Every Who down in Who-ville, the tall and the small, was singing!

Wednesday, Sep. 14th and Thursday, Sep. 15th, Costa Rica celebrated the independence of their country from Spanish rule.  As I told you before, the schools spend two weeks doing "civic activities" during mid-day in which they sing patriotic songs, learn about their culture, say the pledge of allegiance to their flag, etc.  Many students, especially the older ones, are involuntarily elected to read a snippet about traditional Costa Rican dances or food.  The unwilling students are shoved to the front by their teacher or the rest of the students in their class and read as quickly and incomprehensibly as possible so they can return to the masses of the unidentified.  Most schools also have bands and baton twirlers who prepare to play the national anthem and other patriotic songs during the festivities.  They practice months in advance.  In San Sebastian, where I live in San Jose, bands practiced in parking lots, soccer fields, parks, and any free space available.  Every afternoon there was a steady drumbeat heard through the streets and the tinkling of xylophones.  Their dedication was impressive and compensated for the often times idiosyncratic rhythmic patterns I don't they intended.

On Wednesday night at 6pm, everyone in the entire country sings the national anthem in their home, at their school, or wherever they are.  The country is at a sort of stand still.  Buses stop, cars break, cashiers wait.  For those three minutes or so, the one and only focus of an entire people is their country.  After that, children and families gather at school with homemade lanterns.  They then take to the streets with these candlelit lanterns called "faroles."  Typically, the faroles are made out of cardboard or paper.  They can be made in shapes of typical Costa Rican houses, boats, flowers, etc.  One student at El Jardin made his farol into a giant airplane.  It was spectacular and huge.  When I told him how awesome it was, he looked at me curiously and asked "Do you have these in the United States?"  I said "Airplanes or faroles?"  "Airplanes."  "Yes," I answered.  Hahah.  He wasn't quite old enough to subscribe to the stereotype that all Americans are rich and want for nothing.  After all have gathered, the children and their families walk through the streets with their lanterns lit.

Now, to understand why they do this, you have to know a little history about Costa Rica's independence.  Here's an excerpt from a book I picked up here:  "On September 14th, 1821, news arrived in Guatemala City that a Spanish colony known as Chiapas, (part of today's Mexico City), had declared its independence from Spain.  Knowing this, a meeting was set in Guatemala to discuss the possibilities of becoming indpendent or remaining part of Spain.  The meeting was held on September 15th, 1821.  Many people attended the meeting and most voted in favor of becoming independent.  The news went south, from province to province.  When it arrived in Nicaragua, another document was written there.  News arrived in Costa Rica on October 13th, 1821."  So, Costa Rica celebrates its independence day as independence from Spain, not the day it became a sovereign state, which was in 1838.  Instead, Costa Rica celebrates when all of Central America decided to become independent of Spain after their defeat in the Mexican War of Independence.  Costa Rica and the rest of the central American countries never actually fought against Spain for their freedom.

So, on September 14th, the day before their Independence Day, Costa Ricans carry around faroles, or little paper laterns, to represent the messenger who carried the news on horseback from Guatemala to Costa Rica, lighting his way with a lantern.  Officially, a torch is ran by Costa Ricans from the north to downtown San Jose to represent the messenger as well.  It's kind of like the Olympic torch and is televised all over the country.

On Tuesday night, before I left El Jardin, I asked to take pictures of the students' faroles.  Some of them were really beautiful.

 

Typical Costa Rican house.  The roof opens up and you put a candle inside.  Then the windows light up.  Many faroles are made in the shape of houses.

 

I'm not sure exactly how Alejandro was going to pull this off or what he was specifically going for, but it looked like he tried hard enough.  He's one of my hardest workers in 3rd grade.

 

This high roller built her farol into a 2 story house, which I can assure you is not a traditional home in Costa Rica, much less El Jardin.

Many of the students on Monday and Tuesday asked me if I was going to be at the lantern parade on Wednesday night; however, I go back to San Jose on Wednesday morning so I told them I wasn't.  This was a source of great disappointment but I had to get back for tutoring on Friday and spend time preparing for that coming week's classes.

So, on Wednesday night when I was back in San Jose, after I had finished some work at the ILCO office, I went to a local school about two streets up from my house in San Sebastian to listen to the national anthem and see the lantern parade.  The entire school faculty, students, and their parents were gathered around a large torch outside the school.  They all had their faroles ready and lit for the walk.  They sang a couple patriotic songs and then, at 6, they sang the national anthem.  It was beautiful.  It kind of reminded me of Christmas at our church in Grace Lutheran when we used to light candles during the Christmas services and sing carols (before the fire marshal or whatever Grinch Who Stole Christmas made us stop).  It felt like I was standing in a Dr. Seuss book watching all the Whos down in Whoville singing at the top of their lungs not to keep the spirit of Christmas alive, but to honor the country they love and the place they feel blessed to live.  What I really enjoy about this holiday in Costa Rica is the unity of it all.  The fact that at 6pm, most Costa Ricans are singing the national anthem.  That all students are hitting the streets with lanterns they have spent weeks building.  With bands leading the way who have spent months practicing (despite certain rhythmic inadequacies some younger students are plagued with).  It's a romantic idea - to think of a country as a united people all with one common goal of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, but if we didn't have romantic notions, we'd be left with reality and no dreams.  So, I closed my eyes and took it all in.  Viva Costa Rica! (Long live Costa Rica!)

 

Everyone at the school gathered around the torch singing.

 

Farol made to look like a flower.

 

Intricate boat farol complete with pirates (very typical of Costa Rica.... or not, hah)

 

The lantern parade begins and the crowd fills the street.

 

Some wear typical dresses and costumes of the 1800s.

 

Farol with Costa Rican man.

 

Drumline.

 

Probably the coolest part of the lantern parade is that when the people process through the streets, there is no yellow tape marking off "parade-friendly areas," no orange road construction barrels to warn cars of  upcoming festivities, or police directing traffic keeping the people in and the cars out.  Now, some could see this as a lack of organization or a failure to take precautionary measures; however, I like to think of it as a message to everyone uninvolved in the festivities:  "Tonight is not your night."  When the people fill the streets with children and lanterns and musical instruments, they walk where they want, when they want, and how they want.  Many times cars were driving down the street and had to turn around.  It is not a question of who has rights to the street on this night.  It is all about the celebration of Costa Rica and if you're not taking part, then you will have to wait.  This facet of the revelry is extra special considering the typical mentality of the city:  pedestrians do not have the right of way under any circumstances.  One of the first pieces of advice Stephen Deal gave me when I got here was "if a car is coming, please, please, please do not assume it will stop for you, because it probably won't."  Here, many people begin running across the street well before the pedestrian light has turned to red to avoid being anywhere close to a car as a light turns green.  There is a mutual understanding of the hierarchy on the streets and people are at the bottom, right above small rodents and unidentified objects.  So, on a night such as this, pedestrians take back the street with cause.

I enjoyed the festivities on Wednesday night, but realized in that moment, singing around the torch, that I should have stayed in El Jardin.  I spent hours Tuesday night and Wednesday morning contemplating whether to stay or go and changing my decisions over and over.  I kept thinking that since there are only 2 buses in and out of the city, I wouldn't get back to San Jose until late Thursday night and I'd only have one day in the office to plan lessons for the next week.  I'd be rushed and crunched for time.  Then I'd see my students faces and reconsider.  But, when the 5am bus came roaring up the gravel road, I made a split second decision to get on the bus.  I am so used to having my own car and the freedom to go where I want and when I want that sometimes the bus at 5am and 1pm seem like the last boat to the New World.  Relying on public transportation in itself is a big enough change from my life in the States, but only having two times a day in which I can take advantage of it originally created in me a sort of claustrophobia that is hard to describe.   However, the more time I spend in that community, the less confined I feel, and the more called.  The less I worry about catching the bus, the more I enjoy everyone's company, and, in all honesty, the more I recognize the gift of sharing company in an isolated countryside.  But I hadn't appreciated it enough yet, so in that moment, I decided to leave.  And now I know that I had to make the mistake once, I had to miss something fantastic there just once to know that I will never do it again.  That seeing my kids' faces lit up by lanterns and their cheeks turn bright red as they sing the national anthem with such gusto that they forget to breathe, is much more important than the so-called "freedom" I feel in San Jose.  The more time I spend there, the more privileged I feel, and the less the bus schedule matters.

Now, we could chalk this one up as a regret; however, forcing myself into the middle of a group of people on Wednesday and Thursday I didn't know to watch their children dance and sing and parade did give me just one more opportunity to witness the hospitality and kindness of the people here.  I say this because...

On September 15th, independence day, all the schools have an assembly.  All the parents are invited and the students dress up in traditional Costa Rican costumes.  The girls wear huge, bountiful skirts of many colors along with a simple white cotton top.  The boys wear white shirts with red or blue bandanas around their neck tucked under their collar and a bucket hat to shade their face from the sun.  Many of the boys also paint beards and mustaches on their faces to look older.  They then gather in the gym and do traditional dances for the parents.  It's precious.  

While I was waiting outside of a local school, one to which I had absolutely no connections, a few women saw me and smiled.  I asked them if I could take pictures of their children in their costumes.  They said yes and then told me that there would be an assembly soon and invited me in to watch it.  They said I was more than welcome to come and take pictures.  As everyone filed in, I hesitated, but one of the women turned around, two children in her hands, and waved me in.  It was then that I was taken aback at their hospitality and inclusiveness.  Now, I guess it doesn't speak much to the security of the school that I could just waltz in, but, as someone who had no intention of bringing a bomb into the place, the unassuming nature of the women and the nature in which they welcomed me without suspicion or judgment was unexpected and refreshing.

Here are some pictures from the assembly:

Traditional costumes.

The gym filled with students in the front and parents lining the bleachers in the back.

Singing the national anthem.... again.

Students doing a traditional Costa Rican dance.

After watching the assembly, I made my way back to my house in San Sebastian.  Later that morning, a local school was parading in the streets playing patriotic songs.  They passed right by the street in front of my house.  I came outside as I heard the drums near and joined the rest of my neighbors on the sidewalk.  Some pictures:

The flag holders.

Precious little drum majors... or something.

Baton twirlers, with sass.

Band:  drumline.

After about 5 songs or so when the band would move on to a new street, the parents who are dutifully following their kids around give them snacks and water during a break.

The band walking to the next street to play.

And with that, ended the Independence day festivities.  Later that day I went to the ILCO offices, even though no one was working that day except the guards, to get some work done.  I made copies of materials for next week and prepared lessons.  Around 5, I decided to begin my walk home.  It had been raining all afternoon, as it always does in San Jose, but it was slowing down to a drizzle.  I decided to pull out my waterproof jacket (thanks Tavia and Nolan!!) and brave the mist.  After about 5 minutes, I turned a corner and found the street before me completely flooded.

Now, not usually a creature of habit (unless we're discussing food in which I could consistently eat tuna sandwiches and cereal for the rest of my life), I still had not ventured to find any alternate routes from work to my home in San Sebastian.  I always took the same route home, give or take a couple streets, and was now standing at the base of a lake placed promptly in the middle of the only road I knew to take home.  I turned around, determined to find another way home.  Stopped.  Looked at my watch.  It was 5:05.  I had about 20 minutes before it started to get dark - less considering the thunderclouds in the sky.  I turned back around to face reservoir of water.  I saw a few cars venture in and watched their tires disappear.  I looked at my watch again.  Wet feet or lost and cornered in a back alley of a dead end street that has no name?  I rolled my jeans up to my knees, strapped my Chacos as tight as they would go, and headed in.  After a few steps, mid-calf deep, I heard giggling behind me.  Two little girls and their mom were on the sidewalk watching me.  The little girls began pulling their pants up and just as they were about to step off the sidewalk into the immeasurable puddle, their mother pulled them both back.  She shook their finger at them and said "Noooo!!"  Then she bent down and whispered, at an audible level, "Girls, she's from another country."  As if this was the only reason I had decided to walk through the monstrous puddle.  I couldn't help but laugh and continued on my way.

It couldn't have been 2 minutes after I had reached the sidewalk and rolled my pants back down that the sky tore open with a torrential downpour.  I hastened my steps, but it only seemed to encourage my pants and bag to collect more raindrops.  After 10 minutes my front thighs were soaked, but I was only 5 minutes from home.  On the last stretch of road to my neighborhood I picked up the pace.  Cars continued driving by until one truck came roaring by and hit a large puddle.  Just before the entire contents of the puddle splattered all over me, I looked up and doubled over like a turtle's head in its shell.  When I came back up for air, the truck had passed and I was drenched.  Everywhere.  Front, back, side, bag, pants, jacket, face.  Everywhere.  Two ladies sitting at a bus stop, under the comfort of a tin awning, watched the whole thing happen and gasped, putting their hands over their mouths.  I started laughing, because, really, what else do you do?  I gave them a couple thumbs up, meekly mumbled something about "being okay" and kept walking.  Bewildered, they each gave me a half-grin back, I think more out of fear than assurance, and grabbed their purses tightly as I walked pass them.  I think they thought I was insane. 

And so ended Independence Day.

Finally, to help with some visuals, here is a tour of my house where I stay in San Sebastian:

The two-store house.  To the right, the car port where there is no car but where church services and Sunday school is held.  Directly to the left of it, the front door (the first of three) to our house.  To the left of that, small garden/yard.  Windows upstairs to upstairs bedroom and bathroom.

Our house is to the far right.  Houses down the road.

One end of our street.  The other way leads to a park.

The inside of the carport.

The living room/worship service area.  To the far left in the corner is the front door.  To the left is the carport.

Door leading into the rest of the house from the living room.

To the right of the doorway are the stairs leading to upstairs rooms.

My bathroom/church's bathroom.  First door on left inside hallway.

My/church's kitchen second door on left in hallway.

Straight through leads to my shower, German volunteers' kitchen, hang out room, and back garden/washing machine/clotheslines.

My shower, which is kind of a closet with tile.

Other volunteers' dining room/kitchen.  I eat dinner in here with them.

Their kitchen.

Hang out room.

Hang out room.  The window with the cloth looks into my room.

Back porch clotheslines/washing machine.

Garden/clotheslines.

Door leading to back porch from volunteers' dining room.

Door/windows to garden/back porch.

My room downstairs.  Across from my/church's kitchen in hallway.

My room.  Dirty as usual.

Upstairs to other 4 volunteers' bedrooms, 1 bathroom.

Their rooms.

I live with 4 German volunteers who have signed on to stay for a year.  They volunteer in the day cares in La Carpio and Alajuelita, two mainly immigrant communities with very bad reputations.  There are two boys and two girls:  Martin, Toby, Anja (like Anya), and Nadine.  They are fantastically smart and interesting.  We eat dinner together most nights when I am in town.  We have had a good time discussing history and politics of our countries as well as stereotypes we have of each others.  It's been really enlightening.  We mostly speak in English unless we have a guest, in which we speak Spanish.  They feel most comfortable speaking English because they are just learning Spanish.  I find it a nice reprieve from Spanish.  I started learning German a week ago.  I figured I had 4 teachers I talk with most days of the week, so why not take advantage of my resources.  The language is inexplicably difficult with rules and exceptions and rules of those exceptions.  They constantly change definite articles and find it necessary to have personal pronouns as well as conjugate their verbs; however, language is language and that's that.

I'll leave you with two colloquial sayings Hazel taught me the other day when we were making cookies.  I learned that when you drop food on the floor, there are two things many people say:

"No le doy gusto al diablo" - I don't give pleasure to the devil.

"Lo que no mata, te engorda" - What doesn't kill you makes you fatter.

And with that, they pick the food back up off the ground and eat it.

So, I hope you are not pleasing the devil in any way, especially letting him eat the crumbs and extra pieces of food dropped on your floor.