Trabalenguas

My first weekend here, the Nica brothers of two of the girls in the program took us out for a day trip. After taking a terrifying rickety-old school bus we made it to the terminal of “interlocals”, which are 12-passenger micro-buses that somehow fit 20 people plus whatever was bought at the market that day. Cozy, to say the least. 

We hopped off in Masaya, stretching cramped legs and taking in breaths of fresh air. The city is famous for its mercado viejo where artisans sell their crafts, typical looking touristy souvenirs but still pretty cool. The five of us spent the afternoon looking at hand-painted leather, knotted bracelets, hammocks (yes, of course I bought one), t-shirts, and other wears. Locals were bustling around with baskets selling food, extrañeros shopping, and kids making origami out of palm leaves in exchange for some pesos or some food.

Lauren and her brother Eduardo hadn’t eaten, so we stopped at an outdoor restaurant to grab a quick bite. Now, remind you, this was still the first weekend, so we didn’t know each other well yet and our Spanish was atrocious. We struggled through conversation, asking questions and learning new words. I was getting especially frustrated because I can’t say r’s right if my gringa life depended on it. Gersan, the brother of my friend Sheena, was laughing at me, and then wrote out in my notebook a tongue-twister for me to try. Ready? Tres triste tigres comian trigo en un trigal. (Three sad tigers ate wheat in a sill). Well, that was the source of laughter for Eduardo and Gersan for a while. To get even, we wrote out trabalenguas in English, like “she sells sea shells” and “proper cup of coffee in a copper coffee pot.” Pretty soon, none of us were able to say anything right, English or Spanish. A level playing field for once!

At dinner that night, I told my familia that Gersan gave me homework, to practice the trabalengua. My host sister added on to the assignment an even harder one. I spent the next couple of days muttering tongue-twisters about tigers and race-cars under my breath and watching my family laugh at me through the corner of my eyes. No wonder they think I’m crazy.

The next week my madre brought me to the Mercado Oriental to go grocery shopping. They had explained to me the night before that this was the biggest market in Managua. Bigger than Masaya? Uhhh, yeah. Endless streets of clothes, fruits, rice, electronics, furniture, bags, chickens, mattresses, and about anything else you can imagine. I trailed after my madre, dodging carts full of platanos, hot pans of maize, venders yelling at me to buy things, and water falling from the puzzle of scrap tin that formed a makeshift roof. Doña Laura would pause only to point something out to me or to check that I hadn’t been swallowed into to crowed of Nicas shopping and selling. 

I happily sipped cacao from a plastic bag as I waited for Doña Laura to buy groceries, grateful for the cool drink to ease the heat of cooking food and sweaty people in the market. Doña Laura turned to show me what she got, explaining a curious brown rice-krispy-treat-looking square. “Hecho de trigo,” she told me, “Made of wheat.” “Oh, like the tigers ate?” I said. She looked at me for a split second, like “Ok, I don’t know what they teach you in the states, but tigers don’t eat wheat” and they she realized that I was talking about the trabalengua and just being a smart-ass. She laughed almost the entire way home. 

For a while after, when anyone asked my madre how I was doing (usually right in front of me because they didn’t think I understood), she would answer, “Oh she’s great. She even made a joke one time, listen to this!” and would tell them the one time I succeeded in being funny - on purpose. As soon as I can use the trabalengua to say my “r’s” right, I’ll be good to go :)