Month Two

A year ago today, I submitted my Fulbright application. I optimistically day-dreamed of my first year post-graduation. I imagined walks down colorful streets, chats in Botero-filled parks, and nights of endless dancing. Plus, the prestige-seeker in me could not wait to drop that Fulbright name in my future resume. 

Two months ago, I cried to my mom on the phone all the way from Monteria, Cordoba, Colombia; it was small, there was only one tiny museum, and it was hot as balls. I was incredibly envious of the Fulbright grantees placed in more picturesque locations. On top of it all, I was disappointed in myself for struggling… I thought I was built for this! How could I be struggling? ME?! The girl whose entire undergraduate career revolved around cultural exchange. I was fluent in Spanish, had been traveling since I was born, and had worked cross-culturally countless times. If anyone was prepared for this, it was me (I know that’s cocky, but it’s my blog so I’m gonna keep it real).

I no longer felt prepared; I was immediately bothered by how casually my male boss interrupted my female co-workers and the ease with which men whistled compliments at me on the street. For the first time in my life, people stared at me everywhere I went and everyone asked where I was from before I even opened my mouth. I stood out, and I did not belong, and I was ALWAYS sweaty, and I was simply not living my Colombian dream. I wondered if I had made a mistake. I wondered if I would be better off in San Francisco with a 9-5 and real salary. 

A month ago I moved in with a single mom, Shirly, and her 15-year old daughter, Luisa. We have since exchanged recipes (my baked carrots for their chicharrones). They have brought me along on adventures to Monteria’s neighboring towns. I LOVE Tierra Alta and Necocli, where I have picked star fruits and learned to open coconuts. 

I began taking dance lessons with Michelle. She is very amused by the fact that I, a “gringa-gringa” (which I have learned is different from a “gringa”), want to learn Champeta. She says I am progressing quite nicely. I know she’s just being nice, but I am determined to learn regardless.

  I met Tuto Brunal’s mom at a coffee shop. I had no idea who he was but she insisted that knowing him would make Monteria more fun. Tuto has since introduced me to a wonderful group of friends who have made it their mission to teach me Costeño slang.

I was convinced to buy a coconut by Victor, a vendor at Monteria’s fruit market. I admitted to him that I could not open a coconut, so he did so for me. Since the coconut was opened, I had no choice but to chug the coconut water on the spot. 

It snuck up on me in every little moment. Today I am sitting here in Monteria happily. And I’m almost embarrassed to admit it; admitting that I am enjoying Monteria also means admitting that I originally failed to see value in a place because all I saw was the color of its buildings, the size of its monuments, and the weather. I got caught up in what I wanted from the place instead of what I stood to learn from its people. It turns out that, despite my experience or education, when push came to shove, I wasn’t above any of that. And that’s embarrassing to admit — or at least it was… I suppose this blog post is about me accepting that it's not embarrassing; it’s honest and real and means that I’m learning something — which is the point of cultural exchange, right? Even if it takes a second go at it.

The thing is, the best things in my life have come from seconds. I met my best friend, Kendall, on a scholarship I was an alternate for. I fell in love with photography because I had to make a second grant proposal after my original proposal became impossible. I was an alternate to be an orientation leader, the job that introduced me to the people I would spend the best two years of my life with. My individual studies proposal was not originally accepted; I submitted it a second time and loved every course I took thereafter… Point is, many of the good things in my life have come from second tries, alternate positions, and second drafts. So I admit it: month 1 Maggie-in-Monteria did not do a good job. But here’s to month 2, and 3, and 4, and 5, and so on. Because, if history does in fact repeat itself — this is gonna be good.



Maggie Menendez1 Comment