Murga

The shouts of children rang over the crowd and the banging of the drums. Women sat in the grass under the shade of the summer trees painting the faces of the Murga dancers. Bright covered costumes which appeared to be remnants of whatever could be salvaged created a backdrop of color. Street venders moved their stands to the park center in hopes of profiting off the event. I sat in a circle in the grass with a group of friends and tried to take it all in. Murga a dance form originating from Uruguay has historic connections to movements of popular resistance. Originating from Uruguay’s dictatorship in the 1970’s groups such as the Araca de Cana used the dance as a form of protest. Now it is communally found during carnival a South American celebration.

The Lamp Post

For the most part Argentina’s dark history has been swept into a dustbin. Most choose to forget their collective grievances. But there times when 30,000 names cannot just be placed into a bag, tied to a brick and sunk to the bottom of the Atlantic like their bodies. Everyone is aware of what happened during Argentina’s dictatorship, the countless loss of loved ones, the oppression, and the torture. And for the most part I forget too. Only when I see an old green Ford Falcon the same used during the dictatorship am I reminded. I wonder who might have been blindfolded and thrown into the back seat. The other day I passed a lamp post; the disappeared person sign wouldn’t have aroused any suspicion if it wasn’t for the fact of how old the picture was. At first glance I didn’t cross my mind. Not until I saw the date reading 1976 printed on the bottom. These were no ordinary disappeared people these were those of Argentina’s dirty war. Crinkled and yellow they stood as a reminder to all, on the lonely street corner on a warm summer night.

The Thanksgiving Adventure

After talking to my good friend in Finland she convinced me that I should do something for Thanksgiving. So at 7:30 in the evening I set out to buy a chicken (The closest thing to a Turkey I could find). I’m pretty sure my last minute decision would be considered sacrilegious coming from a family where my father starts cooking two days in advanced. With a recipe for stuffing provided by my friend viva skype, I set out to make my first full chicken and thanksgiving dinner. The mashed potatoes took forever to cook. The broccoli was a little funky but yum. Asparagus accompanied the broccoli. The stuffing was my favorite part and considering I could barely hear my friend in Finland shouting the recipe at me it came out well. I also made a garlic cream sauce with mushrooms which my cousin devoured; and the chicken was a golden brown. At 9:30 all my cousins and I gathered in the kitchen. We opened a bottle wine and I explained to them the tradition of toasting to the things you were grateful for in life. Everyone was curious to what in the world we were celebrating for. I explained to them all about the pilgrims and the Native Americans, harvest season, and sitting around sharing a meal. Shortly latter I was asked if these were the same Native Americans my government had killed off shortly after. Which opened a whole other can of beans and a lot of explaining. My cousins contributed to the dinner by providing ice cream for dessert. I thought a lot of my family back home and what they were doing for the celebration. At the same time I was happier to be here in Argentina and share a little part of my culture with my new family.