I moved to a different home-stay on Tuesday. You may or may not know this is a pretty big deal when it comes to abroad-stuff. If you want the gory details, read the following epic and enjoy 10-15 minutes of procrastination.
At first, my host mom, (we call host-moms señoras), Remedios, seemed quiet and kind… and maybe she is. I figured she wasn’t asking me too many questions the first couple weeks because she wanted to feel out her new "daughter," see how my Spanish was, see who I was. It was nice to settle into my room and have some privacy until my three house-mates arrived. I was apprehensive about having three other American girls in the house, but two of them could speak Spanish pretty well, and the other none at all; she stayed silent at dinner time and I had a lunch hour with the family all to myself every day. The girls and I didn’t become best friends, but I enjoyed the time I spent with them.
I left my bedroom door open all the time, in hopes that my host dad, or any three of my host siblings (a 24 year old son, José, a 26 year old daughter, Marta, and a 29 year old daughter, Marta) would come in. Maria was the only one who ever talked to me. Me being literally about the 51st student in the house (they can´t keep track anymore) might have had something to do with that. I never knew it was so abnormal for a family to have more than one or two students a semester. The first 4 months came and went, though, and so did my housemates. Everything was fine. I had my concerns, but everyone else in the program had theirs’ too. I pretended everything was perfect.
I left my bedroom door open all the time, in hopes that my host dad, or any three of my host siblings (a 24 year old son, José, a 26 year old daughter, Marta, and a 29 year old daughter, Marta) would come in. Maria was the only one who ever talked to me. Me being literally about the 51st student in the house (they can´t keep track anymore) might have had something to do with that. I never knew it was so abnormal for a family to have more than one or two students a semester. The first 4 months came and went, though, and so did my housemates. Everything was fine. I had my concerns, but everyone else in the program had theirs’ too. I pretended everything was perfect.
Fact: Home-stays are awkward no matter what. The same things that annoy you about your own family annoy you about your “new” one, but you are socially not allowed to show or say it because you are a “guest”. Also, in our program, the families receive 850 euros a month for housing and feeding us, so you can never know when a señora is hosting students for the right reasons. Answer in my opinion: 99% of the they aren't. In addition, in Spain, people are more reserved (do not confuse it with Latin American culture) so the atmosphere is not as warm and welcoming as we all expected. On top of that, the host student has to get used to new food (and meal-times) and a new language, not to mention that subtlety in a foreign language is more difficult than you could ever imagine if you have never gotten past the high school level.
Second semester arrived and I was nervous when I found out I was living with another BU student. When I met her, I realized I shouldn´t have been. She can speak Spanish well and we became fast friends. I then found out three girls from Syracuse were coming. I will number the Syracuse girls to make things simple. Syracuse #1 could understand half of what was said and say about 20% of the things she wanted to say. Syracuse #2 and #3 could not understand nor say anything. What a great idea they had coming to Spain and living with a family that speaks no English! Note: If you go to the capital of a developed country without any language skills and take all your classes in English, you could go THE REST OF YOUR LIFE living there without learning the language, because you are immediately arriving at a language road-block. It is not these girls’ faults that they cannot speak Spanish. The major problem was that they should never have been housed with people that can and are trying to become fluent. I translated everything for them when they arrived and, I admit, I was happy to flex my translation muscles… for a couple weeks.
After a month, I realized that I should not be speaking nor hearing English in my home-stay EVER. Upon complaining o Shana, the other BU student, a lot of new information came to light. Shana’s room had bugs. I knew there were some bugs in the kitchen, but it never bothered me and I thought it was normal. She told me that when she asked our housing coordinator, Miky, for help with the issue and Miky found out there were five student in the house, she was furious. Remedios had lied to her, by saying Shana and I were the only students there. Despite her anger, Miky never did anything to fix the problem.
In March, I started to resent my Syracuse housemates. I refused to translate for them. I interrupted them by speaking in Spanish when they started to speak English (which was always). I abruptly left the table after dinner if they started to speak English (which was always). I started to hate my host mom for not asking me questions- for making ME, the English speaker, come up with topics that we could talk about. I hated her for not correcting me even when I reminded her almost every night to do so. I would make errors on purpose to test her to see if she would correct me. She never did. Note: along with being contracted to feed and house us, the families are required to speak to us and assist us with Spanish.
I also realized that even though I had been living there for 6 months, I didn’t feel like a part of the family. Believe me when I say I tried SO HARD to force myself in using every means possible (keeping my door open, going into the kitchen and the living room every night, etc.).
I made my unhappiness known to Remedios, but she did a very bad job of enforcing the no-English rule. At March’s end, I was completely fed up, but I wasn’t ready to give up. I suggested to Shana we go to the Syracuse girls’ room and talk to the about our issues. It the most uncomfortable thing I have had to do during my abroad experience.
We all complained together, me about not being able to speak as much Spanish I wanted, the girls about the toilet, the beds, the bugs. I need to be clear that I would be fine sleeping on a hardwood floor, semi-starving, if it meant I was getting better at Spanish. Syracuse #1 said I was "not being accommodating" in terms of translating. I responded that "yes I have been an unaccommodating bitch, but I have no other option. I can’t and won’t translate anymore." After a half hour of discussion, we realized the only solution for the language problem was to have separate dinners. We would ask Remedios the next night.
Remedios wasn’t at dinner the next night and I made my unhappiness known. Translated conversation:
Remedios: How are you
Me: Ok
Remedios: …because I wasn’t at dinner tonight?
Me: Yes. I spoke English for 30 minutes today at dinner. I am not happy about that.
(Please realize I don’t know how to be subtle in Spanish)
Remedios: Sorry, I was visiting my friend at the hospital.
I would have loved to use the subjunctive tense to tell her I hope her friend doesn’t suck as much as her. Remedios does not work and has ALL day to run her errands. I was so furious that she had tried to make ME feel bad after semi-scolding her about not being at the dinner she is paid to attend.
The next day, I called my housing programmer, Miky, and when I told her about our separate dinner plan, she said if Remedios refused, I could meet with new host families the next day and move. She would delay Remedios’ April check until I made my decision. It was March 30. I was on edge all day.
When I arrived to dinner, Maria, my host sister was there. This was not a common thing. I told myself even if she didn´t leave, I would still ask my host mom for separate dinners. Dinner came and went. Fruit salad came and went. I gave everyone at the table a look that undeniably said “DON’T LEAVE. We are not done.” I was seriously delaying and finally, Remedios started to leave (she never seemed to want to stay anyway) “espera espera espera (wait wait wait)” I said quickly. The following conversation ensued in Spanish, but I will translate.
Me: Ok, so… we want to talk about the language issue and-
Remedios: Oh right right right, the no English rule, yeah we will make sure to do that.
Me: NO (interrupting). It has been the same for 2 months and I can´t deal with it anymore. The girls and I talked about it last night about it.
Remedios: Ok well, you all talked about it last night, then its fixed.
Me: No. No, its not fixed
The room fell silent a little bit. I hated Maria so much for staying there, so content.
Me: I have been here for seven months and I am still not fluent. I need to be speaking Spanish all the time. It´s really frustrating (I had to say something to fill the silence).
Maria: Shelagh, come on, you can always talk to me, you can do an exchange… (people that live in apartments without Spanish people do an exchange with a Spanish person so they can practice Spanish for half the time and the Spanish person can practice English during the other half)
Before I could say “I shouldn’t have to do an exchange when I pay to live with a Spanish family that should talk to me and CORRECT ME” or “oh, I´m sorry, I guess I should do more than think ALL DAY of topics to talk about at dinner because my host mom never asks us anything OR maybe I should do more than awkwardly go into the living room and sit with my host mom and dad, forcing myself to talk, the whole time waiting for questions that will never come?” Before I could pipe up, Remedios said something useful (SHOCKING!).
Remedios: Alright, what do we do then?
I looked around, sort of asking Shana for help with my eyes.
Syracuse #3: (shockingly, in Spanish) Can we eat separately?
Shana: The problem isn't just with us (she motioned to me). There are differences in language levels among them too (she motioned to the Syracuse girls).
I was completely flustered when she said this, but she later explained that she wanted to say we had all decided together, so that Remedios wouldn’t just hate the BU girls.
Maria: Well what can do about that?
I was furious. YOU will do nothing, Maria! LEAVE!
Me: No, no forget about that.
Silence again.
Finally, Syracuse #3 proposed they have dinner at 8, then Shana and I at 8:30.
Remedios obliged, of course. She didn’t want to risk losinga student a check.
Me: …and I really want you to be here when we eat.
Remedios: I am always here
This is NOT true. She probably misses one dinner a week, which obviously results in all of us speaking English at the dinner table.
Me: You weren’t here last night
It was the fastest example I could think of.
Remedios: Yeah, I was visiting my friend in the hospital
I still didn’t feel bed.
Maria: Shelagh, come on, she has her own life! (condescendingly)
I almost lost it. I had to fight back tears. NO MARIA, I thought, she gets LITERALLY over 40,000 Euro a year for this to be her life. We pay for her to be there at EVERT meal. THIS IS HER LIFE.
The conversation fizzled out and I went to my room to cry. I couldn’t help thinking that I wanted Remedios to say no so I would have an automatic reason to move out.
This was Wednesday. I was going to Dublin the next day, so I wouldn’t see how the dinners worked until Sunday. Of course, Remedios had gone to a wedding, so she wasn’t there Sunday night.
Maria: We are all going to eat together, since its just me here.
It made me even angrier with Remedios. Does her daughter get any of the thousands of euros that she earns from us? She shouldn’t have to work for us when her two other siblings do nothing. I sat at the dinner table, furious.
The next morning I received an email from my housing coordinator, with the name, address and phone number of a different possible family- a couple with a 6 year old son. Seeing the email terrified me. It opened the door to move away from the family I had been with for 7 months. I decided to call Marta, my new possible host mom, and ask if I could visit that night. I went to their beautiful home and it was absolutely opposite of the one where I was living. She showed me where my room would be, a beautiful large and light space with a heart comforter. She showed me the dining room, a small space with a circular table and four seats. She showed me her son, Pablo’s room, and he jumped into a corner and hid his face just after I got to see how adorable he was. We sat for a couple minutes to talk, I told her how hard the decision would be and the main reasons I wanted to leave. I was so grateful that she put absolutely no pressure on me to make any certain decision.
When I got home, I sought some advice from my friends, oldest sister and mom. My sister refused to tell me what to do, but asked me question after question. How did you feel last semester? What is keeping you there? What are you afraid of? She made me think about every aspect of the decision and she reaffirmed what Natalie had said. “If you don’t move, you can never complain again about the situation because you will have turned down an opportunity to fix it.”
I called my mom and she was furious. “Have you been screwed for 7 months?” She just made me feel worse. My eyes were swollen from tears.
I realized that I had never once truly felt like a part of Remedios' family, even after 7 months time and trying SO HARD to do so. I realized I would not miss Remedios at all when I left, nor would I miss her husband or children. It sounds silly, but I wanted to stay because I was hoping for this perfect 10-month experience with one home-stay family- to really integrate into their life. Because Remedios has had students for 15 years, the pattern has been created and reinforced; the students come and go, always on the periphery; the family has learned how to keep them out of their lives.
Even though I wouldn’t miss Remedios, I was terrified to tell her I was moving out
I emailed my coordinator the next day to tell her I had made my decision to move. She emailed me back telling me she had just told Remedios. It was bittersweet; I wanted to do my own dirty work. I returned home that night, packed all my belongings, waited for Natalie to help me with my bags, and took some deep, no-cry breaths before I went to say goodbye to Shana, the Syracuse 3, and Remedios (no one else in the family was home). On the way down the hall, Migue, our cook and cleaning lady, stopped me “Te echaré de menos (I will miss you)” she whispered. I almost lost it. She had shown me more warmth than anyone else in the family. I went into the dining room and ended my time there with Spanish, but I will translate.
Me: Alright, I am leaving
Syracus 3: (in unison) Bye.
Shana got up and gave me a sincere hug. I was really going to miss her, I knew, and I felt so bad she had to stay.
Remedios: Bye (she said it over her shoulder)
Me: I want a hug
I had this grand idea that we could be cordial, that maybe, I could come over a few more times for dinner or to visit, that my dad could visit the house when he came to Madrid in a few weeks. I was so wrong. I was taking my money back. What business executive would be happy about losing a client? That is all I was (and every other student is) to her, a client.
She gave me the coldest and worst hug I have ever received in my life. I hated her more than ever at that moment. I basically ran out of the house, closed the door for the last time, got on the elevator for the last time, left the building door for the last time and got in a cab to go to my new home.
A man opened the door to my new apartment, Marta’s husband, Martin, and helped me with my bags. He is kind of a brawny guy, but clearly very Teddy-bear-esque. I went into my new beautiful, bright, bedroom, that wasn’t 3/4 filled with stuff that was not mine (unlike my old room). Dinner-time was full of conversation and it was surprisingly not awkward to tell them the reasons I left my old home-stay. Marta, my new host mom, seemed horrified that everyday I had breakfast by myself and for lunch made myself a sandwich to bring to work/school.
The next night, the new family and I set up their Wii together and Pablo, my host brother, and I played tennis for an hour. “Le pido a Nadal!!!” he said a million times at dinner before we started. The following day, when I gave Marta the monthly check, she immediately went out to IKEA and excitedly returned to show me the new lunch box, wall art, and extra armoire she had bought for me. I started to realize how Remedios did exactly the bare minimum of everything, never more or less than what was obligatory. She knew exactly what to do to make her money and keep the studentshappy satisfied.
The following day, my Spanish family and I sat in the living room together after dinner while I showed them pictures of my family, friends and school back home. They seemed genuinely excited to see pictures from uber-American events like Prom and college hockey games. I am not exaggerating when I say I feel more a part of this family, after 6 days, than I did with Remedios’ after 7 months. Tomorrow I am going to their house in the town of El Escorial (a half hour from Madrid by bus) to do I-don’t-even-care-what because I am sure it will be amazing.
I need to be clear that the ONLY reason I came to Spain was with the hope of becoming fluent in Spanish. It was not to have fun, travel, meet new people, or experience the culture. I knew all those things would happen on accident. When I say that I had one very specific goal entering this experience, I mean it. My old host family was not facilitating in that one simple thing. I am so happy about the decision I made to take control of my experience and, on accident, end up living with arguably the most generous host-family in Madrid.
Remedios: How are you
Me: Ok
Remedios: …because I wasn’t at dinner tonight?
Me: Yes. I spoke English for 30 minutes today at dinner. I am not happy about that.
(Please realize I don’t know how to be subtle in Spanish)
Remedios: Sorry, I was visiting my friend at the hospital.
I would have loved to use the subjunctive tense to tell her I hope her friend doesn’t suck as much as her. Remedios does not work and has ALL day to run her errands. I was so furious that she had tried to make ME feel bad after semi-scolding her about not being at the dinner she is paid to attend.
The next day, I called my housing programmer, Miky, and when I told her about our separate dinner plan, she said if Remedios refused, I could meet with new host families the next day and move. She would delay Remedios’ April check until I made my decision. It was March 30. I was on edge all day.
When I arrived to dinner, Maria, my host sister was there. This was not a common thing. I told myself even if she didn´t leave, I would still ask my host mom for separate dinners. Dinner came and went. Fruit salad came and went. I gave everyone at the table a look that undeniably said “DON’T LEAVE. We are not done.” I was seriously delaying and finally, Remedios started to leave (she never seemed to want to stay anyway) “espera espera espera (wait wait wait)” I said quickly. The following conversation ensued in Spanish, but I will translate.
Me: Ok, so… we want to talk about the language issue and-
Remedios: Oh right right right, the no English rule, yeah we will make sure to do that.
Me: NO (interrupting). It has been the same for 2 months and I can´t deal with it anymore. The girls and I talked about it last night about it.
Remedios: Ok well, you all talked about it last night, then its fixed.
Me: No. No, its not fixed
The room fell silent a little bit. I hated Maria so much for staying there, so content.
Me: I have been here for seven months and I am still not fluent. I need to be speaking Spanish all the time. It´s really frustrating (I had to say something to fill the silence).
Maria: Shelagh, come on, you can always talk to me, you can do an exchange… (people that live in apartments without Spanish people do an exchange with a Spanish person so they can practice Spanish for half the time and the Spanish person can practice English during the other half)
Before I could say “I shouldn’t have to do an exchange when I pay to live with a Spanish family that should talk to me and CORRECT ME” or “oh, I´m sorry, I guess I should do more than think ALL DAY of topics to talk about at dinner because my host mom never asks us anything OR maybe I should do more than awkwardly go into the living room and sit with my host mom and dad, forcing myself to talk, the whole time waiting for questions that will never come?” Before I could pipe up, Remedios said something useful (SHOCKING!).
Remedios: Alright, what do we do then?
I looked around, sort of asking Shana for help with my eyes.
Syracuse #3: (shockingly, in Spanish) Can we eat separately?
Shana: The problem isn't just with us (she motioned to me). There are differences in language levels among them too (she motioned to the Syracuse girls).
I was completely flustered when she said this, but she later explained that she wanted to say we had all decided together, so that Remedios wouldn’t just hate the BU girls.
Maria: Well what can do about that?
I was furious. YOU will do nothing, Maria! LEAVE!
Me: No, no forget about that.
Silence again.
Finally, Syracuse #3 proposed they have dinner at 8, then Shana and I at 8:30.
Remedios obliged, of course. She didn’t want to risk losing
Me: …and I really want you to be here when we eat.
Remedios: I am always here
This is NOT true. She probably misses one dinner a week, which obviously results in all of us speaking English at the dinner table.
Me: You weren’t here last night
It was the fastest example I could think of.
Remedios: Yeah, I was visiting my friend in the hospital
I still didn’t feel bed.
Maria: Shelagh, come on, she has her own life! (condescendingly)
I almost lost it. I had to fight back tears. NO MARIA, I thought, she gets LITERALLY over 40,000 Euro a year for this to be her life. We pay for her to be there at EVERT meal. THIS IS HER LIFE.
The conversation fizzled out and I went to my room to cry. I couldn’t help thinking that I wanted Remedios to say no so I would have an automatic reason to move out.
This was Wednesday. I was going to Dublin the next day, so I wouldn’t see how the dinners worked until Sunday. Of course, Remedios had gone to a wedding, so she wasn’t there Sunday night.
Maria: We are all going to eat together, since its just me here.
It made me even angrier with Remedios. Does her daughter get any of the thousands of euros that she earns from us? She shouldn’t have to work for us when her two other siblings do nothing. I sat at the dinner table, furious.
The next morning I received an email from my housing coordinator, with the name, address and phone number of a different possible family- a couple with a 6 year old son. Seeing the email terrified me. It opened the door to move away from the family I had been with for 7 months. I decided to call Marta, my new possible host mom, and ask if I could visit that night. I went to their beautiful home and it was absolutely opposite of the one where I was living. She showed me where my room would be, a beautiful large and light space with a heart comforter. She showed me the dining room, a small space with a circular table and four seats. She showed me her son, Pablo’s room, and he jumped into a corner and hid his face just after I got to see how adorable he was. We sat for a couple minutes to talk, I told her how hard the decision would be and the main reasons I wanted to leave. I was so grateful that she put absolutely no pressure on me to make any certain decision.
When I got home, I sought some advice from my friends, oldest sister and mom. My sister refused to tell me what to do, but asked me question after question. How did you feel last semester? What is keeping you there? What are you afraid of? She made me think about every aspect of the decision and she reaffirmed what Natalie had said. “If you don’t move, you can never complain again about the situation because you will have turned down an opportunity to fix it.”
I called my mom and she was furious. “Have you been screwed for 7 months?” She just made me feel worse. My eyes were swollen from tears.
I realized that I had never once truly felt like a part of Remedios' family, even after 7 months time and trying SO HARD to do so. I realized I would not miss Remedios at all when I left, nor would I miss her husband or children. It sounds silly, but I wanted to stay because I was hoping for this perfect 10-month experience with one home-stay family- to really integrate into their life. Because Remedios has had students for 15 years, the pattern has been created and reinforced; the students come and go, always on the periphery; the family has learned how to keep them out of their lives.
Even though I wouldn’t miss Remedios, I was terrified to tell her I was moving out
I emailed my coordinator the next day to tell her I had made my decision to move. She emailed me back telling me she had just told Remedios. It was bittersweet; I wanted to do my own dirty work. I returned home that night, packed all my belongings, waited for Natalie to help me with my bags, and took some deep, no-cry breaths before I went to say goodbye to Shana, the Syracuse 3, and Remedios (no one else in the family was home). On the way down the hall, Migue, our cook and cleaning lady, stopped me “Te echaré de menos (I will miss you)” she whispered. I almost lost it. She had shown me more warmth than anyone else in the family. I went into the dining room and ended my time there with Spanish, but I will translate.
Me: Alright, I am leaving
Syracus 3: (in unison) Bye.
Shana got up and gave me a sincere hug. I was really going to miss her, I knew, and I felt so bad she had to stay.
Remedios: Bye (she said it over her shoulder)
Me: I want a hug
I had this grand idea that we could be cordial, that maybe, I could come over a few more times for dinner or to visit, that my dad could visit the house when he came to Madrid in a few weeks. I was so wrong. I was taking my money back. What business executive would be happy about losing a client? That is all I was (and every other student is) to her, a client.
She gave me the coldest and worst hug I have ever received in my life. I hated her more than ever at that moment. I basically ran out of the house, closed the door for the last time, got on the elevator for the last time, left the building door for the last time and got in a cab to go to my new home.
A man opened the door to my new apartment, Marta’s husband, Martin, and helped me with my bags. He is kind of a brawny guy, but clearly very Teddy-bear-esque. I went into my new beautiful, bright, bedroom, that wasn’t 3/4 filled with stuff that was not mine (unlike my old room). Dinner-time was full of conversation and it was surprisingly not awkward to tell them the reasons I left my old home-stay. Marta, my new host mom, seemed horrified that everyday I had breakfast by myself and for lunch made myself a sandwich to bring to work/school.
The next night, the new family and I set up their Wii together and Pablo, my host brother, and I played tennis for an hour. “Le pido a Nadal!!!” he said a million times at dinner before we started. The following day, when I gave Marta the monthly check, she immediately went out to IKEA and excitedly returned to show me the new lunch box, wall art, and extra armoire she had bought for me. I started to realize how Remedios did exactly the bare minimum of everything, never more or less than what was obligatory. She knew exactly what to do to make her money and keep the students
The following day, my Spanish family and I sat in the living room together after dinner while I showed them pictures of my family, friends and school back home. They seemed genuinely excited to see pictures from uber-American events like Prom and college hockey games. I am not exaggerating when I say I feel more a part of this family, after 6 days, than I did with Remedios’ after 7 months. Tomorrow I am going to their house in the town of El Escorial (a half hour from Madrid by bus) to do I-don’t-even-care-what because I am sure it will be amazing.
I need to be clear that the ONLY reason I came to Spain was with the hope of becoming fluent in Spanish. It was not to have fun, travel, meet new people, or experience the culture. I knew all those things would happen on accident. When I say that I had one very specific goal entering this experience, I mean it. My old host family was not facilitating in that one simple thing. I am so happy about the decision I made to take control of my experience and, on accident, end up living with arguably the most generous host-family in Madrid.
Shelagh! I had no idea that your old homestay family was so crappy...but I'm happy to hear that your new family is so awesome. the son sounds adorable. hope you're enjoying your last few months in madrid!
ReplyDelete-emily guo
Thanks Emily! Glad to see someone read this besides madre y padre
ReplyDeleteSo I stumbled upon your blog and had to comment after reading this post. I can't believe how horrible your first family was! It made me slightly happy that I was living in a sheltered dorm in London. However, after reading about your new family, I am SO jealous that I wasn't able to do a home-stay in London. I know there's not language barrier, but learning about the culture first-hand it so different than just going out during the day and at night. I'm happy you moved because you're paying for the experience so you should make it exactly how you want it to be. I hope that you enjoy the rest of your time in Madrid with your new family and are fluent once you come back! I vote for a 121 tour all in Spanish once you return!
ReplyDelete-Emily Wienberg
Oh dear a 121 Spanish tour??? We´ll see.
ReplyDeleteAnd yes, my new family is sooo much better. We are all watching "Madrileños por el mundo" which basically every family in this city is obsessed with. Clearly, every experience has its ups and downs; I am just glad basically everyone I know went abroad so we can all brag to each other about our travels!