Because it's Chile

The past couple of weeks in Arica have flown by. School is finally back to normal (which means normal interruptions such as Holy Week, exams, holidays, etc) and I am loving it. The students are so much fun. They are quirky and obnoxious as all adolescents tend to be, but how boring would it be if they were any other way? Working with so many levels is a bit overwhelming, and sometimes hard to keep track of, but Chilean students are all about fairness. You can bet that if I mess up the class, they will tell me. I have twenty four groups per week, they wear uniforms and have the same hair and eye color. It would be nothing short of a miracle if I didn't make at least one mistake per day. As far as recognizing them outside of school...forget about it. Unless they have on their uniforms when I am out with the other volunteers and they say Hola profe, we all wave. Because there is no way for us to keep track of who they are talking to.

Life outside of school is great as well. I went back to Tacna, with Vladimir, not grandma, last weekend and this weekend will be going to Lluta again to start getting ready for the big day, the family's cross day. It is a much bigger deal than I realized, I was given an official invitation, with my name (misspelled), even though I live with the family and there are three on the fridge already. They were insistent that Vladimir passed by to get his yesterday as well. No texting a day and time. Grandma has made a total of four trips to Tacna to check on the progress of the cloths for the cross, and this weekend we start preparing the cross for the big day two weeks from now. It is all so official. And confusing. And beautiful. Mainly confusing. As are most things in Chile. Read on for to see what a typical day in Chile is like.

Life in Chile is is a maze for any foreigner, and speaking the language has hardly made it any less confusing. Because in Chile they don't speak Spanish. They speak Chilean. They invent words as they wish, change conjugations because why not, eat half of what they should be saying and, to top it off, don't ever finish the ends of their words. Oh, and they change the meaning of words that already exist. Up is down, down is up, or maybe it's to fix, or maybe, depending on the mood, it is a direction. On a rare occassion, down can even mean (wait for it) down. But that's only if they're feeling crazy. Privacy and personal space is not a concept. A closed door is not a barrier. A locked one hardly provides a challenge, as my window opens to inside the house, they open that to talk to me. Pee time is not me time, because there are openings above the doors where wall or window should be, so it's conversation time. It is not required to be fully clothed to walk about the house, but heaven forbid you don't have shoes on inside, that's disgusting, cochina (piggy). It's fine to breathe down the neck of the person in line in front of you at the grocery store. Even if you are the only two in the store, who wants space of their own anyways? There is no drinking allowed in the streets. Unless you put it in a bag. Or are one of the many homeless drunks or drug addicts that call the street their home. Because you can drink in your home. Loopholes. You cannot possibly survive without bread. The toilet paper does not go in the toilet. You have to ignite the gas to get hot water, and shut it off immediately after using. Unplug whatever is not in use. But leave on any light you wish to, even if you leave the house. Do not leave the house alone, maybe it will run away. Be terrified of any natural disaster, stranger, car, animal or object. Always. Always ask permission before leaving a room, entering a room, standing up from the table, etc. But don't wait for an answer. Be kind to everyone, but gossip is as necessary as bread. Telenovelas are a family event, even the children can tell you who killed whom, who slept with which hooker and who we should all be hating this episode. Collective gasps and dios mio are exchanged through the show, my stiffled giggles are not welcomed. The characters are real people. Therefore, a normal dinner conversation includes  extensive gossip about the curly haired Brazilian in the whore house in Istanbul who is missing, and her black mother in Brazil planning a trip to search for her. No one bothers to learn the actual names. Chileans are some of the most confusing and intrusive people I have met, but for it they are the most wonderful and caring. If I need anything, any one of them would drop what they're doing and offer a thousand solutions to my problem. Each more complicated than the previous, without a single one being of any help anyways. Because it's Chile. Cachai?