Silly American

I was lucky enough to get a home stay family that owned an entire apartment building which allowed us to have a flat to ourselves. Directly under the balcony of my room lied a bar named “Jade” with a Morrocan bartender whom I became close with over the summer. I would sit out on the terrace studying and skyping with friends back home and he would toss me up a joint of Hash whenever he took a smoke break. I’d always happily oblige the much needed relaxation. I loved this place and never wanted to leave.

My home stay mother’s name was Pepita. She spoke absolutely no English and her husband spoke even less. Abelardo had the southern accent likened to my Grandfathers Turbeville, SC accent…untranslatable to most and often involved cutting words and syllables in half. Every morning before class, Pepita made us breakfast and also utilized the opportunity to help with our Spanish. “Oh, que tal Bonicka?” Que quieres? Platanos, melacotones, manzanas, naranjas? Accenting each sound and syllable with her lips pursed out like a platypus. Nobody annunciates like Pepita.

I loved this place and I loved my new Spanish family and they loved me too. At least Pepita did, while her husband Abelardo most likely remains indifferent…

One night I suddenly felt as if someone was prison-shanking me in my side. Terrified it may be appendicitis, I was eventually forced to wake Pepita up and ask for help…or morphine.

She immediately woke Abelardo and suddenly I was being thrust out the door into a cab. I found myself alone with Abelardo.

“Oh Shit” I thought. Abelardo, still sleepy eyed from being abruptly woken, rode silently if even stoically in the cab on the way to the hospital.

Abelardo checked me in to the front desk of the emergency room. The nurse immediately took me back into a room that looked like a horror movie from the 1950's with chairs, equipment, and florentine pink paint that chipped from the walls.

The nurse began to strap me into my chair….

“Uh, what the hell are you doing?” I rightfully questioned.

“You want me to take pain away, no?” the nurse questioned in broken English.

“No, I want you to make sure my appendix isn’t going to explode on the wall”

“We will not give you any pills here” she proudly proclaimed. “What?” No doubt I wasn’t the first American to arrive in this emergency room considering she already had decided that I couldn’t be there for any other reason other than I desperately needed painkillers. “Silly American” she said. “You will lay back and take this medicine”….

I had no idea what was going on. But one thing I did know was that I had a sneaking suspicion that i was about to wake up in a bathtub missing an appendix. I ripped away from the nurse strapping me into my death chair and ran out the exam room door and back out to the check-in desk.

The moment I broke thru the doors and laid eyes on Pepita’s husband I yelled…”Malo medico….Vamos” is all I could come up with

This did not explain to Abelardo why he had been woken up at 5am to rush me to the hospital..only for me to run screaming out of it 5 minutes later yelling “bad doctor…let’s go”.

The entire 2 hour bus ride home he kept saying “segu….segu”. Working as a team to figure out what word he was actually saying, we eventually found that it meant “segura” which meant “safe”.

I then looked up the words to “kidney” and “thieves”. For the remainder of the summer, Abelardo kept his distance