Mi Abuela Ana

My close friend Stacy shared with me that her Grandma who was born November 16, 1918 gets lonely sometimes. Stacy and I always go out but this time, I asked her if we could spend time with Abuela Ana.

It turns out everyone liked the idea! Especially Abuela Ana.

It did not cross my mind that there would probably be a language barrier.

With the little bit of Spanish that I knew, I founded out that she came to America in 1973 and when she got here she never really ventured into the real world. She was a stay at home mother. She had 10 children before she came here and her baby (Ms. Hilda, pictured) was only in her teens. No one was born in the U.S.

She likes to cook but doesn’t do much of it anymore.

She arrived to America because of her son, Uncle Metro (also pictured) got here first and paved the way for the rest of the family. When she came to America she did not like it. As a matter of fact, she always wanted to go back home to live but stayed here to tend to her family. She sacrificed her life so that her children and husband could live happily.

Her husband passed away in 2009.  He was a hard working man. Running bodegas to keep the family afloat.

Ms. Hilda cooked a lovely meal for the event and Johnny, the dog was very respectful until we got to the table.

I left full and happy. Now time to brush up on my Spanish.




One thing I take for granted in America is the fact that I am noticed. What I mean is, in America I have the privilege of  seeing people who share my skin color and hair texture in the media everyday. I can list a slew of black actors and actresses and radio personal. Heck, the president and I share the same skin tone!

However, in Argentina I felt lost. I looked at ads and passed newspaper stands slowly hoping to see a black face on at least one cover. At least a beautiful Indigenous person, but never was I satisfied.

When I saw the above ad I thought about the many pictures circulating in America that are set up the same way- 5 close up shots- but it is set up to show diversity of some sort. Not just 5 white men.

I didn’t like that there was very little diversity in Argentina. Very Little.