By Elizabeth Hoyler
Oscar Wilde argued for the importance of being Earnest, but today I argue for the importance of being patient.
I know, I know. Patience as a virtue is likely a notion we are all familiar with, but my three weeks of fieldwork have already created many an opportunity for patience to rear her head in the western highlands. Below is a working (read: incomplete) definition of what it means to be patient in the field.
Being patient means walking more slowly.
I must do it when I am walking to the next comadrona’s home for an interview and our community partners, Carmen and William, are a length behind, ordering some road-side, fresh papas fritas topped with mayonnaise and ketchup. And 55-year-old Doña Maria, a friend and midwife, must do this when she sprints (only slight exaggeration) down the muddy, steep, and slippery hill in rubber flats, while I creep down slowly in my maximum-traction hiking boots.
Being patient means releasing control.
The comadronas of Concepcion Huista are busy women; we have spent much time waiting outside their homes, hoping they’ll happen to return soon enough so we can interview them. On the worst days, this has allowed for zero interviews and much frustration. In the field, I am realizing that practice can be very different than theory and what was planned. (To my fieldwork mentors that had told me this time and time again: I get it now!) To have patience with the fact that many things will not go as envisioned, and to be able to let go of your immediate goals for the day is vital for a sane mind. And, I imagine—a successful project in the long term.
Being patient means understanding your place.
In an interview the other day, one of the midwives told us that she charged 500 Quetzales to the parents if the newborn baby was a boy, and a few hundred less if a girl. I was mortified at the implicit sexism of such behavior. My gut reaction was to challenge her statement, and ideally, lend her to my western feminist ideals, as I would if a peer mentioned this in the classroom. But unlike a classroom, (which at this point in my life I consider my home environment), I was merely a guest in this woman’s home—and one which she had so graciously opened up to us.
…I said nothing and we moved on to the next question.
Being patient means being kind to yourself.
Even if you still cannot understand the bus driver’s Spanish the third time he repeats the phrase for you. Even if you still cannot eat a mango as cleanly as the four-year-old boy walking by you in the open-air fruit market. Even if you still feel frustrated that your plan is falling through. Or perhaps it is that you just cannot personally connect, nor agree, with some widely held cultural belief.
It’s okay.
Because once you open yourself to the idea of letting things come as they will, life is more colorful. Time waiting around for the next interview is not so much a loss of efficiency, but opportunity to observe, synthesize, and--my personal favorite—people watch. It’s about living in the present, even if the present means slick stones, mud, and lots of rain, as it did for us this past week.
