So I noticed that it has been quite some time since I posted in this blog. In the intervening time, I´ve been globetrotting a bit--an indigenous women´s convention in southern Bolivia, a YAGM retreat with the other volunteers in Uruguay, touristing it up in Montevideo, and several assorted smaller trips. All of those experiences someday will become profound and well-written personal essays as well as blog posts, of course. But in the meantime, I am passing days with beautiful, charming children, teaching recorder and yoga, drawing a lot, and reconfiguring my perceptions of time.
Adjusting to Argentine time has been one of the more difficult cultural changes for me. The stereotypes of promptness or lack thereof in Latin America are not especially true here--buses run on time, for the most part, and businesses keep regular hours, for the most part, and people arrive to appointments roughly on time. Readers who know me well know that I begrudge no one their extra fifteen minutes for a coffee date, so a slightly relaxed approach to scheduling is just fine with me! I hypothesize that increased dependence on public transport, which runs frequently but irregularly, creates a half-hour cushion around most stated times.
However, many things do not run on exact times. There are basically four times in Resistencia: mañana, morning, which runs about 6-12; siesta, nap-time, which runs about 12-4; tarde, or afternoon, from 4ish to 9ish; and noche, night, from 10ish on. When scheduling events in the barrio, it´s much more common to indicate that it will happen in one of these times than labeling a more specific point on the clock. Much of this is logistical, as the great majority of the families involved in the church live close enough to the building that they can easily see if the pastor´s van shows up, if Jake or I am waiting outside the building, or if their neighbors come by to suggest that the event start. It just isn´t necessary to be much more specific than morning, afternoon, or evening: Events starts when the people involved show up. Stores open when the owner gets there, and close when s/he leaves.
Also, because of the severe heat here in the spring, summer, and fall (and sometimes during the winter, too), nearly every business in town closes during the siesta hours. Practically, this means that if someone (almost always the woman of the household) is not available to do morning shopping, families can´t easily get food. I am sure that many people find ways around this, but it is strange for me realizing that I must have my mornings free if Jake and I are to have bread and fresh produce. I spend half an hour to an hour every morning going to the four stores that supply us with food (the bakery, the meat shop, the vegetable shop, and the supermarket). If this schedule does (almost) compel households to have a stay-at-home woman or a domestic worker, it can also be used to empower women. In the barrio, an elementary school for adults that did not finish-the vast majority women--runs during this time when the rest of the city closes down. This opens up many opportunities; one woman recently explained to me that because of her advancing education, she can now do her own banking!
In addition to the local times, the church year and liturgical time direct my consciousness and support the life of the Misión. I feel "at home" celebrating Advent, in a new country, with a new congregation of believers, but connected to the same God and the same Biblical narratives of Christ´s coming birth. Like most Lutheran churches during Advent, also, we are preparing the Christmas pageant, figuring out which of the squirming, lovable children will portray María, which will be angels, and who will tutor them in memorizing their Lines.
And underneath the whole Misión is God´s time for the project. Often I want God to work a miracle, to make the economic difficulties, the addictions, the hunger, the curable diseases in the barrio disappear--or at least to hurry along the people in demanding their rights. Working with individuals, with systems, with communities to build the Kingdom of God takes lots of time, sometimes very slow-moving time. And sometimes the building bricks are invisible to me, and I need those that I accompany to explain to me, patiently, that my frustrations actually represent advances--that the occasional chaos of the center represents happy interactions that would have been impossible some years before, that the slowness of opening a new project represents women in the community, rather than outside agents, learning to operate the project themselves, that an older child teaching a younger child a game that to me seems meaningless represents a positive interaction instead of continued cycles of violence. Learning to wait on God´s time requires patience that I sometimes think I lack, but it allows small rituals and daily interactions the dignity they are due, and the recognition of God´s hand in the quotidian and mundane.
In addition to the local times, the church year and liturgical time direct my consciousness and support the life of the Misión. I feel "at home" celebrating Advent, in a new country, with a new congregation of believers, but connected to the same God and the same Biblical narratives of Christ´s coming birth. Like most Lutheran churches during Advent, also, we are preparing the Christmas pageant, figuring out which of the squirming, lovable children will portray María, which will be angels, and who will tutor them in memorizing their Lines.
And underneath the whole Misión is God´s time for the project. Often I want God to work a miracle, to make the economic difficulties, the addictions, the hunger, the curable diseases in the barrio disappear--or at least to hurry along the people in demanding their rights. Working with individuals, with systems, with communities to build the Kingdom of God takes lots of time, sometimes very slow-moving time. And sometimes the building bricks are invisible to me, and I need those that I accompany to explain to me, patiently, that my frustrations actually represent advances--that the occasional chaos of the center represents happy interactions that would have been impossible some years before, that the slowness of opening a new project represents women in the community, rather than outside agents, learning to operate the project themselves, that an older child teaching a younger child a game that to me seems meaningless represents a positive interaction instead of continued cycles of violence. Learning to wait on God´s time requires patience that I sometimes think I lack, but it allows small rituals and daily interactions the dignity they are due, and the recognition of God´s hand in the quotidian and mundane.
