As I cautiously made my way through the muddy streets of Olmos, I realized something had changed within me. With each careful step I took, I noticed the eyes staring, curious as to how I would navigate the trenches of mud and slippery mounds. Not only could I feel the gawking, I heard their conversations.
“¡Gringa! ¡Cuidado!”
“¡Ojo Rubia!”
“Es de los Estados Unidos”
“Habla inglés”
During my Peace Corps interview, my recruiter and I talked at length about standing out in site. It was something I felt I could handle. When I boarded the plane June 5th, I truly thought I was ready for it.
And to some extent I was. Most of the time during training, I didn’t notice the stares or expressions on people’s faces. Others pointed it out to me, but we were in an area heavily trafficked by other foreigners and I didn’t feel that unique.
But, my pale skin, blonde hair and blue eyes were in for a shock when I finally arrived in site.
My first three months, as I tried to accustom myself to the new culture, food and language, I also dealt with the pangs of being an obvious outsider. Everywhere I went, people were surprised to learn that I was living in their community. Children would shout “Gringa” as I walked by. The students would interrupt class to ask me about my hair or if we could trade eyes. Men and women alike would comment that I looked like a doll. Everyone seemed to be more interested in how I looked than who I actually was.
Slowly but surely this got under my skin. I let it creep in through my pores and I wasn’t quite sure how to pull it all out.
I talked with volunteers and people who had lived in foreign countries. I tried so desperately to connect with others sharing my experience. But, it all left me empty and outraged at how I thought that the community had out-casted me. I eventually got to a point where I stopped processing the adjectives and attention being thrown at me. In a way, I became immune.
Until yesterday, when I noticed a softening within my heart.
As I was trying to avoid catastrophically falling on my tookus which would have drawn more attention to myself than wanted, I heard the strangers’ conversations. Many of them were genuinely curious as to who I was and what I was doing in town. As they called out, “Gringa” and “Rubia” I would flash a smile and say “Hola” or “Buenos Dias.”
And in those fleeting moments, I realized that I didn’t have to be frustrated about sticking out like a sore thumb. Isn’t that part of why I’m here? Peace Corps Goal 2 is to share the American culture with the people of our host country. Instead of being bitter about being called out by my skin or hair color, I could embrace it and show my community that I too am a friendly human being, curious about how they live their lives and here to support them in their endeavors.
After all, it’s a huge part of the Peruvian culture to endearingly call people names by their physical appearance. In fact, people take pride in being called “Gordo,” “Moreno,” “Chino” or “Flaco.”
Now, I will add that I am in no way condoning the cat-calls that every so-often come along with these adjectives. That’s a very, very different thing.
But, with time and my understanding of the cultural context, I’m growing to embrace those curiously shouting, “¡Hola gringa!”
Brittany McGee 