Living in the Caribbean: Sun, Sweat and Siesta

As droplets of sweat drip down my back within five minutes of riding the bus, I wonder how people could ever live in a place this hot, with this much humidity. And then I think: Oh yeah, I live here. 

I teach English in Barranquilla. I still shake my head in disbelief upon uttering this truthful sentence even after eight months. It should have sunken in by now, right? Nope. Not quite. It is still very much surreal despite having already reached the halfway point. Why? Because the passage of time here is very skewed. It defies seasons and climate change, the stuff I’m used to back in good ‘ol Jersey.

You wake up in August and wonder how in the world six months have gone by without you actually realizing it. Leaves don’t change. It doesn’t become colder. There is no OMG-can’t-wait-for-pumpkin-spiced lattes-in-fall. There’s pretty much just wet or dry season. Even when the infamous arroyos rush through the city blessing us with mugginess and, quite honestly, complete shock, the humidity snatches up the rain rapidly. There is essentially one climate: summer. A year of summer, as my roommate so aptly calls our time here.

I still don’t think I’ve become accustomed to the heat; I think I’ve just accepted that I will be sweating all day, every day. Even minutes after I shower. Especially when I’m cooking. Just, you know, all the time.

Sunshine is happiness, though. I’m lucky enough to wake up not having to check the weather. Living this close to the equator means pretty consistent, cloudless rays of joy.

And sweat is acceptance. I’m crazy enough to workout in my room where I’ve sweat more than I’ve ever sweat in my life despite positioning my fan directly in front of me.

Thus, siestas are a coping mechanism. This heat sure is tiring. Apart from stripping down upon entering my apartment, taking afternoon naps with my fan has become a regular occurrence.

Don’t get me wrong, I do love Barranquilla. It has become my home after only eight months in all its sizzling glory. But when they tell you it’s hot, they sincerely are not kidding. It is balls hot. Barranquilla balls hot.

That Feeling of Being Content

I popped the last piece of pizza in my mouth, darting my eyes between Nina and her two remaining personal slices. She was too busy leaned back in her chair, happily smiling into the world. When asked if she was going to finish her dinner, she readily said: “I’m just content, you know?” 

Our coordinator planned a team boat trip to islands around Cartagena earlier this month (major shout out to the Juan and only Carina!). Teachers from Barranquilla, Cartagena, Santa Marta, Bogotá, Bucaramanga and Armenia came together to boat, beach, bond and celebrate birthdays on the Caribbean coast.

On Friday, fellow B/quilla teacher Zack laid out our weekend before us: “Arrive tonight. Survive tomorrow. And live to see Sunday.” I’m proud to say that we succeeded. We arrived Friday. We survived Saturday. And we were alive on Sunday.

It was one of those weekends you day dream about well into the following week. According to Nathan, this weekend was an extrovert’s dream. I’d have to say I’d agree. Throw together twenty travel-minded, damn fun humans; put on some reggaeton jams; toss in some, okay, lots of cerveza, rum and tequila; and, finally, sit back and watch the beautiful chaos ensue. It’s the kind of beautiful chaos that makes you appreciate every minor decision and sequence of events that got you to this exact moment. The kind that pushes mattresses together in the living room to have a pre-boat trip slumber party. The kind that gets the perfect combination of tequila, salt and lime to take hilariously awkward body shots. The kind that belts out a slightly buzzed, yet angelic sounding rendition of “Bohemian Rhapsody” to end an already perfect day.

Highly charged moments like these create cinematic, watching-yourself-in-slow-motion scenes. You pause, rewind, and replay them to make them last a little longer. In actuality, you can’t replay them. They happened as beautifully as they did and they will stay like that, catalogued in your mind’s filing cabinet under Unforgettable.

These moments are yours for whenever you need reminding. When your alarm buzzes at 5:30am to get to class. When you’re dripping sweat and sticking to the leather bus seat. When you’re pulling teeth with the only half of the class that actually showed up. Your determination is slightly undermined. Your positivity is waning. Your energy is exhausted. But you’ve got Cartagena on your mind and you’re instantly brought back to the boat aptly named Le Triky. It’s tricky, I know…feeling like you’re floating through the following days that pale in comparison to the previous island-hopping adventure. Maybe it’s that just remembering suffices to jolt us back alive, to bring us back to the present. Past moments awaken our present ones. They have the ability to provide you with that extra sliver of inspiration to keep on. Pretty cool how Cartagena does that for me. I’ll continue listening to our boat trip tunes, dancing around my apartment with a smile widened across my face. Ask me how I feel. I’ll say: “I’m just content, you know?”

I think that’s the goal. To be content. It’s a wistful feeling. It looks like hopping the back of a moto taxi, wind blowing wisps of hair over my eyes. It feels like buoyancy on the beaches of Playa Blanca, floating my legs to the surface while listening to my slow, deep breaths. It tastes like Gelateria Tramonti’s genuine Italian gelato flavor, Tropical Tramonti, tickling my ice cream-lover taste buds. It sounds like the chit chat of our giant teacher sleepover, giggling at every playful, sarcastic blow. It smells like fresh-out-of-the-oven arequipe donuts, combining the rich sweetness of caramel and the starchy goodness of baked bread.

It comes and goes, yet makes a lasting impression on your senses. Sparked by stimulating any one of the five, these moments can be called to the forefront of your mind in an instant. I think that’s the beauty of how our memory is tied to sight, smell, taste, touch, and hearing. You’re reminded, you remember and you replay. And they can be recalled for days, months, even years to come. It’s only been about two weeks since I partied on a boat off of Cartagena with fellow crazies, and my mind is still wrapped up in the crystal blue waters, the dance beats, the endless noms, the constant laughter, and the perfect, yet simple response that embraces everything I’ve been feeling about Colombia: “I’m just content, you know?”

Timing is Everything

I’m sitting on my bed in Barranquilla all jittery, not knowing how to contain the excitement within me. I have been promoted from alternate and selected for a 2015-2016 Fulbright U.S. Student Award to Brazil. Well, that’s what the email said. What I said was much different with much fewer words: I was speechless. Just seeing an email with the subject line ‘Update Fulbright Application Status’ had me hyperventilating and weak in the knees. So weak, in fact, that your girl straight dropped to the floor. Between tears welling up in my eyes and gasping for breaths of air, I managed to quite literally freak out — in the best way, of course. C’mon y’all, they were the happiest tears. Okay, there were some bittersweet ones, too, but I can’t pinpoint how many emotions I let fall from my eyes.

Bittersweet tears, you say. Yes. Arousing pleasure tinged with sadness or pain. You see, Fulbright is something I hold very dear to me. I have poured my heart into applying for a Fulbright English Teaching Assistantship (ETA) to Brazil for two years. Just ask my college roommates how many emotions were shed in the process of writing my Personal Statement and Statement of Grant Purpose essays, yikes.

One of the things I spoke to my dad about before he died was Fulbright. I told him I wanted to apply. I was thinking about applying as early as my flight home from Madrid in May 2013. I was planning on speaking with Pat Taylor, Marist’s Graduate School and Fellowship Advisor, — or as I would say, Marist’s go-to human to inspire passion, motivation, direction and the all-too-necessary confidence boost for all things future related — on Friday, June 7th, 2013. Our scheduled phone call didn’t happen that day because my dad unexpectedly passed away that morning. As I endured my family changing in an instant, I felt this fire within me grow. I had to apply. I had to go. It is what I believe I was meant to do.

Sitting in that hospital waiting room, staring blankly into my unforeseen situation, I could only think of what my dad would have said to me. It’s the same thing he said to me when he and my mom dropped me off at the airport for my flight to Madrid a year earlier: “You’re not coming back, are you?” Maybe…maybe not, I’d say with a smirk.

This other completely unforeseen moment that is happening right now has never felt more carefully planned. I applied for a Fulbright ETA to Brazil for a second time last October. In January, I advanced to the final round, again. In April, I received word that I was an Alternate, again. So there I was in Palomino, Colombia during Semana Santa suddenly meditating, crying and listening to music on a beautiful beach in the Caribbean. I was lucky enough to have two solid dudes there for support. They further strengthened my love for fresh, positive perspectives from recent, yet deep friendships made during TEFL training and orientation in Bogotá. Travelers, man. I ended that trip with loads of gratitude for the opportunity to be living, teaching and traveling in Colombia until December 2015.

I set it up that way. Colombia until December with hopes for Brazil the following February. I continued hoping for a month after receiving my Alternate-status email. Grantees have a month to accept or decline, leaving Alternates in limbo for the time being. I had been in this same position a year prior, when I was about to graduate from Marist College and had accepted a temporary contract with Academic Programs International (API) as a Campus Relations Representative in the Northeast until just about the time Fulbright could have started if I received the grant last year. Here we are now: I’m a freaking Fulbrighter to Brazil. I’m going to Brazil in February. And I’ll be working with university students in programs to graduate as English as a Foreign Language (EFL) teachers. 

Like, what! Is this real?

It must be because the timing of it is impeccable. Seriously impeccable. I’ve been hanging out Colombian-time style for the past two weeks. My two-week vacation turned into four waiting for my new teaching schedule at SENA to present itself. And it just so happens that I received that email at the same time as the Fulbright one today.

When I piece together all of the signs, as they say, I can string several together: A few weeks ago, I brought back my Portuguese workbook from my intensive language course at Vassar thinking I should brush up on it. I was just talking to my friend about what an honor Fulbright could be. Maybe I’ll apply again in the future, I thought. Just yesterday, I started applying to English teaching companies in São Paolo. Today, I crossed the street to the bilingual library singing Shimbalaiê by Maria Gadú, an artist I heard in Portuguese class senior year that inspired my love for the sultry sounds of Música Popular Brasileira (MPB).

Like, what! Is this real?

Yes, yes it is. I write that for you, dear reader, and for myself. It is in these unpredictable moments that I feel I must convince myself that this, indeed, is happening, and it is, in fact, very, very real. For the yoga and RumbiaTerapia classes tonight, and for the two ice creams that followed, I am, like, really grateful. For the always-inspiring, absolutely-endless support from the humans I cherish, I am so very grateful. For the bittersweet, happy tears that fall for you daddy, I’m still, and forever will be, grateful. In happy moments and in sad moments, I still find myself completely stunned at how this life has shown its blessings in some sort of magically-timed manner. For that, I am beyond grateful.

“This might as well happen”

“…you know those days when you’re like this might as well happen.”
–  ‘The Xanax Story,’ John Mulaney

You’ve had those days. Come on, I know you have. Today was one of those days for me. Come to think of it, I’ve had quite a few of these kinds of days since my arrival to a country intertwined with magical realism. It most certainly was real, and I’d stretch it far enough to say it had me feeling some kind of magical.

I knew today would be one of those days even before I went to bed. Why? Dave Fitz sent me a “Hi Kerianne Baylor” Facebook message. What does that mean? It means an all-nighter. Granted, it was already past 1:00 a.m., but this type of message makes way for something far from procrastination: Inspiration. Just receiving them paves the way for pivotal life conversations about time, digital storytelling, curiosity, travel, education and negativity—and pretty much anything and everything in between—that last until the following morning. Yes, I had class at 8:00 a.m., but you know damn well I was ready and willing to be up until sunrise.

You see, some of my deepest conversations during my senior year at Marist involved Dave and I killing entire nights. Insomniacs some would say, but if you asked me, I’d say something along the lines of carpe noctem (seize the night). Because these are the type of connections that give you those late-night, I-should-be-doing-more-right-now jitters. You Google new things. Your eyes widen at ingenious new perspectives. You reflect on great ideas. You experience the depths of introspection. You converse about those profound topics that trigger newfound curiosity, that have been suspended in your mind and finally let out into the depths of the messenger window.

At one point last night Dave said the following about finishing up his most recent edit: “If you’re gonna be up [I] would love your opinion on it.” He doesn’t know, but I actually laughed out loud. Man, was I already wide awake. And I would be until about 5:00 a.m.

I would wake up at exactly 7:50 a.m., ten minutes before one of my ficha’s last classes in which they were giving individual and business presentations. I would look around and assess my already-late-for-teaching situation, realizing I hadn’t printed the final presentation grading rubric and consequently plopping my laptop in my bag because typed assessments would have to suffice.

I would glance at my phone, checking messages from my mentor that necessitated immediate, yet cloudy replies. I would hear the doorbell ring at exactly 8:00 a.m., jolt my head towards the door, and throw on some shorts (because who would sleep with clothes on in 90-degree weather, amirite?), instantaneously remembering that I had asked the new cleaning lady to come on Tuesday.

I would notice our friend Logan crashed on our couch, nudging him ever so slightly and whisking him away to my bedroom so that the apartment could be cleaned. I would tap Nathan awake to remind him that a) the cleaning lady was here and I had to go; b) that he was the only Spanish speaker left to communicate with her; and c) we’d have to split some Colombian pesos for payment.

I would hurriedly explain some instructions to Emilsa, telling her that I had to leave and the chico in that bedroom over there could help her if she needed anything (which already included running down to the doorman to borrow a broom because ours were thrown away by our last cleaning lady). I would throw on a dress, grab a banana, and run out the door, immediately spinning my heels to return to the kitchen to snag a bag of cookies and candy for my students’ last day.

I would jump into the first moving vehicle outside my apartment, stirring up small talk with my ex-military taxi driver from Bucaramanga. While watching the steamy city wake up around me, I would wonder if I even put a bra on, if I grabbed everything I needed, if it even mattered that I’d be super late (even for Colombia); but what would spread across my recently awoken face was a smile, a real wide one.

I wouldn’t care about hardly sleeping because I would feel energized. I’d feel ready. For what? Who knows. For class. For today. For tomorrow. For this entire week splitting at the seams with emotions. Goodbyes. Loads of laughter. Hellos. Awaited hugs and kisses from family members in NJ. Saudade. Longing. Longing for now, for this moment of sheer excitement as I taxi my way to one of the last classes of the first half of my ten-month teach abroad endeavor.

Is it crazy to already feel nostalgic for this moment in the future? I know for sure I’ll miss it. Because even after an almost sleepless night of awakening conversation and jaw-dropping videography, I feel weightless. I feel present in this verging-on-eight forty a.m.-cab-ride to 8:00 a.m. class with a sly, slightly-more-knowledgable grin across my sun-kissed, B’quilla-glowing face. I feel that, yes, this chain of fortunate interactions and events might as well happen today. Hell, may it happen to me any day. Because it was purely blissful and renewing. Because there’s some sort of magic in the haphazard flow of my early morning. And I’d like to say I had a feeling I’d feel this way, because as Dave said when he first messaged me, “it’s been a while.” It shouldn’t take this long of a while to get back to that heightened awareness of life; that appreciation for open, honest sharing of thoughts and ideas; and that desire to truly compliment each other on our talents, interests, goals and minds—“Smart is sexy,” right Fitz?

Today, watch this reel of images and experiences that flow together to form the inner-workings of Dave Fitz’s last twelve months. It might as well happen. You might as well click play to wake up and do more—you have no time to waste.