Upon first glance, one would think that the “intercultural workshops” were just a fun social time for old ladies, where they paint and crochet and make bracelets. At least that’s what I thought when I first went to them. But after a few more sessions, I came to realize that for some of these old ladies, it was the only social time they had. Also, even though they were old, between the ages of 40 and 85 or so, they worked with their hands and talked with people of different nations and different ages, and you could tell they thoroughly enjoyed the time outside of their house.
I miss Patro, she was one of my favorites, and also the oldest. When she talked, she had more than the Castilian lisp, she had a whistle. It makes me smile when I think of it. She also would wear crazy pins on her blouses that were obviously made by her grandchildren because they were so colorful and crafty. We often did reading out-loud for the ladies to work their brain and improve their memory, and I loved when Patro read, it sounded so sweet.
Julia also brought to my attention that some of the ladies had deep self-esteem issues, and these workshops were a place for them to talk it out. One day Julia brought in a new craft to work on, making tissue paper flowers, and she was demonstrating how to do them and some other ladies were joining in. One of the ladies that is originally from Mexico started to try it, and then quit halfway through, throwing the half-folded tissue paper on the table. Julia asked what had happened, and she explained that she didn’t think that she was doing it right, and if she couldn’t do it right, then she felt like she couldn’t do it at all. Julia made a comment to me later that so many of these ladies have so much pressure on them from their families and their situations that they become sort of perfectionists.
Sometimes a few of the ladies would cry during the workshops. It kind of upset me, but I think that they tend to be under so much stress and they hardly have an outlet, and when they come in a circle of women and start talking about their lives, it just releases. Other times they look extremely sad. Julia makes sure to start to talk to them about how at the FMP they offer free counselling and psychologists so that they could have someone to talk to more.
On Thursday mornings we would have a little bit of dance-and-sing time for the ladies, and it was funny how often they’d try and get me to come sing by handing me a piece of paper with the lyrics on it. I’d tell them over and over about how I didn’t know the tune, but they insisted I sing anyway. So I sang under my breath until I felt comfortable enough with the music. It was funny how much they would fight over what song to sing and what rhythm to sing it, and who would conduct and whatnot. They were a cute bunch. Also, one of the other volunteers would lead exercise a few times, like very simple callisthenics, so that the ladies could make sure they work their muscles and breathe correctly. One time we even did belly dancing, since the lady leading it was from Morocco, and that was a hoot to watch the old ladies belly dance. It made me laugh so hard.
We started out with about 15 ladies all together, but at the last workshop, only 6 or so showed up. In late July and early August, many Spaniards begin their month-long vacation to the various coasts of Spain. At our last workshop on July 29th, we took a picture. Belen and I were having a conversation that day about the U.S. and where I was from and how she has family there. She got mad at me at one point because she was describing her family’s vacation home in Philadelphia and how they had gardens, and I didn’t understand the last 2 things she said in the sentence. I asked her to repeat it. Then she looked at Julia and was like “She doesn’t understand a word I’m saying.” I was kind of hurt, and I tried to say that I just didn’t catch the last thing, but Julia explained it for me and then Belen tried again and I got it. Jeez. Then she was telling me that if I met anybody in the U.S. with the last name of Ortíz, I need to ask them if they know of a Belen that goes to la Reina de Casino workshops, “My sister will know what that is.” It made me smile.
After the last workshop, as a sort of good-bye party, we went to a nearby cafe. We walked into Cafe Guay, which translates to cool cafe. Yet Guay was trying to signify something else, seeing as the canopy was rainbow, and inside they had posters dencouncing homophobia and they had Madonna and MJ on the radio. I loved it. With my old ladies we went to a gay cafe/bar to get some cerveza clara (beer with lemonade, like a shandy) and chat. They didn't even make one comment about how it was a gay establishment. It's relatively normal here in Spain, they have their own gay district (Chueca) and I know the ladies wanted to go inside since it was air-conditioned. They had posters like rosie the riveter on the wall, and there were some gay couples also in there getting a drink. It made me happy to be there, to be in Spain, with my feminist old ladies and in a gay bar and nobody seemed to think it was anything out of the ordinary.
No comments:
Post a Comment