una casa completa” He looks at me in the mirror and I hum my assent.

It’s interesting, I think.  That to him, life in the United States, often written in the narrative as a land of opportunity, is harder, with it’s overarching emphasis on work and success over family.  That we don’t grow up in a true home, with family scattered far and wide. They say home is where the heart is, and in that sense, technically my heart was scattered across the states of the Eastern Seaboard.

But here I do have a home. Ricardo, with his kindness and hilarious one-liners.  Juan, who works crazy hours as a pediatrician and still comes home with a big smile and hug for Carlos.  Giraldine who runs a department at the university, studies into the wee hours of the night and is an amazing mom.  Carlos, the feisty but adorable two-year old who enjoys my piggy back rides and fluorescent-colored water bottle.  Andrea, my little sister.  She’s eleven, sassy, smart, thinks Superman is cute (which I will never stop teasing her about) and plays a wicked game of air hockey.

And my host mom. Mi mama who has the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever known. You can’t help but fall in love with her hilarity, her kindness, her strength.  She rescues stray animals, and opens her home to host people from around the globe. She has dozens of children around the world, and I am so glad to be one of them.

Moments with them are the real heart of my time here. Of watching movies, and going out for pizza with my sister. Of playing peek-a-boo with Carlos, and sharing my day with Giraldine.  Of evenings at the dinner table with my host mom, talking about movies, politics, philosophy or just laughing at each others stories. When Andrea told me she would miss me, when my mom calls me hija.

And I understand now, what the cab driver meant. Most might think a Nicaraguan life would be considered harder.  But these past eight months have been characterized by an aching amount of heart, an overflowing richness of soul in one small, bright orange house.

If home is where the heart is, then I think I’m finally home.

By Gongga, Tufts 1+4 Participant

Passion, the official definition from Webster’s Dictionary, is “a strong feeling of enthusiasm or excitement for something or about doing something.” This is certainly something that everyone has had. I, however, have had a hard time finding my own special passion because I didn’t know what it was that I really wanted to do in life that was truly enjoyable and worthwhile.

For the past 18 years of my life, like many of our other fellows, I fought for something that I thought I wanted, yet later on felt confused. I wanted to prove something to other people in my life, yet I also struggled because I wasn’t happy with myself. It was as though I knew exactly how my life should go one week, and then every other week was just a cycle that repeated itself. I didn’t know what I was looking forward to in life and it was scary. This is why I wanted to come to Madrid for a gap year instead of going to college directly, so I wouldn’t be so lost.

It’s been almost seven months that I have been in Madrid, Europe “alone.” Well, not exactly alone; I’m here with the support of my Los Mesejo family and Tufts 1+4 big family from all over the world. How much seven months can change a person is really hard to tell day to day, but even just by looking at myself in the mirror, I’ve noticed a bigger, and stronger, Gongga.

My physical changes are also comparable to my internal changes. It was only seven months ago that I was still on the field at Tufts, talking with my fellows about our fears and aspirations for this upcoming adventure . Like some other fellows, I was scared that I wouldn’t change or wouldn’t realize that I changed until many years later. Now, looking back, I laugh at how naive I was at the time. I have changed more than I could ever have imagined before. I would never have dreamed about traveling everywhere in Europe by myself, randomly making friends all over the world and challenging myself both physically and mentally. With each of my travels and the little mistakes that I made, there were experiences that I gained. I faced my fears through walking alone in the dark streets of a foreign city to speaking broken Spanish to ask for help when I was lost.

Nine months ago, if you walked into Brazilian Cafeteria in Somerville High School, I was probably the weird one you would have spotted who didn’t blend in well with any of the other students in the cafeteria, but who also would have fit really well with a stereotype of a typical Asian student. When all the other students were enjoying their short thirty minute break from tedious school work and constantly gossiping about their exciting high school life, I was there obsessed with my school work and preparing for the next test.

Honestly, if I hadn’t applied to 1+4, probably that version of Gongga would have just moved from the Brazilian Cafeteria to another cafeteria in Tufts University with exactly the same persona. If you ask me what I learned from these six months living in Spain, I’d answer now that there is so much more to life than just school. Even though education is critical and it is a rock foundation for the future and job opportunities.

I have to be honest with myself, in that when I first came to Madrid, unlike everyone else, I had no idea about what I was going to do or if I would really like to work with young children because I had never done that before. But, reflecting on these six months over and over, it seems as if my mood was on a constant roller coaster, with all of the unexpected twists and turns in the lives of the foster children. I now have such a strong bond with all those children that the experience made me realize that it’s not whether I love or hate what I’m doing in the moment, it’s more the necessity of just doing it and then discovering the joy that comes as a result of that effort. In the beginning, I felt I was not being accepted at the foster home where I was working, because I constantly felt like an outsider. Now, I feel like part of the family. The children are so comfortable with me and they constantly come running toward me and hug me, telling me how much they love me. They tell me secrets that they don’t want to share with others, or play silly games with me like re-arranging my hair. Still, I learned more from these children than they probably learned from me. I learned the value of family when I saw what strong bonds these children hold with each other despite being separated from their real parents years ago. I learned forgiveness by talking to some of the children, who held no vengeance despite how much pain their parents had caused them. I learned the genuine humanity of caring for each other even if society is unfair to you.

Despite the fact that we fellows in Spain don’t have a host family like the fellows in Brazil and Nicaragua, compared to them, who experience the real culture of the local people up close, we don’t miss out at all on the real culture of Spain,and through our travels in Europe, we had the opportunity to experience different cultures as well. We also experienced the freedom of being a youth in Europe, in a melting pot of diverse cultures.
Our relationships with the children and educators in the foster home is also similar to their integration into their host families. In the beginning, due to language barriers and cultural differences, many of us had a hard time feeling accepted, or blending in. Later, as time progressed, we created strong bounds that we are forced to break when we return to the States.

We, the fifteen fellows, are so different now even with the similarities that bound us together in this gap year program. I love learning about everyone’s daily lives through reading their blog posts. I learned so many great facts from reading Isabel and Daniel’s funny and educational blog posts about Nicaragua and Brazil. Sometimes, I also find it shockingly surprising how many similar emotions I share with some fellows. It feels great to find out that I’m not the only on who feels like I do.

I don’t know what kind of effect the next two months will have on me and I’m actually quite excited to find out. I hope I can find the state of mind that I wanted to accomplish. This gap year made me realize that there is so much more to life. It made me feel brave and adventurous and what’s more, it gave me a purpose and made me see myself more clearly. An old Chinese saying is “when the boat arrives at the turn of the river, it will know where it’s going.” This reminds me of my routine run in Retiro Park in Madrid. I have no idea where I want to go every time I start my run, then I will run up to a turn and see two or more ways to go, which seem just like the choices that we face sooner or later in our lives. But instead of being practical, I don’t choose the path to run that’s a shorter distance, or that has better views, but I choose the one that feels good in the moment. I like the unknown factors in life, yet I’m scared to face them sometimes. I don’t want go back to Boston, yet I do want to go back, at the same time. I want to show everyone that I used to know that I’ve changed. Or maybe I haven’t changed much, maybe I’m finally finding the real me.

by Steven, Tufts 1+4 Participant

Endings are weird.

First of all, endings never actually happen. There is always something that comes after a supposed ending: credits, applause, maybe hesitation and questions. There too is that good old cliche, “When one door closes, another one opens.” This leads us to easily extrapolate that when one ending occurs a beginning does as well. An ending brings the close of something but the opening of something else. So, to that effect, an ending is a beginning? An ending isn’t really an ending? Endings don’t exist? I’m confused.

Continue reading “Endings”

by Zoe, Tufts 1+4 Participant

Yesterday, April 1, was my last day working at R3 Animal. Yesterday, it hit me that this is the end. I’d be lying to say there weren’t numerous times throughout the past seven months I thought about the month of April, the month I’d be going home. Moreover, I’d be lying to say there weren’t times I longed for April to come faster. Now that it’s suddenly here, I’m shocked by my unreadiness and not wanting to leave this place where I now feel genuinely at home.

As I rode the bus to work yesterday morning for one last time, I remembered my first day at R3 five months ago. Back then I felt like I was so far into my Brazil experience, having already spent 2 months in Imbituba. But looking back on my first day at R3, it’s almost amusing how much I had yet to learn. In November my Portuguese was lacking tremendously, so much so that I had absolutely no idea what it meant when I was told on my first day at work, “precisa trocar jornal nas todas as gaiolas das toucanos e papagaios, daí ce tem que lavar os potinhos da agua e comida.” Meaning “you need to change the newspaper in all the toucan and parrot cages and then wash all the food and water bowls.” This is the first job most volunteers at R3 are given to do because it’s relatively straight-forward. Since I didn’t know the meaning of the words trocar, jornal, gaiola, papagaio, or potinho, it took me a bit longer than the normal volunteer to figure it out. 

I learned much more than ever expected working at R3. Being an organization that helps rescue, rehabilitate, and release various types of wild animals, it didn’t really occur to me that instead of directly participating in the action of rescuing, rehabilitating, or releasing, I’d be cleaning (poop, cages, floors, food/water dishes) or feeding (by force or simply delivering food trays to the cages and enclosures). I’m ashamed to say that throughout my childhood, I was never one to help my parents wash dishes or even pick up dog poop, so this type of work was a slight shock to my system. I’m proud of my somewhat newfound ability to clean and perform a somewhat basic job, but I’m more satisfied with my improved work ethic. I used to be the type of person who would do something halfway, only to leave the rest for someone else to finish. It never really occurred to me that if I didn’t finish the job, someone else would have to do it instead. Working at R3 completely changed this, especially because there’s always more work to do than time or hands to complete it. 

Don’t get me wrong, there were days I really didn’t feel like spending hours cleaning poop, getting eaten alive by mosquitoes, and dying of heat. Yes it was undesirable at times, but yesterday as I did everything for one last time, I realized how much I gained from the experience, how much I actually liked it, and how sad I am to leave. 

Never again will I change into my uniform in under 7 seconds to limit the amount of time I had to be locked in the mosquito filled locker room. Never again will I have to shine a flashlight into my boots each morning to make sure there were no baratas (cockroaches) living inside, or forget to check and end up with various cockroach parts stuck to my sock. Never again will my pants be soaking wet from washing and carrying crates upon crates of fruit and vegetables from the truckload delivered each Monday and Thursday morning. Never again will I get into fights with toucans while cleaning their enclosures, or get pooped on when I don’t realize there’s one perched above me. Never again will I stand in a cloud of mosquitoes waiting for the turtle pool to drain, or have to stand almost knee deep in water and use a liter bucket to empty the entire pool when the drain is broken. Never again will I literally chase seagulls around an enclosure, hold them between my legs, force open their beaks, and feed fish down their throats, nor will I ever have to pick up the warm, slimy ones they’ve regurgitated and shove them down a second time. Never again will I be able to hand feed a penguin, or ride to the vet clinic with a penguin in the seat next to me. Never again will I joke with all the vets about my relationship with the cutia that was hit by a car – the one that bit me resulting in numerous vaccines and injections, 2 trips to the hospital and medical clinic each, and a good amount of remaining scar tissue. Never again will I wait on the side of the road at the end of the day (in both torrential downpours and 100 degree Fahrenheit heat), hoping the bus would come and I wouldn’t have to wait over an hour for the next one.

Of course for the average person, some of these things just sound like hell. Yes, sure there were undesirable parts, but every single thing I’m able to look back on and smile. It’s not the average person who can say they have a love/hate (but mostly hate) relationship with various toucan enclosures in southern Brazil.

And finally, work aside, the aspect I most cherish from working at R3 animal is the amazing people I became friends with and was able to look up to. These people work harder than anyone I’ve ever met and all have such genuine hearts. I am so grateful to have gotten to know each and every one of them, from those with whom I worked each day, to those I simply knew on a more superficial level. 

With this I say goodbye and thank you to R3. Its impact on me is more than I could’ve ever hoped, and I’m so glad to have been a part of something that brought tears to my eyes as I left for the last time.
~R3 Animal, Salvamos Vidas~

by Abigail, Tufts 1+4 Participant

Every morning I walk four blocks to work.

I walk out of the little sidewalk that leads to my house. Most often I’m greeted by tricicleros shouting “¿nos vamos?” because I’m pretty sure they think I must be lost. I usually ignore them, although one time the triciclero was someone I knew and I kept walking, until they yelled “A BEE GA IILLL.” It was embarrassing to say the least. When I walk I think a lot. I think about the day ahead of me, I think about the months ahead of me, I reflect on what’s behind me.

I’m filled with lesson plans and Ruben Dario and the hot topic of “who’s hotter, Maluma or Zayn?” I try to remember the Spanish word for mascara, the word that I always forget. Sometimes I see kids (who are running late) on their way to Las Tías, sometimes I walk with them. I look into the doorways of houses in the mornings, women mopping, children playing on the floor, grandmothers in plastic chairs pulled up to the doorway. I feel like I’m peeking into something secret. There are a few houses I’ve picked as my favorites, and I know that sounds weird, but I’ve done this. There’s one that has the shiniest tile floor I’ve ever seen, and a hallway where the morning sun slants perfectly. There’s a skeleton of a building that used to have flags hanging inside, flapping in the wind and glowing in the sun. I took a picture of them one day, and the next they were gone. Sometimes I’m walking and I wish I didn’t have to turn the corner to work, I could walk forever. Everyone here is always wondering why foreigners like walking so much. Guilty. I think about going home. I want to go home. I don’t want to ever go home! Depends on my mood. I like it here. I feel weirded out being in large groups of foreigners other than the other Amigos vols. I’ll miss my family, my work. Probably not the heat. I worry about going back, my friends won’t be the same as when I left, but I guess neither will I. I think about everything I could be doing better, I’m always thinking like that. I want to make a good impression. I’m not sure I belong here. I don’t think Nicaraguans need “help.” I’m confused about where I stand then. I’m praying that we do bachata songs at Zumba tonight because bachata days are the best days. I’m trying to remember the words to an old favorite song. Certain songs from my 16th year still make me cry, which for some reason is comforting to know. I’m trying to remember other old memories too, sometimes it hurts. I’ve already left home, and I’m not really ever going to go back for more than short visits. It’s sad, really. I talked about this with Gloria, my Spanish teacher. She understands that kind of stuff. I’ve learned how to speak really honestly while being here. I don’t like hiding my feelings anymore. I’m walking and I’m learning to shed my worries. I call to mind every hug my host mom has given me, I think about forgiveness, I work to never underestimate people. The “cultural adjustment curve” that they showed us is true, after all, because things just make sense now. How easily the Spanish flows from my mind to my mouth, the r’s rolling off my tongue, the subjunctive form that used to get me every time at school. The dish soap’s not weird. I have a newfound love for sorting beans (you’re welcome to laugh). Haven’t I come a long way?

Walking is good for the soul. I treasure each morning’s four blocks of thought time. I like to keep moving, it pumps my heart with new energy, it keeps me loving and smiling and sane. Two months isn’t a long time. It’s all just a walk now, and I’m approaching the corner I must turn into the next part of my life. Like some mornings, I’m not sure I want to turn just yet, I want just a little more precious time to straighten things out in my head. But the good thing is, I’m always surprised by the goodness of the day ahead of me when I do turn.

by Gabriel, Tufts 1+4 Participant

My seventh month in Brazil is drawing to a close. When I look back to our orientation at Tufts and arriving in Brazil to meet the other Global Citizen Year fellows, it seems like a lifetime ago. I am having trouble grasping the fact that in two short weeks I will be leaving my host family. I will walk out of the gate and look back at my Brazilian family and my quaint little house, probably never to see either of them again.

During my time here in Brazil, I have often thought about what it was going to be like to go home, but now as that time approaches, I find myself lost in my feelings about it. My life has completely changed to fit into my Brazilian experience, becoming a completely different entity from my American life. How will I just jump back into my old life? Will I have changed too much to be able to slip back into the gap I left behind? Just thinking about leaving my host family, boarding a plane and finally seeing my family in the states has my stomach flipping.