So, as you know, I live with four Germans - two girls and two boys. We were all sitting around the table after dinner a few nights before the Halloween party and trying to think of costumes. Originally fending for myself and racking my brain for ideas, I had a stroke of genius and started hunting down a group costume. I then decided on: Scooby Doo and his gang. If you knew my roommates, you would know how eerily similar they are to these characters in demeanor and physical attributes. Ironically enough, only one of the Germans had ever seen Scooby Doo, and it had been the movie - not even the cartoon. Throughout the entire night, each one of them kept coming up to me and asking "Now, what's my name?" "Who am I?" "What am I like?" After they got their alibis down, they played the parts fantastically - mainly because they only really needed to play themselves. I elected myself to be Scooby Doo. I'll refrain from commenting on how well I played my part because I feel it could be both self-promoting and incriminating at the same time.
SCOOBY DOO CREW PROFILES:
Martin played Fred. The blonde hair, blue eyes, and tall/athletic build fit him perfectly. Fred is more or less the leader of the group - makes decisions, comes up with the ideas, and motivates others to do it. Martin is the same way. He's always the one suggesting a short trip to the beach or setting alarms so we can start dinner on time. Fred also has a way of thinking he's always right and Martin does too... haha.
Nadine played Daphne. Daphne is generally the pretty one of the group - Fred's right hand girl. She is smart, popular, and beautiful. Nadine is all of the above and at times the reason we go out at all. It rains a lot here and it's tempting to stay in sometimes, but Nadine is always running around the house in her dress and heels henning us around like chicks ordering us to get ready. You can't hide from her.
Tobi played Shaggy. He is equally as goofy as Shaggy and has the impressive ability to each as much as him as well. Tobi probably eats as much as the rest of us put together, seeing as how is eating speed is as shocking as his quantity.
Anja (pronounced Anya) played Velma. Both are more or less the brains of the group. Smart, sarcastic, and well aware of it. Anja already wore glasses which made the costume easy to manage. Slapped her on a pair of Tobi's knee-high soccer socks and we were good to go.
I played Scooby Doo.
My last day working in El Jardin was October 31st. I arrived on Sunday night like normal and stayed at Hazel's house. After our short trip to their property the week before, I had managed to rub up against some poison ivy that gave me a large rash around my ankle. I can't remember even one complete year of my life that I haven't got poison ivy so the novelty of it has well worn off; however, the mixture of poison ivy and mosquitoes that night was close to unbearable. Regardless, the next morning I woke up for my last day of work in the school. As is routine, Marilin and I left the house at 6:30 to walk across the street and wait on Windy, a girl in the first grade class. After Marilin calls Windy's name at the top of her lungs about five times, Windy always rushes to the door with her eyes all wide and busy as she continually seems to be surprised when we arrive at her house on the same day at the same time every week. About the time Marilin and I get done rolling our eyes and sighing audibly at her, she is hopping out the door on one foot, trying to slip the other shoe on while dodging the mud puddles that have come to comprise the walkway up to her house after the increase in rain in the last month. We then set off down the gravel road to the school passing house by house and slowly accumluating a large amoeba of children making their way to school.
By the time I get to Jahayda's house, where the church is, she and Hector are always waiting for me at the gate. If they're not there, it means they thought I already passed by and went running to school to find me. They then see me walking towards them and, at first walking, slowly break out into full sprints to greet me. Jahayda and I each take a strap of her bookbag and swing it between us while Hector walks circles around us and laughing every time we throw it into the air and I catch it.
I always teach the second grade class first in the morning at 7am. I was sitting outside of the classroom door with the kids when 7:15 rolled around and still no one had unlocked the door for me. When I asked the principal what was going on, he told me that the janitor, who is pregnant, wasn't feeling well today and was the only one with a key to the room... and she had accidentally taken it home. So, he herded the kids and me into the new classroom that is being constructed. The kids were excited about a new setting and I would have been as well had the classroom had anything remotely like a chalkboard. Since these schools do not have a lot of technology like projectors, etc. I base most of my lesson plans on using the chalkboards. Since there wasn't one, I had to makeshift one using white paper, my notebook and markers. I wrote on the paper and circled around the room both as slowly and quickly as I could so every student could copy the notes. Naturally, with every step I took away from one student and towards another, choruses of "Wait," "Hold on," "Turn around," "I'm not done," "What was the last word?," "I can't draw that," would echo through the room as the harmony of "Finally," "Right there," "That's good," "Thanks," "One more second," accompanied it. Welcome to rural Costa Rica.
Rumors that it was my last day spread throughout the school and students boldly cornered me to verify. When I confirmed it, I got nods of understanding. Looks of disappointment. Shrugs of indifference. Misty eyes. Pleas to not leave. Goodbye hugs. The kitchen sink of farewells. I've been trying to write this blog for two weeks now and I still don't know what to say about it. It still hurts.
After school that day I went to the church and spent the evening at the church with Jahayda's family. We took our usual positions in the kitchen/dining room/living room and ate dinner together. Maria, Jahayda's mom, kept staring at me. I'll never know for sure, but I think she was trying to figure out why she cared that I was leaving. Trying to replay how I had managed to make her love me against her best efforts. After dinner, the kids and I went to the Sunday School room across from the church and played cards the rest of the night. We played the game "Tonto" which means "stupid" where the person who has the last card at the end of the game is called "tonto." We played a Nicaraguan game called "Casino" that's filled with a bunch of adding. The kids brought their stuffed animals outside so we had a photo op with them. Everything passed just as normal. No one said a word about it being my last night and we just played like we always did. That night I had to stay at Hazel's house again because Pastor Nehemias took the keys back to San Jose to make copies so I couldn't spend the night in the church. When I went back to the house to gather my stuff, I kissed Maria on the cheek and told her I'd see her soon. I said goodbye to her husband, Camilo (the oldest son), and Sadie (the youngest daughter). When I turned to Hector, I put my hand on his head and he threw it off and glared at me as if I had broken his favorite toy in half, threw it in a puddle of mud and laughed at him. I asked him what was wrong but he just threw himself on the bench in the kitchen, crossed his arms, and pierced me with his eyes. I told him I loved him and then looked for Jahayda. I found her behind the other side of the wall in a tornado of sniffles and tears. I finally convinced her to come outside with me. I asked her if she was crying because I was leaving and she nodded, though she wouldn't look at me. She had both hands over her face and kept them there like they were super glued. I tugged at them a bit but her sobbing made her embarassed and she couldn't muster up the courage to meet my eyes. I told her over and over that I was coming back to visit, that she didn't need to cry, that I loved her, that I would see her soon. None of it seemed to affect her. Finally, I asked her, "Jahayda, do you believe me? Do you believe I'll come back to visit you?" She shook her head no and sunk to her knees as she knelt between my legs. She flung her head on my leg and wrapped her arms around herself. She broke my heart. "Jahayda," I said. "I promise you I will come back to see you. I promise. Do you believe me?" She nodded yes faintly. Her mother called from the house and told her she better let me go as it was about to rain and I had to walk back to Hazel's. I hugged Jahayda and hoped she could feel everything I felt in my heart for her. I kissed her head. Rubbed her back. And I left. It still hurts.
In El Jardin, stray dogs and cats are as easy to come by as banana trees. And that's a lot. So, many people establish ownership of a pet simply if it continues to come to their house. After a while if it is around long enough, the family with throw it bones, feed it leftovers (though there is never much). Then they'll give it a name and eventually it is theirs. They just kind of claim it. No collar, no tags, no shots, no papers. It's just theirs. Jahayda's family had a few animals such as this and one was a small dog. To be fair, it was more of a mid-sized dog, but given the sparcity of food, it was a skinny little thing comprised of shaggy hair and bones. Jahayda had named it "muneco" which means "doll" (don't ask me...) and it was always wandering the garden property. I had taken a liking to this dog because of its gentle demeanor and a general overwhelming feeling of pity I had for the thing. I always threw it pieces of meat when I had the chance (or found the meat unidentifiable and therefore inedible). Over time, the family began to refer to the dog as mine. "Nicole, your dog smells terrible," "What is on your dog's face?" "Tell your dog to stop begging." One afternoon, Jahayda and I were taking a walk to her aunt's house. The dog was following us and, looking back at the mut, she asked me "Why don't you take your dog to San Jose with you?" Instead of describing how difficult it would be to take care of a dog while I travel and work so much, on top of all the legal documents I would have to fill out to keep it and the financial responsibility of it all, I decided to simply respond "Well, it's not really my dog. It's your family's dog." She then looked up at me and said "No, he was our dog. But you love him. So he's yours."
It was such a simple logic. A basic mathematic formula. But for some reason it sat down in my heart and dwelled there for weeks. I began thinking about ownership and what if all ownership in life was contingent on your love for that thing. The idea that love gives you the right to something. If you have the purest of intentions for a person, they are yours. Forever. This means holding onto them when they need you and letting go of them when they don't want you. Loving them. Love them and they are yours forever.
The night in the garden, with Jahayda sobbing on my pant leg as I rubbed her back and made her promises, this memory came back to me. And I just thought over and over. "Jahayda, you are mine forever. You are mine forever. I love you, and you are mine."
Sometimes when I think of the word "mine" I think of ownership and possession, even slavery. I think of it in a negative context and I am resistant to the idea. I think back to the bra-burning days and I mumble to myself, "No one owns me. I am free." But, when I think longer about it, I realize that in the end, I want to be somebody's. I want to be someone's wife. I want to belong to someone. And I want that relationship to be built out of love. I want to be owned because I am irreversibly loved.
I think this is the kind of possession God was talking about when He said to us "Don't be afraid, for I have redeemed you. I have you called you by your name. You are mine." Or like that story with King Solomon when the two women came to him claiming they were the mother of the same baby. He told them that to fix the problem he would cut the baby in half and give them each a piece of him. One woman agreed to the deal, but the true mother of the child said no. She told the other woman she could have the baby as long as it wasn't harmed. And that's how King Solomon knew she was the true mother. Possession determined by love.
You are mine. You are mine. You are mine. There is something comforting about that ownership. That belonging. That claim. I am His. I am His. I am His.
Somehow, Jahayda figured all that out long before me. How love trumps ownership and even givers the rights to it. We are His because we are loved. I am my parents because they love me. Jahayda is mine because I love her. Nothing can change it, only you. Only your love or your indifference. God says that we are His. We are His because He loves us. And He promised He would love us until the end of time. Forever. We are forever His. No matter what we do, no matter what we say, no matter what we think we know. No matter who we think we are, no matter where we go, no matter no matter. Take comfort in the fact that...
You are His. You are His. You are His.
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