Changing Mennonite

Continued from So what?

I put my idea into practice for the first time at the bank. I recognized a young couple who were from my colony standing in the lineup in front of me. When they saw me, they began to whisper to each other while glancing back at me, making it obvious that they were talking about me. I decided to smile and wave at them every time they turned around and looked at me, even though my heart was pounding with rage, thinking to myself, “What did I ever do to you?” When I saw them struggling while dealing with the bank teller, I left my place in the lineup and walked over to offer my help.  I endured an awkward few moments of them staring me up and down because of how I was dressed, before they accepted my offer to help.  

After the bank teller and I watched the couple leave with bank cards, cash in their hands and smiles on their faces, the bank teller said, “Thank you so much for your help. They would have never been able to open a bank account without your help.”

I decided that the couple didn’t say thank you because they were speechless and in awe of my generosity. I left the bank feeling good about my actions, knowing that there was more where that came from and that I was the source of it. After that realization, I grew, and became more comfortable in my own skin.

I was well on my way to building a new reputation for myself after having multiple opportunities such as the one at the bank on many different occasions. And then I was ready to throw it all away when I ran into the Brauns again, knowing that they were the ones who were spreading gossip about me causing my family hardship in Mexico.

I had a week off between the end of the spring semester and the beginning of my summer semester.  I invited George to walk with me to a doctor's appointment, which is where I ran into the Braun family. They had come back to Canada to work in the fields for the summer. They were visiting the doctor’s office with yet another new baby. Not much had changed. Mr. Braun sat in the van smoking, while mom was inside with all the kids and her new baby. Mr. Braun stared us up and down as we walked past the van. George saw how angry I was getting. He pulled me aside and gave me a pep talk before entering the building.

“Anna, just breath through it.  I know this isn't fair, and I want to do nothing more than take that f#cker to the back and beat the shit out of him, but that’s not who I am so I'm not going to do that.”

I just stared at George.

“Remember your plan about changing people’s minds about you?”

“Yes, but I don’t want to anymore. I hate these people!”

“I know, but Anna, this is the perfect opportunity, and I will help you.”

“Okay.”

“Do you trust me?”

“Ahhh, yes.”

“Okay, then take a deep breath.”

“Okay.”

“Now look at Mr. Braun, make eye contact, smile and nod your head.”

“I don’t want to!”

“I know, but trust me, it's going to work.”

I swallowed my pride and followed George’s instructions. Mr. Braun quickly looked away, pretending that he didn’t see me. When we entered the building, this time I didn’t ask George to sit across from me instead of beside me in fear of Mrs. Braun’s reaction to him. But it didn’t seem to faze her. She looked overwhelmingly sad and depressed, the same as the last time I had run into her there. I offered to hold her baby when she needed to attend to her toddler, and she accepted my offer and handed me the baby. When the nurse called her name, she asked if I could watch her kids while she and the baby went with the nurse. I agreed.

This time when I read books out loud to the kids in front of George, I realized how much confidence I had gained since the last time I had done that.

I compared my experiences and thought, “Okay, I left the couple at the bank speechless, Mr. Braun still hates me, but Mrs. Braun doesn't care how I am dressed or the fact that George is here with me. I’ll start with that.”

On the walk home, George said, “What you did there, that took a lot of courage. I’m so proud of you, Anna.”

“Thank you. My heart is still pounding.”

“I believe you.”

I smiled.

“When you hear any negative gossip from your community in Mexico, or anywhere for that matter, don’t dwell on it. And most importantly, don’t explain yourself to anyone, just keep doing what you did today, and eventually, that will take over. I guarantee that it will kill the negative gossip. It may take a while, but it will work. Remember how long it took you to trust me?”

I covered my face with both my hands and said, “I know! I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. I didn’t exactly make it easy for you.”

“No, you didn’t.  You have no idea how afraid I was of you.”

“I can only imagine, but let's not focus on that.”

“Okay.”

“So, what are you going to do on your only week off this summer?”

“Sit at the library and learn.”

“Anna, I hate to tell you what to do, but I think you need to take a bit of a break from learning, don’t you?”

“Well, I don’t know what else to do.”

“You should go to the beach or something.”

“That’s a great idea!  I just might do that. Thanks!”

“Anytime.”

After George left for work, I stopped in at the library and picked up a few books, including one on building trust with people who hate you and another about human emotions, and off to the beach I went to learn. I began to better understand my emotions, and to realize that humans are meant to have exactly the kinds of emotions I was experiencing. I learned that building trust took small, consistent, repetitive, genuine actions, gestures, and smiles over some time.

I sat at the beach until I was the only one left, and watched the sun fade behind the water.

When I got home from the beach, I had a message on my answering machine from the nurse at the walk-in clinic. She wanted to know if I would be interested in interpreting for Mrs. Braun the next time she had an appointment. I couldn't believe it, thinking Mrs. Braun spoke better English than I did. I called the nurse back first thing the next morning and explained that to her, and she said, “Actually, Anna, she doesn’t speak more English than you do. They only come here for the summer, and she’s very isolated; she doesn’t leave her house, and I am concerned about some things that I would like you to help me explain to her.”

“Okay, yeah, sure. If you think that I can help, I would be happy to.”

“Great! Thank you so much, Anna. See you soon.”

I had no idea what I was doing, but I took my time explaining the nurse’s concerns to Mrs. Braun, to the best of my ability. Mrs. Braun didn't say much, but it seemed that she understood what I was explaining to her. I told her that she could call me if she needed to talk to someone, or if she wanted me to explain everything to her again. She said, “Okay,” and took my phone number.

After Mrs. Braun left, the nurse put her hand on my shoulder and said, “Thank you so much, Anna, that went really well. Can I call you to interpret again sometime? I have a few more clients who need clarification on some of my concerns.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“That’s great, Anna; you are a natural at this.”

The nurse’s encouraging words were such a confidence booster for me. Whenever I ran into a Dietsch person, male or female, I acknowledged that I was one of them by saying, “Goondach (hello)” with a smile, and leaving it up to them whether they wanted to speak Dietsch to me or not. If they did, I happily responded. It got to the point where I was eager for any opportunity to explain myself to anyone who was curious, and that turned my life around.

My nightmares about drowning on my way to Posen Land and windmills yelling at me disappeared. I grew confident in my ability to place each of the puzzle pieces that had become my life in its rightful place as I collected it.

The next time Mom called and told me that she had heard that I was seen at the doctor’s office with a ‘schwiennoagel,’ I explained, “His name is George, and he's my friend. I invited him to come along to my appointment so that I wasn’t alone.”

“Okay, are you sick?” Mom asked.

“No, I just had a checkup.”

“A checkup for what?”

“To make sure that I'm healthy and that I stay that way.”

“Okay,” she said, and then there was silence, because that was a foreign concept in the colony. In the colony we only visited the doctor when we knew we were sick, or if something hurt.

Then mom said, “Mrs. Braun’s sister told me that you had helped her sister at the doctor’s. She said that she was surprised that you helped her as you did.”

I did a little happy dance.

“It was George’s idea. He’s a good person, you know, and I am becoming a better person because of him.”

“That’s good,” she replied, and proceeded to tell me how things were at home. For the first time after hanging up the phone with her, I didn’t feel guilty and terrible about myself.

After I finished my summer courses, I had an opportunity to speak with my employment counselor, Sharon, when I dropped off my report card. After signing the paperwork for me to be able to continue on unemployment for another semester, she told me how impressed she was with my progress, and asked if I would consider going to college.

“I will be lucky if I get through the courses I need to get my Ontario secondary school diploma,” I explained.

“Well, I think you should definitely discuss your options with your guidance counselor.”

“Okay,” I said. But I didn’t think that I needed to, because I was sure that someone like me would never get into college. During a class discussion on career day, we were encouraged to think about our interests and possible career options. I had never been asked or even dreamt of what I wanted to do when I grew up, so I sat back and listened to the people who were sure, and had a plan.

“What about you, Anna?” the teacher asked.

“I’ll be lucky if I get another factory job and don’t end up picking cucumbers or working on the tobacco fields,” I answered, and I accepted that that was good enough for me.

My friend Steve finished his last course, while I still had a whole semester left. By then I was able to write fast enough to take my own notes fairly well, and didn’t have to rely on Steve’s help anymore. I had gained enough confidence to be okay with starting a new semester with no one I knew sitting beside me. My first day of class without Steve, I was the first to arrive, as always. I placed my notebooks and pencils neatly on my desk, sitting tall and confident, ready to learn.

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and hoped with all my heart that whoever would come and sit next to me would be nice like Steve was.

“Are you praying for the class to be over already?” asked a voice behind me. Click here to continue reading my story.

So what?

Continued from A Sliver of Hope

Somewhere along the way from Mexico to Texas, I felt less guilty about the way I had left things with Mom and embraced the fact that I was responsible for my own actions, especially after the experience of apologizing to Juan Pelos. I realized that I could choose to separate myself from the colony mindset, the group I was raised in and the group behavior I was programed to imitate. I began thinking and acting as an individual.

Reflecting on the experiences I had had, I was learning to value what I believed about myself.  I thought, “So what if my every thought, word, and act has been thought, said and done better by others?”  I was ready to combine my experiences of growing up in the colony with what I was learning in school and from all the people in my life—and own it.

Since leaving the colony the first time, I had believed that I had to choose between myself and my family, Canada and the colony. I felt that it had to be one or the other. It was an incredibly freeing feeling when I finally realized that that wasn’t the case. I was free to go back to the colony any time I wanted; I just couldn’t change the colony or the people who lived there. I realized that to keep the relationships I had with my family and friends in the colony, I would have to work on accepting that fact.

I concluded that communication was a huge factor in my frustration. It had a lot to do with the limited Low German vocabulary with which we communicated. I decided that all the times Mom talked about me needing to adjust my attitude to the situation at hand, she was trying to tell me that I was the one who was changing, and how dare I come back there expecting them to understand, let alone agree with it.

I thought, “Ha li cringel ekje se an schlopmetz!”

That realization and adjusted attitude made a huge difference right away. When Uncle Jake and Izaak dropped me off at the airport, I was less afraid of what was to come. Izaak hugged me, Uncle Jake shook my hand, wishing me well, and I walked away taller and more confident, with a bring-on-whatever-is-headed-my-way-I-will-face-it-head-on attitude.

I was stunned at how easy it was to go through airport security when I didn’t argue with the guards about my nationality. I smiled and answered only the questions that they asked, and they couldn’t get me out of there fast enough. I chuckled and thought, “And there wasn’t even a man with me!”

When I walked out of the airport back in Canada, and the cold air hit my face, freezing my nose hairs instantly, I thought, “Okay, I see now why Izaak cares so much about the weather in Texas.”

Upon arriving at my apartment building at 1:00 a.m., all I could do was think about knocking on George’s door. When I walked past his door, I stopped and listened, and when there was no evidence of him being up, I just went to my apartment and went to sleep, since I had to get up and go to school the next day.

I woke up late the next morning and had no time to blow dry my hair. I quickly put on whatever I could find, grabbed my backpack and ran to school. In moments of feeling sorry for myself, I regretted my decision not to stay in Texas. My friend Steve greeted me with open arms at the door when I arrived at school. He wrapped his arms around me and said, “Happy New Year! Oh my god, Anna, you are frozen!”

I thought, “Happy New Year? That was such a long time ago and I am completely over it, but okay.” 

I looked at him, confused, and he explained to me that people in Canada say Happy New Year to people they haven't seen yet in the new year.

“Anna, you should never be outside with wet hair at this time of the year, and really, you should wear pants—you are going to get sick!”

“Okay, thank you,” I said.

“You’re welcome. Oh, and here are the notes of all the stuff you missed while you were away.”

“Thank you so much! I am so scared that I won’t be able to catch up.”

“You'll be fine, just read over those notes a few times.”

“Okay, I will.”

By the end of the day, I had a massive headache from all the chaos, and especially from forcing my brain back to English only, because no one understood my mixed vocabulary of Spanish, Low German and Englishified Low German. I was overwhelmed by the fact that I had a new teacher, a quiz the next morning, a pile of assignments that were due in a week, a new book I had to start reading, and a whole lot of homework to catch up on. And as far as I knew, I still had a cleaning job waiting for me.

At the end of the day, I wanted to curl up in the corner and cry, but Steve wouldn’t let me. He walked me to his car, drove to Tim Hortons and bought me a cappuccino before dropping me off at my apartment. “I’m so glad you’re home, Anna. I missed you.”

“Thanks for everything, Steve. I missed you too. See you tomorrow,” I replied while thinking “dietschjat, I love this man!”

I dragged my heavy backpack through my apartment door, sat down on the floor by the patio doors and stared at the snow falling, as I sipped my cappuccino. I thought, “I’m home,” but I felt anything but home; it was all familiar, yet foreign. I felt what I now can describe as homesick. I missed my family and wished that they were with me. I fetched my pillow and blanket, and crawled up into a ball right there on the floor, like a little kid.  As I cried myself to sleep, I remembered that I had felt the same while visiting my family in the colony. When I woke up, I began to study for my quiz and did my homework one page at a time until midnight. I woke up the next morning to my phone ringing, “Oba waut nu?” I said.

“Good morning Anna! It’s Steve. Don’t make coffee or walk to school this morning. I’m picking you up in half an hour, and I’ll bring coffee.”

“Ahhh okay, thank you!” I said, and before I knew it, I had survived the week, thanks to Steve.

It was Friday night, and I hadn’t seen anything of George all week. I began to worry that he might have moved. I stayed up late reading, hoping and waiting for him to knock on my door.  

When I woke up Saturday morning, and there was still no sign of George. I decided that I would focus on the work I had to get done. I made tweeback dough, put a pot of beans on, sorted my dirty laundry, and began cleaning my apartment with Pine Sol. I walked past George’s door every time I changed a load of laundry. Occasionally I slowed down and listened, but there was no sound coming from his apartment at all.

Finally, after the beans were done, the laundry folded, my apartment cleaned, and the first batch of tweeback in the oven, George appeared at my door.

“Hey, welcome back!”

“George!” I yelled, as he wrapped his arms around me. Eventually, I let go of him, but not because I wanted to.

“It smells amazing in here. Are you baking ‘whatbucks’ again?” he asked.

“Thank you, well, yes I am. Would you like to come in and have one?”

“Yes, please!” he replied, and came in. I just stared at him until he started talking.

“So, how the heck are you, and how was Mexico?”

“I feel like I haven’t seen you for an entire year.”

“Tell me about it, life is so boring here without you.”

“Really? I thought it would have been peaceful.”

“Don’t say that, Anna! Never!”

“I was beginning to think that you moved or something.”

“Oh no, I just started a new job, and I work afternoon shifts,” he explained.

“Okay, so that’s why I haven't seen you all week.”

“You got it!”

“Okay, so how do you like it?”

“It’s okay, it’ll pay the bills for now, but enough about me. How was your trip?”

“How much time do you have?”

“I’m yours for the rest of the weekend, if you’ll have me,” he said, and there was that wink again.

I turned red from head to toe and thought, “How will I get any reading done now?” and distracted myself by serving him a plate of beans and a tweeback.

“Ummm, George?”

“Yes, Anna.”

“This is a tweeback, not a whatbuck,” I explained as I served him.

“Okay,” he said, and winked at me again.

“That’s it! Say it. Say tweeback!”

“Whatbuck?”

“Tweeback!!!”

“Whatbuck!”

“You’re imposable—you know that?”

“Yes, I know,” he replied, and I just stared at him while he enjoyed his meal.

“Stop staring at him!” I thought.

“So tell me about your trip.”

“I don’t even know where to begin, but first, thank you for encouraging me to go. Even though I didn’t think so at first, it was the right time for me to go. Now I will be better able to focus on school.”

“Yeah, how so? Tell me about that.”

“It's hard to put into words. It’s more about how I'm feeling. You know that feeling that you helped me put into words when I couldn’t eat because my stomach felt like it was full of stones?”

“Yes, I remember.”

“Well, it’s kind of like that.”

“I get it,” he said, and then the words just flowed out of me.

“I was going to say goodbye to my colony, my family and Mexico. I believed that I had to choose a side, but that’s not true,” I looked up at him and saw that I had his full attention, he was listening.

“I think I can go to school, change the way I dress, or, you know, try to have my own style, and have, ummm, different kinds of friends, while keeping my family and a relationship with my fellow Mennonites. Eventually, I want to come and go to my colony in Mexico as I am, and as I please.” I made eye contact, and he was still listening. “I know, I know, it doesn’t make any sense. It’s a long shot, and it’s probably not even going to work.”

“Not with that attitude! Believe it, and you can achieve it.”

“You really think so?”

“No, Anna, I don’t think so, I know so.”

“Grrrr, I wish I was smart and knew things like you do.”

“But you are smart, and I feel what you are saying. You don’t even need words; words are stupid barriers anyway. Follow your feelings, and you will get there.”

“I want my people to change the way they see me because of the way I treat them, in spite of how they treat me.”

“Brilliant choice of words!”

“Do you think that that’s even possible?”

“We're going over this again?”

“Yes! I want your words to push away my doubts.”

“Absolutely! Anything is possible with patience.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, sweetie.”

I felt so reassured. I thought, “I love you.” Click here to continue reading my story.

A Sliver of Hope

Continued from I am Annana

“What’s going on, why is it so loud in here?” asked Uncle Jake.

“We can't find your nudel schnida,” I explained.

“Oh, I don’t have one.”

“What, oh no! What are we going to do?”

“Well, I have all kinds of noodles in the cupboard.”

“Okay, let me see what you have,” I answered.

Uncle Jake opened the cupboard and showed me all the spaghetti noodles he had in there.

“Ha li kringel! (Oh twisty bun!)”

“What?”

“You think it's okay to put spaghetti noodles in nudel zup?”

“Sure, why not?”

“Oba nienich!” (Never!)”

“I don’t think we have much of a choice at this point,” Said Izaak.

“You’re right Izaak, but this is not acceptable, and I'm not okay with it!” I said.

“I don’t know what the big deal is,” said Uncle Jake.

“Oh you will, when you take the first slurp,” I answered.

I showed Uncle Jake all the ingredients I put in the broth and boiled spaghetti noodles. Izaak set the table and answered a knock at the door.

“I didn’t know you were getting company.”

“Neither did I,” answered Uncle Jake.

“Okay.”

“Annana! Meet Feo and his brother Juan Pelos. These two have been friends with your brothers for a very long time,” explained Izaak.

They both reached out to shake my hand, Feo asked, “Así que eres la hermana de los hermanos Wall? (So you're the sister of the Wall brothers?)”

“Asi es, (That’s right.)”

“Pensé que tu nombre era Anna (I thought your name was Anna.)”

“You're right it is, Annana is a long story you don’t wanna know,” I explained.

“What? But I want to know.”

I gave Izaak a ‘help me’ look.

“She's right it is a long story, and we'll explain it another time. How about we eat before the soup gets cold.”

We sat down around the table I bowed my head to say my mealtime prayer, Uncle Jake and Izaak followed.

I waited until everyone filled their bowl and watched.

“Algo no está bien. ¿O debería decir que incluso la comida menonita sabe mejor en México? (Something is not right. Or should I say that even Mennonite food tastes better in Mexico?” Asked Juan Pelos.

I stared at Uncle Jake until he couldn’t take it anymore, so he got up and fetched a bag of tostadas, avocados, and salsa and explained to his guests why the nudel zup tasted so different.

“I think I have ruined nudel zup’s reputation forever!” I explained to Uncle Jake in Low German.

“It’s okay Annana it’s not that bad, the tostadas will be a nice compliment.”

“¿Qué dijiste Anna? (What did you say, Anna?)” Asked Juan Pelos.

“Ahhh who wants a tostada?” Uncle Jake asked, and everyone raised their hands.

Regardless, no one left the table feeling hungry. Uncle Jake, Feo, and Juan Pelos went outside for a smoke. Izaak and I cleared the table.

“Thanks for helping me.”

“Annana, I would never leave you to clean all this mess up on your own.”

“This is one of the reasons I like you the best Izaak!”

“Well, it’s all about spending as much time together as we can, no?”

“You got it,” I answered and threw the dish towel at him.

By the time Uncle Jake and his guests came back inside Izaak, and I were sitting at the table and looking at Uncle Jake’s photo albums.

“You know what we should do tonight?” asked Izaak.

“What?”

“We should go to this disco club in Dallas that I go to sometimes. I think you would like it, they play all kinds of different music tonight is norteña night, and there’s a popular band playing. What do you say, Annana, you wanna dress up, let your hair down and go dance the night away?”

Feo and Juan Pelos almost jumped through the roof with excitement.

“I think you would love it!” said Juan Pelos in a heavy Spanish accent.

I looked at Uncle Jake, and he said, “Knock yourselves out. I’m too old for that. I’m staying home.”

“Okay,” I said, and let my hair down, put on lip gloss, pulled together an outfit as best I could with what I had, and off we went to the club.

The club was jam-packed with impeccably dressed gorgeous, confident Mexican people. The atmosphere reminded me of El Guero’s parties. Again, I felt completely out of place and self-conscious, but the more vampiros I drank it helped enhanced my vocabulary, or so I thought, and I cared less about what I looked like in the clothing I was wearing.

I met many of Izaak’s friends and had deep conversations with him.

“So, what do you think?” Asked Izaak.

“This is awesome! I wanna live here.”

“I knew you would. I can help you find work.”

“It’s very tempting, but it’s a bad idea.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I would unintentionally become Uncle Jake’s maid and end up resenting both of you for that. It would probably ruin our relationship.”

“True.”

“You know, this trip has been very hard for me, and many times I thought that it was a huge mistake, but I have learned so much. Going back to the colony has helped me mature and accept many things. I think I have found my purpose.”

“Oh yeah? And what is that?”

“Well, for me to be okay, I need to stay part of my family in some way or another, and I need for the Bueckert girls not to hate me, I can’t let them go either I love them too much. It may take my lifetime to prove to them that we can still be some part of each other’s lives maybe even only in our thoughts for now in spite of us disagreeing about school and many other things. I think by me finishing my high school will be one way I can be a sliver of hope in the far future for them and many people from the colony who can’t read and write. I am going to stop trying to convince them and show them by doing it. I know that the hardest part for me will be keeping some kind of relationship with them while I do it.”

“I am proud of you. Most people who leave the colony become hateful, bitter, and cut all ties they have with the life they left behind. I see it here in Texas all the time; people end up putting all their energy into proving that they are not part of that. I have done it for years, it’s exhausting, and we just end up making fools of ourselves. No matter what we do, we can’t change who our parents are or where we came from. Good for you.”

“Thank you. I know that it might not even work, but I am going to do it anyway. I will just have to do what mom has always said, that if you want to get anywhere , you have to adjust my attitude accordingly. Ay caramba, Izaak, I said accordingly!”

“You sure did.”

Juan Pelos didn’t like how serious my conversation with Izaak was getting and asked me to dance. As always, I put up a big fight resisting, but in the end, gave in.

“Ahhh what the heck! I’ll go to the dancefloor with you, but I can guarantee you that I will be stepping on your tows. Are you okay with that?”

“Claro, mis botas de avestruz pueden manejarlo. (Sure, my ostrich boots can handle it.)”

Juan Pelos did a really good job of not letting the fact that I was imposable to lead on the dance floor ruin his optimism. There was just no way I could even pretend to put out moves like the rest of the people in the club, so I thought I would talk to him to make it go by faster for his sake.

“So Izaak tells me that you guys are from Esfuerzos?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“You know, I think you grew up in the best little Ranchito in Mexico. That mountain with the cave is my favorite!”

“I couldn’t agree with you more.”

“You know that my friends and I used to run and hide when anyone from Esfuerzos past through our colony.”

“Yes, how could I forget?”

“That was very rude.”

“It did hurt a lot, but this makes it better.”

“I am so sorry.”

“That’s okay I understand why you did it. I’ll never hide from you when you go through my town to visit your favorite place.”

“I know you wouldn’t. Thank you for that. When we drive through any Mexican town, people do nothing but smile and wave at us.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Sooo how long have you known my brothers for?”

“About four years or so, how are they doing?”

“Good, really good actually. They are so easy going. I sure didn’t expect that I would get along with them as well as I did.”

“I know what you mean. Your brothers are awesome.”

“I know, I am going to miss them even more now that I spent so much time with them. You know that they lived in Cuernavaca, Morelos and worked as extras on a movie set?”

“What? No, I didn’t. That’s awesome!”

“Yeah, I know. I’m totally jealous.”

“Me too. Oh shit! Are they still going to talk to me now that they are actors?”

“Oh yes, they are all relaxed about it. I was the one that freaked out with excitement especially about the fact that they got to work with Joaquim de Almeida and Tom Berenger.”

“Wow good for them.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Come, I’ll buy you a drink,” suggested Juan Pelos when the song ended.

“What would you like?”

“I’ll have another vampiro.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to try something different?”

“No, not really, vampiros are my favorite.”

“Okay,” He replied. We went back to our table and met some more of Izaak’s friends.

I sat down and thought how nice I felt that I had a chance to apologize to at least one person for being so ignorant and rude to him just because he wasn't Dietsch. I got all worked up thinking to myself, “From now on I will decide for myself who I will be friends with how I will treat people.” And I felt unbearable guilt again about how I had judged George before I even knew him.

“You look sad what's wrong?” asked Izaak.

“Oh nothing, I just realized some important changes I have to work on.”

“Okay, whenever you want to go just let me know, okay.”

“Okay, I will. This is great, thanks for showing me what your life is like.”

“Your welcome.”

“Hey, does El Guero ever come here?”

“No, or at least I have never ran into him here.”

“Okay.”

“Why do you ask?”

“I just wondered.”

“Do you plan on staying in touch with him?”

“No, you know, as much as I would like too, I know that I am better off listening to my mother about this one. I am so glad that I got to experience what I did and that I met him before I knew what he does. I think I am better of leaving things as they are, and besides, I think I might have lost his phone number.”

“You are making a smart decision prima! Cheers to that.”

I chugged back my vampiro and told Izaak with more confidence than ever before, “I have made many stupid decisions, for many different reasons and I am sick of it. From here on out I am deciding for myself, who I talk to, who I am friends with, whether they have tattoos, wear plaid shirts or ostrich boot. The decision will be mine, and I'm not hiding and pretending anymore. And you know what else?”

“What?” Izaak asked with a scared look on his face.

“I’m gonna go shopping! I’m going to dress how I want to dress. Who care about what people think!”

“You go, prima!” Izaak replied.

“And I’m gonna wear my purple dress! But only when I'm sleeping. And you know what else?”

“No, tell me.”

“This is my last drink.”

“Okay, how about I’ll get you a water?”

“Thank you!”

When I sobered up, I apologized to Izaak for speaking so aggressively.

“Prima! If you are going to practice what you preach never apologize for preaching it!” Click here to continue reading my story.

Photo credit to Margaret Wall

I am Annana

Continued from Seven Plautdietsch Words

As the sun began to rise over the mountains, looking out the window, I thought, “Stop being so sad, Anna! You’re going back to your life in Canada! A good life! Or at least better than the one you're leaving behind! Am I? Really? Should I talk to Uncle Jake? Maybe that will help.”

I looked over at him, and he seemed perfectly content with the silence. “I shouldn’t bother him! Just go back to being sad, Anna,” I thought.

I jumped when Uncle Jake finally spoke. “How about we have breakfast here in Durango City? I know a place that makes the best huevos divorciados.”

“Yes! I have no idea what that is, but I want some. How about you, Izaak? Are you up for some huevos divorciados?” I asked as I gave him an elbow poke.

“Yeah, yeah sounds good to me.”

The restaurant was bright, colorful and had cheerful music playing. It was hard to continue to be sad when the people who were serving us added to the cheerfulness of the atmosphere.

“This is what I am going to miss about Mexico,” I thought. I realized that I loved everything about Mexico except life in the colony. I looked around and imagined myself living in Durango City.

As soon as we hit the road again, it felt like an elephant of darkness sat down on my chest. Izaak went right back to sleep, and it didn’t seem like Uncle Jake was the person to talk to about what I was experiencing. So I did what I always did—I imagined George telling me to breathe through it, and before I knew it, I had fallen asleep and we had arrived at the border.

Now that I knew what my nationality was, crossing the border into the US was easy. They didn’t even seem to care. “Oh, sure!” I thought. “Now that I am with two guys, there are no problems! Or maybe the lesson I learned here is, ‘Don’t argue with immigration officers, and especially do not bring knives in your backpack ever again!’”

When I looked into the rear view mirror, and couldn’t see Mexico in the distance anymore, I felt what my cowboy friend Javier had told me about. I felt like I was leaving part of myself behind and thought, “This is what he meant by being separated from one’s soul.” I felt it too, and I thought, “How could I say that I would never go back to where my soul lives?”

My eyes became very itchy, and I did everything I could to hide it from Uncle Jake and Izaak. To distract myself from feeling what I was feeling, I opened my backpack and looked through the papers mom had given me. Among those papers was my original Mexican birth certificate. Now that I could read, I looked over it and noticed that I was not the only one confused about what nationality we Dietsch people were. On my original birth certificate, it said that the nationality of all four of my grandparents and my parents was menonita.

“I knew it!” I thought, “My nationality is not Canadian, it’s menonita!”

Uncle Jake glanced over and said, “Those are all wrong.”

“What?” I asked.

“The birth certificates that were issued during that time are all wrong. Look at your name, it’s Annana Wol.”

I began laughing so hard that all the tears I had fought back so hard were pouring out.

“So next time I cross the border I can say, ‘My name is Annana Vol, and my nationality is menonita, and it'll be true, because look, it says right here.’”

Uncle Jake and Izaak both laughed with me. “We are so screwed,” said Izaak. I just kept laughing and waited for him to say more. “If the people that are in charge of registering us can't even spell our names or know that menonita is not a nationality, how are we as a group going to survive?”

“Who did this?” I asked.

“I have no idea.”

I looked at Uncle Jake, and he said, “Nope, all I can tell you is when your dad and I tried to apply for new ones, the person at the registro civil told us that it would take a long time and a lot of trips to Durango City to correct all the mistakes. He offered to type up new ones right there in exchange for some queso menonita. But you know what that means?”

“No, what?”

“The new birth certificates were never sent in.”

“Okay, so what does that mean?”

“As far as the Mexican government is concerned you are Annana Vol, and your nationality is menonita,” said Izaak, “That’s what that means.”

“So my name really is Annana Vol?” I asked.

“You got it!” said Uncle Jake, and we all burst out laughing.  

“No wonder I feel like I am two people being separated one from the other when I leave. It’s true: in Canada I am Anna Wall, and in Mexico, I am Annana Vol.”

When things got quiet again, I thought, “I am just going to keep talking, so I don’t get sad again.”

“How did you learn to read and write Dietsch, English, and Spanish? Did you go to school after you moved to the US?” I asked Uncle Jake.

“No, I never went to school in the US. I learned Dietsch in the Mennonite school. My father, your grandpa, taught me to read and write Spanish and English. It was pretty easy for me to learn.”

“You must not have been a hard learner.”

“Nope, I was a soft learner,” he answered, and I looked at him and waited for him to laugh, but he looked all serious; I couldn’t tell if that was supposed to be a joke or not. He continued, “But my English isn't that great. I speak Spanish mostly on a daily basis. About ninety percent of the people that I fix cars for are Mexicans who don’t speak English. The only time I speak English is when I do my banking and shopping.”

“What about Dietsch? Are there any Dietsch people where you live whom you can talk to?”

“There are two Dietsch people whom I hang out with sometimes. But I'll never forget Dietsch even if I don’t speak it for years. As soon as I step foot onto the colony, my brain just knows to speak Dietsch.”

“Wow, you are so lucky! It was hard for me.”

“It was harder for me the first few times too, but it gets easier each time you go back.”

“What about you, Izaak, was it hard for you?”

“No, I never even thought about it, it just happened naturally. But I think the difference is I was with my family the first ten times or so going back and forth. We spoke Dietsch to each other and English or Spanish to the public. I’ve been programmed this way, I guess. You don’t need to go to school to learn that. Experience is the best teacher in my books.”

The sun disappeared behind the mountains, and seven hours later we arrived at Uncle Jake's house in Duncanville, Texas. It was a small, two-bedroom house. It didn’t look like a house to me, it looked more like a garage. There were car parts, magazines or calendars with nakschitasch (half-naked women) on them everywhere.  

I didn’t know where to look, so I looked at Izaak.

“It’s a bachelor thing,” explained Izaak.

“What’s a bachelor?” I asked, while I awkwardly made eye contact with Uncle Jake.  It was like he hadn't heard anything that had been said in the room.

“I don’t know about you two, but I’m having a shower, and going to sleep,” said Uncle Jake.

“Okay, Annana and I will go get some groceries,” said Izaak.

“Great,” said Uncle Jake, and wrote down a few things he needed. He asked us to buy all the ingredients to make nudel zup.

“Annana, I would love it if you could teach me how to make nudel zup. Could we do that later today?”

“Sure,” I replied.

Izaak took me around and showed me the shop where he and Uncle Jake worked, and again, the shop was covered in calendars with nakschitasch on them. He took me to a Mexican restaurant and explained to me what a bachelor was.

“Okay, but why don’t you guys put up the calendars that you get from Mexico? You know, the ones with the horses and cute fluffy kitties on them.”

“Ahhh, no! Let’s go to the grocery store.”

“Jee han hea mul june faschetna weln, nich?”

“You got it! It’s awesome. Uncle Jake doesn't seem to carry around guilt and shame like we do, and the good thing for me is, no one in my life here is constantly judging me. But I’m starting to feel like you are judging us, Annana.”

“You couldn’t be more wrong I'm not judging you, I am envious of you and Uncle Jake both. Uncle Jake seems perfectly comfortable with his lifestyle. I wish I could be more like that. You know, he just does what he wants to do and doesn't apologize for it, and his family welcomes him back with open arms every time he goes back to the colony.”

“He’s always been like that.”

“I know!” I said, and thought, “It’s because he's not a woman! But I'm not even going to say it anymore. I’m sick of this!”

“I know, I know, It’s because we're men!” Izaak said.

“You said it!”

“I’m truly sorry that it is that way. I appreciate you not judging me, and you can always count on me. I won't treat you differently just because you are a woman.”

“Thanks, Izaak! I am lucky to have you in my life, even if it is only once every two years or so,” I said, as I got up and hugged him.

We bought everything Uncle Jake needed, including beer, tequila, and cigarettes. Not one person spoke English to Izaak. Every person we encountered spoke Spanish. It felt like we were still in Mexico.

“I see why you prefer living here It’s like we're right in between the two worlds I’m torn about.”

“You’re right, Annana, that’s exactly what it is. Here we’re so much closer to Mexico, but far enough away from the colony not to be judged all the time, and best of all there are great Mexican restaurants everywhere. Most of the Mexican people that live here are our neighbors from Mexico, and here we earn even better dollars than in Canada. And the weather, oh Annana. don’t even get me started on the weather. It’s almost as if I were actually living in Mexico.  It never gets cold here like it does in Canada.”

“Wait! Who cares about the weather! Why are the dollars here better than Canadian dollars?”

“Because they are worth a heck of a lot more than the Canadian dollars.”

“What? Wow, I want to live here!”

“I knew you would! But you don’t, actually.”

“Okay Izaak, you are really confusing me.”

“It's not that easy; you see it’s very difficult to become a US citizen, and because of that most of us are very limited in the things we can do here, like owning a car or buying a house.”

“What?” I asked, and then he proceeded to explain that he, like many others, were ‘wetbacks’ (illegals).

“Oh no, Izaak! You just crushed my dreams! I’ll stay dry, thanks!” I said.

When we got back to Uncle Jake’s house with the groceries and started unpacking them, everywhere I tried to put things, there were either tools or spark plugs in the way.

“Okay, if I am making nudel zup in this kitchen, you're going to have to help me clean it and get all this crap out of here!”

“This is not crap, Annana! These spark plugs are going to make someone very happy one day,” said Izaak as he laughed. 

“Well, you better put them somewhere else then.”

After cleaning the kitchen, I prepped the chicken and put in on the stove to cook. I began looking for Uncle Jake’s pasta maker, but couldn’t find it anywhere.

“Izaak! Witz du wua Um Jap seen nudel schnida haft faschtaken? (Izaak! Would you know where Uncle Jake is hiding his pasta maker?)”

“Ahhh, he doesn’t have one.”

“What? Oh no! We’re in so much trouble! I can't make nudel zup without a nudel schnida!” Click here to continue reading my story.