Before I continue with the long overdue posts of “Reflections of My Journey,” I thought I’d take a moment to update y’all with what’s been going on in my life.
The past semester was my last one as an undergrad, and it flew by pretty quickly. While I only needed three more classes to graduate, I took four. One of them in particular caused me so much pain: intermediate social statistics. Although I knew it would be difficult after attending the first class, I didn’t think it would be that hard. I passed and got a decent grade, but do you have any idea how much work it took me to get that? No, you don’t. Hardest class I’ve ever taken.
Since I was in Argentina from February to December 2007, I spent much of my semester trying to get over the fact I was no longer in South America. I had such an amazing experience that words cannot describe, and I was honestly disappointed to be back on campus. I mean, I love being there, but it no longer seemed as big or exciting as it used to. When you live in a massive city like Buenos Aires, everything seems so small in comparison. I was always out and about, but on campus, I’m mostly in the library studying.
I tried to avoid talking about Argentina unnecessarily with my friends, but it always came up. How could I avoid it? I spent almost a year of my life there. I probably annoyed people with my Argentina stories. As much as it is true, I didn’t want give the impression that I had all these amazing experiences while they were just stuck in the Midwest taking classes or doing internships in some boring office. And it sucks that only people that have been to Argentina would truly understand my stories.
Cambio de tema.
I graduated from college almost three weeks ago! Yes, thank you. Fortunately, I was able to graduate in four years. Where did the time ago? I still remember the day I moved into my dorm back in August 2004, excited about moving on to the next phase of my life. If I could go back and redo my undergrad years (while, of course, avoiding the mistakes I made), I’d do it in a heartbeat.
So what lies ahead of me? Grad school. I’ll be at the same university, pursuing a master’s degree. Ultimately, I would like to get a doctorate in either sociology or anthropology. Academia is the way to go, yo.
That’s it for now, folks. Insha’Allah I’ll finish summarizing my South American journey within the next few days.
Oh, and I leave you with this:
I remember seeing this back when I was in elementary school. Thank you, YouTube, for helping me find videos I saw back in the day.
My spectacular forty-four week trip to South America that began on February 19, 2007 came to an end on the night of December 24 when I reluctantly departed Buenos Aires to Miami on American Airlines Flight 943. I dreaded that flight for weeks, knowing that I may never return to Argentina or see my friends. As much as I tried to hold my tears in, I cried, hoping no one would see me. Yeah, shut up. I sat alone with no one to talk to and looked back on my experiences. I now share with you a reflection of my Argentine adventures.
Since I lived in Argentina as part of a study abroad program, I’ll begin by discussing my academic experiences. First semester was particularly difficult. I struggled because I barely understood the professors and the complex and often boring texts. (Remember, all my classes were taught in Spanish, and four of the six were with local students.) Furthermore, the Faculty of Social Sciences at the University of Buenos Aires (UBA) seriously lacks organization and order. Understandably, its severely underpaid professors often went on strike in hopes of making higher salaries, and students often protested the actions of the university administration and the government. Sometimes I showed up to class not knowing it was cancelled due to strikes. Imagine the burden these uncertainties put on people who took one- to two-hour commutes by train and/or bus to get to campus. After a semester at UBA, I looked for alternatives. The second half of the school year was much better. I took classes at Torcuato di Tella University (UTDT), a private institution filled to the rim with beautiful preppy rich kids. UBA, on the other hand, draws a more economically and ideologically diverse crowd since it’s a public university and thus free. The system at UTDT has far more in common with that of American universities, and it generally runs smoothly and without major problems. According to some people, it’s one of the best universities in South America. Maybe, but I can surely say my high school was larger and better equipped.
Facultad de Ciencias Sociales de la Universidad de Buenos Aires.
Neither of the universities I attended, like most in Argentina, had a true campus. Most students in the US live in university housing, or they live in dorms, apartments, and houses located closely to campus. However, most students in Buenos Aires live at home if they’re from the area or in apartments if they come from other regions. As a result, the universities’ buildings are simply a place to attend classes and, sometimes, study. The universities don’t foster a true sense of community. You don’t see people wearing shirts displaying their university’s name, and highly-competitive collegiate sports simply don’t exist. Because most college students in the US live on campus or close to it, it becomes an autonomous entity, separate from the rest of the surrounding town or city. Thus, a strong sense of university identity is usually created. I missed the traditional American campus. I missed walking through a quad. I missed hanging out in a student union. Lifeless university buildings located throughout a city just don’t cut it.
Today at around 1 p.m. a police officer shot a man to death. According to La Nación, the guy that was killed robbed a fabrics store with a gun and attempted to flee by motorcycle. He died on the spot. His accomplice, on the other hand, was hit by the same bullet and survived and was taken to the hospital.
This happened less than a hundred meters away from my apartment building.
I didn’t hear any shots, but my host mom told me what had occurred after she returned from grocery shopping.
After watching the news coverage of the event, I was tempted to walk to the scene to see the hullabaloo and take pictures. I decided against that because I thought that was pretty low of me to even think of looking for the covered body so that I could have some interesting visuals for this post.
More than eight hours later, the streets are unblocked, and everything is back to normal.
While I’m still on the topic of death, a young man in his late 20s that lived next door passed away a few days ago after a long bout of testicular cancer. I never saw him, but my host mom told me how he lost 40 kilos over the past year and a half due to his illness and suffered greatly.
Yesterday, Cristina Fernandez de Kirchner was sworn in as Argentina’s new president, becoming the country’s first elected female head of state:
To reflect this rise of women in what has traditionally been a male-dominated region, several countries sent women to represent them at the inauguration ceremony in the Argentine capital, Buenos Aires.
Among them were the US Labour Secretary, Elaine Chao, Mexican Foreign Minister Patricia Espinosa Cantellano and the Governor General of Canada, Michaelle Jean.
The irony is that political analysts in Argentina say that the new president prefers working with men. (BBC)
I tried watching the ceremony on TV, but my elderly host mom kept drowning out Cristina’s speech by commenting how nasty the new president looks. I had to agree with her; why the frick does she put on so much eyeliner? Ewww. The combination of Botoxed wrinkly skin and makeup is not pleasant.
Countdown: three weeks. I can’t believe my time en mi querida Argentina is almost over. I’m gonna miss the delicious bland food, the mullets, the Italian-inflected Spanish, the numerous tiny shops, and the beautiful women (in case you didn’t know, Buenos Aires has a significantly higher percentage of attractive people than any city I’ve been to in the US–this is a topic for another post).
Once Friday hits, Insha’Allah, I’ll be totally done with my exams and papers for the semester. And after that? Grad school applications and hopefully a trip down to the Dirty South, which in this case means southern Argentina.
How weird is it to run into a pair of Pakistani Americans from California when waiting in line at an ice cream shop in Buenos Aires with another desi from the US? It’s so odd to run into your “own kind” in such a random place. I mean, I see plenty of white Americans around here, but I’m totally not used to meeting other brown people with American accents in Argentina. Ah, the joys of living in the South Asian diaspora.
So there’s this new campaign in the country headed by the Ministry of Health called “Sin triki triki, no hay bang bang,” which means, “Without triki triki, there’s no bang bang,” which basically means, “If you don’t use a condom, don’t have sex.” Its aim is to convince youngsters to use protection when they engage in reproductive acts to stop unwanted pregnancies and to prevent the spread of STDs (read this article; it’s in Spanish, but use Google Translate if you’re español illiterate). Check out the music video:
I like the song! It’s pretty catchy, especially if you understand the lyrics. I actually heard a guy whistling it on the subway two days ago. Go to the web site and click “Bajate el mp3″ to download it if you absolutely love it.
Based on their choice of cumbia, I’m guessing they’re aiming the campaign towards the lower classes, who are at a higher risk for HIV/AIDS than their more well-off counterparts. Cumbia, like hip hop back in 1980s America, is particularly popular among the poor and disenfranchised in Argentina, especially those that live in the massive slums surrounding the capital. Nonetheless, I’m sure the message does everyone some good.
Although the campaign has a funny name, it’s probably more effective than the dry, not-so-catchy ad campaigns in the US that attempt to raise awareness of the dangers of STDs.
I’m trying to study for this big exam I have tomorrow, but I can’t get “Beautiful Girls” by Sean Kingston out of my head. I hear it everywhere in Buenos Aires; I’m surprised I have yet to hear someone’s cell phone go off during jummah prayers with that song.
I’d like to hear Argentine songs and not American ones once in a while.
My eyes are tired.
Three weeks and four days left before I return to Illinois, home of Barack Obama, Chicago, and the Springfield Race Riot of 1908.
Argentina, te voy a extrañar. (Argentina, I’m gonna miss you.)
Last night, I went to an American-style Thanksgiving gathering that consisted of five Americans, a Mexican, a Colombian, an Argentine, and delicious food. Yes, I celebrated Thanksgiving in Buenos Aires because that’s what real Americans do. And I’m an American, damn it.
We ate a whole chicken, corn, stuffing, mashed potatoes, chicken tikka masala wings (prepared by Rashmee), bread, and pound cake. Unfortunately, there was a not a turkey in sight; we substituted it with chicken because there was no way a whole turkey could fit into the oven. The thought of eating chicken instead of turkey on Thanksgiving is blasphemous and almost haram, but we had no other choice. It was good, though. It’s the thought that counts.
We all had to draw Thanksgiving pictures like we did back in kindergarten. I traced my left hand and turned the outline into a turkey. A ver:
I wanna show it to my mommy when I get back home.
Good people, good times, and most importantly, chicken tikka masala wings.
I’m pretty much done with my research paper about Muslim identity in Buenos Aires. While it ended up being twenty-five sheets, it really has about twenty-three pages (double-spaced) of content. I needed twenty-five pages of material, so it came up a little short. Oh well. I had more information, but I had to scrap it because it was either redundant or irrelevant. The good news: my tutor read it over, and she told me that I only have a few minor grammatical mistakes. ¡Qué bueno! Since the whole thing is Spanish, my third language, I’m pretty proud of myself for writing so much and so correctly.
I saw a bunch of Argentine hippies listening to and performing West African drumming and dancing to it very early Saturday morning. I got pumped up by watching people play the djembe, a popular African hand drum and had big dreams of getting back into it when I go back to the US. Yeah, I play it. Watch this video I took:
My friends and I ate delicious Peruvian food last night. Gotta love the spiciness.
I typically go out every weekend and stay out until five or six in the morning. As crazy as that sounds, that’s pretty common here, and people still study and make it to work on time. While pretty much everything shuts down at 9 or 10 p.m. in the US, that’s when the nightlife begins in this city. I love it.
I’m gonna miss all the locally owned and operated shops and restaurants when I leave. While regional, national, and international chains typically offer lower prices, they’re impersonal and lack character. You can actually talk to the owner and his or her family in these mom-and-pop places instead of some twentieth-tier manager who works by book.
My forty-four year old host brother constantly says “Hay crisis” (“There’s a crisis”). I have no friggin’ clue why. He says it out of no where, and the conversations generally have nothing to do with crises. I could be talking about eating chocolate ice cream, and he’ll somehow find a way to fit in “Hay crisis.” He’ll say it an average of twelve times a day, and that’s just when I’m around. And I’m pretty sure it’s not an Argentine thing because I haven’t heard anyone else say it so much.
This Pakistani uncle that has lived in Argentine for eleven years told me two Fridays ago that he hates the US. That really, really, really ticked me off. He didn’t say it to offend me, but he was just adding commentary when these Argentines were asking me about life in the US. Okay, I understand why people across the world are pissed off at American foreign policy and the government’s actions in other countries, but to tell someone they hate your country just crosses the line. I probably have more of a reason to say I hate Pakistan than him saying he hates the US since Bengalis were politically, economically, and socially marginalized when Bangladesh was part of Pakistan, but obviously I’m not the kind to hold grudges against an entire country and people instead of the country’s policies. He apologized soon afterwards.
