Oops! Moments

After 30+ years of living in the U.S. (mostly Massachusetts), I arrived in Costa Rica with my family to learn the language and culture of Latin America. 2+ years in, we feel like we have learned a good bit of each. Of course, 2 things remain undeniably true:

1. We have made and still make mistakes culturally and linguistically in Costa Rica; and
2. Latin American countries are not exactly the same, neither in language nor culture.

With truth #2 in mind, we expected some cultural and linguistic differences when we visited Bolivia last week to check out the place where we feel the Lord is calling us.

Costa Rica Oops Moments

Before we look at a couple of those oops moments in Bolivia let's go back to truth #1 above and relive my 3 worst oops moments (so far) in Costa Rica.

1. Hole punch

Shortly after our arrival in Costa Rica, I went to a local store looking for a 3-hole punch.  The problem: I didn't know the word for it. I found a dictionary in the store, but it didn't have the word. So I found a word for "hole" and a word for "punch."

Armed with "hoyo poncho," hand motions and "uno, dos, tres," I gave it my best shot. I knew it wasn't right, but I didn't know what else to do. The worker looked at me and in perfect English asked, "You need a 3-hole punch?" In hindsight, I should have asked if he spoke English first.

2. Walk of shame

You know...that time I was the only man walking down to the front of a church with hundreds (perhaps thousands) of women.

3. False cognate

I was talking with 2 tica friends (though we were in Panama at the time) once about the health concerns of foods with preservatives. Well that's what I wanted to be talking with them about anyway. I quickly found out the word was not "preservativos" as I had suspected...it was "preservantes." "Preservativos" happens to be another word for prophylactics. Oops.

4. Deaf or Left-handed?

I once told a tica friend that Polly knows sign language because her parents are deaf. Actually, that's what I meant to say. What I did say was that her parents are left-handed. Why the confusion? Surdo = left-handed; Sordo = deaf. My dad, for the record, is a lefty...as may be Jonah.

Bolivia Oops Moments

Okay, back to Bolivia. While we didn't have many oops moments there, two do stand out. One was cultural and the other linguistic.

1. A Bolivian greeting

During our first day in Bolivia, I met a local pastor who oversees an LACC school. At one point he shook my hand and came in for a hug. Well, it seemed to me he was coming in for a hug anyway. I'm a hugger and many ticos are huggers so it seemed right. As I hugged him he put his hand on my shoulder, pushed me away and said, "Okay, okay." It was awkward but no biggie.

It wasn't until the next day that I found myself in a similar situation. I finally figured out what was going on. My missionary friend in Bolivia had forgotten to give me the heads up on the proper Bolivian greeting between two men: They shake hands, with the same hand pat the back of the left shoulder of the other man twice and then shake hands a second time. That pastor must have thought I was crazy.

2. Tico

Having learned Spanish in Costa Rica, it should come as no surprise that I use a number of words that are common here but nowhere else. I used them a few times and got blank stares but I generally did well to avoid them. Only one provided a funny moment.

I used the word "tico" when I referred to people or things from Costa Rica. That's the word I always use in Costa Rica and throughout Central America. Well, apparently this term for Costa Rican has not made its way to Bolivia. To make matters worse, they do use the word, just differently.

So when I told a group of pastors, "My son was born in Costa Rica so he's a tico," they laughed. Only later did I find out that they use it to mean "little people." While my son is in fact little he is not a "little person" and that's not what I meant to tell that particular group of pastors.

Strange Looks and Light-hearted Laughter

I told you there would be more opportunities for laughing at my expense as I continue to acclimate to my new surroundings with a language I do not know.

The set-up.

Polly and I opted to visit the church right next door this morning instead of the church we have been attending.

Still far from understanding the language, I depend on understanding a few words here and there and following context clues to know what to do when in such settings. So this morning I followed clues to know when:

• to sit or stand during worship
• to eat the bread and drink the juice during communion
• to bring forward my offering

I knew it was the time for the offering for two reasons:

1. I understood a few words the pastor said
2. I noticed the ushers handing out envelopes

At this church, they have ushers standing in the front with baskets and people bring their offering forward. This is not a foreign concept to me as I have been in a couple churches in the U.S. that operate similarly. So when I saw people leaving their seats and walking forward, I took my queue and began making my way.

Along the way, I noticed a couple strange looks coming my way. Being a gringo in a Latin American country, I get that look on occasion so I thought nothing of it and pressed on. After depositing my offering in a basket, I made my way back toward my seat.

The punch-line.

I couldn't help but notice the fellow missionaries I was with (including my wife) laughing. My perception meter spiked yet again. I must have done something wrong. But to be honest, I still didn't know what it was. So when I got back to my seat, I asked Polly what was so funny. 

While I did well to perceive that it was time for the offering, I apparently missed a very important part of the call to come forward. The pastor had called the women to come forward first! I hadn't even noticed. I was the only man among hundreds of women making their way to the front. That explained the funny looks and the laughter from my friends.

The moral.

What else could I do but laugh along with them. It was pretty funny. I can only imagine what was going through the Ticos' minds when they saw me walking toward the front.

A veteran missionary once told me that a sense of humor is an important characteristic for a missionary to have. I believe this is true for any high-stress profession/ministry. There are many serious, stressful moments. Being able to have some light-hearted laughter is critical.

And part of that sense of humor must include the ability to laugh at ourselves. There was a time in my life when I was more sensitive and would have been bothered by people laughing at me. Not now. Now, I just laugh along with them. Because usually it's pretty funny.

This is a good thing too. Because I have a feeling that this isn't the last time I'll give myself a reason to laugh at myself.

Home, Sweet Home

Where is home? It’s amazing how differently people will answer that question. Depending on the circumstances, you may think of “home” as:

• Where you grew up.
• Where you have settled down and started a family of your own.
• A confusing word without an easy answer.

Missionary kids (MKs) typically fall into the third option above. The general term for kids who grow up in a culture that is different from the one they were born in is “third culture kids.” The reason for this is that they never really fully belong to their “passport” culture OR the new culture they’ve entered (they are not native).

This is the reality that Genevieve is and will continue to cope with. She is American but growing up in Costa Rica. She is not now, nor will she ever be, truly Tico. But she will be spending significant developmental years in Costa Rica learning the Tico culture, which will make it difficult for her to integrate back into American culture.

Two weeks into our time in Costa Rica, Genevieve is celebrating her 3^rd birthday today. This has caused some of these realities and challenges to surface.

There’s no place like home.

Since we only have a shower and no tub in our apartment, we have been bathing Genevieve in one of the bins we used to travel here. While Polly was giving her a bath recently, Genevieve asked to see the drain. When Polly showed her, the following conversation ensued:

Genevieve: That’s not the same as the drain at our house.

Polly: This is our house.

Genevieve: But I don’t see Sheesha and Kaykay.

Back in the States, we lived with a family including the two children Sheesha and Kaykay. How could this be home if they aren’t here? That was her logic.

When we were talking about her upcoming birthday, she asked if all her friends were going to come for her birthday. When asked which friends, she said, “Sean.” (her cousin). She started listing a few other friends from back home in the States.

There have been a few other examples that have made us a little sad.

Home is where the heart is.

We were told some time ago that on the mission field, missionaries are more like family than simply friends. It has not taken long for us to see this truth play out, especially with Genevieve.

All the other missionaries at Cincel have been so loving and caring toward Genevieve. She is the only toddler here so she gets quite a bit of attention from everyone. In turn, she calls them all by auntie and uncle. And she knows all their names.

We have invited all her aunties and uncles over for cupcakes to celebrate Genevieve’s birthday tonight. They are all so excited to come.

Last night, when I asked Genevieve who she wanted to pray for special, she began to list all of her Cincel aunties and uncles one by one. She loves them.

Nobody will replace her aunties and uncles from back home in the States. But it’s not about replacing them; it’s about gaining new ones. New ones she loves and who love her back. She is truly blessed.