Diego

Today we have a special treat for you. For Kara's 'Travel as a Narrative' class Prof Shelli Sanders had them all write a profile about someone they've met here in Uruguay. Kara wrote about our cooks here at the casa. Our lovely housemate Lawson Soward is also in the class and he chose to write his profile about one of our good friends from the adjacent church, Diego. Lawson very generously is allowing us to use his profile about Diego for the blog. Kara and I thought that it would be good because Lawson did a good job showing the impact our friends here have made on us... and even it barely begins to show the depth of it.
Note: remember that all quotes from Diego have been translated from original rapid Uruguayo Spanish for your enjoyment.



Lawson Soward

A Mountain Next to a River

“Happy Birthday, dear Diego! Happy Birthday to you!” and the chorus died to resounding applause. In true Diego form, he pulled out his lighter and blew out the flame, smiling and bowing to the friends that surrounded him. People began eating and Diego eventually retreated down the hall and as I followed I saw that the typical maté group had been whittled down to the bare bones. Jessalyn, Stefanie, and Emanuel were all assembled near the entryway steps talking, making Diego the even fourth and me the fifth wheel. Nonetheless, I exploited every chance I got to go spend time with Ema and Diego, my best Uruguayan friends, regardless of group makeup. Our group assembled, we walked out the door towards the statue of Artigas.

We walked past three hamburger stands, without stopping once unusually enough, and arrived at our typical two benches next to the weathered statue of the Uruguayan hero. We began chatting and passing Diego’s maté around, taking refreshingly warm sips of the from his perfectly crafted, green-tea-esque yerba drink. Diego’s matés were always more tasty somehow. He had it down to an art. “A mountain of yerba next to a river of hot water.” I could remember his instruction but never get it quite right. He was Uruguyan to the bone. His tanned skin looked darker under the streetlights, but his ever wet half-mohawk-half-mullet glistened in the poor lighting as well as anywhere else. He was a solid guy of medium height, but you could barely see him behind his Jessalyn-shaped shield from the cold.

Conversation continued. “My dad called me today.” It was a rare occasion where I was able to understand part of Diego talking to Ema at native speed. “He told me happy birthday and couldn’t believe that I was 19 and that it had been so long since we last talked. “ I asked him when the last time he saw his dad was. “Christmas. It was a lot of fun having everyone together. I miss him sometimes but it’s not a big deal.” Diego lived with his two brothers, two sisters, and grandparents. His father lived in Barcelona, Spain. I asked him about his mother. “She left about two years ago. I don’t really know why or where, but she left.” He went on to discuss how she now lives back in Montevideo, but they didn’t seem to be in contact. Momentary pensions out of the way, he put his arm around Jessalyn’s shoulder and talked about how glad he was to be out with friends.

We talked about friends back at home, how crazy the weather was in Uruguay, how we should all probably exercise more, and everything else that popped in our heads. I actually took a moment to remove myself from the situation. As I took a warm sip of yerba; I was struck by the realization that I was hanging out with friends – real friends, not just people who I lived near in a foreign country – goofing off, and talking about whatever. Holding Diego’s maté I realized how at home I felt in an entirely foreign place because of the friendships I was sharing on a cold bench near a rusty statue.

Diego was hungry and I was glad that his usually omnipresent hunger had returned. As we approached the stand and warm blood began flowing through my veins again, I told him that I would buy him a hamburger. All the stores were closed by the time I got out of classes and I had not been able to buy him a present, so I insisted that a hamburger was the least I could do. He laughed, gave me a friendly shove, and refused. I insisted; it was his birthday and he had bought me food at the football game over the weekend. “It doesn’t matter that it’s my birthday, I can pay. Plus, I bought food for everyone at the game, so you don’t owe me.“ I stood amused, impressed, and frustrated by the unwaveringly generous force that was Diego and his equal stubbornness to accept the generosity he so freely gave out. Less than two minutes passed before Diego asked me if he could buy me a hot dog. All I could do was laugh.

I decided I wanted some chocolate so we walked to the store and I bought the biggest bar I could find. Sharing with friends was a subtle way I could get him to accept a gift. As small as dessert was, I was desperate to do something for my friend who had done so much for me. I was sure to divvy the chocolate in waves so that he would be inclined to accept more without hesitation. I was finally able to give something to my friend, from whom I was always receiving.

When we got back home I asked him for a few insights into his life. While every question revealed more about a man who filled his life and the lives of everyone around him with joy, one stood out more than the rest. When asked whether he viewed life as half full or half empty, Diego had the following to say.

“Full. Above full. It’s overflowing. I am lucky enough to have many friends, a happy life, and to enjoy studying [the culinary arts]. I love and have felt loved in everything that has happened in my life, everything I have been able to do, and the people I have been able to do it with. I have never felt forgotten by anyone.”

Hearing his answer, the rest of my questions were of little consequence. I knew why he never felt forgotten and why he would never be forgotten by me.










Emanuel & Diego

From left: Rodriquez brothers Martin, Mathias & Diego