Different Country, Same Struggle

On this day in Rey Curre, I taught my fourth graders to say how they are feeling and my third graders to recite the days of the week, and I gave my first after-school English class to the high school students. There were 14 students present in all, and they were eager and responsive. We teased; we laughed; we got down to business. It was informal but productive, and I really enjoyed it. So, what seems to be the struggle you may ask?

Lesson planning. Why does it cost me so much? How do I choose what to teach? There is much to consider...what they already know, what the government expects them to learn, what would be most useful to them in their future. Nevertheless, they are learning. They are learning the body parts during our morning routine when we stretch to music. They are learning to introduce themselves and greet other people. They are learning how to dialogue on the telephone.

Furthermore, they are teaching. They are teaching this American girl to be tranquila. They are teaching this American girl to accept hugs and kisses and snacks every from a group of 53 caring students. (Not a day goes by that at least a handful of students haven't offered me a bite of their snack, and I usually oblige except for that sticky ice cream that drips onto my skirt as the students eagerly hold it up to my mouth.) They are teaching this American girl that my presence here is enough.

As I sat drinking coffee today during the break between classes, I brooded over a less-than-perfect lesson. Unbeknownst to me, several of my fourth graders were in my room straightening up my desk and writing me a note to say that they loved me. Did I earn such a kindness? That would be difficult to calculate, but the selflessness of the students is not. Later on, I sat outside the house drinking coffee (yes, again!) and watching my host nephew running around in the front yard. Every few seconds, he would look back to see my smiling expression. We continued like this for several minutes. I didn't say a word to him; he just wanted to know that I was watching and that I approved.

As this day comes to an end, I too am looking back for that smiling face. And, I see it. I see it in my director who likes having me around to pick on me for working too hard. ;) I see it in my elementary students who race to hold my hand to walk to lunch. I see it in the tasty meals and warm welcome that I receive daily from my host family. I see it in the smiles and laughter of the high school students as I animatedly act out the language and solicit their responses. I see it in the friendly jeers from my soccer mates who patiently watch me learn to play. I see it in the letters and emails and Facebook comments from friends and family back home. I see it in the Creator God who delights in watching me experience the joys that He has created. Glory to God!

Little by Little

On this day in Rey Curre, I am reflecting on all the things that I knew before coming, those that I didn't, and those that I want to know.

I knew...
...that I would be eating rice and beans for every meal (yes, even breakfast).
...that I would be perpetually sweating from the heat.
...that I would learn to love coffee, it being one of Costa Rica's major exports.
...that this country was the size of Virginia, but I could drive from Indiana to Florida in the time it takes to get from one side of this country to the other.
...that I would have my own classroom with a whiteboard and lots of books.
...that I would be living with a grandmother who has six children of her own and 7 grandchildren.

I didn't know...
...that whatever you are wearing on any particular day also constitutes as a bathing suit.
...that shoes are optional in soccer.
...that you can call penalty shots in foosball.
...that it's acceptable for anyone to ask if you have a boyfriend at any given time.
...that I would see a salamander on my wall every morning.
...that I would have to break into the school every time I want to get in my classroom and my director is not there. (Today makes the fifth time that I've slipped between the crack in the gate and the fence.)
...that I would have to stand on a chair, stick my arm through a gated window, and use a ruler to open the door to the copy room.
...that all six children of the family (and their children) would be in and out of the house all day. (There's never a dull moment!)
...that every morning, I would wake up to the sound of the roosters crowing.
...that I would love teaching English as much as I do. (Think of it...singing, dancing, role-playing, and games...and they call this work! ;)
...that it would cost $30 more to take the taxi. (Note to self: Always take the bus. Generally the safer option as well, except in San Jose.)
...that Latin soap operas are even more dramatic than American soap operas.
...that Americans have a bad rap here for not showering frequently enough.

I want to know...
...how to dance the Merengue and Cumbia and Salsa and Bachata.
...how to get a classroom of 1st and 2nd graders to be alert and engaged for 80 minutes.
...why the school doesn't have a key to the copy room.
...how to dribble a soccer ball past a Tican.
...more songs and games and activities to keep it fresh in English class all year long.
...how to participate in a conversation with Ticans in which they don't have to pause and explain to me what's going on.

As the Ticans say, "poco a poco"...little by little.

Nada más

On this day in Rey Curré, I reflected on a grand weekend and prepared my classroom for the start of the school year. This past weekend, I witnessed the most famous festival of the indigenous people in Costa Rica, La Fiesta de los Diablitos. Diablitos literally means "little devils," and they represent the indigenous people who withstood the conquest of the Spaniards and maintained their land and their culture. It was a four day fiesta, beginning at midnight on Thursday up until very late Sunday evening. Each day, the diablitos (the men wearing the masks) would march around the town three times, stopping at various locations to "fight" the toro, or the bull. The bull represents the Spanish conquistadors who tried without avail to drive out the indigenous people in Boruca and Rey Curré. Sunday was the most interesting day to witness because the diablitos defeated the bull once and for all, and then they burned the bull to the ground. Or, at least they tried to, but the rain that fell heavily upon the last battle inundated the costume, making it difficult to burn. Nevertheless, I was glad for the rain that brought the overcast skies and cool winds, the drops of rain that magnified the colors of the masks, and the muddied ground that made the skirmish that much more interesting to watch. And, of course, each day ended with a dance at the local salon (or meeting place), in which there were no less than 24 amplifiers. Needless to say, when the dance ends around 2:30 in the morning, only then can the town sleep and not a moment earlier. All in all, it was amazing, nada más.

Here I sit in a hammock on the front porch, swatting mosquitoes and listening to the sounds of dogs howling in the distance, Latin music playing on someone's cell phone nearby, and the familiar sound of cars driving by on the InterAmerican Highway. This is the life, nada más. Sure, I've had three cups of coffee already today, but I know that my high spirits cannot be blamed entirely on the caffeine but also on the excitement and adventure that is unfolding before me. Speaking a new language, taking in breathtaking views, getting to know an indigenous people, learning Latin dances, and preparing to teach English to 60 students in grades 1st through 6th are all in a day's work. Mind you, it's not as busy as it sounds. For example, this afternoon I took a walk up to one of my colleagues homes, Norma, and she took me for a detour around the outskirts of town. We ended up at the house of Selerina, an older woman who teaches the indigenous Borucan language. There we sat in tranquility for an hour or so, drinking coffee and chatting about my great luck in having a site placement like Rey Curré. Where else could I have the benefit of living in an indigenous culture while at the same time having access to the main highway running straight through Costa Rica? What's more, I have my own classroom with a whiteboard, desks, chairs, and a fairly large library in comparison to other sites. I am so grateful. My only lack here are the smiles and voices of my circle back home, but I remember you all often and hope good things for you.

Remember those vacations where everyone starts using the same phrase over and over and over. By the end of the weekend, I think my friends from WorldTeach who came to the fiestas had had just about enough of the phrase "nada más." Furthermore, I don't even know if I'm using it in the right contexts, but for me it represents the peaceful quality of life here in Costa Rica. Literally, it means, "nothing more" or "that's all." For example, I'm hungry, but I only want rice and nothing more. Or, the only people here are myself and my siblings, that's all. To me, it is to say that I've got all I need and what I don't have, I can do without, nada más.