Holding on to My Heritage…

“National Hispanic Heritage Week” began September 1968, a declaration by then President Lyndon Johnson. The week affords Latin American countries including Costa Rica, El Salvador, Guatemala, Honduras, Nicaragua, Mexico and Chile to celebrate independence. It also affords an opportunity to acknowledge the multiple contributions of Hispanics to the United States. In 1988, President Ronald Reagan expanded the observance to 30 days, to include another important date for Latin America – the “Day of the Race,” which occurs on Oct. 12. National Hispanic Heritage Month now runs from Sept. 15 to Oct. 15.

To celebrate my Hispanic Heritage, I decided to recount some of my own chronicles as an immigrant and a few memories from my childhood and teenage years with my family.

A cold breeze came in from the Sierra Nevada carrying with it an aroma of Café con leche en la manana – that’s coffee with milk in the morning. It was a magical and peaceful place in South America surrounded by the majestic mountains of the Andes in the small city Mérida, my home.

There are three cities called Mérida in the world: one in Mexico, another in Spain and the third one in Venezuela also known as La Ciudad de Los Caballeros or The City of Gentlemen. Located in the southwest region of the country, many tourists from all over the globe visited Mérida in Venezuela to see the highest cable car in the world, an incredible engineering masterpiece known as the Mukumbari Cable Car or Teleférico de Merida. Visitors with enough courage to drive along the narrow roads absent of safety rails also could enjoy the drive around the mountains with breathtaking views comparable to the Grand Canyon in Arizona. Shopping was pleasurable. A central market in the city, El Mercado Principal de Merida hosted multiple farmers selling fresh produce at all times while hundreds of other vendors displayed their innumerable hand-made crafts.

A juice stand stood at the entrance to the market with a significant number of customers in line. This little business was famous for featuring the most demanded drink in the history of Mérida, the Levanton – Get it up – a very special smoothie comprised of sugar, strawberries, milk, and vanilla with shrimp, clams, fish eggs and a cow’s eye. Yes, you read this right! These unique ingredients came together out of a common belief they possessed aphrodisiac properties. (For the record, this drink was invented even before the scientists of Pfizer Laboratories accidentally developed and manufactured Viagra in 1998.)

In the comfort of our little apartment in the Andes, I recall hearing my mom, Carmen Del Valle saying with great excitement, “Majaja, we must clean this house because we will receive visitors soon.”  How could someone be so excited about cleaning? I was 11 years old and at the time did not understand the significance of a Latino family receiving friends or other family members in your home.

Mija is common slang used by Latin Americans referring to Mi Hija or my daughter. My mom’s name, Carmen Del Valle, translates to Carmen from the Valley, nicknamed Vallita, which referred to a little valley, but in my opinion, my mommy, a woman of only 4’ 8” in height with a charming smile and incredible courage should have been nicknamed for something big.

My nest, as I used to call my home in Merida, was adorned with flowers and many pictures representing five generations of my family. My great- grandmother Evarista, grandmothers  Juanita, Arminda and Mama Ortiz, grandfathers Carmelo and Villa, my uncles, my cousins, second cousins and of course multiple pictures of mama y papa (mom and dad), my little sister, my little brother, and me, Audelvis Carolina Olivier Rodriguez (my former name).

When mama Vallita would prepare to receive loved ones in our home, she would drive us crazy. There was so much work to do. We would clean and organize the house before, during and until the visit was over because one of the most important things in a Latin American home is to welcome the people you love in such a way you demonstrate your affection for them and how much you appreciate their visit. Subsequently it is important that you make them feel that your home is also theirs. This reminds me of the Spanish phrase that represents us Latinos more than anything – Mi casa es tu casa – meaning my home is your home or in other words make yourself at home.

On any given morning immediately after barely opening my eyes, I would hear Buenos Dias – good morning. Based solely on the fact our house always hosted family and friends, there was a good chance I would awake to see two or three of my family members in my room.

Yes, 10 of us at some point lived together in a small two-bedroom apartment. For us kids, this living arrangement provided us with some of the happiest memories of our lives.

After waking up, I only had a few seconds to request my blessing for the day. In Venezuela, this tradition means saying Bendicion– blessing, so the adult or adults in your family who care for you respond Dios te bendiga – God bless you. This repeats throughout the day when calling other family members, when greeting grandparents or aunts and uncles or other relatives and of course at night before going to sleep.

My mom’s long-term friends would soon arrive and she would count the minutes to hear the sound of the doorbell. I would come to the living room and as soon as they saw me, their reaction was as if they have found their lost child. Through teary eyes, they jump and clap. Later I understand the reason for such an emotional reaction. They had not seen me since I was wearing diapers and my biological father, Augusto, had asked this couple to be my godparents (or my protectors for life) before he died in a car accident when I was only one. This is the first visit in 10 years after my mother had relocated with my great-grandmother and me to start a new life in Mérida where she married my Papa William (Dad William).

Carola was another one of my 10 nicknames. “Mija, how gorgeous you are,” my godparents said. El amor es ciego – love is blind – I thought to myself. So there I stood wearing my heavy orthopedic boots because my feet were turned inward at birth, my corrective lenses that made me appear as if I was wearing two magnifying glasses on my face, (the reason kids called me Cuatro ojos or foureyes, another of my 10 nicknames), braces on my teeth and uncombed messy hair.

My godparents, Gledys and Faustino, then proceeded to squeeze me with strong hugs. Back home the stronger the hug, the more someone cares about you. Then they kissed me so much I felt as if I was going to lose my balance for getting my face grabbed in so many directions. Finally, when the intensity of that first encounter was over we all began to taste the delights that mama had made.

My great-grandma, Mama Evarista, moved from the city of Maturin, located on the Eastern side of Venezuela, to Merida on the west, leaving behind her house, friends and family. She made this sacrifice to be with my mother during times of distress after the death of my biological father. I was incredibly lucky to have grown up with my Mama Evarista. I learned from her innumerable life lessons that I am not sure I could have found in any standard educational program or book. She was such a strong foundation in my family, a woman with amazing determination who would have done absolutely anything to make sure we did well.  She would make her signature giant Arepas with a diameter of a 12-inch frying pan. Arepas are a traditional meal of indigenous origin, made from ground dry corn dough or precooked corn flour, flattened and with circular shape. She would make sure we always kept an optimistic attitude. When she heard us crying for any reason, she would immediately say, “All problems have a solution mija, Llora solo cuando yo me muera – Cry only when I die.”

The signs of dementia started to show around 90. We observed how Mama Evarista or Super Barris, a nickname I gave her, slowly digressed to childhood behaviorally. Therefore, we knew every day with her while she was still able to recognize us and give us advice was a gift. Little did we know we would receive a gift, as she was physically present in our lives until the age of 102.  As hard as it was, we took care of my super Barris with patience and love because we wanted to honor her life sacrifice – the strength and values she implanted in all of us. She was able to rely on us just as we relied on her before – our rock Evarista Antonia Romero.

It is very common among Latin American Families that the young family members take care of their elders, a value of immeasurable power in any society.

I still remember the moment I was forced to stop working as an engineer in the Petroleum Company of Venezuela (PDVSA). I was among 18,000 employees during a historic national strike in 2002 marking the beginning of a dictatorship masked under the guise of a political revolution. In my case, immigrating was never the scenario I had pictured in my mind, but the situation was very risky and those who once were respected for being PDVSA engineers or national TV communicators were then persecuted and killed after being categorized people against the government and members of the opposition.

As with many immigrants, I have found that continuous change is the most constant aspect of the journey and presents itself physically, emotionally, spiritually and psychologically. Bear with me as I attempt to summarize the past 15 years of my life by listing these key life-changing experiences. I first settled in Boston after my arrival in January during a blizzard; I learned a language different from my native Spanish; embarked onto a new career path in health sciences; was blessed to find love and marry my Erik, a combination of fourth-generation Japanese and Caucasian, and welcome two children, Jakobe and Josue. From Boston, we relocated to San Diego. I had the honor to work in medical research for the veteran population with PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorders), and in 2016 moved to Roanoke to be closer to family and a better quality of life. In this move, we found much more than we had ever envisioned. We found HOME!

Though I am thousands of miles away from Venezuela and many years have passed by, I still feel a sharp pain in my chest when I hear about the multiple acts of injustice, the hunger, the lack of medication and the unsafe conditions that confront people daily. The violence is a product of an intense economic, social and emotional crisis like no other that has occurred in the history of the country.

Every day I try to hold on onto my Hispanic culture, playing my Cuatro, (traditional musical instrument), just like my papa William taught me when I was a child; singing like mama Vallita, being optimistic and determined like my Great-grandma Evarista; communicating in many different ways like my Grandma Juanita (who was mute and death since birth); and never missing the chance to hug hard those I love and appreciate, just as my godparents Gledys and Faustino did to me. I will continue to hold onto all those memories that have marked my life and the values ​​passed on to me. I pray to God that I can teach those same values ​​to my children, and that I can affect the lives of others in a positive way even if it amounts to just a little grain of sand.

I would like to dedicate this article to people of greatness, those who no matter what they do for a living, are humble, compassionate, understanding and have acceptance of others. To all of you, who just like an immigrant, have gone through tremendous change during your life journey and are trying to hold strong to your identity and values.