A Divide

~While this will be a fairly shot entry, I wanted to introduce the idea of racism and bigotry- at least here in Sevilla. (On that note, I also feel inclined to establish that I cannot say with full confidence that the things I write in this blog apply to all of Spain. I named it 'Andalucia' because, of course, that is the community in which I live and have primarily traveled through. Nevertheless, I have beliefs that the people of other parts of Spain behave similarly). I don't want this to be a negative reflection of my experience or of Spain- I simply want to share what I've witnessed. Every country, person, and thing can have a course side.~

Fair skinned, tall, and living comfortably. That's how I can describe many of the Spaniards I see walking through the streets either dressed casually or for business. From the garage beneath our apartment complex emerges a Mercedes Benz. On some Saturdays you can see groups of people gathered around a church or street corner, all weaning nice evening gowns and pinstriped suits. Oh, to be living in high-class Spain.

Now, I'm dark skinned and I feel at liberty to divulge that I have felt judged by those who I described in the preceding paragraph. I recently started working in a hotel restaurant where people constantly ask me if I was from South America. While I don't take offense to this at all, I think it's an important indicator of how many Spaniards can automatically place one outside of their country based on appearance (also because of my dialect). I told one of the cooks that I lived near La Macarena and instantly knew where I was talking about. Without letting me finish, he outlined for me the area where he thought I lived- near the Peruvian and Colombian bar. "Near the hospital," he said. He thought I had a wife and family and even possibly that this was the best job that I could get my hands on- a part time job as a bus boy. Again, I'm embellishing this a bit, but then again, this is my blog.

Example 2:

I overheard a true story where my host mom's sister didn't like her son's girlfriend at first because she is from Peru. The thought that her son was in a relationship with a woman from another country, and that country being Peru, did not settle with her well at first. Now, however, things are better and everyone seems happy.

Example 3:

I work at a bookstore as well, and it's managed by an aging but active couple. There, I picked up a lot of the Sevillano culture all thanks to the manager's wife. She and her husband have been incredibly good to me. She also once told me frankly that she was racist. She told me she didn't like people from other countries, namely those from South America. She didn't say this maliciously nor did she intend for me to be offended.

The scene:

-After talking about something I can't remember quite well, she asked me, "You know whose racist?".

-I shook my head.

-She replied pointing to her chest, "Me."

-I raised my eyebrows.

This surprised me. Yet after opening my eyes a bit wider, it was easier to see the divide. Just like any other place, Seville has it's designated areas where a concentration of lower-class families live. All of a sudden I no longer felt that I was being stared at for being an American but maybe for being labeled as a South American.

Much like the dirty jobs no one wants to do back home in the U.S. (custodian, garbage man, crop picker, and other low wage earning positions) many of them here in Seville are taken by immigrants. The business below our apartment complex had a small facelift a while back and I specifically remember the workers who were applying new plaster and painting the walls as being of darker skin color.

While I haven't eloquently described my examples very well nor articulated why I wrote this, again, my only intention was to briefly surface this idea.

The South American bar

I live in one of the largest, if not the largest, neighborhoods in Seville's city center. I say city center because Seville has many pueblos (suburb towns) and of them my knowledge is limited. (Look for another blog post about Seville's pueblos).

My neighborhood (barrio) is called La Macarena- I live in 'el barrio de La Macarena'. Up until this past January, I had never really explored this neighborhood aside from getting lost riding on my bike a few times or walking around aimlessly. It wasn't until Mabel (our school's custodian) and I began to have an unofficial language class- I would help her with English and she would help me with Spanish- that I began to realize what a unique part of the city I lived in. We began by meeting in a bar close to my house but after a few of sessions she invited me to go a bit further into what has become one of my most treasured experiences in Seville. We began meeting at a bar that was located in an area of the barrio where almost all the residents are 'extranjeros' or foreigners. Most of the residents are from South American. Now, I had noted before that there were many Peruvians here simply by interacting with the language tutors the school provides and from an occasional encounter here an there, but I had no idea that there was an unofficially designated place where many South American families had their homes, their businesses, and their culture here in Seville. Of course, this part of my neighborhood is not strictly confined to South Americans. There are Romanians, Moroccans, Africans, and more.

We began meeting at this one particular bar that we simply called 'bar de los Colombianos' or 'the Colombian bar'. I mentioned to Mabel how I really missed the familiarity of spicy foods and she suggest we go there for empanadas. (In Texas, most empanadas are filled with sweet pastes, whereas all of the empanadas I have tried in Spain so far, not strictly South American, have been salty.) Entering the place, I immediately noted the difference of skin color of the workers and customers. Spaniards are fairly light skinned whereas many Latinos, like myself, are bronze and brown-toned with dark black hair. Mabel told me, "Todo el mundo es de Sud America", "everyone is from South America." I felt a little (and oddly) out of place, more so than I had felt sitting down at a 'normal' bar in Seville, however I was extremely comfortable. I was in a place where I felt more at home than ever. A place where things seemed a bit more relaxed. A place where even though I'm from the U.S. I no longer really stood out from the fair skinned, well pampered Spaniards that I'm surrounded by daily. Sure, I don't dress the same as anyone, native or foreign, who lives in Spain, but I felt a little less judged by those sitting at the flimsy plastic tables and those working behind the small bar.

To me, this part of the neighborhood is exceptionally rich with culture. Rich in every sense of the word except when it come to money. Most, if not almost all, of the people and families that live in this part of the city are, to many people's standards, poor. This is exactly one of the reasons I love the South American area of Barrio de La Macarena. It's filled with people who have come hear to make a better life. Filled with many people who probably want nothing more than to go back to their own country and home but are here because the standard of living is higher. Mabel tells me that at one point many people from South America were coming to Spain because job opportunities were abundant. However, things have dramatically changed. "No hay trabajo", "There isn't any work", she says. Immigration levels have dropped and some people have even had leave due the economic crisis Spain has been in for some time now.

This is by no means a glamorous part of the city. Beer cans may litter the sidewalk, plastic bags stuck in hedges, and tacky playground sets sit next to a run down internet and international calling business. In spite of that, to me it's a place worth exploring. In this part of the neighborhood I don't really fit in, yet I'm driven each time to explore something different. I love how there are hundreds of people who are most likely barely making ends meet yet still try to lead an honest life. A life where one can enjoy a Saturday afternoon beer or a Sunday evening coffee.

I owe all my experiences with the lower class of Seville to Mabel. By simply including me in her family gatherings, taking me to eat empanadas in a hole-in-the-wall store, or taking me to the pueblos outside the city center, I have had a priceless and extraordinary experience to see some the hardships, the struggles, and the joys of living in this part of the city.