Office magnet

Today we’re having a special lunch at the office: pabellón criollo, a delicious and satisfying Venezuelan staple.

Around 11:30, a magnetic force seems to have drawn all men from their respective stations and into the finance room; all women towards the kitchenette. The women are immersed in a giggly flurry of arepa/rice/beans/plátano/carne mechada preparation while the men, hungry and chatting across the hallway, lean against file cabinets in an untroubled way that says “I am a man.”

Handcuffs

In an unexpected turn of events, Lost has increased my cultural awareness in Spanish-speaking countries. Sawyer was mid-arrest by the Others when the word esposas came up as a subtitle. (Huh? Alrighty. I must have missed something, because esposa means wife, and there is no wife in this scene; and nor is Sawyer married, because he would never settle down like that.)

Then it happened again: Ponle las esposas!

(Put the wives on him?? What are we talking about?)

Indeed! the translation for handcuffs is the same as the Spanish plural for "wife."

Before my brain delved into the sociological significance of this translation, it took a brief but important detour, in which I imagined two doll-sized but life-like trophy wives in red Jessica Rabbit dresses wrapped around Sawyers wrists.

Apparently, the words share the same etymological root: the latin word spondere, which means to promise.

Even with this academic explanation, I had a hard time wrapping my brain around the idea that these two words are IDENTICAL. But it actually makes some sense in Venezuela, where the term cuaima is popular.

Cuaima literally means "snake," but in Venezuela it more commonly refers to a woman who, according to my googling, is "trained since childhood to screw men over and to be suspicious, jealous, possessive, manipulative, dominating, controlling, fear-inducing."

If I, as a theoretical man, had committed my life to a wife with those traits, I might also theoretically feel imprisoned.

Jacobo

Jacobo doles out bread at the panadería on the corner of my street. The inside of his mouth reminds me of the surface of scraggle rock—jagged stones spurting from the earth and fighting for space amongst themselves. This arrangement makes him sound like he has marbles in his mouth. So in addition to the fact that he speaks very fast Spanish, each word that leaves his mouth is first subject to sound editing by the zigzag of teeth that block its exit.

When he speaks to me at the store, I squint my eyes and tighten the skin on my face, creating a buffer for words to reach my ears as directly as possible. He repeats phrases two or three times, but never changes his pace or enunciation—for example, “Ji ute ta busano ao mevisas,” which roughly translates to: “Ifa looin summin lemmenah.”

On the rare occasions when I do understand his words, they often paint the picture of a personal experience or acquaintence that I have no capacity to understand in the immediate way he implicitly requests. It reminds me of the way three-year-olds yell out to their mothers in excitement about the picture they’re drawing and ask, “Isn’t it pretty!?” when their mother is downstairs doing laundry.

Lost in traducción

A few days ago, Giulio sent me history's best on-screen bilingual interview. I've now watched it 25 times and feel a need to share with all you Spanish speakers:


What makes this interview is the confidence and authority with which the interviewer BS's her way through all translated responses. She could be saying that the sky is fuscia, and clouds are made of cotton candy; but her body language and intonations suggest she just returned from Harvard's campus, where she completed a two-week long fact-checking mission to substantiate her claim. I have no doubt she will be successful, if not annoying, in life because of that.

Upon being asked, "What is your favorite part of Venezuela?" the musician responds:

"Um.. The people, of course."

Her translation:

"Ok, he tells me that Venezuela hasn’t changed much, that what he likes the most are the landscapes and the motos thats he’s had the opportunity to see on the streets and highways of Caracas. Anyway, very little has changed and he hasn’t had the opportunity to see much."

Earth's growing pains

Last night, all of Caracas experienced a terremoto. I would describe it like being in a small ship at high sea, attacked from underneath by five sharks on sugar highs. When it happened, I was in the midst of yet another outrageous dream involving Lost characters, so it seemed appropriate at the time.