Jul 13 2007
Sister Brillig
Flashback Friday, friends!
I’ve mentioned before that I was a missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints when I was 19 (yes, that’s not a typo. I was 19). I was assigned to the Argentina Buenos Aires North mission, which included much of Capital Federal (downtown Buenos Aires) along with some of the northern suburbs and even into some rural area (what we called the barro–the mud). Upon arriving in Buenos Aires, I was assigned a companion (another female missionary, and in this mission most were American, Argentine, or Chilean) and an area. We would stay with one companion, who we were required to be with constantly, until one of us was reassigned to a different area, at which time a new companion would arrive to take the place of the departing one. So, after a year and a half, I had traveled all over the mission and had had many companions (usually about two months with each companion).
I loved my mission. I had so many wonderful experiences. But due to the nature of this forum, I will not share the more tender or spiritual ones. But just because I don’t talk about it doesn’t mean that there wasn’t a lot of that.
No, instead I’ll share some of my social adventures. Or, in today’s case, adventures in socialism.
I was assigned to the barro with my sweet companion Hermana F. And yes, you always called your companion by Hermana (sister) and her last name. So, Hermana F and I worked in the barro. We met lots of people, taught people, served people. The barro was always interesting–it was called the “mud” because you were literally walking in mud that was several inches deep all day long. No paved roads, no sidewalks, nothin’ but mud. And since we were required to wear skirts or dresses at all times, you can only imagine how lovely we were!
Hermana Brillig, in authentic “sister missionary” garb (meaning, the ugliest dresses at the ugliest possible length, my crooked name tag–whoops– and big black bag* full of scriptures, food, water, and anything else I might need during the day because we didn’t want to waste time by going home during the day–not even for lunch) in the barro on a blessedly dry day (otherwise, there would be giant rubber boots on my feet… which went GREAT with my ugly dresses and skirts)
(and… hi. Is that the crappiest scanned picture you’ve ever seen? oooops)
*in other missions, they use backpacks instead of the black bags, but in Argentina we were required to carry the black bag and only carry it on one shoulder–that way, when we were robbed, which we were constantly, we could hand over the bag without a struggle. Many a missionary had been shot or beat to a pulp in the past because they hadn’t handed over their backpacks fast enough, so they had to make a rule about the easy-to-give-away black bags. But that’s a different story for another day. Still, though, how disappointed do you think the thieves are when they find that the bags are full of Books of Mormon?
(Here I am with Hermana F, wishing some friends a Happy Birthday via photo)
Hermana F was from Tierra del Fuego, the southernmost part of Argentina (practically Antarctica) and she was… delicate. I loved her dearly. However, the kind of work that we did was exhausting and grueling and you had to be strong to do it every day all day long. But she wasn’t. She was sickly. And so we spent a lot of time getting to know the Rural-Argentine health care system.
We’d been in and out of various (terrifying) free clinics, never once really helped, but often “reassured.”
“Oh, you have a fever, a cold, the chills, vomiting, racing pulse, and seizures? Here’s some penicillin. Just take two tonight and you’ll be fine by tomorrow. And then just save the rest of the package for the next time you feel sick.” Um….
Very late one night, she just stopped breathing. Understand, there were no telephones in this part of the Argentina. Basically I just had to grab her and haul her to the Emergency Room which was, thankfully, about a block away. At the ER, they took her in immediately and left me out in the waiting area, which was outside in the freezing cold. Again, I’d been a missionary for over a year at this point and I’d never been by myself, except while bathing and potty-ing, so it felt very strange to be companionless in this large waiting area full of people. (With socialized medicine, everyone ends up at the ER for the slightest twinge of a sore throat, doncha know. Waiting “rooms” are always packed.) It wasn’t just the being alone that was awkward–it was the staring and the gawking and the exclamations–exclamations that the exclaimers assumed I wouldn’t understand, since my looks were clearly foreign. I was, of course, completely fluent in Spanish so I understood every word that was being said. And I was feeling a bit threatened. Being female, American (and therefore presumably “rich”), and green-eyed in a place where people have only seen brown eyes makes one a target in certain parts of the world–especially in the middle of the night and all alone. Of course, it wasn’t really my style to be a shrinking violet, so I march up to some hospital personnel and said, loud and clear and in perfect Spanish (so that all those who’d been talking about me could hear that they’d just made complete fools of themselves) that I would like to be able to be with Hermana F now. Obviously I’d asked this before, but had been told that I couldn’t be back there with her. This time, it wasn’t really a request so much as a command, and I was taken right to her.
I was brought into a teeny tiny room, where I found her (conscious, thank goodness) hooked up to an oxygen tank. Again, no one had any idea what was wrong with her–nor did they seem to care very much–but she was receiving oxygen and thriving on it–well, surviving, anyway. Because of the oxygen mask, she wasn’t able to talk to me. Instead, we played “count the cockroaches.” She would point to the cockroaches, I would count them out loud for us. We reached over forty before she was discharged.
Good times.
Hermana F. ended her mission early–I think it broke her heart, but she clearly wasn’t physically able to keep up and she knew it. So she went home to Tierra del Fuego and I haven’t heard from her since. I hope some doctor somewhere figured out what was wrong with her and how to help her…. but I doubt it.
Oh, so many fun mission stories. We’ll have to revisit this topic again sometime. I mean, I KNOW you want to hear about how I bathed out of a bucket for two months because we didn’t have running water. Or that time that someone brought me a drink of water that turned out to be white vinegar. Or… well, let’s save it for another Flashback Friday, shall we?
Such a life full of rich experiences. Thank you for sharing
So, please share. Why 19 instead of 21?
yeah, that dress is cool.
Your life is so full…I envy you.
What great experiences and stories…
Yah I wanna know why 19 too…
You got to go early because of your parents, right? I think I remember reading about that in your archives.
I have the hardest time trying to think of things to blog about, and I think you must have the opposite problem. What, out of the myriad of life experiences you’ve had, will you blog about next? =)
DING! DING! DING!!
Kimberly wins. I got to go at 19 because of who Daddy was–he was a Mission President in a different place, and kids of mission presidents who are almost old enough are allowed to go early while their parents are serving, so that they’re not separated for what would be 5 years (three years for the Mission President plus two years for the missionary). Sons of mission presidents can go at 18, if they choose, and daughters could go at 19 (though I’ve heard that they’ve now changed that to 20) if they choose. And I chose. I’d always wanted to be a missionary, so being allowed to go early was the coolest thing ever, as far as I was concerned.
Not to nitpick or anything, but you know not all socialized medicine is like that. In many places it works better than is does here. At least people get care if they can’t afford it and not everyone is lumped into the same waiting “rooms” the world over.
Just saying…
Great story.
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You’re SO right, CableGirl. I lived in London for three years and received EXCELLENT medical care there, and in Israel too–I got very sick there and was treated instantly and brilliantly, and it cost me nothing. I think socialized medicine has a lot on our completely broken system. This was just a part of the world where medicine, in any form, was a bit archaic and the doctors under-trained.
I realize that I did make it sound like I was bashing on all socialized medicine. While I’ve seen it succeed in some places, I’ve seen how it can miserably fail too. But it IS important to point out that it also can be very successful.
Thanks for the comment!
What an amazing experience… and a great story, too!
My mission was a total cakewalk compared to yours.
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I seriously doubt that. NO mission is a cakewalk! M hubby served in Arizona and had a CAR, but his mission was anything but easy. The challenges were just… different from mine!
‘Sound of Music’ springs to mind. At least I know why Julie Andrews accessorised that dress with that bag - though it certainly doesn’t explain the guitar………
Great post! I personally didn’t think you were being harsh about the medical conditions. Emergency care is different everywhere you go. I also remember being with you in Sunday School when I moved into your ward - you were so excited about serving a mission and even more excited because you were able to serve early. I personally never had that ambition or drive to serve a mission, and I regret that sometimes. I always admired your passion to serve.
you are SO CUTE!!! awwww! Great story. You have some real adventures to tell the children don’t you? really, so cute.
Wow, what a story. What a dress!
Wow, how very cool. I would love to hear more about your adventures, so be sure to write about it again soon!
My neighbor used to go to Guatemala on a mission thing for 2 weeks ever summer. I was hoping to go this summer, but he decided to pick this summer to move out of state. I would still like to do it some day though.
(And yes, I’m the guy who just got done making fun of the Jehovah’s Witnesses).
That dress…awesome in the way leg warmers were awesome.
Though I am of a different breed entirely, I still love your stories. You still manage to find something funny or touching in every situation.
But, oh my dear I hope that dress ended up in an incinerator somewhere…
Oh, and hey- why doesn’t my awesomely awesome picture ever show up on my comments???
Is this a wordpress thing?
How many bags did you have stolen?
Thanks for answering the 19 year old thing.
Now, Utah….<i>that</i>would be the toughest mission in my not so informed opinion.
Wow, you are such a gifted writer. Every time you post one of your life experiences, I start to read and I am transformed…..I can picture your words in my head. It is like being lost in a good book…keep up the good work and I look forward to reading more.
PS You are hereby awarded ‘rockin blogger’. Let me know if you need the logo and I’ll do my darndest to email it to you.
My BFF’s companion ended up having colon cancer at 2o while in Japan, crazy stuff, no?
I really enjoyed this post–and seeing the delightful (?) dress. We used to have sister missionaries living in a room above our garage in England. It was fun to have them eat with us and share their experiences. Wonderful young ladies all. Only trouble was, after the sister missionaries left, we had to have the shower unblocked because they all seemed to have long hair that clogged up the drain. Not fun. The Elders were less trouble
Great story, Brill. I can’t imagine having to work so hard to do simple things…like get through town.
Maybe the theives saw the bag full of Books as a sign? hahaha. Wishful thinking?
I think you look cute in that outfit.
And I lol’d at the thought of thieves opening a bag of stolen booty to find… scriptures.
It sounds to me like your companion probably had a heart defect or something. So sad.
I bet you have a ton more stories to share from your mission. Its interesting how things that can be somewhat traumatizing at the time can become such a solid and strangely good memory later.
Wow, what a story. I can’t believe you were robbed so many times. I hope Hermana F. is okay. It feels like maybe not since you haven’t heard from her.
BTW, I think I had that dress.
Love the photos! Love the mud! Love the stories!
Yup, yup, yup, keep ‘em comin’!
You look so…so… young and WHOLESOME, Brillig!!!
Great story….what a life you’ve had. I really wonder what happened to your friend, though? That “not breathing” sounds quite terrifying!
the dress, i believe has made its appearance on this fall’s collection.