Today, we traveled to two malls to see Rosalia's (and Alli's) students work their service learning magic. TECHO is an international charitable organization dedicated to providing basic, yet safe housing for the very poor. Rosalia's husband, Pedro, a retired military man, recounted how he had helped build houses and had nearly cried to see a baby, mired in filth and attacked by flies. The TECHO program helps solve unbearable poverty--and I was happy to contribute. Rosalia's believed that the initiative should be student-led, so the students are in charge of the fundraising, contacting officials for permission to set up a stand, and of ensuring accurate accounting. She provides help only when necessary and relates that an issue has never surfaced that would cause her to doubt the integrity of her students; they hold each other to task, a philosophy I find intriguing. In the States, we are taught to never fully trust students. Rosalia trusted unconditionally, yet her students consistently help raise much needed funds. Now...for a story of a cross cultural exchange. I only add this here because I when I am old and slipping into dementia, I want to come back to this blog an remember and laugh...and then laugh again. My friend Sherri kept bugging me incessantly to go bicycle riding around the city, which would have been a wonderful adventure, but judging from the metal, triangular bicycle seat, I knew this adventure would prove a pain in the rear--literally. So, how do I find medicine for the dreaded hemorrhoid in a country where I don't speak the language? I had no idea--but how hard could it be? The following is a transcript of the conversation that day: Michael: Rosalia, where would I find the health section? Rosalia: What do you need? Michael: Umm...nothing--just health.
Rosalia: Well, how can I help you if I don’t know what you need?
Michael: Hmmm…never mind.
(My other colleagues look at me as if I have some kind of communicable disease.)
Sherri: Michael, do you need me to go with you?
Michael: No, no, no
John: Are you okay?
Michael: Yes, but Sherri wants to go bike riding, and I want to be prepared.
John: Oh...I understand.
Sherri: I don’t. What the heck are you talking about?
John: He may need to ride a bike. (wink)
Sherri: Am I missing something?
Rosalia: Michael, just tell me what your problem is?
(All eyes bore into me. Silence. Awkward silence.)
Michael: Well, I need some Preparation H.
Rosalia: What?
Sherri: He needs hemorroid cream. What is that in Spanish?
Rosalia: Oh, in Spanish, we say hemorroides. (She repeats loudly and slowly.) Hem...orr...oides!
Pedro, Rosalia’s husband: Oh, my boy, Michael, used to have that problem. (from translated Spanish)
Rosalia: What you need to do is sit in a bowl full of ice. That was my boy’s treatment.
Michael: No, I just need some medicine.
Rosalia: Let’s go.
So, we head up to the front counter. I feel as if it is the walk of shame.
Rosalia (in Spanish, but I understand): My friend needs some medicine for his anus.
Rosalia: Michael, do you need crème or, um, how do you say in English? It goes up the rectum?
Michael: Suppository? No, no. Crème is bueno.
Meanwhile, my friend and colleague Sherri is laughing so uncontrollably at this point, I am almost positive she lost the ability to breathe. My face, on the other hand, shone a solid beet red. And, to top it all off, the package contained a red triangle positioned underneath a cartoon man’s backside, so I am fairly certain that I could have figured this out on my own.
Cashier: That’s 12,000 pesos.
Rosalia: Ice is cheaper.
Pedro (in Spanish, but I understand based on body language): I sure hope your butt feels better.
Great…just great.
The Moral of the Story: Learn another language so you can avoid these embarrassing moments!