The Amanda Show

I dearly wish I could have a camera strapped to my head at all times. You know, the ones people who play extreme sports wear as they’re climbing daring heights, soaring over landscapes with synthetic wings, or maneuvering their way around jagged rocks and through Class V rapids. Maybe then I could better let everyone back home see the beauty and poverty of the areas around me mixed in such a striking yet modest way. Then everyone could experience almost first hand the confusion I feel whenever I’m at a ceremony and music is loudly playing in the background, everyone talking over eachother with a language not yet perfectly known, and then suddenly everyone is looking at me and I am beckoned to the front to do Lord knows what because I just can’t hear or understand them over all the noise. I just know they are waving at me in a way that if I were in the States would signify, “Shoo! Go away!” but here means, “Get over here!” I am in a constant state of ultra awareness, straining my ears for key words that would signal for me to talk, searching the faces of those around me, or simply watching their movements so that I might mimic them. I try to always smile. I try to sound like I know more Spanish than I do. I don’t think that part is working though, so I just keep nodding my head and smiling. You just gotta keep smiling, because if you can’t fully express yourself at least they won’t think you’re mean, or worse yet, bored.

But even with the camera strapped to my head allowing you to see the stares as I walk down the street, or the children crowding outside the windows of every classroom I stand in for a chance to see the gringa, you may only barely be able to hear the giggles and collective gasps from the girls. You will most definitely hear the whistles and occasional “Hello, baby,” from the boys.

You would be able to see the sun shining so bright and clearly just like a summer day (even in the winter), yet everyone still wearing jackets and pants and complaining about the chill. You wouldn’t however, be able to feel the extreme difference between standing in the shade or the sun; the shade giving you goose bumps, and the sun practically peeling your skin off in that instant, completely skipping the process of getting a sunburn.

I’m pretty sure you would be able to see how much my town is like an oasis in the desert—vast and desolate miles of sand and volcanic mountains surround us, yet there are palm trees and fruits grown here that are associated with the tropics (mango, papaya, avocado, sugar cane, and fruits I have never seen before in my entire life.) You wouldn’t however feel the intense itching and swelling of my legs from the tiny bugs I’ve never seen but have caused intense discomfort and warped my legs with swollen bumps. You wouldn’t be able to experience my morning ritual of putting on sunscreen and bug spray that is usually reserved for camping trips.

You most definitely wouldn’t feel how tired I am by two ‘o’ clock just from the energy I’ve exerted in not looking completely lost and confused. You’d hear me fumbling with my words, my tongue tripping over itself as I try to speak when I can’t even think straight let alone form a complete sentence in Spanish.

There are so many things you would see and finally understand, and still so much you would still miss. But even if you couldn’t understand a damn thing anyone was saying, even if you paid more attention to the construction of the buildings, the trash on the ground, or the lack of paved roads, you would still see the look on the faces of those around me and hear the tone in their voice. You would see the smiles, the hands reaching out in greeting and kisses on the cheek. You would realize no matter how foreign it seems now it will eventually become easier. They are receiving me with open arms, and even if right now they giggle at my language slip ups and I am the most bizarre person they have ever met, that is more than I can ask for.