Mama chilena

I feel it would be a disservice to go into detail about any Chilean adventures I have had so far without first describing the family that I have come to claim as my own in the short amount of time I have been here.

Here in Viña I share a two-story rowhouse with my host mother, Sandra who is 47, and her fourteen year old son, Elías. And while some might say there's a small chance I'm biased on the matter, I think it's safe to say I got pretty damn lucky when it came to host family placement, particularly when I think about how incredible my host mother is. This isn't to say she's the only reason I'm thankful for where I was placed. To be sure, the fact that I'm two blocks from the bus stop is an enormous advantage and one that I know my surgically repaired and recovering knee thanks the karma gods for. Also, I credit my host brother for giving up 'only son' status to share the affection and food that Sandra freely imparts. Going on fifteen and having a foreigner live in the next room for four months can be a dubious and angsty combination, and I thank him for slowing down his adolescent speech as well as even laughing at my jokes that are awful in either language (another side note about my good luck: Elías loves basketball. I could not have planned this, people). But polytheism and puberty aside, my host mom is simply wonderful.

Sandra Díaz has her degree in Physical Education, which demonstrates yet another stroke of good luck as she has shown me exercises I can do that won't put stress on my knee. But after teaching for a few years she decided to pursue a career in banking. Having worked her way up the banking ladder, she is now the executive of a branch of Itaú, a bank with various locations throughout Chile, including here in Viña. Having divorced Elías' father a year or two ago (said ex is now on his third family), I am reminded each day of just how hard she works for her and her son(s!): Every day of the week she is up early to make us breakfast before we each leave for our school/work. She then returns at 2 to make us lunch, only to go back to work right after and not return until after 6. Such work ethic I think is only rivaled by my own mother who has been known to work 10-12+ hours regularly because she "had some work she wanted to finish up first (clearly her definition of 'some work' differs from that of the rest of humanity). And after all of this, Sandra still finds time to clean the house, wash every dish by hand after every meal, make our beds (though I try my hardest) and do the laundry.

But don't let the professional attire or her refusal to let us do any domestic chore fool you, my host mom is anything but strict or harsh; she loves to have a good time and makes sure I do as well. For starters, I was the first student from our group to be picked up and thus, scared shitless, an idiom I use very metaphorically here as airline food would have made my first meeting with Sandra go Southwest™. But she was very careful in slowing down her rapid chilean spanish so a gringo could get a clue. One of the first things she did when we reached her house was to pour me a glass of Pisco, Chile's signature drink, claiming that it would loosen me up and my spanish would be better. Now I can't objectively claim that it worked, but let's just say we then proceeded to have a two hour conversation completely in spanish. I may have to bring a few bottles of Pisco back to the states as they could make my sister Michaela's students bilingual in no time! Other ways in which she insists I enjoy myself here are recommending which bars/clubs/cafes to go to and wondering what went wrong if I come home before 3am on the weekends.

My host mom is also incredibly selfless. As it is winter-turning-spring here in Chile and no one has installed heat, temps indoors can range anywhere between 40-60 at night. Knowing what I was used to back home, I found the only space heater in the house placed inside the door to my room. Along these same lines, during my first full day in Chile we went to the mall to get more blankets for my bed. The store had electric blankets for sale, and while Sandra thought they were a little dangerous, she bought one saying, "We'll have Elías test it. If he lives, we'll get another." Around the rest of the house is no different. If there's a food I say I like when she asks me, it's on the table the next night for dinner. If she sees me tapping or moving at all to the song on the radio, not only will she turn it up, but it's invariably played again sometime soon. The list truly does go on and on, with more added every day. And with each new act of kindness, I'm reminded of my own mother back home and the similar ways in which she both cares for me and stimulates my growth independently.

Overall, I believe the following anecdote describes my host mother as well as our relationship pretty well: Last night, I was late in meeting some friends who were going to take a taxi to the house of another friend who lived further away. Having told the friends I was supposed to meet they should just go and not wait, Sandra insisted upon driving yours truly as well as friends Mike and Craig to our friends house. So as I finish my latest blog post, I'll leave you with an image I'll never forget: Sandra saying what roughly translated to "don't worry boys, I'm the queen of orange lights!" before inserting a CD with "Girls Just Want to Have Fun" as the leading track and speeding off through traffic.

JJ