Interesting & shaking events in Chile

One day during my shadowing rotation in the Language School of the rehabilitation center, a little girl (who was maybe about 6 years old) ran up to me, looked at me with wide, bulging eyes, and said, “Por qué estás así?!” (Why are you like that?) while running a finger down my cheek. “Qué te pasó?” (What happened to you?) she continued asking, running another finger along my collarbone. I couldn’t help but laugh at her shock. “Es el color de mi piel,” (It’s the color of my skin) I told her.

This will stick with me forever. I’ve never encountered anyone - not even a child - who expressed such open shock at my appearance, or anyone who hadn’t before seen another black individual (whether in person or in the media). Not many blacks are found in the region (except for perhaps some Dominicans, some of whom have come to actually work in the sex industry. Yikes). I wish I had a little more time to clearly explain to the girl where I was from and why my skin appeared that way, but I was in transit to another class so I didn’t get the chance. It's important to enlighten others, especially young ones who haven’t before been exposed to certain things, including people of other races.

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In late July, one of the other interns, Tessa, and I took a two-day trip to La Serena during our week off from work. On our second day before our night bus back to Santiago, we went to the movies to kill some time. (We ended up watching Wolverine). While waiting in line, the most surprising thing happened. A young black girl, who couldn't have been more than 15, came up to me and asked me in fluent Spanish to purchase a ticket for her. I said, “Sí, claro” (Yes, of course), took the money from her, and continued to wait my spot in line, which was about 20 people from the front. I turned to her as she walked away to join what I assumed was her family. I had so many questions. “Why’d she ask me and not someone further up in the line?” I think this aloud to Tessa. We both knew though. The girl had no idea who I was, where I was from, or even if I spoke any Spanish, but she felt comfortable enough to just walk up to me, someone who she could identify with, and ask this small favor. Whether her roots are African-American, African, Afro-Caribbean, I have no idea (maybe Brazilian? Who knows). But she was black, and likely an adopted child of a Chilean family. 

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During our trip to La Serena, I thought I’d go half blind. It happened on our way up to the Cruz del Tercer Milenio (Cross of the Third Millennium) in Coquimbo, Chile. This is the tallest monument in South America and the only one worldwide built to recognize Jesus Christ’s crucifixion. We rode our bikes all the way along the coast from La Serena, the neighboring town. Our ride had to turn into a walk because the streets became too steep. Tessa and I pushed our bikes up the hill to reach the cross. Now that was a workout. We were drenched in sweat once we reached the top. There were another two or three sets of stairs we had to climb before reaching the cross and the entry point to its museum. I was running low on energy to physically carry my bike up the first flight of steps, but I attempted to anyway.

As I picked up my bike, and before I even took my first step, gravity caused the handlebars to twist and one of them got me smack dab in my right eye. They were rubber, but it was still painful. I yelled out and dropped the bike as my hand flew up to my eye. A few people in the area walked over and called out to me, asking if I was alright. Tessa was already ahead of me and couldn’t hear or see what was going on from the top of the stairs. When I opened my eyes again I felt something liquidy on my right cheekbone. I started to freak out because I thought I was bleeding. It was actually my contact lens, which I tried carefully to place in the palm of my hand, but it fell on the ground instead. This is when the freaking out was in full swing. I basically couldn’t see out of my right eye (I could only see blur; my eyesight is terrible) and my contact lens pretty much disappeared. I ended up finding it after about 10 minutes of frantic searching, thankfully, and with the help of other friendly Chileans from the small town of Coquimbo, who were very open and genuinely concerned about what happened to me. 

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On our bike ride along the coast, we stopped for a while at a fish market. One man pointed at me and yelled, “Brazil!” It wasn’t in the form of a question. I laughed and shook my head.

“No eres brasileña?” [You’re not Brazilian?] he asked in surprise.

“No, soy estadounidense,” [No, I'm American] I told him.

This was in La Serena, 7 hours north of Santiago, the capital. Up here, more people have mistaken me for Brazilian, whereas further south, in Punta Arenas, there’s more the assumption that I’m either American or Dominican.

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One of the stupidest things I could’ve done while here (and ever) was go trekking with only one good eye. I'll explain. A few weeks ago on a Sunday, I joined my homestay mom and dad, their daughter, her boyfriend, and Tessa on a trekking excursion. The day before, I accidentally tore my contact lens (long story), 20 minutes before we planned to leave to go kayaking. And of course I didn't remember to bring replacement lenses with me. I couldn’t go on the trip half blind and mentally ill-prepared with this stress, so I put that off. The next day I wanted to join in on the family’s outing. It wasn’t like I couldn’t see out of my right eye, everything was just very blurry. Halfway through the trekking though, things got kind of tricky. The ground was muddy, wet, and slippery in certain areas of the reserve, and a few times we reached steep points…it would’ve been pretty ugly if I fell because I would’ve busted myself open. But thankfully we made it back, all of us in one piece!

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On our flight back to Punta Arenas from Santiago in late July during our week off from work, we had a “layover" in another city called Puerto Montt. I was knocked out at my window seat when suddenly a woman from the back of the plane started screaming like crazy. This tore me from my sleep as I got up and turned around with the rest of the passengers. The woman continued her chilling screams, and I propped myself up on my knees in my seat to see what in the world happened to her. At first I thought she was about to give birth, but then I saw that she was clutching her knee. “Pero qué pasó?!” [What happened?!] people were whispering fiercely to each other. I still was not 100% sure what the problem was, but a doctor had to be called on board from inside the airport (we were already on the ground) to tend to a problem she was having with her knee. I had no idea if she fractured it (doing what though?), if she previously had surgery on it and it was acting up… no idea. But I’m glad we were able to resolve this while on the ground and not up in the air. This is the first time I encountered something this scary (mostly the uncontrollable screaming was terrifying) on a plane.