´Anda con nosotras´
by Hannah Robbins on April 6, 2010
There have been times throughout this experience where I've felt the color of my skin and the weight of the answer "soy de los Estados Unidos" have made me a target for hatred. In Guarjila, El Salvador, an old woman threw rocks at our backs. In Otovalo, Ecuador, we had to leave a restaurant because the disgruntled owner stood above us and yelled in our faces about how Obama has no right to intervene in other countries´ business and that the US was the perpetrator of the genocidal atomic bomb. On a bus in Ecuador I overheard a man walk past the only empty seat next to me and say, "No voy a sentarme a lado de esta gringa."
Whether or not the woman in Guarjila was in fact just senile (as our friends from that town tried to convince us) or she has a hard time not despising people from a country who funded the soldiers and weapons that most likely killed some of her family members and made her a refugee in the 1980s, whether or not the owner of that restaurant was a little bit out of line, and whether or not the man on the bus just didn't feel like sitting down, I don't doubt the reasons for their hatred of my country.
More common than these moments that make me understandwhy many backpackers from the US adorn their packs with Canadian flags,are the times when Rachel and I meet leaders of community organizations, strangers in hostels, bus drivers, taxi drivers, children, students, friends of friends, grandmothers, grandfathers, and shop owners who speak to us as if they were speaking to anyone else, no matter the lattitute and longitude of our home address. The best of these conversations are the ones where it becomes clear that they do so not because they are simply friendly people, but because they believe in that sense of shared humanity that I am constantly promoting.
The first time this happened was in El Coyol, Nicaragua. As Rachel and I were about to leave for another night at AMOS, I began chatting with Juanita and Carmen, two women who had just brought their children (and themselves) to be seen by the health promoter. They asked me what it was like in the U.S.-they'd heard it was wonderful. I replied with the cop-out, "well, it's all relative" response. I said, "To me, it looks like what you have here is wonderful. Beautiful land, fresh air, your family all in the same place." They nodded in agreement, turned their heads a bit sideways and said, "but isn't life easier?" "Maybe," I said uneasily. We fell into a quick conversation about the U.S.'s weaknesses, the difference between 60 degrees and -5 degrees being considered cold, and the importance of family and community. They couldn't believe how cold it gets in Chicago. As their children pulled them away to begin the one-hour walk home, they grabbed my hands, smiled, gave me a giant hug and accepted my invitation with a giggle that when they make it to NY they will stay in my home and the next time I am in El Coyol I will stay in theirs.
In Nueva Vida, Nicaragua, Rachel and I had the privilege of meeting with a women's support group that discussed some of the most pressing issues in their community. As the two hour conversation came to a close, I asked the women what they would want us to tell a group of GlobeMed students. The reply of one of the health promoters, Maria, was simple: "anda con nosotras". "Walk with us."
Last weekend, just outside of Riobamba, Ecuador, in an area called Licto, Rachel and I met with an organization calledFUNPRONID (Fundación Promoción de Niños Indígenas Discapacitados). Luis Alfredo, the president of the organization, picked us up in his red truck and brought us to the community where he was born and raised and where FUNPRONID was started. Over the next four hours, we rode in the back of the truck (in the sunshine and rain) with his sister Carmen, her daughter Michelle, and L. Alfredo's daughter Diana; stopped at the seemingly abandoned building out of which FUNDPRONID operates; sat in a school room with 40 children and many of their parents as we listened to L. Alfredo speak about the community's organization; had the chance to present GlobeMed to that same roomful of people; heard the mixed Spanish-Kichwa accounts of community leaders and parents reflect on their community's needs and the excitement of potentially working with GlobeMed; ate Cuyand drank Chicha; and lingered in the road that passes through all of Licto as we said our goodbyes through smiles that made our cheeks hurt (well, mine at least).
According to Luis Alfredo, health is a human right. I agree. According to the parents of the community of Licto, their own government has ignored them for years and denied them help accessing such basic rights. I believe that. According to Luis Alfredo's sister Carmen, the quinoa that she grows in her yard is the same quinoa that people in my country eat. No doubt about that. According to the kids from Licto who pulled me out of the meeting with the adults to play on their soccer team, a white chick making a fool of herself by trying to rainbow the ball over her head is hilarious anywhere. For sure.
I am not my country. I may (sometimes) love my country, but my "whiteness" and my home address do not make me synonymous with the decisions made by presidents, or businesses, or exchange students who come from my country. I am an individual. I am a woman, a 23-year-old, a democrat, a feminist. I love chocolate covered raisins and footsie pajamas, I like folk music, and I don't mind making a fool out of myself in front of 40 laughing kids in the middle of the campo in Ecuador. And yes, I am from the country that elected George Bush twice and my skin is more pale than a white-washed wall. I am, like Juanita and Carmen, Maria, and Luis Alfredo someone who believes that the opportunity for people to live peacefully together on this earth; to have access to clean water, a source of income, and the highest standard of medical care; and to demand these rights among innumerable others is a fundamental fact of living.
As I said more than three months ago, I'm excited for this experience to prove to me that a human rights movement can trump borders and boundaries. I'm glad the journey hasn't let me down.
This post is #9 of an ongoing series for the GlobeMed Partner Search Fellows Program, through which GlobeMed's two PSFP Fellows, Rachel Berkowitz and Hannah Robbins, aim to build partnerships between GlobeMed and 15 new community-based health NGOs in Central and South America. These posts will help us follow their journey, as Rachel and Hannah help GlobeMed expand to new university chapters and community-based partners this coming year. To read the entire series of blog posts, click here.
Rachel says on April 06, 2010 at 10:59pm:
Beautifully written post, friend.Victor says on April 07, 2010 at 4:10pm:
i think this post demonstrates the concept of 'solidarity' in a powerful way. in spite of our seeming differences - and there are certainly many that come to surface, as you highlight, hannah - we as 'individuals' can indeed connect across borders and 'walk with' each other. great title, great post.Brian says on April 07, 2010 at 9:18pm:
Wonderful post! We have so much to learn about partnerships, projects and GROW trips from your travels. I look forward to your return.