Saying Good-bye

In the Third World we say good-bye often. In fact, at the tender age of just seven months I am already doing it for the second time and what I’m learning is that saying good-bye is a lot like getting a diaper change. At first, it is unpleasant and you soon come to realize that the whole experience really stinks. Tears are shed and some screaming is often required to move the process along. But then a new diaper comes, super absorbent and brimming with promise and it’s exciting to imagine all the fun you are going to have filling it up. Ok, so it’s not a great analogy but I don’t exactly have a lot of life experiences to draw on.

Naomi and me with Betty and Coly, our good friends and protectors

On the one hand, constantly saying good-bye weakens friendships; makes them temporary. Sure we try to stay in touch but when's the last time any of us sent a hand-written letter in the mail or made a phone call just to say hi? We're lucky if we remember to send an e-card once a year on our closest friends' birthdays. And when we finally do see an email from a long-departed friend in our inbox, it is more likely to contain the phrase “forward this to twenty people” than “I was thinking about you today.”

But ironically, these same bonds of friendship, beaten and battered though they may be, are the very thing that helps us adapt to a new place. Because those of us in the Third World must pull up roots so often, it is the friends we make quickly upon arrival that make our new home feel so much like, well, home. If you doubt my thesis, you need look no further than the smiles on our faces as we celebrated my sister's third birthday with all her wonderful friends in Dakar.

Ok, granted, part of the excitement was at getting our first Barbie doll, an event similar in many ways to seeing a space alien. Not only did she have an other-worldly form with bulbous head and withered limbs, but Daddy’s shock and revulsion at the invasion of this creature into our home had all the leanings of a government cover-up. We’re guarding Barbie closely to make sure she does not disappear -- the memory of her existence subjected to a campaign of doubt and ridicule.

A real friend shouldn't show up at a party wearing your outfit

Friends also help us through difficult times. Our peers can better understand the tribulations we face from those who would oppress us – namely our families. In my case, my family regularly subjects me to comparisons with the odd and odious Uncle Fester for my round head, fair complexion, and inability to grown hair. I sincerely hope they never find out that I can illuminate a light bulb with my mouth or I’ll never shake the nickname.















To those of you who have been a friend to me in Africa, I thank you warmly and sincerely. Please know that I will think of you from time to time, even if I do not excel at staying in touch. But rest assured I will never send you a chain letter.

Un beso,
Lainey

Bienvenidos

Welcome to The Third World. First, I would like to thank my sister Naomi for entrusting me with the empire which she has worked so hard to build. I would also like to thank her for introducing me with a picture that makes me look like I just swallowed a live hamster. I know she loves me, but she has a subtle jealous streak which sometimes makes her do bad things to me.

In Baby Adventure Traveler, Naomi made a few amusing remarks about traveling; “what’s the deal with airplane peanuts?” and the like. I however, plan to go a bit deeper in my journals. I am introspective and I will be taking a closer look at the relationships between cultures and individuals in my search to figure out how I fit into the whole grand scheme.

Why “The Third World?”

My father’s world – that of the Gringos – is a world of individual achievement. These people hold records for the world's richest man, the world's fattest man, the world's fattest twins, and stuffing the most French fries into one's mouth. These are people that conquer the unknown and do not believe in setting limits. For them, it is better to clean up messes like foreclosure epidemics, environmental meltdown, Iraq, and four-dollar-a-gallon gas spikes than proceed with caution.

My mother's world is the world of the Latinos and for them the family is the most important unit. So important, in fact, that their desire for more children often cannot be contained to just one spouse. In this world, the ubiquitous, libidinous soap operas called telenovelas are considered reality shows. For scripted entertainment, Latinos are content to watch either a middle aged man dressed as a baby or a silicone-stuffed blonde in a tube top doing anything.

My world is the third world, the one where these two come crashing together. My third world is a confusing mix of contradictions and complements overlaid on whichever country and culture happens to play host. Africa has been a fascinating introduction to life, but to really explore this world, I have decided to move the team to Hermosillo, Mexico. Geographically, Hermosillo is right in the middle between my mother’s family in Costa Rica and my father’s in Minnesota. It is a Latino city that lies close to America, just four hours south of Tucson and nestled firmly under her cultural wing. I think it will play a lovely desert backdrop to my adventure journal. Please check back often for updates.

Un beso,
Lainey