Last month, I lived in Mexico. The last time I visited Central America, I went as a backpacker, staying in barebones hostels and interacting with low-income, indigenous families. This time, I lived with an upper class, Spanish-descent family, studied at a private language school, and taught at a well-funded university.
Wanting to stay in shape while abroad, I enrolled at a gym near my host family’s home. The women’s changing room and bathroom had nice wooden lockers and expensive marble sinks and floors. “Wow, Mexico has come a long way,” I thought to myself. A few minutes later, two women flushed their toilets simultaneously, and a putrid stench of rotten eggs and feces filled the air, as raw sewage gurgled up through the floor drains. After gagging, I began to laugh.
“How many of us ‘marble over’ our raw sewage?” I wondered. How many of us try to look well-put-together on the outside and pretend that everything is OK when our basic infrastructure still needs work? How many of us slap on an attractive veneer, only to have our unprocessed shit leak out inadvertently?
On the flip side, I had to hand it to the Mexican people. If their local and national governments couldn’t get it together to provide them with efficient waste management and other fundamental systems, then at least they could beautify their external environments. There was an important lesson in that as well.
I had many other “aha” moments during my stay in Mexico. For example, I learned that in Spanish, whenever you are describing a possible future event with the word “cuando” (“when”), as in “when I next go to the movies,” you have to use a special form of grammar called the subjunctive. When I asked my teacher why I couldn’t just use the regular future tense, she responded, “Because the future is never certain.” Similarly, when I was in Italy a year ago, I discovered that there is no future tense in the Sicilian language; they only speak in the present tense. When I asked my friend about this, he laughed and said, “We live in the moment.”
While immersed in Spanish, I was reminded of the power of language. Our individual words impact the way we think and view life, interpreting our experiences as either positive or negative in any given moment. Similarly, a nation’s language can influence an entire group’s collective outlook. Our language reflects who we are as people and how we approach the world.
In Mexico, there are several phrases that people say all the time, almost like mantras. One of my favorites is, “Que le vaya bien” (“May you go well”). When I first heard it years ago, I chuckled. It reminded me of Star Wars: “May the Force be with you.” However, over time, I’ve grown to appreciate the significance of this farewell. Recognizing both that life is uncertain and that each life is a journey, the Mexican people make sure to wish each other well on their paths every time that they part.
I also grew to appreciate the frequent question, “¿Cómo puedo ayudarte?” (“How can I help you?”) Unlike in many other cultures and countries, when the Mexican people offer their help, they actually mean it. I’d love to see more people around the world bending over backwards to assist others.
Another common Mexican expression is, “Mi casa es tu casa” (“My house is your house”). Each time I heard it, I was struck by the warmth, trust, and generosity of a people that is continually willing to open their homes to others, including to those they’ve just met. Nobody is a stranger in Mexico, unless he or she chooses to be.
As I sign off to go brush my teeth in my clean bathroom with working plumbing, I’ll leave you with one last Mexican mantra: “Buen provecho!” Although usually said during mealtimes, its sense is, “Enjoy! Embrace! Seize! Benefit,” expressing a strong desire for a person’s enjoyment and welfare.
May you go well. May you help others in need. May you seize and enjoy life. May you not be a stranger, especially to those whom you love.
© 2010 by Laurie Gardner