During a recent wandering door to door trip down mountian, we were invited to spend a Saturday evening with the local ladies of the neighborhood. At first I was so excited about going ‘neck deep’ into this culture! We would be sleeping in this neighborhood where we were definetly outsiders and getting a glimpse into their real life. No fronts, just reality. We would be sleeping in their beds, eating their food, going out with them for a local concert Saturday evening (of course, walking there and back in the dark) and then attending church with them on Sunday.
I love these people. I fell in love with Nicas in Granada and fell deeper in love with them here. I was so excited to finally get to be closer to this culture, since I don’t speak Spanish I end up missing out on so much. Even with translators sometimes I don’t feel like I’m truly getting to talk with a person.
As Saturday came I couldn’t believe that I had agreed to spend the night with these ladies. I tried to think of ways out of going without being rude but couldn’t come up with any good excuses. I can’t speak Spanish and none of these ladies can speak English, which could be a problem. How in the world was I going to spend over 20 hours with these people and not have a decent conversation? Would we be in any danger? Our friends had told us that we would be staying in the safest house in the neighborhood and that it had a gate so that we would be okay, but we never asked them about safety they just volunteered this information. Sometimes it’s comforting to know the safety precautions that are taken for you and sometimes ignorance truly is bless. Plus we had to speak at church the next morning, what if I didn’t sleep well? I don’t function that well when I don’t sleep.
However, without coming up with any good excuses to stay home, we set out for the evening. We arrived at our friend’s house and immediately all my worries went away. Our friend had on a dress that she was semi-concerned about and wanted to know if she look pretty or ugly in it. It was like being back in America. It was going to be a true girl’s night out.
In total a group of about 10 of us ended up walking to the concert together that evening. Once there, we saw all of our friends from the neighborhood. One of our friends even bought us watermelon. And it never mattered that I couldn’t speak the language. It didn’t matter that my blonde hair stuck out in a sea of dark hair like a light bulb. It didn’t matter that I had no idea what anyone was even singing all night. None of that mattered.
