Satisfied Senses

On this Saturday in Rey Curré, my senses captured a host of sights, smells, sounds, and tastes.  When I opened my eyes, I saw the mosquito net hanging above me, and I smelled the "gallo pinto," fried rice and beans, cooking.  As I went for a morning run, I heard the sound of one of my most affectionate students, Maria, yelling, "Tiiicher!"  After inviting me to her house for a quick review lesson, I accepted and was gifted with a fresh cup of a pineapple rice drink.  I held her baby brother, but not for long, because they made the comment that he had "gripe," or the flu, and I want to stay far away from that.

In the afternoon, I heard for the first time the sound of a pig squealing right before it took its last breath.  My host brother held the pig down while a family friend beat it over the head and drained its blood at the neck with a knife.  I make it sound gruesome because it was.  But, I can't believe how much pork I have eaten in my life and, up to this point, had yet to see it from the farm to the table.

Later, I smelled the pork cooking over the wood fire stove, and I heard the sound of my computer keys ticking away as I finished writing a test for my 3rd graders and prepared for Adult classes on Sunday.  I heard the Spanish church songs as I prepared myself for the service on Sunday. 

In the early evening, I took a short walk up the road to the home of the retired Indian language teacher.  I heard her recite the words for father and mother in the Borucan language as I tried to imitate.  Constantly keeping myself in the shoes of a learner helps me to be a better teacher.  Right now, this indigenous language is just a bunch of letters and sounds, but equally, my students probably feel the same way about English. 

Finally, I enjoyed the tastes of the pork, rice, beans, and fried plantains as I rounded the evening off with dinner and a short Skype call with my sister, brother-in-law, and two wild nephews. ;) 

It was a lovely day and altogether intriguing to my senses.

Reflecting, Past and Present

On this day in Rey Curre, I am sitting outside the house of my host sister, ripe mangos dropping from the tree in front of me, working on lesson planning.  One too many mangos fell, and I had to go into the house and devour a few.  (How distracting that can be!)  Afterward, I returned and figured it was high time I update my blog.  On the 28th of April, I completed 25 years of age.  It was a wonderful birthday.  A walk to a waterfall, rice and beans cooked over a wood fire stove at a friend's house, a long walk back with a full stomach, a Skype birthday call from my parents, birthday wishes on Facebook, and a birthday cake from my host family.  It was unlike any birthday I've ever had: not better, just different. 

With frequency, an unforeseen memory of my childhood or college years or post-college years will pass through my mind.  I don't know if they're a symptom of being away from home for a long time, but regardless, they are always welcome.  It reminds me of what goodness and opportunity I have been given.  Snapshots flash through my mind of family vacations, holding my nephews, and coaching swimming.  I remember dancing with a choreographer one summer, driving a stick shift for my uncle's business another, and working as a camp counselor yet another.  I recall "cousin days," traveling to Spain and Haiti, and playing music with the family.  One minute, I'm preparing lessons for English classes and the next thing I know, I'm transported to some time in my past.  How many classes have I taken?  How many places have I visited?  How many days have I gone to bed with a full stomach and woken up in a dry, clean bedroom?  How many times have I been coached and mentored and counseled?  How many family and friends do I have that care about me?  I can't even begin to count.

I've been filled up to the point of overflowing with good things: love, support, opportunity, and hope.  Here, I have an entire community with which to share those good things.  I've just begun my fourth month of teaching English at the elementary school.  I've been tutoring a few high school students for several months.  I started classes with Kinder and adults this week.  I've traveled to the Caribbean coast, the tallest mountain, the cloud forests, the quaint coffee valley, and the Pacific coast.  I've witnessed weddings, baptisms, and birthday parties.  I've spent evenings on the porch chatting or playing cards.  I've cried from stress.  I've cried from missing family.  I've woken up almost every morning and thought to myself, "I am living in Costa Rica this year. Wow!"  I've eaten more plates of rice and beans than I can count.  I've devoured avocados and ripe mangos by the dozen.  I've taken walks with locals and played soccer with the grade school kids.  I've sang songs at the local church and received with eagerness the prayers of the pastor.  I've struggled to be present here and maintain the strong ties with so many amazing people back home.  I've met and spent time with so many good people here.  Every day is filled with laughter and some days bring tears, but every day I am thankful to be here.

Even as I pour myself out, the people here are continually pouring into me.  I spent one afternoon walking around to different homes to invite people to come to the adult classes, and I came back with 5 avocados, a chocolate-covered marshmallow, and an invitation to private lessons of the indigenous language.  Another afternoon, I went for a walk and bumped into a student who then took me to visit her house.  There we shared crackers, coffee, and laughs, and her little dog curled up in my lap and fell asleep.  Last Saturday, I went to my friend's house who plays piano for the church.  We practiced music and schemed about translating new songs.  Meanwhile, his mom served me coffee and plantains, and before I left, gifted me a painting and a little hand-stitched wallet. 

These are the memories that will unexpectedly pop into my mind in the years to come, and leave me feeling incredibly thankful and eager to continue sharing and serving.