Two Mondays ago was pretty rough with the kids in El Jardin. They were all wired and generally unruly. It was hard to get them to focus. I pity the teacher who comes on Friday. We are working on months of the year and many of the children in the younger grades (ages 7 to 10) didn't know when their birthday was. I'm not talking like they don't know the date or the year... they don't know the month. I found this very strange. I then reconsidered that maybe this was a result of the way birthdays are celebrated (or lack thereof) in El Jardin. There is not a big emphasis on the day and it does not seem like a very important tradition to the community; so I think knowing your birth date is of secondary importance.
Last Monday went much better. I had some great activities planned for the kids and we covered topics from shapes to parts of the house to occupations (all different grades of course). For the occupations theme, I had students write down what they wanted to be in the future and also what they thought their classmates would end up being. Many of the boys chose policeman, doctor, and pilot. The girls chose teachers, nurses, and one girl even ambitiously chose a biologist. The students howled as they discovered that their classmates thought they would become a baker when they grew up or a postman (even though they don't get mail out here - but who am I to crush dreams?). I collected all the sheets of paper and looked over their responses later that night. I looked at each name and saw their face in my head, imagined them all grown up wearing a fireman's helmet or checking blood pressure in a hospital. It made me smile to think of them that way. But it wasn't long before my daydreams took a hard hit from reality and the statistics started running through my head: over half of the male students do not graduate high school because they drop out to work in the plantations to provide for their family, many girls drop out due to teenage pregnancy or to help take care of their younger brothers and sisters in their home. Some Nicaraguan AND Costa Rican students don't finish school because without documentation they cannot attend the university. I sifted through the sheets of paper again, looking at their names and their dreams written boldly against the white of the paper and wondered which of them would become what they dreamed. Which of them would even leave El Jardin at all. Many people applaud teachers because they work 60 hour weeks attending school on top of sporting events and bake sales. They congratulate them because they have taken on the task of shaping lives. They commend them for their ability to take on parental issues students deal with including, but certainly not limited to, indifference, neglect, or abuse. However, I think one of the most challenging aspects of being a teacher is putting a name to the statistics. It is no longer 30% of teenage girls do not finish school due to pregnancy - it is Mariana who did not finish school because she got pregnant. It is not 50% of male students who drop out of school before age 14 to work in plantations - it is Yexin, Emanuel, and Gabriel who dropped out of school before they even had facial hair. I think sometimes teachers are blamed for being bleeding hearts and letting their feelings for students cloud their logical judgement, but anyone who sees the faces behind these statistics and is not changed is not paying attention. I don't think we, as teachers, have any other option but to fight. Fight the statistics. The temptation to expect the same out of them. We have no other option but to hope and work toward change.
Walking to school on a rainy day.
Jump rope before lunch.
My class in San Julian was cancelled on Tuesday because this week is final exams for the seniors in high school. They take these last round of final exams to receive their grade from the class. These grades make up 40% of the grade that determines whether they graduate from high school or not. The other 60% is based on the national exam I have been prepping them for. Talk about pressure. Whether or not they graduate high school depends on their performance in one test. I sense a little imbalance in the systme. Then they have an entire other exam that determines whether they get into college or not (something like our SATs). I much prefer our senior project deal we got goin' on in North Carolina.
I spent Monday night at the church like usual. I ate supper with Jahayda and her family in the front yard on piles of rocks and mounds of dirt. The meal was rice, beans, and fried plantains. Plantains look like bananas but are bigger and not sweet. They're kind of like a potato. We ate dinner in the garden with the whole family hovering over our plates which were balanced strategically on our knees, trying not to provide too many leftovers for the chickens to scavenge for later. Sometimes when I'm sitting in that place, being lapped up and swirled over by shades of green and grounded once more by the dark soil under my feet, I am able to simply take it all in. I just sit there, eyes closed and heart open, and exist. I watch the wind weave through the leaves of the palm trees as their fingers drum on the countertop. I have never been great at meditating or sitting still in general, but it is easy here. It seems like being and existing, communing with that which is around you silently is not nothing, but a worthwhile way to spend your time. It feels like God is repairing things in you that you didn't know were broken. That the tiredness you didn't recognize or the loneliness you had ignored is being mended - stitch by stitch. It's hard to set aside time to do nothing until you realize how valuable that nothing is. And how silent a conversation with God can really be.
Maria, Jahayda's mother, is a strong woman. She has a pithy way about her in which she says what needs to be said but no more. She is not talkative or frivolous. She speaks her mind but serves as the primary caretaker of her four children, husband, and brothers and sisters who frequently visit to steal a meal from her rice pot. When I first met Maria, she barely said two words to me. When I made a joke, the right corner of her mouth twitched which I took for her way of saying "funny." Heck, she would barely look me in the eye. I thought for sure that she didn't like me or, at least, wasn't interested in figuring out if she liked me or not. However, despite her initially aloof demeanor and indifference, she served me juice she had hand-squeezed herself and homemade bread she had just pulled off of the wooden fire pit. She retrieved my dirty dishes when I was done with them and nodded when I thanked her. In all honesty, she seemed weary of me like you would be grandaddy long leg in your room. You know its harmless and is not going to hurt you, but, regardless, you inexplicably do not trust it and its presence has an overall looming effect. I think that's how Maria viewed me - at first.
I've been spending three days per week in El Jardin now for about a month and a half. With every visit Maria's protective layer of impenatrabale ice she has lathered herself with melts a sheet. It started with small signs - asking if I was staying at the church on Monday night when she had never shown interest before, laughing when I pretend the kids are dead chickens and hang them upside down on my arms, sitting next to me outside during dinner, and actually looking disappointed when I went home early last week. From the outside looking in, these small gifts may seem irrelevant or just common nature, but it has taken longer to warm up to Maria than it took to melt the Ice Age. It is those things that I look forward to when I see Maria and it is those things that define our friendship. I think expecting people to love in the same way is irrational and makes this world much more boring.
Though I thank God for my relationship with Maria, on mission trips such as this there is always something equally foreboding dancing circles in the dark. Trips like this always end in goodbye. It is inevitable. And with people like Maria, the ones it takes you a month and a half to prove that you will keep your word and consistently be there when you say you will, the bittersweet goodbye is a little more bitter than sweet. It reminds me a lot of that cliche saying "Better to have loved than to have never loved at all." It seems like everyone says that when they're happy in a relationship or all is well in the world; but when your heart is breaking and the goodbye is on your doorstep, you question the sanity of whoever wrote that. I constantly fight the urge to worry about tomorrow or to pass time thinking about the possibility of future heartbreak, but it is difficult, and sometimes when I look at Maria and she is smiling, as she only does when she is truly happy, I feel a twinge of pain knowing that just as I have broken into this family's heart, I will soon leave it, leave them, and where I once was will be empty again.
It is hard to love and leave, to love and be left, but as is life, right? And those who prevent this pain from happening also close themselves off to the cause of it - love. And this is how we live our lives. Fighting the urge to barricade our hearts in with meaningless ambitions like money and popularity and we try to actually take part in something that would genuinely hurt if it was over. Because this is the only way we know that we did it right - that it meant something in the first place. That when it's over, it has taken a piece of us because there was a time when we were willing to give it.
It doesn't make it easy. And there are times when I even look at this family, this beautiful family, and even feel guilty. Knowing that I have made them love me as they have made me love them, and knowing that I will leave them. And I have to keep reminding myself that had we saved ourselves from the hurt of this inevitable separation, we wouldn't have shared anything worth missing in the first place. So next time you heart is broken and you have to leave the ones you love most, and someone says "don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened" and all you want to do is punch them in the face, refrain. Because deep down, somewhere bright in that dark and suffering soul of yours, you know that they're right and that stupid quote that seems to mock your pain; that cliche, overused, obnoxious saying has somehow managed to package God's message: to love fearlessly.
El Jardin, as I've told you, is essentially a one way dirt road with houses lining the street. Every child under 13 attends the same school (as there is only one). Everyone buys groceries from the same convenient store (as there is only one). If they eat out, which they almost never do, they all do it at the only "restaurant" (essentially someone serving food out of their kitchen) in "town." All the students gather at night in the "plaza" which is simply a large field that is directly across from the church where I sleep. Living within such a close proximity, it is inevitable that I see my students, a lot, before and after school. When I walk to school, I'll usually start off with Marilin or Jahayda and end up with 10 kids trailing along by the time we get there. When I go to the convenient store I pass my students riding their bikes, climbing trees, or buying food for the house. On top of that, I stay in Marilin's house on Sunday nights who is one of my students and Jahayda sleeps with me in the church on Monday and Tuesday nights who is also one of my students. They watch me brush my teeth, see me in my pajamas, sit me with on my bed while I work on lesson plans, play cards with me in the church where I sleep, jump on my bed, etc. As I eat dinner outside in the garden, students ride by on their bikes and yell hello. And there are moments that I look at five of my students sitting on the bed where I sleep or standing 10 feet away from the outhouse where I use the restroom and I can't help but laugh thinking about how many legal lines this would be crossing in the US. Things are so different in the US. There are so many lines. I remember in second grade when I first realized that my teacher had actually been a child before. And I remember the first time I saw my 8th grade history teacher on a field trip wearing jeans and I couldn't stop staring at him because I'd only ever seen him in dresspants and a button-up. I have probably been to less than 10% of my teachers' homes, much less seen their rooms or where they sleep. I have never seen a professor from my university brush his or her teeth and would rather not hear them use the bathroom. But here, in the middle of the rainforest, the community is so small that there isn't enough space to draw lines and sharing everything takes on a whole new meaning.
Speaking on the topic of outhouses, there were a few things I had to learn, sometimes the hard way, that can be summed up in the following guidelines:
OUTHOUSE RULES
1. The first and most important rule is, based on what you are planning to do in the outhouse, check for toilet paper. If there is no toilet paper you must....
2. Come prepared. This means that as your day unfolds and you are presented with random pieces of napkin from a restaurant, paper towel from a neighbor's house, or heaven-sent toilet paper from a uncommonly well-stocked public restroom, you must find a location in your backpack to store any and all extra pieces as they will come in handy when materials are low in the outhouse. I save toilet paper and other materials like a squirrel packin' for winter.
3. Check the outhouse for unwanted critters. As the rain forest is naturally hot, humid, and sticky, pulling your pants up and down can be an unexpectedly timely task busy with shimmying, pulling, stretching, and sucking in. As this is most likely the case, unless you sweat baby oil and wear MC Hammer parachute pants, it is important that you make sure there will be no cause for you to have to prematurely start this process due to a lizard, snake or other animal you do not feel comfortable co-habitating with in a 4X4 foot closet. This action cannot be done in haste for, just as quicksand, the more you struggle, the quicker you guarantee your failure. Your only other option in this situation is to leave the outhouse before your pants are up which presents a problem explained in the "living in close proximity with students and family members" paragraph.
4. Check the toilet for animals, including ants and mosquitoes. Before you sit down on the toilet, as us women are lucky enough to do for all bathroom purposes, it is imperative to survey the inside of the toilet bowl for insects. Trapping bugs in the toilet as you use the bathroom can only result in itchy bottoms, unreachable bug bits, or, worse, extended time in the outhouse as you jump up and down off the seat, swiping at your backside like a monkey sittin' on hot coals.
I think that these rules would be most beneficial to foreigners as most children I have met here have an unmatched tolerance for dirtiness. Icicle juice bleeds red down their cheeks and hands and they use their shirts and shorts for napkins. They walk barefoot through their muddy yards and plop their leg down in a puddle of orange juice on their kitchen floor and don't even move it. They slide their fingers up and down chicken bones, greasing their lips with the moisture. On the other hand, it is customary here to take two showers a day - once in the morning and once at night. The indifference to dirt could be balanced out by the mandatory shower schedule enforced by most parents. Who knows...
In other news, I have started classes in San Sebastian. As I told you, 40 people showed up to the information session two weeks ago to say they were interested in the classes. I held a class for children (grades 1-3), kids (grades 5-4), high school students, and adults and 30 out of the 40 showed up. I shared this news with my congregation in San Sebastian and they applauded. I forgot how nice it was to have a support system.
Now I teach Wednesday nights from 4-5 a class with the youngest kids (grades 1-3). On Saturdays I teach a class for the 4th and 5th grades from 8-9:30. I am also going to mix the high school and adult classes and have that from 9:30-11:30am on Saturdays as well. I am staying busy, but that's what I'm here for.
In regards to life outside of work, I have been dancing a lot. On Tuesday night Jeff, our Costa Rican friend, came over and gave us dance lessons for a couple hours. He played music and taught us the bachata, merengue, salsa, and cumbia. Anja, a German volunteer, also taught us the basic steps of the tango. It was really fun. We danced in the front part of the house that is usually used for worship services. We ended the night lying on the floor, exhausted from dancing, listening to "Moonlight Sonata" by Beethoven (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W2N5iyQuFWI.) Jeff said he thought that Beethoven wrote it for a friend of his who was blind. The friend had always wanted to know what moonlight looked like, so Beethoven drew it for her with music. I looked it up, and can't find anything that backs up that story, but as we all laid on the tile floor, with our eyes closed, watching the moonlight outlined by notes in our heads, it sure was a nice story to believe in that moment.
On Wednesday night Roy gave us more dance lessons at the offices in ILCO. Then on Thursday night I went out with a bunch of people from work to Castro's Bar to dance again. If I don't have some moves by the time I get back, we'll need to find more severe term than two left feet for me.
Last night I went to a movie called El Regreso with Jeff, Tobi (german volunteer), and Jeff's cousin, Anthony. El Regreso (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OcPpYxBaAGk) is about a Costa Rican who has been living in NYC as a writer for the last 9 years. He comes home at his father's request (a lot of family drama between members) and has to rediscover his country all over again to his chagrin. The sister of the main character in the film is Jeff's cousin, Anthony's sister. Her name is Barbara Jimenez. She is an actress living in NYC. It was awesome watching her on screen with her family. Anthony also pointed out a couple times when he was an extra in the film (mainly just his arm though). If you can get your hands on it, you should rent the film and watch it with subtitles. It is really well done and actually pretty funny despite the family drama.
Tonight I am going to have dinner with Lauren Smithson, a friend from high school. She played volleyball with Kindra and me and is two years between us both. She is living in Costa Rica because she met someone here and is married. I think that story scares my parents, but I have every intention of returning in February... for now. Hahaha. Just joking mom and dad!
Hope all is well wherever you are and that this letter finds you well. Check your toilet bowls.
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