Volunteering and traveling in Argentina to proclaim God's great love, and hopefully not getting sick along the way.

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Thursday, June 23, 2011

The sights, the sounds...

Last night I went to Maria Elena's for dinner. Before we could get started, Johnny, whom I often refer to as hermanito, asked,

"Sharayah! What's your team?"

"Umm..."

"Belgrano, right?"

[dumbfounded silence]

"Bueno, it's Belgrano."

I am afraid to pick a team. Green Street Hooligans has scared me from forming an alliance with any (non-national) futbol team, especially in a country that actually cares.

I responded, "What about Talleres? or Boca? or River?"

Johnny tilted his head, "But your hermanito likes Belgrano."

Pause. I could feel my arm twisting. "What colors do they wear?"

"Celeste. The color of Argentina, the color of the sky--"

"The color of my eyes?" I smirked. I was laughing on the inside at my subtle submission to picking a team for childish reasons.

"The color of your eyes!" he agreed.

"Fine. Belgrano it is!" [High five]

Why the immediacy of choosing? Last night was an important game between Belgrano and River. We watched as we prepared dinner, and sure enough, my team won! Johnny had moments of near heart attack when River would come close to scoring. I told him that the way he was feeling is sometimes how I get when watching baseball.

"I don't understand baseball," he said.

I smiled. "And I don't understand soccer. So we're equal."

As soon as the game ended, I wanted to head home. The bomberos, or fireworks, were already going off all around the city as the people celebrated. At one point, I laughed out loud thinking about how it was actually fairly safe to head home at midnight this time, since more people were outside of their homes. The sights and sounds of Córdoba are so distinct.

Then this morning, I made the usual walk downtown to have tea with Noemí. We read the "Confessions" chapter in Blue Like Jazz together. She liked that very much, and apprehensive as it is a signed copy (I'm such a nerd), I let her borrow it for the week to see if she can read more.

On the way back, I had to pass over a dead dog laying in the middle of the sidewalk. I passed another stray.. oh but living.. that seems to have distinguished his territory as he is always within a block or two of the same place when I walk by. Then there's the street juggler. This time I decided to--

"Excuse me, where did you buy those clubs?"

He seemed surprised that I was talking with him, and slowly pulled out his earphones. Nonetheless, he greeted me with a smile and we continued to chat about a nearby circus store where you can buy all the necessary juggling supplies your heart could desire.

"Where are you from?" he asked.

"Los estados unidos."

"Oh, so you are studying here?"

Exhale. I felt the bold truth was better than just saying that I'm a volunteer. Not that that isn't the truth, but I hate the bitter taste "missionary" can leave on some persons' mouths. "Soy misionera."

His smile broadened. "So you preach the Word," he chuckled.

"Well, sometimes.. but mainly I just serve people. I live near Las Violetas."

That shut him up in terms of the joking. "What's your name?"

He says I'm welcome to join him any morning and he'll teach me how to juggle with clubs. I seriously hope that this happens, because having a partner will really help me persevere, as I know how frustrated I can get when learning. Mattias is his name, and he says he's at the same corner almost every day.

Passing the Sheraton, I noticed a long-distance bus parked at the entrance, surrounded by police vehicles and spectators. The further I walked away, the more I confirmed my speculation; my team Belgrano, had stayed there for the night. They drove past as everyone paused in awe and with shouts of loyalty. It was then I noticed little blue and white ribbons hanging from most license plates. Were these remnants of the national holiday (June 20th), or from the game?

Before I could come to the last leg of my journey for the morning, I had to say hello to Marta, who works at a grocery in the middle of the city. We gave the typical greeting and that was all, as she was busy with customers at the time.

Finally home. The sound of the gas oven whirring as it prepared the milanesas for lunch. I told myself I should write before taking my siesta, so there you go. Chau!

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