Part of The Family

By the luck of the draw, I have lived with a fantastic Señora for the past three months, someone who I will always consider my Spanish Mom. I would not have thought this when my name was called from the other end of the hotel by CIEE staff and as I nervously walked over to my Señora, decked out in her finest clothes, complete with heels (despite this fact the was still ¾ my height).

I can remember quickly introducing myself and planting a kiss on both cheeks before being asked, “How are you?” My response was truthful “Well, I am pretty nervous”. She responded that there was no reason to be nervous, then grabbed my largest bag and started dragging it through the hotel. I tried to protest, but since at this point my Spanish was horrible (both due to the fact that I had just arrived three days ago and because I was so nervous I don’t think I could have said a proper sentence in English), and since, as I have learned, I have a very stubborn Spanish Mother who refuses to let me do more than an ounce of work, my protests went unheard.

I can also remember walking along the narrow cobblestone streets with my luggage, me with an enormous backpack and suitcase, my Señora with a suitcase half her size. We must have looked like quite the pair. She tried to ask me numerous things, but I couldn’t understand a word (she has a VERY think Andaluz accent…for the record, it is well known that it is the hardest Spanish accent to understand), that is, until she asked, “Do you speak Spanish?” I responded yes, but since I was so nervous I was having a hard time. Most of the rest of our walk and wait for the taxi was in silence, aside from the click of her heels and the sound as my suitcase’s wheels rolled over the cobblestone path (a very distinctive but annoying sound). When in the cab, I caught my Señora looking over at me, inspecting me. I also caught the cabbie trying to stifle laughs as well as a confused look as he glanced in his rearview mirror, trying to figure out what this Spanish woman was doing with a girl who hardly spoke a lick of Spanish.

After a quick tour of my new home, I was left alone to unpack my bags and to wonder what the heck I was thinking when I decided not only to come to Spain, but to live with a Señora. As I unloaded all my possessions I had brought, organizing my armoire, I listened in on the many phone calls my Señora made, reporting to every person on the planet that I had arrived and was very “linda” (this means pretty on the inside) and “guapa” (pretty on the outside). As I was finishing unpacking my bags, I was called to lunch and I nervously approached the kitchen.

Over a lunch of turkey nuggets, fries, and other food I can’t remember, grasping at straws and trying to prove that I wasn’t completely inept, I asked how many other students she had had. “You are my first” she responded, trying to suppress a nervous smile. Suddenly, I thought I had a chance here. At the very least, she wouldn’t be comparing me to her other students, she would just think that all Americans are dumb as rocks. We shared a knowing look, now able to understand each other’s nerves and enjoyed the first of many lunches.

Now, those lunches are not something I dread, but something I look forward to. My Señora is more than just the woman I live with, she is my confidant. When something goes wrong here, I talk to her. When I have news from home, she is the first to hear it. When I have a question about where I can buy a pack of stamps, she is the one I ask. When I have absolutely no idea how I am supposed to peel the new oranges (we have to use knives now), and I royally screw mine up, she takes it, shows me how to peel it, and gives me a new one. When I need a good laugh, I listen to one of her stories (she is a hilarious storyteller, her facial expressions just do me in). We have shared stories of our families (I think she has my family tree memorized), stories of our past, music, pictures, and our lives.

That formal kiss that we planted on each other’s cheeks is no longer used, instead it has been replaced with the one she uses with her family members, where she kisses me numerous times on one cheek making this loud smacking sound (it actually grosses me out a bit). We have also breached Spanish norms and have actually hugged each other, each time one trying to comfort the other.

Now, when I catch my Señora looking at me, it is not a look of inspection, but a look of pride, a broad smile across her face. She has often said that she has noticed a huge change in me, both in regards to my Spanish, as well as growing emotionally (she says I have become a much more confident person, as well as other things). She often parades me around our neighborhood and Sevilla, introducing me to relatives, neighbors and friends.

That heavy Andaluz accent that I struggled with so much in the beginning has not only crept into my ears, but also my mouth, and often times I catch myself pronouncing words the Andaluz way. My Señora is very proud of this, and calls me her little Sevillana.

Now, my Señora no longer calls me with the name I introduced myself with so many weeks ago, but instead uses “Mi hija, guapa, bonita, and at times, mi hermana” (translating to my daughter, beautiful (both guapa and bonita) and my sister). All of these are terms of affection used between close friends and family.

I have not only slowly snuck into the life of my Señora, but also the lives of her family members. My Señora proudly relayed to me the other day that she was talking on the phone to her younger son’s girlfriend when the girlfriend asked what I was up to. In the background, my Señora heard her son yelling at his girlfriend “And what do you care what my sister is up to, she is mine, not yours”. The nieces have also become very possessive of me, having an obsession with an American they met the first week that could barely speak Spanish. Now, I not only speak Spanish well, but have them laughing as I tell them what a hard time I am having trying to dress like other Sevillanos, in a sweater and jeans, in the 90 degree weather (they found this so funny they retold the story to my Señora…twice). The last time the youngest niece came over to try on her Flamenco dress that my Señora was working so hard on, she brought with her trading cards of the statues that are on the Holy Week floats for me.

Because my Señora not only opened her home but also her heart, I think leaving my Señora and my new family here will be harder than when I left my family and friends behind in the States. My friendship with my Señora was an unlikely one, but it has come to be one of my most important ones. I know that I could never have survived this crazy Study Abroad experience without her. I can remember writing in an email, trying to express my concerns about leaving Sevilla to my parents, that I will always have my family at home, but I will not always have my family in Sevilla. Over time though, I have come to realize that while I may not see them as frequently, I will always have my eccentric, copla and flamenco loving Señora and her family.