"'cause it's hell to believe there ain't a hell of a chance"

I didn´t get to write much about my sleepovers with Jahayda (the little girl who sleeps in the church with me in El Jardin).  She is quite a kid.  Really.  Probably my favorite thing about her is how very obviously NOT perfect she is.  Strange as it may seem, I love how in her mannerisms and demeanor, you can imagine her saying something rude or cutting line in front of someone else.  You can picture her taking a toy from her younger brother or not doing her homework the night before.  She is rough around the edges and ripe of human tendencies to do the wrong thing.  However, she is special in the fact that after all her mistakes and wrongdoings, I can see her rise above them.  Learning from them, growing from them, and living a life chalk full of trial and error.  It is not her faults that I love, but her ability and openness to change in response to them.  What more could you hope for from a child?  She´s also tough as nails in all the right ways.  When she stubs her toe on the sharp corner of a bench or loses her balance to the deceptive stability of loose gravel on the roads, she winces real hard and real long, then throws her head back and laughs as if the she´s in on the joke.  She is relentless in her curiosity and more talented in small talk than a Southern bell from Charleston.  She is always asking me where I´m going, what I´m doing, when I´m leaving, when I´m coming back, and where I sleep when I´m not here.  She reminds me a lot of my neighbors´ kid, Jack.  He´s four years old and if cats are curious, he´s a lion.  Whenever we play games, he always catches me saying something like ¨soldier¨ in which he´ll stop dead in his tracks, matchbox cars in one hand and tonka trucks in the other, and say ¨what´s a soldier?¨  This will inevitably lead to a conversation about the moral principles of war and the ethical dilemma of death for a ¨greater cause.¨ He´s four.  This is how Jahayda is.  Except in Spanish...

On Tuesday night, my last night in El Jardin before my 5am bus back to San Jose, there was a quiet storm that lit up the sky with lightning bolts and outlined the "all bark, no bite" black thunderclouds littering our little corner of the world.  Jahayda had already made it very clear that she did not like lightning, thunder, or any other component of a storm.  They scared her and that was that.

As I was tucking Jahayda in under mosquito nets and bed sheets, she looked at me and said ¨Storms are dangerous, aren´t they?  They can hurt people, can' t they?¨  I said, ¨Well, yes.¨ And she said ¨Well, then who makes them?  God or the Devil?¨ And I knelt down on the concrete floor of the church, ´cause I knew this wasn´t a one word response question and definitely not a conversation to mess up right before bed.  I didn't want to give her the opportunity to spend the next 3 hours lying awake at night staring into the dark of the sanctuary wondering why God hates us.  So I crouched down and thought for a second.  Finally, all I had to offer was this - ¨Well, Jahayda... I don´t think God or the devil are responsible for the bad things that happen in the world.  They don´t hurt people.  There are just things that happen in this world - good and bad.  The difference is how we react to them. God told us know that even though bad things happen, and even though sometimes we can't stop them, it will be okay in the end because He's with us.  We´ll all be okay eventually because He loves us.  That´s his promise.  And this means that we don't have to be afraid and we can be strong even when we're hurt.¨

She thought about that for a while.  Nodded.  Smiled.  And rolled over.  I let my head fall to my chest and prayed I didn´t disfigure a child´s faith in 5 sentences or less.

I thought about it later that night and I think that Christian spirituality is about a relationship, a marriage to someone who loves you more than all the grains of sand on the beaches - not a quick fix to all the problems we face.  What Christianity does for me, and I think for many of us, is it gives us faith that even though there are uncontrollable and disturbing atrocities in this world, one day we'll rise above it with Him.  Josh Ritter, a singer/songwriter, wrote in his song Thin Blue Flame, "We need faith for the same reason it's so hard to find... because it's hell to believe there ain't a hell of a chance."  That is the gift.  That is the "fix."  Peace.  Hope.  All those words we have used so much they sometimes lose their meaning for us now.  But cliche or not they are real and powerful.  And they are a gift and that is what Christian spirituality is about - I think.

I don't think that God tells us to not worry about tomorrow or to trust in Him because he is going to fix everything wrong in our lives.  I think his promise is a little more long-term than that.  He´s not giving us a get out of jail free card.  This is a relationship.  It is complicated and difficult and frustrating.  But it is also magical and powerful and meaningful, if you let it be.

John 1-4:27 says "Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you.  I do not give to you as the world gives.  Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid."  I guess what I'm saying in the end is I don't think God sent an earth-shattering earthquake to Chile or a crushing tornado to Joplin in the midwest.  I think God's hand in our lives is not to give and take away earthly materials, but to bless us with peace and understanding and hope when the world has its way with us.

On a less serious note, all is well here.  I am finally getting into the swing of things and slowly piecing together this jigsaw of a challenge I have thrown myself into.  One aspect of my life from Sunday to Wednesday, when I am in El Jardin and San Julian, that is very different from the States (besides riding on hours of public transportation, speaking Spanish, teaching English as a Foreign Language in a rural Costa Rican school, and eating portions rice and beans that are well over dietary recommendation) is I spend these three to four days without a mirror.  The homes I stay in, the bathrooms in the schools, the church, the grocery stores - all without mirrors.  The most I catch is a glimpse of my reflection in the window of a bus or front door of a store.  Now, I think this might benefit those around me even less than myself because they're the ones who have to look at me.  It's a strange sensation to do your hair in the morning, put on your clothes, and walk out the door without have one clue if your hair is lumpy or if your skirt is leaning to one side.  At first, I felt a little self-conscious not knowing what I looked like.  I wondered if people were thinking to themselves "Does she know that it looks like a 4 year old did her hair this morning?" or "Does she even own a brush?  I could lend her mine...,"  "What is on her face?  I hope that poor girl has some soap," and things of that nature.  But as the day continued and everyone greeted me the same, it came to have the opposite affect on me.  I feel almost more confident walking out of the house without a mirror than with them.  I get ready in 15 minutes or less (no shower).  I find myself picking at my clothes less, worrying less about which love handle my shirt is holding onto this time.  I have no choice but to let it go, or I'd spend a solid 3 days and a half in misery.  Challenge:  Go to work or school or out tomorroow without looking in the mirror.  I dare you.

CRAZY COSTA RICAN CULTURE SHOCK:  (Where to begin...)

1.  Buses do not leave from the terminal until they are full.  This means that if you have a bus at 7am to another city, that bus will not leave until the majority of the seats are filled.  You could end up leaving the terminal at 7:35am instead of 7am.  I'd love to see that protocol fly in America...

2.  In rural areas, it is still customary for a boy to ask a father permission to date his daughter.  This is just for dating.  If the father agrees, he sets up a schedule of certain days that the boy and girl can see each other.  For example, when Hazel began dating her boyfriend Carlos, they were only allowed to see each other for one hour on Wednesdays and Saturdays.  She told me that it wasn't before long that they were sneaking in hours after school and before church.

3.  In the city, many sidewalk patrons play a form of "chicken."  If you are walking towards someone on the sidewalk, they will wait as long as possible until they "move."  By move I mean make the slightest dip of their shoulder to indicate that they are letting you pass.  This used to intimidate me because I didn't want to run into someone.  I think they target foreigners.  However, after 4 weeks, I hold my ground now and only slightly move my shoulder as we brush arm sleeves and pass by.  I can almost feel the glow of approval beaming back on me from the brutish city natives of San Jose.

In other news, I went back to San Martin this Sunday.  Only 2 kids showed up for the children's class and 3 students showed up to the young adult class.  One was new, one had come to the first class, and the other had been to all of them.  I had one girl, Karen, text me and tell me she couldn't come because she had chores to do in the house.  This Sunday, four out of the five kids who participated were from Isabel's family.  On top of that, Abel, the pastor, had a lot of problems with the woman who lives in the house on Sunday.  There were some financial issues to be dealt with as well as her move out date that were sources of frustration for both parties.  After the classes, Abel and I sat down and had a talk.  We both decided that it would be better to terminate classes in this community for now.  It seems that there are problems that this community faces that need to be dealt with before any programs are implemented.  There is such a disonnect and frustration between and among community members, that I think those issues need to be addressed before trying to start classes in the area.  I looks like these problems run deep and it will take the community and Abel a long time to work through them; however, it will be well worth it once they are able to congregate under the same roof.  For now, I think they need to keep their eyes and hearts on God and unite under that banner instead of English.

I was pretty sad to leave this community because I have gotten so close to Isabel's family and I know there are students in that community who could and want to benefit from these; however, I know allowing the community time to heal and address the internal conflicts within the church is the right thing to do.  So, I gave the children their notebooks and we went back to Isabel's house.  I spent the afternoon watching a soccer game with the family until some neighbors showed up... with crocodiles.  Baby crocodiles.  In their hands.  You can imagine my reaction.   

 

Maykel and Daysha in my jacket.  It was drizzling and they needed my jacket.

 

It was a little big on them.

 

Talking with Abel as we left the church that day.

 

Pregnant momma drinking milk.

 

Maykel stealing my camera.

 

Byron fixing the family bicycle.

 

The CROCODILE some neighbors brought to the house.

 

The CROCODILE just hanging out in his HAND.

 

The CROCODILE biting his finger and dangling in the air.

 

The CROCODILE about to EAT ME.

When it was time to go, I explained to the family that we were not going to have anymore English classes for a while because of attendance and other issues, but I told them I would really like to be able to visit them some more when I'm here.  Isabela told me of course, but I could see in her eyes that she didn't believe me.  It kind of broke my heart.  I know that in many of these communities they see volunteers come and go as well as pastors and it always ends in a promise to keep in touch or visit.  They have had about 4 or 5 pastors in the last few years come through.  They have also seen the soccer program sponsored by ILCO come and go.  ILCO could not continue coming to this community for a lack of financial resources.  There are also many delegations who take tours through this area and volunteers who spend weeks or months at a time here; however they always leave.  I knew that this was why she was solemn and grave when she said goodbye.  She didn't think I'd come back.  She didn't think I'd visit.  And she didn't think she'd ever see me again.  There was no crying or flattering or back rubbing.  We simply hugged, kissed cheeks, and I left.  I look forward to proving her wrong when I visit them.

I left San Martin with a heavy heart and arrived in El Jardin that night - lights and electricity on.  The bus ride was hot, as always, but unbearingly humid as well from a rain that had fallen hours before.  As I've said, the buses do not have air conditioning and as there are only two buses that enter and leave El Jardin, they are always packed full of people.  Typically, all the windows are open, unless it's raining, but this is almost more tortorous that having the windows closed.  The dusty wind that enters from the windows only dances on top of your head and never seems to break through the mask of heat hovering over your face or chest.  It mocks you as it flips the unbounded curls of your hair back and forth but supplies no form of relief from the stickiness of your neighbor's leg against yours or the beads of sweat that roll down your temples and outside the creases of your nose.

Classes in El Jardin went well.  First grade is my hardest class.  They are the youngest and somehow the most stubborn.  I have to battle many hard-headed students and am constantly asking for silence.  There are two extremely bright students in this class who I fear suffer from the apathetic attitude of the rest.  They are the group I will spend preparing for the most this weekend.  I spent some time talking with the first grade teacher after my class with first grade on Monday and told her about some students' attitudes, etc.  She explained that this was one of the toughest groups she's ever had, however, she told me that many of them have experienced or experience on a regular basis emotional, psychological, physical, and even sexual abuse.  She said that many come to school with problems in agression and temper.  She also said that some of them suffer from neglect as both parents work all day and have little time to devote attention to them.  I had learned earlier that abuse against women and children is common in some rural areas because men spend all day working and find relief in alcohol.  They then take their troubles home. It is for these reasons that these children act up in school and crave attention - positive or negative.  Knowing this information strengthens my patience and makes me more interested in strategies to improve the class rather than label them all as troublemakers and give up on activities that require them to behave. 

Second grade students are sweet.  Jahayda is in this class.  They all try very hard but work at different speeds which is challenging.  Third grade is the class of over 30 that I have.  They are loud and barabaric with their yells and screams for attention, but energetic and engaged.  Fourth grade is a smaller group and they are fantastic.  They work hard and play hard.  There are about 12 of them so activities are effective and they are much easier to control than my class of 30 (obviously).  I had them last on Monday and they were kind of like washing down a piece of broccoli with a gulp of milk.  For those of you who enjoy vegetables, you may not get this reference, but for me, milk is the taste I try to savor after a plate full of veggies.  Fifth grade is a lot like fourth in that they are smaller, motivated and fun; however, there are a few in this class that seem to think that I'm deaf and find it necessary to yell every time they talk.  Sixth grade is the oldest group in the school.  Like most almost teenagers they spend most of the class trying to be cool and make sure their classmates know that they are cool, but I can sense a trust interest in English in some of them.  They are old enough that they are listening to American music and paying attention to portions of the news at night.  With this forming curiosity of other cultures, I can tell that some students are beginning to see the importance of learning a foreign language - especially one that is used around the world.  A couple girls stayed after class to ask me how to say "I love you" and "Take care" in English.  Though it takes a lot to motivate these students to participate, I can connect with them on a level of humor that many younger students don't understand.  They are quick to recognize humor in facial expressions, intonation, and sarcasm.  After I work with these students, I feel confident in my decision to be a high school English teacher.

Every Monday and Tuesday night I stay in the church in El Jardin with Jahayda and her family who live directly behind the church.  The first couple of weeks I didn't spend a lot of time with the family because I think we were both shy of each other, but now, every Monday and Tuesday night, I sit with the family in their living room for a few hours before bed.  Jahayda's mom is Maria and her husband lives with her.  As I've told you, Jahayda has two brothers and one sister.  Camilo is the oldest, Jahayda is second, Hector is third, and Sayli is youngest.  We play card games, eat dinner, watch TV, and laugh at things I don't understand.  Maria's brother, Dugla, comes by most nights to talk with us, eat dinner, and play cards.  He's taught me a few new games.  He's a really nice guy.

This last Monday, Maria, her husband, and I spent about 2 hours untangling a huge wad of fishing line.  You should have seen us spread out around the yard in star formation, tugging at different ends of the string to see what went where.  Maria was by far the best at untangling and by the end of it, her husband was sitting on the ground with the stick of rolled up string, Maria was working her way through the tangled mess, and I was following orders with one end of the string.  We laughed at the uselessness of her husband.  I also played with the kids.  Their new favorite game is to have me count to 20.  They hide.  When I open my eyes, I chase after them (because they usually hide directly behind me).  When I catch them, I pretend that they are wet clothes that need to be hung on the line or trash that needs to be thrown out.  Then I act like I'm going to hang them up somewhere.  They laugh until their faces turn purple.

It all started because one night Maria told me she was going to have chicken for dinner.  She asked me if I wanted to help.  A couple weeks before she had shown me how to make rice (a task I'm sure she could do in her sleep and was rather odd to have to teach to someone - especially as illiterate at me in cooking matters), so I naturally agreed to help.  I got up and followed her out back.  I was behind her until I saw her make her way to the chicken coupe and then my footsteps got slower and slower.  Then I saw the knife in her hand.  She was going to kill it.  In front of me.  Or worse yet... ask me to do it.  As she held the chicken up by its feet, she looked at me expectingly and raised her eyebrows, the knife, and the chicken in her hand at the same time.  I began to shake my head and take a few steps back.  She asked me why not?  Didn't I know that we had to kill a chicken before we could eat it?  Unless I wanted to eat it live... I laughed nervously and continued taking a few steps back.  Maria then burst into laughter.  I told her she was horrible for making me think she was going to make me kill it and she just thought that was funnier.  I walked back inside and told her I didn't want to watch.  All the other kids circled around me and asked why not?  They bragged about killing chickens of their own and all went outside to watch the chicken die.  They kept grabbing my hands and trying to drag me outside.  Finally, Maria walked up to the door and showed me the dead chicken in her hand as she drained the blood from its neck.  Mustering all gag reflexes I have, I nodded at her and gave her a thumbs up.  She just laughed.  That night we had chicken and rice and it was delicious.  I think there is some sort of numbness you develop to blood and death when you live on a farm and I did NOT grow up on a farm.  I don't think of chickens as food unless their wrapped up and packaged in a Perdue styrofoam plate.  I couldn't have been more of a gringa that night if I had tried.  As the children ate, they devoured the chicken.  They held the chicken wings and bones in their hands like lollipops and sucked them dry.  They then fought over the insides of the chicken and who got to eat them.  I wondered what they would think of the boneless, skinless chicken strips I buy in the store.

Now that I am only doing afternoon classes in San Julian from 12 - 2 with the seniors, I went to the school in El Jardin on Tuesday morning to tell Jose Antonio, the prinicipal, that I had Tuesday mornings open if he would like my help.  Before I could even get to the question, he said "Now?  Can you start now?"  He grabbed my things for me and stormed off to one of the classrooms.  I jogged behind him and said "We can start next week or if you need to talk to your teachers first we can...." but he was already at the door of the next room.  He turned back and said "This class at 10am."  I took my stuff back and laughed.  He said "That's how us Latinos are.  We've got to take advantage of your time here."  I thought, "fair enough."  So, now I work all Mondays and Tuesday mornings at El Jardin while Tuesday afternoons in San Julian.

The class in San Julian went well.  The students were dead beat tired when I got there that afternoon.   They had two exams that day and a national practice exam.  But they partcipated and did well on all the material I presented to them.

That afternoon I told Hazel that I would teach her how to make chocolate chip cookies from the States like my mom makes them.  If any of you know my mom, you know that she is a fantastic cook - creative, efficient, and simple.  She has perfected the sausage/dough/cheese ratio in sausage balls, managed to consistently produce marinades for meats and fish that never bore, and is capable of producing food of deliciously high fat content as well as low calorie breaded chicken and chocolate brownies.  She does it all.  And just one of her many talents are her chocolate chip cookies.  So, I had my mom send me the recipe and SPECIFIC instructions on how to do it, as I once messed up a recipe for vegetable soup, and Hazel and I went to the store after school to buy the ingredients.  I was pleasantly surprised to find they had everything - brown sugar, baking soda, everything.  Until we got to the chocolate chips.  We searched all the candy isles and came up with nothing.  So, instead, we bought three chocolate bars and the entire basket of chocolate soccer balls - individually wrapped.  We took all the ingredients home (thank goodness we caught a ride from the director of the school - the bags were heavy and the three mile trek was hot) and began to mix.  When it came to the chocolate we sliced them all in baby pieces and had the batter ready.  Since Hazel's family doesn't have a working oven, we went to a neighbor's house (Hazel's boyfriend's mom's house) and used her oven.  After converting Farenheit to Celcius, we set the oven.  After a while, I asked when the oven would beep and let us know it was preheated.  Hazel looked very confused and so did Carlos's mom.  They'd never heard of ovens that let you know when it was at a certain temperature.  So we guessed.  After two burnt batches, one crispy, and two soft sets later, we finally figured it out.  We went back to Hazel's house, ate cookies, watch a soap opera, and enjoyed it.  It was nice to cook with them since they are always cooking for me, offering me food, and dancing around me with brooms and wash rags as I try to pitch in where I know how.

On Wednesday morning I went back to San Jose.

(Because this post is already so long, I'm going to post the second under a new name so people don't think I am ABSOLUTELY nuts for writing so much.  But don't tell....")