Why We Left an Anthology of American Women Expats

by Janet Blaser

  I’m thinking I will buy property in Mexico but I don’t know exactly where as of yet; I’m having a ball exploring the country. So far we’ve made several more trips to Mexico City, and have been to Veracruz Port, Cordoba, Puebla, Hildalgo and Chiapas. We’ve even gone to Guatemala. There are too many places to name that we want to visit. We’re learning about life here and I look forward to many more years in mi nuevo pais.

  Finally, I want to say that living in a culture and country that’s not your own is fascinating, thrilling, exciting and hard. We have challenges and must push through. I remind myself of why I chose to live in Mexico and I press on. I will forever cherish our time here.

  Roxana Bangura was born and raised in New York and received her journalism degree from Utica College of Syracuse University. After graduation, she began following her dream of traveling the world, working and living in London and going regularly to Paris and elsewhere in France. Upon returning to the U.S., Roxana worked for the federal Equal Opportunity Commission and for an organization with members of parliament from around the world, and also in the Roman Senate and other European and African governments. She travelled to Ghana and Ivory Coast in West Africa as part of conferences on development.

  She is the proud mother of a 10-year-old girl and is determined that she be multi-lingual. Roxana says, “I’m here in Mexico to ensure a bright future for her.” Follow the adventures of Roxana and Amaris on “The Roxana Bangura” channel on YouTube (https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCp_yrT9yYC1ah-R7XTSFrKg) and “The Bangura Chronicles” on Facebook and Pateron. https://web.facebook.com/thebangurachronicles/

  5. “Exit Strategy”

  Lina Weissman

  Sayulita, Nayarit

  “Salad bar?”

  “We’re going to the tropics …”

  “But people like salad. Remember, no editing!”

  “OK, agreed. On the list.”

  “Tequila bar, delivery service, maybe some catering.”

  “I think we should stay away from food.”

  “No editing.”

  “Right, sorry. On the list.”

  My husband and I started this exit strategy conversation for at least a year before we moved to Mexico. While we certainly took the conversations seriously, neither of us ever chose to say out loud that there was no chance in hell we could move permanently. God knows what happened to this list that followed us to Mexico, hanging on our refrigerator for years, but it was the beginning of our crazy fantasy, mostly born out of desperation and boredom, to simply be living another life.

  Sitting in front of my computer 12 years and a lifetime later, I find myself looking back at a journal/blog I kept about our experiences. Note that 2008, the year we moved, was before Facebook took over the world, so I wrote a blog both to record our experiences and to share them with family and friends who totally thought we were nuts. Most still do. As I look at this blog now, I’m almost brought to tears by how beautifully stupid and curious we were. I look at the pictures of my husband, son and the crazy number of animals we ended up fostering (don’t even go there) and can see in our faces that sense of adventure for which we were craving.

  However, I see more; I think I’m actually just seeing it now. I notice the sense of peace, of freedom, a sense of belonging that we seemed to have found so early in our relocation to another country. I wonder why I haven’t noticed that before. Many animals, two homes, plenty of disasters and a lot of learning later, I think we still experience a sense of wonder, of challenge and, yes, of peace, almost every day. This is why we still call Sayulita our home.

  I notice I always tell my story starting at the end. I think I do this to assure the listener that there can be a happy ending to risking your career at its peak, your marriage and your child’s health, welfare and education for what can sometimes appear as a selfish act. So, to put you at ease, rest assured that we live in a lovely home, we’re both still working and have tons of fun together, we’re honored to be part of an amazing community and, most importantly, our now bilingual son just successfully finished his first year of university. Please know the rest of the story has twists and turns along the way. Chronology can be boring so don’t expect that. Living in Mexico is not a logical or linear process; neither is my story.

  It was the beginning of our third year of full-time living in Mexico when I started to actually feel like we really, really lived here. I noticed all those feelings of newness had faded somehow as our lives in our adopted country continued. My need to document and photograph strange events waned, as they simply became less strange. I felt comfortable finding things, knowing how to pay bills, how to solve minor nuisances. I could almost pretend my natural cravings for dark chocolate and good wine had been replaced by the desire for salt and lime. The school year was beginning, the tropical summer rains were raging, bug-of-the-week season was in full swing and power outages were simply a part of life. We were feeling pretty blessed.

  To celebrate our community being back together again after summer vacations, we had a big pot-luck at the house. While the adults were eating and drinking inside, the kids were running up and down the street playing in the rain and enjoying the river (otherwise known as our street) during a particularly heavy tropical storm. Suddenly, the kids came running in screaming that we all needed to come out to the street as the rain was picking up and a parked car was beginning to float. We quickly put our shoes on and followed the kids outside. I’d never seen our street so full of water; a car parked nearby was indeed already being overtaken. Many of us had experienced several tropical storms by then and were past the shock phase of seeing the kind of damage that could be done. We grabbed shovels and chains and a friend went around the corner to get his big truck that had a winch. Working together, we dug the car out of what was quickly becoming a mud pit and moved it to a side street that was a bit higher. As quickly as we’d reacted, we went back inside and continued the party. I think the kids gave up on playing in the mud and went upstairs. We were becoming experts at living abroad, or so we thought.

  The following night, I remember being woken up by a big rumble that made me think the earth had broken in half. I told myself it was probably just a fallen tree, which happens all the time during tropical storms. However, the rumbles continued and seemed to be getting closer. I got out of bed and looked in front of our house. I still vividly remember the fear in my bones as I witnessed large boulders from the canyon up the street being swept down in a torrent of water that appeared to be several feet high and rising quickly. Because of the storm the night before, everyone in our neighborhood had moved all the cars normally parked on the street to higher ground, so the boulders didn’t have much to impede their progress.

  I quickly ran to wake up the family so we could decide what to do. My son was nine at the time. We went downstairs to inspect the situation. The water was about three inches from our front door and already beginning to seep in the back patio doors. My son grabbed the squeegee—an important household item in the tropics—and my husband and I each got brooms. We spent the rest of this long, dark night keeping the water out of the house, picking up rugs and furniture on the first floor and keeping an eye on the front door. In reality, if the street water had gotten high enough to come in the front door, there was nothing we could have done. The storm stopped a bit before dawn and we all retreated upstairs to finally get a little sleep.

  A spooky silence hung over the town the next morning as we all put on our rain boots and coats and walked around to see the damage. Our road was about two feet higher and filled with mud and rocks; another inch and a half and all of this would have been in our house. Our back hillside had collapsed and fallen into our pool and back patio. The house across the street was completely flooded and filled with a few inches of mud. Needless to say, there was no electricity, cell or internet in the whole town. That first day was spent helping neighbors dig out front doors and vehicles. Most couldn’t acc
ess clean water as the electricity was off so pumps weren’t working. At the end of the day, we still felt isolated but also lucky—we had access to water in our pool, our house was spared and we were able to help others. We slept a well-deserved rest.

  When we woke up the next morning, we realized the real damage the storm had caused. As folks started to get past their own trauma, they began to learn and share what had happened to others. Homes located in Tamarindo and Nangal, the poorer neighborhoods along the main river, were completely flooded, and belongings and people had washed downstream. Luckily, all had survived and then returned home to find mud and silt deposited often up to window sills in their homes. Those just a block away from the river experienced a street elevation of three to four feet, which quickly took over their homes and yards.

  Within 48 hours, we organized crews to dig out homes with shovels, and once the electricity was back on, we used power washers to try and clean out the mud and the mold and bugs that the mud had quickly attracted. We literally went home by home. School was obviously not happening during this time and my son’s days included digging mud from homes less fortunate than ours. After a few days, maggots set in to the remaining homes that still had mud in them and the work had to be abandoned. Instead, we created a kind of emergency donation center where folks could bring clothes, shoes and food to be given to those in need. I still remember the families I brought food to, and I have a special place in my heart for one family who’d lost about 80% of their home in the Tamarindo area. They did accept some food, but when I tried to give them shoes for their child, they explained they thought others were actually more in need and perhaps they could contribute a pair of their own child’s shoes as she had two pairs.

  I realize I’m telling this story to illustrate just how different life can be in a foreign country, especially when you least expect it. During this flood, the swine flu epidemic, the washing out of the Ameca Bridge (which connects the states of Nayarit and Jalisco), impending hurricane threats and many more disasters, there was a complete and utter lack of official support, and folks simply fended for themselves. All your expectations are shattered. During the floods, I think we, and the other foreigners, kept waiting for the “cavalry” to show up, some sign of government or not-for-profit presence. We wondered, where were the Red Cross helicopters!? None of those things happened then or during any other community crisis.

  The local Mexicans never expected official help and didn’t wait for it. They took care of themselves and were grateful for what they had. Government support is not only not expected, it’s often not wanted, as officials are simply not trusted.

  The day I had to explain how to interact with Mexican police officers to my then 10-year-old son was a doozie! Most of our time spent here in Mexico as a family has probably been spent like families all over the world. We shop for food, pay our bills, work, enjoy family time, discipline our child, do homework and make plans for the future. There have been plenty of times I’ve probably forgotten we were actually in Mexico or raising a son in another country. Even now, it can take life’s extremes, both good and bad, to help remember where I live. I’ve seen sunsets that must have been painted by hand. I’ve experienced intense and true connections with individuals from all over the world. I’ve seen a turtle giving birth and been there to help ensure that her little ones make it back to sea a year later. I’ve seen a friend die in a Mexican hospital that should not have. And I’ve seen a friend saved in a Mexican hospital that I think an American doctor would have given up on.

  Probably now I should actually tell you my story. Folks always want to know how I moved here, the actual moment and decision. For me, this wasn’t so clear; I kind of moved here by accident, as in the definition of a non-intentional act. I was living quite a lovely life in Northern California; both my husband and I had full-time jobs we enjoyed, our son was enrolled in a wonderful public school and we had just remodeled our second home and had a terrific, close group of friends. My husband was a teacher at the time and we’d heard the union was about to stop giving out sabbaticals due to budget cuts. He had a lot of seniority and was eligible. I was working too many hours in a rewarding but very stressful job. While we both felt grateful for the life we’d built, I had spent the last two years of my life finding relaxation in reading about other people’s adventures, starting with “Shooting to Boh” and ending with, I’m embarrassed to say, “Eat Pray Love.” I wrote and submitted my husband’s sabbatical application because I was just that desperate.

  When the sabbatical was accepted, I went into my boss’s office and told him about this amazing year-long adventure we wanted to have and offered to either quit or work part-time remotely; up to him. After getting over the initial shock, my offer to work part-time was accepted. The “Coolest Boss Ever” award was thus created.

  I arrived in Sayulita in July, the beginning of the rainy season. My husband, son and I lived in a 600 sq. foot home we’d built several years earlier. We’d traveled in Mexico for almost 20 years before finding Sayulita and deciding it was a place we could eventually retire to. We built a small home to rent and stay in when we visited. Part of the reason we decided to stay for the year when we did was to help open an ecologically-minded, bilingual school in town. Our son was enrolled in the fourth grade for that year.

  Somewhere in the first two months I somehow decided this was where we really needed to live. I cannot actually remember the moment, it just seeped in. I didn’t share this thought with anyone, though, not even my family.

  Shortly after my son started school, we built a chicken coop and got baby chicks. In Mexico, one does not order chicks online. One mentions to someone who lives in San Ignacio that having some chicks would be awesome and they show up. My son’s new school had no after-school activities at the time so he paraded home with kids every day to sit on a bale of hay and play with the chicks. Those first few weeks we had to keep a close eye on the chicks as the malla, or fencing, we’d used was just not small enough to keep them safely inside and the cat who’d adopted us seemed to always be nearby. You can do the math.

  While watching the chicks one day, my husband had what we fondly refer to as the “chicken epiphany:”

  “Lina, I just had a thought.”

  “What’s that?”

  “We need to stay here.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We need to move here, like really, not go back.”

  “Yeah, I know,” I responded, because I already did.

  And so we stayed.

  When I first moved to Sayulita, it was pretty much still a small fishing village. All the roads were dirt, national tourism didn’t really exist and foreign tourism was limited to a short season of December through March. Everybody knew everybody; it was a regular small town with all the politics, chisme (rumors, gossip) and limited resources you find in small towns anywhere. I spent the better part of my first year here making soap, laundry detergent, crackers, bagels, etc. Pretty much anything that was not a corn tortilla, a cucumber, onion or any kind of pepper could simply not be found here. I used to joke that part of me had always wanted to live in the 1800s, and well, here was my chance. There was no local government … okay, maybe there still isn’t. I referred to Sayulita as the “Wild West” partly to poke fun and partly to honor its craziness.

  Sayulita then, and somewhat today, functions despite itself. But from the beginning, Sayulita held for me something I was unable to find in the U.S. or in my 20 years of traveling; there’s an international community here that holds a collective sense of tolerance and is truly invested in quality of life, the outdoors and alternative approaches to solving problems. While Sayulita now boasts an abundance of real restaurants, a full-fledged tourism industry and some paved streets, it’s still my town. When I first moved abroad, someone told me the locals wouldn’t accept me for at least five years. I absolutely swear to you it was just about that five-year mark when the locals star
ted looking at me differently. Blank gazes suddenly turned into knowing glances as folks nodded and said “Adios!” as we passed by each other and sometimes there were random hugs and kisses in greeting. I’m sure many people were thinking, “We might be stuck with that gringa,” or “When the hell is she leaving?!”

  One of my favorite Mexican moments happened during Mother’s Day two years ago. I was meeting a friend in front of El Club and got there first. In the lot across the street, they were clearly setting up for a Mother’s Day event: a stage, sound system, chairs and everything. Mexicans do celebrations big! A few minutes after I got there, a group of mothers arrived in a car and started handing out individually wrapped roses to all moms joining the event or walking by. They were all chatting and hugging and just celebrating the day. I was thinking about how people here really embrace holidays, particularly those connected to family.

  I was sitting in my car watching this like a fly on the wall and women were all around me; I was kind of invisible. Then it hit me; No matter how long I live here, I will really never be a part of this. Language and culture divides are huge and I just have to get what I can and appreciate from afar. The second that popped into my head, the group of women suddenly looked at me, walked over to my car, knocked on the window to get my attention, handed me a rose and said, “Happy Mother’s Day!” While Americans build walls and mistake noise for joy, Mexicans build bridges and celebrate life. We have much to learn.

  About four months into our adventure in Sayulita, I wrote a list of “Top Ten” likes and dislikes about our move. I’m shocked how many of them are still true!

  Things That I Love