Spanish Fears

My worst fear has officially been realized.   This evening as I was on the phone with a dear friend of mine from Nica 61, I saw something move quickly from the bottom of the door frame to behind my dirty clothes.  Instantly thinking of either a mouse or roach, I jumped from the abuelita*, or rocking chair, that I had been sitting in to my bed.  I was still on the phone and screaming on top of my bed, soliciting advice from the other end of the line.  Isabel instructed me to grab a broom and start picking up the bags of clothes until something moved, confirming whether I was going insane and hallucinating or had in fact seen some sort of critter.  Just as I moved the last bag (they’ve been accumulating as I’ve been avoiding my first load of laundry in country without a washer), I was certain that I was going insane.  Just to be sure, I checked my backpack, and lastly my hiking backpack, situated just behind my abuelita.  In order to reach it, I had to step onto my rocking chair.  When I lifted up my backpack with my hand as it was too heavy for the broom, the mouse ran from its hiding spot.  I jumped from the chair to my bed and as the chair rocked forward, the mouse was situated directly underneath and was killed.  I ran from the room, nearly to the street where my host sister and her friends were.  My host brother and mom came out of their rooms upon hearing my blood curdling scream.  They swept the mouse away, taking it to the street, as I watched from the distance, still reluctant to enter my room again.  My host brother assured me that mice are not really in the rooms.  He’s really sweet and been very helpful since I got here.  Here I sit, still uncomfortable to move from the elevated position in my bed to turn the lights off or use the restroom.  We’ll see how the night goes.

*Abuelita also means grandmother.  For this reason, when I sent a text to a friend of mine (who was my consolation when I felt like the presence of rats and mice in country would send me fleeing from Nicaragua our first 3 days here) recounting my traumatic experience, she responded that every time I used the word abuelita she was envisioning me standing on top of “a poor old person trying to escape the mouse.”         

Last night I went to a party with my site mate.  Now, let me first say that it was the first time that I have really felt like I was truly integrating.  I have been to parties in other Spanish speaking countries as well as during my time here in Nicaragua.  At each of these events, however, I have been accompanied by my English speaking friends or accommodated by host country nationals speaking English, as in Argentina.  

When we arrived last night, I sat down with a woman named Anna and she told me about her career as a preschool teacher, how much she loves working with kids, and how she is interested in obtaining another degree in Children’s Psychology.  After I told her I was going to be here for 2 years, we exchanged numbers.  Throughout the night, I spoke with everyone in Spanish, including my site mate.  I even had a conversation with a new friend about some of my hang ups.

 

Throughout the evening, it hit me, as it has been hitting me throughout this week that this is going to be my home for the next 2 years.  My home, where I live in Spanish.   Where I not only introduce myself, but make friends, vent, solve problems, and work in Spanish.