There is no pool

Back again for round two.

Today was our midservice conference here in San Jose. All our volunteers are here, and mainly we shared our trials frustrations and accomplishments at our 23 starkly different locations around the country. Some of us are living in touristy beachside havens, others in dense rainforest, others with subsistence farmers, and one on and island. My initial response to hearing everyones experiences with families, schools, and culture was surprise. There is no one general experience being had here in Costa Rica. Families have different customs. Students have varying levels of interest, study habits, and levels of respect for us. Particularly strong was Karas account of the unrelenting sexual harassment she endures on a daily basis from her 10th graders. Her four years of teaching preparation at Ohio State would never be enough to prepare her for the crude brutality of her students. Her director, honest to God makes out with 7th grade students in his office and obviously is only fuel to the fire, and Kara, stong as she is, came to Costa Rica having never studied spanish and thus is left with little to no self defense.

Others live in bug infested quarters. One volunteer, Matt, was given a machete by his host dad, taught how to cut coconuts, and was given a painting of a costa rican landscape by a neighbor who had once been to the United States and was feeling wholly generous. Still others have been forced to follow the impossible and unrealistic curriculum set forth by the ministry of education. They somehow expect that these kids can learn about microorganisms in English, while in reality, most of them cant conjugate the verb To Be.

We also were fortunate to have to representatives from the Rainforest Alliance give a presentation this afternoon. Turns out that ALL of this country, except for the coastlines, was once covered in dense rainforest. Coffee, bananas, pineapples, grass, and everything else I see on a relatively daily basis was not native to this region. The mountains where I live are mostly barren or covered in coffee. Landslides occur frequently, especially after earthquakes, of which weve now had 4. A 5.5 the other day! The land is fragile because it is being ill used. Deforrrestation is a huge issue here, and thanks to these folks at RA, I have a much better understanding of the unnatural history that has shaped this country as I have come to know it. I left the presentation inspired. Many of our volunteers, myself included, have met families who make a living from coffee and cow farms. According to RA, these activities are relatively unsustainable in their present form. My question to them was this. These families make so little on a daily basis, how can they be expected to take the time and make the investment in a more sustaibable form of farming? How and who adivses them on this? Why would they have the motive to make such a move, when it would surely temporarily paralyze their income and devastate their ability to feed themselves and their families?

Anyway, the experiences in LLano Bonito mount at a rate that makes it impossible to transcribe, though I want deeply to share all of it. I love the story I started yesterday. That family took me in and seriously turned the experience in my town on its head. I played guitar for them. Without pressuring me, they somehow expected that I knew and could sing any song so long as it is or was written in the English language. Thus, after dinner that Friday night I found myself strumming the guitar and belting out all I knew or could improvise... (I could and can always in any situation say whatever I want in English, nobody ever knows. I vent in class sometimes by cursing, but not too often) ...the lyrics to Nirvanas Smells Like Teen Spirit. Why they think I can sing, Im not sure, but I always do and am rarely embarassed. Leonela, my 11th grader who is 18 and attractive and no way am I going there but god do I get pressure from the guys in her class and thank the lord they didnt find out that her parents invited me to stay the night at her house and that I did and that that is all that I did because they are a loving family and they have interest in me and my life and they ask me why and theyre curious and the family I live with is only in it for the money (For Heavens sake WorldTeach gives them a check for my food and no no no way are they spending more than a quarter of it on feeding me) and Leonela, she wants to learn guitar. She also doesnt know how to swim. I wonder if this is true for most of my town? Why would they? Theres no pool. I taught her 3 chords, A, Em, and G. Man did she smile when, for the first time since she had owned this guitar (it was a gift) she was able to make a recognizable sound flow from it.

Other events from the house that I wish were my home: I washed my hair in some leaf, egg, honey compbination that the 20 year old sister Alejandra had made. It looked like snaught, and I thought a few laughs might come out of it (you look for laughs in alternative ways when you cant elicit them through words) and sure enough, in the spirit of obligating myself to say yes to any choice so long as nobody stands to be hurt, I soaked my scalp in this disgusting looking goo, alongside a giggling Alejandra. Despite the language gaps, it seems that rubbing mucus looking gunk in someone elses hair serves as a universal sign for friendship.

I have a lot of thoughts when Im alone in my room and I havent spoke English in days on the phone and weeks to a warm body. Here are some of those thoughts. How different of a person am I to those who only know me through my Spanish? Am I Jeckyll and Hyde to Leonela and my other students who see me in their homes and in class, where I can be more thoroughly expressive and am comfortable in my language? Am I a celebrity in my town? How do kids Ive never met know to call me Teascher? Is there a secret gossip network (likely) in town, or do they just hear other people say it and assume thats my name? The little ones know so much more English than the big ones. I want everything for the kids. They are sooo excited to tell me all they know in English. I get days, colors, parts of the alphabet, animals, greetings, and sometimes food from everyone of them I meet. Why do some people lose that smile that so many of these kids have? Why do we keep things to ourselves? Why doesnt everyone in my town approach each other with beaming teeth and shiny eyes wanting only to share their knowledge of something difficult? Nela has family whom I met last Sunday down by the river at a family gathering. Nicole and Paulo are 8 years old and wear dirty clothes and have those shiny eyes... I rode with them on the front of my bike handles down a rocky dirt road, in front of the hollow riverside home where I was invited to a picnic with 20 some Costa Ricans whom Id never met and who served me unrecognizable vegetable and pig fat. Nicole and Paulo want to know so many words in English, and when I speak to them, they watch me as if there really wasnt anything else in the world they could possibly choose to look at, and even if there were, they wouldnt dare. I taught them how to make a popping sound by puffing out your cheeks, inserting their pointer finger, and making a quick scooping motion. PWOP!

Here, there is also the unquestioning use-what-we-have resourcefulness of the moderately poor. Old mattresses in truck beds, thrown on a dirt road for padding during a picnic. Kids drink from sprouts in water pipes, and wash their hands aftereards. On day 25 of my trip, I did not communicate with my host family. I slept somewhere else, ate well, accepted invite upon invite to be part of another familys life, rode stand up in the back of a pickup truck and pulled leaves from tree and watched as mango and avocado trees drifted by, watched until one of the two Costa Rican girls who are now my friends and who stood on either side of me in the back of their fathers pickup truck laughing yanked a leaf from a passing tree and stuffed it down the back of my shirt or until the pure joy of being here would demand that I lean forward onto the cab of the truck as we rolled down a bumpy hill and let my feet fly up in the air superman style until the girls yanked me back and shook their right hands at their shoulders and smiled. Thats what they do, ALL costa ricans, when they are nervously excited. Its hilarious. Imagine a person trying to shake a prosthetic hand free of their arm.

Mikey K is coming tonight to join my adventure. It feels so good to have company from home.