You're a little fat
The most humiliating moment of my service thus far occurred several days ago when I met a friend’s family member that had a bit too much confianza towards me. Walking into her home, little did I know the amount of confusion and helplessness that would result from the conversation we had that afternoon.
You see, most of my friends in town are older women— moms, grandmas, great grandmothers— women of that age range. I spend my free time hanging around their houses, watching them cook, asking them questions about their lives, and hearing stories about the war, their kids, and enjoying the breeze. I always manage to learn something new, whether it’s about their lives, how Hurricane Mitch affected the community in ’98 or about the contra war. But mostly, I like to connect the dots and figure out how every single family around here is related in some way or another.
One of my best lady friends never fails to feed me whenever I pay her a visit, she always insists on feeding me at least unos frijolitos con arrozito, su tortillita y un cafecito. That’s not why she’s one of my favorites though, her attitude and outlook on life is always positive. Doña (as I'll call her) tells me stories about her sons and daughters, and likes to keep me up to date on one of her daughters that visits from out of town every Sunday. (We’ll call her daughter Hija). I had heard so much about Hija and was so amazed at Hija’s dedication that I told Doña I wanted to meet her daughter. “Venga el Domingo!” Come on Sunday!
By the time Sunday came around all I wanted to do was sleep in, but I remembered I’d promised Doña to meet Hija so I reluctantly crawled out of bed and forced myself to wear something besides leggings and a t-shirt because Nicas are always well dressed and I didn’t want to make a bad first-impression. I forced myself to be social and Hija was nice. She was really busy cooking and delegating tasks to her daughter and sister that were also on kitchen duty so I didn’t initially get to talk to her as much as I thought I would.
All was fine; Doña had served me a bowl of sopa de rez with a tortillita on the side. I ate in silence as I watched the women of the family prep and cook. But as they began to finish, Hija and Doña pulled up two chairs on either side of me, and the small talk began. The usual set of boyfriend questions came up, but this time the conversation took a different turn.
“Pero no tienes enamorados aqui?” (But aren’t there any men here interested in you?) asked Hija.
I shook my head no, but Doña spoke up. “No, es que la ven muy seria y no se le acerquen. Es muy seria ella.” (No, she’s too serious so men don’t approach her. She’s too serious.) Fair enough, I do walk around with RBF unless I see women or children approaching me. The guys in town are too scared to talk to me, unless they’re in large groups or it’s dark out. Only then do they get the courage to yell piropos at me, or ask me if I want them to accompany me on my walk.
I was familiar with this set of questions. Like I wrote in a past blog, host country nationals seem to have a set list of questions they like to ask. What came next was unexpected, unwanted, uncomfortable, and humiliating.
After some awkward silence, Hija spoke up, “esta gordita.” (You’re a little fat.) Thank you? It’s not every day that a total stranger decides to tell you what they think about your body, unless you’re in Nicaragua that is.
“Pero estaba más, verdad?” (But she was fatter, weren’t you?) Doña informed her daughter, while turning to me for confirmation. I mean, yeah I have lost weight since being here. I like to think of that as my boba weight. Weight I would gladly take back if it meant I had access to boba, pad thai, Korean barbecue, tacos, burritos and everything else that’s holy.
“Cuanto pesas?” (How much do you weigh?) Hija probed. This can’t be happening. She has to be kidding, was all I could think. Surely someone would change the subject if I just continued to sit in silence. But no one did and a number escaped my lips before I could mentally prepare myself to change the subject.
“Ah, si. Estás gorda. Quién se ve más gorda, ella o yo?” (Oh, you are fat. Who looks fatter, her or me?) I couldn’t believe my body was the subject of our conversation, and now I couldn’t believe Hija was seriously asking her mother to compare our bodies.
“Ella,” (Her.) Doña answered, only after taking a long, hard look at me. What is happening? Is this actually happening? In what world do you look at someone and explicitly ask a third member to compare your body to someone else’s as they sit next to you.
“Sí verdad?” (Yes, you’re right.) Hija seemed pleased, she wasn’t that fat. But she wasn’t done. She wanted to know more about my body, “que talla es tu pantalon?” (What size are your jeans?)
This clearly wasn’t over. “Ocho,” (Eight.) I responded. No enthusiasm, attempting to signal my disdain for this conversation. My subtle hint went right past her.
“Que! Como, si los mios son 14, 16, o veces hasta 18?” (What! How if mine are size 14, 16, sometimes even 18.) I simply shrugged. I had no comment and really wanted to leave. “A ver, parate,” she commanded me. (Let’s see, stand up.) Um, no, I thought and looked around. Was no one going to tell her this was inappropriate and that she should move on? Nope. Everyone was interested in seeing me stand up. I don’t know how my body managed to get on its feet when every cell in my body screamed no, but it did. “Ah no, es que no estas gorda.” (Oh, it’s because you’re not really fat.) Wait, what? Thank you?
“No, es que ella solo tiene sus brasos asi. Es ancha de arriba y tu tienes cadera. Ella no,” Doña claimed. (No, it’s because she has large arms. She’s wide on top, but you have hips. She doesn’t.) Things were apparently making sense to Hija, meanwhile nothing made sense to me and I continued to lose my patience.
“Es que tu no tienes cintura, verdad?” Asked Hija. (It’s because you don’t have a waist, isn’t it?) Wow, thank you so much for that insightful revelation. I wasn’t sure how to get up and leave without seeming rude or hurt. I didn’t want to let them know they’d gotten to me.
I’d spent my entire life hearing that same comment from my parents. It was never something I liked hearing. It’s never been an easy subject to talk about. And I’d only just grown to accept the fact that my parents were wrong to make negative comments about my body this past November when another volunteer and I discussed insecurities we’d always had growing up because of people like this.
Thank goodness Hijja’s phone suddenly rang and she stepped into the living room because I was beginning to tear up. The entirety of what had actually happened was starting to dawn on me. I calmly stood up and told my friend, Doña, that I had to return home. She thanked me for my visit as I calmly made my way out with tears finally escaping.
I’m not sure how long that conversation actually lasted, but it felt like hours. For hours I was made to feel the ugliest I’ve felt in years. I questioned so much about my past, this country and it’s culture, and myself. It wasn’t until I called another volunteer later that day that I was able to laugh at the situation. There’s so much about my life that I can’t control right now, not because I don’t want to, but because there is no way to control what happens around me. Controlling my reactions to what happens is all I have.
Achieving a state of body positivity hasn’t come easy, and I’m only reminded of how much work I still have to do, both in my personal life and as a PCV. I’ll be able to escape these questionnaires, but the young girls in my community will continue to have their bodies critiqued by not only machista men, but their mothers, sisters, cousins, aunts, grandmothers, and other females, unless I’m able to stand up for myself next time and every other time after that and educate women and young girls about being body positive.
I’m challenging myself to do this not only for myself, but for my students and all the young people of my community.
If you're interested in learning more about fat acceptance and the body positivity movement, check out these awesome podcasts, blogs, and books:
Some pictures from the past 2 months or so. Enjoy!
