A tip of the Hat

To rob Steven Colbert once more, I’ve got a tip of the hat and wag of the finger today.

Tip of the hat goes to James for getting into BYU. Congrats! Stay a year or two and well go to the same school when we get back.

Other Tip of the hat goes to Elder Westover. Welcome back to the mission field bud! I’ve had it about up to here with Chile this week, not sure how you’re doing over there... ha-ha. But seriously, congrats. (Hey mom, could you send Elder Westover the address of my mission offices. He’s got a letter he wants to send me, and I don’t have it memorized.)

Wag of the finger goes to impatient Chileanos. And complainers. You might see how these two are related by the time this email is over.

Also Wag of the finger goes to tropical rainstorms. I have never ever seen rain like this before. Maybe we just entered into the rainy season, maybe it’s just abnormal—my language barrier still prevents me from finding out. Which leads me back to my first wag of the finger.

Impatient Chileanos. Who can’t stand to translate things out of a senseless grudge against English.

If you haven’t already picked up on it, my companion is Elder Sanchez from, you guessed it, Chile. This is the second comp from Chile of the four I’ve had on the mission. Which means I’ve only been with a native English speaker for one transfer of my mission. (Ok, elder Valerin was fluent, and lived in the states most of his life so I guess he doesn’t count)

Even still, I’ve found things with a native speaker are a lot easier when you actually know Spanish. I feel like I’m improving in the language because I’m back to speaking it 24 hours a day. I can actually hear all the linguistic devices, and the words that I can’t understand. Then I can use context to define them. Needless to say, I’m immersed in Castellano right now, which has led me to a new phenomenon. Dreaming in Spanish. Yup, never thought that would happen.

Elder Sanchez and I had to take a taxi from the train station in Burzaco, and head out to the next closest town where our pension is actually located, Longchamps. As we got out of the car, there was something distinct about where I was. Green trees. Chirping birds. Dirt roads. I was in the country side. The first silence and nature I had heard in nearly 12 weeks, a stark transition from the bustling city life of Avellaneda.

We had stopped in front of a fairly nice looking house, and the remiz had left us there. We were concerned that he had gotten the address wrong, and as it was a white wash, both of us had our entire mission luggage. If it was the wrong place, I wasn’t sure what we would do. There were several beautiful houses surrounding us, and an especially beautiful one carried the numbers of our address. We took out the keys and tried the gate. To our shock, it actually opened.

I supposed that the normal house belonged to the owners, and that we had the shabby looking shack to the side. But with a refined sense of curiosity, we took the key to the large oak door, and turned it. We both gasped as it opened revealing one of the nicest living spaces I had ever seen in Argentina.

But it couldn’t be ours. Surely there had to be a mistake. The Area book on the desks and the vacant rooms confirmed it. Elder Sanchez and I had scored a house.

That’s right. We lived in a house. We ran around the living room screaming and jumping up and down. Picture the scene in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate factory when all the kids are set loose in the room where everything is edible and you’ve got the vision of the feeling as we explored our new living quarters. Also play the song in your head.

It was unbelievable. A house! Compared to the hole in the wall pensions I had lived in in Avellaneda and Ensenada, I was in a palace. Back yard, grill, shed, everything. Just writing about it is bringing the excitement back. Let it be noted that this was a whitewash because they were transitioning between elders and sisters. It made me wonder is that how all sisters live on the mission? They have been holding out on us.

We walked down the shady green street to the only shop down the block. It was an internet cafe as well and had big yellow letters on the window that read "Kolob Cyber." We were very very curious, and found out that indeed, it was owned by members. The familia Sigal. A big Utah Mormon family here in Argentina. Their son recently got his mission call to Ogden Utah, so I’ve been culturally debriefing him on the horrors that lay in store. Were going to make some exotic Utah cuisine like Jell-O with carrots, and fry sauce. Anyways, I’m happy to say that you will all be receiving this email from the "Kolob Cyber" in Argentina.

It didn’t take long in the area to realize that the hermanas here before hadn’t exactly been thrusting in their sickle with their might. Rewind the clock twelve weeks and read my first email from Avellaneda. This area was relatively dead. Still breathing, but definitely in a slump. The realization of the situation came over time as we tried to contact the investigators in the area book, and realized that all of them would have to get lengthy and costly divorce cases worked out to get baptism and wouldn’t even be eligible for the ordinance for years and years.

It was a lot of walking all over again. But this time instead of silent Elder Valerin, I was introduced to the large trucho Chilean wonder. Elder Sanchez.

Standing at about 6 foot 1 with a slight unibrow and a facial expression that is slightly reminiscent of a grizzly bear mixed with the man who plays the Cyclops on "Oh brother where art thou", is Elder Sanchez. Very frank. Very possessive. And very impatient with incompetence. Which has meant a lot of voiced criticisms about the areas function, about the preceding hermanas, about the people that wouldn’t listen, about North Americans that don’t know Spanish. About just about everything. Regardless, he is a hard worker and a good teacher once he sits down and starts sharing things.

Then threes me. Very content with circumstances and just happy that we even have investigators. Which is more than I could say about Avellaneda 2 when I arrived. What’s more, I get to do all the walking alongside gorgeous forested streets and big green grassy argentine fields. I have thoroughly enjoyed our daily strolls as we’ve tracted.

What’s more, the ward here is solid. They have been waiting for the mission president to send them elders to work with their numerous youth for a very long time. So we were welcomed like kings in Sacrament meeting. Even though we didn’t have investigators.

So Burzaco. Another adventure. Forested. Lovely. And startlingly beautiful. My home away from home in Argentina. Also very difficult, and unsettling at times. And even more, something didn’t feel right. Whether it was the big yellow painted letters on the Kolob Cyber, or the awkwardness of the whitewash, there was something missing in Burzaco, something I was bound to find out in the very near future.

Les amo

Elder Jensen