the curve

It’s humbling when you revert to an uncertain, babbling one-year-old. When you enter a new country as a “gringo” after only a few months of non-intensive language study, you find yourself constantly shutting down that logical part of you that freaks out in the face of an entire new language.

I’ve been in Brazil for a grand total of four days now, and I’m quickly realizing that life over the next months will consist of a fine balance between opening myself wide open to sights, sounds, people, smells, and colors, and concentrating intensely on the details of each interaction, the words I speak and write, the pictures I take.

a Brazilian wedding last Saturday

someone playing with my phone during the message, which lasted an hour!

Rick's wife, Kimberly--a woman who has welcomed me into the social life here and taught me much already

a house full of company this week with missionary friends from Portugal on vacation

 Adaptability is a worn-out old word, particularly among that species of people relocating to other cultures, so I’ll refrain. It’s not quite survival either, for I’ve found myself immediately in the midst of friends—brothers and sisters whose faces greet me with a smile like they’ve known me for years and rush over to touch cheeks and kiss air in a traditional greeting. I’ve moved in with friends, I’ve met friends, and I’ve managed to exchange the time of day and various basic phrases with a few.

So perhaps it’s not adaptability or survival, but there’s no question of a curve when you move thousands of miles away from anyone you’ve ever known and begin eating different food, speaking different words, seeing different sights. I learned from Elaine Townsend—that woman whose life I spent a year recording—to always bring a piece of the old life into the new, and I’ve done just that. A few pictures, a wood-burning, a bright green water bottle—small things, but they’ve been with me through months of life, and in a way they let me know I’m still on planet earth.

Today was Sunday. It consisted of waking up slightly earlier than the normal late hours which result from retiring one or two hours after midnight, breakfasting off juice and pão de queijo (cheese bread in little loaf balls), then driving to Bible study. Here, the regular church service is held in the evening and the morning meeting is much more casual, with a time for snacks and coffee in the middle and most people wearing jeans.  

I started out in the adult Sunday school, then moved to the youth classroom, where someone with a little English translated a few words or gave me the gist of what was being talked about. The lesson was on the establishment of the church and its call to bear witness to the gospel in the power of the Spirit. Needless to say, I learned a few words not included in my online language program!

the street outside the church building

goofing off on the way to service :)

 For lunch, we went to a Mediterranean buffet at the mall. Most shops close on Sunday, with the exception of the mall, and the food court is a predominant place for social gathering. We returned home for naps and reading. I discovered that my window opens enough for me to step out onto the path below, so I sat outside studying Portuguese and enjoying the welcome warmth after chilly temperatures. I climbed up on a small wall and looked down at  São José dos Compos under a sky of clouds beginning to color in the evening light.

Brazilians frown upon anyone going barefoot--so a pair of flipflops was in order. Havaianas are a big deal in Brazil.

This lady had me smiling. She alternated between the chocolate bar and the ice cream cone. Guess you can't get too much of a good thing!

We attended a different church tonight—one begun by Rick’s father years ago. A new seminary begun in a lower floor of Fiel’s building welcomed nine new students, making a total of forty-nine. The rousing, lilting singing, with verses projected on the wall, offered a great opportunity to practice pronunciation.

students from the seminary

Afterwards, I mingled with the women and learned how to say nós gostamos de falar* even though it was they who loved to talk that evening, and not I. There’s a reason a verb conjugation book is lying next to my computer at the moment.

Tchau for now!

*we like to talk