Solidarity

So last night as I was falling asleep worrying about whether or not I should have asked for a beer at the birthday party, my tico uncle was shot and killed in his home in San Jose by burglars. His death comes on the heels of the death of my tico grandmother, who passed away just days before my arrival in May. When I saw my tico mom and tico aunts, uncles, and grandfather this morning, not only did the events of last night seem trivial, but I received instant confirmation that not only have I been accepted as part of the family, but I have accepted them as part of my family. I spent the whole day with them at my grandfather’s house, as it is customary in my community (and I think in Costa Rica) to accompany the grieving family until the body is retrieved and buried. I chopped vegetables, I tried to chop wood, I served coffee; but, most importantly, I was there. When my grandfather told me that he wished it had been him who had been killed, I told him that he wasn’t ready yet and that, besides, we were only just beginning to get to know each other. He responded, “I want to go”, to which I said “but I don’t want you to go.” Then, later this evening, with a house full of people, he called for my tico mom to make sure that she had gotten me dinner. Community members will fill the hallways, backyard, sideyards, front porch, and street when the body arrives later tonight, at which point a prayer will be said and the family will be left alone. The body will be buried tomorrow and for the next nine days at 4pm community members and family members will gather at my tico grandfather’s house to say the rosary. For the next 12 months, on the anniversary of his death, friends and loved ones will gather to say the rosary at the same hour. While I have focused many of my posts on obstacles and weaknesses (to use FODA terminology), it is an opportune time to share the opportunities and strengths that boast the community of Ortega- the most noteworthy being the solidarity of its members. I went to a beautiful baby shower yesterday for a woman named Elena who will give birth next month. Although the room was stark, and many women had undoubtedly had to scrounge together enough money to buy diapers to give to Elena and her husband in anticipation of the birth of their new baby, we laughed playing musical chairs and “panzona” (literally means “big stomach” and is played by estimating the amount of toilet paper it will take to reach completely around the “big stomach”). And although I’m sure Don Elbin is tired from not having slept last night at the news of his son’s death, he will not tire of the companionship that he has consistently enjoyed for the 83 years that he has lived in Ortega. And I feel blessed to have the opportunity to share in it for the next 23 months.

What ISN'T Integration

So I am sitting here on a Saturday night at 8pm feeling like I’m a freshman in college again. (Piper, this one’s for you, girl.) Margaret and Erin, I put the “say yes” policy into effect this evening, and accompanied my host mother to the birthday party of a 17 year old second cousin, maybe? I should have known based on the way the mothers of the 17 year olds behave, that the party was going to be a flashback to Hoffman and Lorillard. Oh, I forgot to mention that the night started off with my mother telling me that she and my host father have noticed that I’m getting fat. It’s funny how ticos can be so indirect about so many things, yet have no problem telling you to your face that you’re fat.

Anyway, I went to the party and there they were- the four bottles of cacique, the cooler of ice, and the bottle of Squirt. The guilas were sitting around staring at the floor pounding back drinks. Knowing it would be difficult to make it to the one hour requisite of the “say yes” policy, I went to the kitchen and asked for a beer. Even that felt weird. Flashback Ohio driver’s license at MaxFish. No, wait, I’m 24, I can have one beer. Nevertheless, I shouldn’t have done it. I gave in to peer pressure from non-peers.

Step in to my shoes for a moment- I am in a foreign country, by myself, and my host mother is drinking with the guilas like a guila. There goes my wing woman. Not to mention, I quickly noticed one guy make eyes at another, glance in my direction, and look back at the guy with a suspicious grin. Translation= ha, mae, ask her to dance! “Ahorita,” I said to the instigator, which can mean anywhere from “one second” to “in three hours” to “next month.” After excusing myself to get some air, I decided I was fully entitled to exaggerate the headache I had had all day and announce my departure.

As soon as I walked through the door, my cousin “Mancha” (which means stain, which is a reference to the huge birthmark he has on his stomach) grabbed my hand and started twirling me around. He’s safe, so I played along. At least they saw me dance, I thought. I have earned my exit. Mom, don’t read this part, but my bad habits from six years solo in New York City manifested themselves in my insistence that I could walk home by myself. Unfortunately, when I want to leave, I want to leave. Lesson learned: the “say yes” policy has an addendum for a reason. Integration is not worth compromising personal safety and security. Going to a baby shower is integrating; going to a baptism is integrating; going to a soccer game is integrating; going to a 17 year old’s birthday party to get drunk, stoned, and dance is not integrating.

Glad we got the cleared up. On another note, I have learned a tough lesson about the community of Ortega, which has been confirmed by personal experience and hearsay. They start many things for curiosity’s sake, but rarely finish them. After four meetings of my two Centro Cultural classes, 5/16 students have already missed at least two classes. After three solid months of aerobics, the class has come to a screeching halt. What’s my plan of action? One, take control of my own schedule. If my students are going to pick and choose their schedule, I am going to make mine. I plan to stick with the same two Centro Cultural classes, but I am going to meet with them once a week for three hours instead of twice a week for two hours. This will free up time to commit to giving three aerobics classes a week, which is something I want as much for me as for the other ladies. I remain hopeful that another teacher steps up again but, in the meantime, I can play aerobics instructor.

Other projects for 2009-2010 include:
* improving communication, collaboration, and unification among organized groups by facilitating monthly meetings, reinstating the community newspaper, and initiating a voter registration campaign in anticipation of the November election for members of the development association.
* supporting organized groups of women so that they succeed and progress and, hopefully, create job opportunities in the community. This would include: working with the group of craftswomen to promote their work, creating an informational brochure with basic English words and phrases for groups and individuals who are involved in tourism, and proposing the reorganization of the group of “active women” around a cause- i.e. suggesting they become active!
* reforming the comité tutelar, which is a group that fights to protect the rights of children and adolescents. My goal is to give information sessions to interested members of the community so that when it comes time to rename its members, the newly formed group is educated and motivated. I also hope to take one of the development association’s projects- a multi-use recreational space- and “sign it over” to the comité tutelar, as the intended audience is youth.
* promoting community service in children and youth through the institution of programs such as Boy and Girl Scouts, Powerful Boys and Girls (programs designed by Peace Corps volunteers), and a mentoring/ Big Brothers/ Big Sisters program.
* educating community members about Recycling, Reducing, and Reusing, instituting a recycling program (this depends on whether or not the Municipality approves our request for trash collection. I was told when I asked at a recent lecture that Ortega was “difficult” because of its distance from Santa Cruz and the condition of its roads.)

Promoting Global Peace and Friendship

I feel like I am too comfortable here in my site. Like it’s too easy. I went running yesterday with two women my age at the plaza. I make myself breakfast every morning- an American breakfast, really, of cereal and coffee. I can ride my bike at my leisure. I can laugh and cry with different members of my community. I can have girl talk. I can go to sweaty dance parties (sober). I could put on black pumps, a dress from Forever 21, do my hair, do my make up, and put on perfume and leave my house on a Saturday night without question. I can watch a movie, listen to the radio, read a book, play a board game, paint my nails, draw, write, nap; I can even spend the night at the school English teacher’s house…

In order to feel like I’m too comfortable or that life is too easy, I would have to be comparing my experience to someone else’s. I really did come into the Peace Corps with no expectations, so I was neither disappointed nor excited when I first arrived at my site. I had nothing to compare it to. Now, however, getting together with other RCD volunteers, it is hard not to think about what it might be like or could be like if my site were smaller, more rural, rainier, less developed, less organized, less fiestera (fiesta = party, fiestera = one who likes to party). In this regard, I actually think it is more a matter of being in Guanacaste than of being in Ortega.

Is it a bad thing to be comfortable in the Peace Corps? I guess it would be one’s ideal situation. But do people join the Peace Corps to be comfortable, or because they want a personal challenge; they want to test their limits. It really is a mind game. We came to Costa Rica, already a little befuddled, honestly, but certain that there must be a reason why Peace Corps has been in Costa Rica on and off (off once due to analysis of the Human Development Indicator, which was thought to be high) since 1963. But, again, what was the reason we were looking for- something out of a Peace Corps television advertisement like hunger, poverty, education, health.

I have just made the deposit for the Centro Cultural books I will request for my two English classes of 10 and 6 students, which begin on September 7th. The majority of the students who paid the $15 for the student workbook and textbook are involved in the tourist industry and have high hopes of being able to better serve their American customers. Two of the students are high school aged, one student is in his twenties and works on a farm, 13/16 are women, two students received scholarships from a business owner in town, and at least 10 students were not able to register- the majority of whom were not able to pay the $15.

I will be giving two Centro Cultural classes twice a week for two hours a day. In addition, I will continue giving my test prep class one night a week for 1 ½ hours for two dedicated high school students. Finally, I hope to give an advanced conversation class one afternoon a week for six students who are either currently studying English at the university level, or who have had considerable English in the past and want to brush up on their pronunciation and build confidence. In addition to English, I hope to continue with bi-weekly FODAs (strengths, opportunities, weaknesses, threats)- one would be exclusively for members of the Development Association, while the other would be open to committee members and community members.
In writing this blog, I am reminding myself that I am here to work, want to work, and am working despite the fact that I also happen to be enjoying myself.

That brings me to the other reason I wanted to write this blog. I wanted to tell you about the surprise birthday party that my community threw for me on Sunday. The funny thing is, while it wasn’t really a surprise, I was extremely confused when I walked into the Salon Comunal with my host mother and was not greeted with a “Happy Birthday”, “Surprise”, or any other expression that one would expect to receive on their birthday. At the same time, there were balloons, tables, chairs, cake, presents, people… If you remember a previous blog entry I wrote about some confusion around a birthday party the aerobics group was planning to throw on August 23rd, you will understand that that was their intention. I had told myself all along that there must be another member of the group who was born on August 23rd and, when I found out she was turning 26, I knew it must be Frania. Anyway, long story longer, I later found out that Frania celebrated had already celebrated her birthday earlier that month. Hence the confusion.

Anyway, the ladies asked me to stand next to Frania in front of the cake when they sang her “Happy Birthday” and when they got to “Happy Birthday to…” they said “KATHRYN” and threw confetti and said “SURPRISE!” Again, while I had had suspicions, they still managed to surprise me and threw me a beautiful birthday party. As one woman told me after, “although it was humble, we put a lot of love into it.” I told her I felt it, which I really did. The aerobics women had collaborated with the women’s group, of which my host mother is a member, and made pasteles, sausage, chips and dip, and rice pudding. They tried to set up karaoke which, unfortunately, did not happen; but, what did happen was a whole lot of dancing. It was a blast! They kept asking me if I was tired, but I told them that it was imperative for the birthday girl to dance on her birthday. We even did the Middle School thing, where we got in a circle and each person had to dance in the middle. My favorite person to dance with is undoubtedly my Aunt, whose nickname is “Tita”. As she said yesterday, “I kept Kathryn company all night dancing because we’re friends. And friends stick together.” (Or something like that.) The funniest part is probably the fact that my host mother had decided she would drink for me on my birthday “since I don’t drink.” (I decided on day one, by the way, that it was a sticky situation to mix drinking with work, even though my personal life and social life are wrapped up in my work. )

Finally, when my host mother told me that I was probably going to receive quite a few articles of clothing for my birthday, I felt extremely uncomfortable. I talked about it with my host mother beforehand, who assured me that this was customary; that people loved giving gifts; that it came straight from the heart; and that it had nothing to do with the fact that I was an American or a volunteer. There is a feeling of solidarity in the community of Ortega, which was actually expressed several times as a strength of the community in the FODA that I held several weeks ago. More than that, I think the women here with whom I have developed a relationship want nothing more than for me to feel loved and supported while I am away from my family. Several weeks ago when we had a Mother’s Day party with the aerobics women, they said a prayer specifically for my mom “wherever she may be.”

Mom, while I know it was hard for me and probably hard for you to talk on the phone for a mere five minutes on my birthday; and while I know you were upset that I didn’t have anything to open from you when I woke up; I also know that you would have been so happy to have seen the love that the women put into my birthday party on Sunday. As I told the women in my thank you notes, I know that I’m not alone in Ortega. I am among friends. It is always helpful to step back and remember that one of the primary goals of the Peace Corps is to promote peace and friendship. Being too comfortable or feeling like life is too easy is a result of having made real friends in my community. This is what I came here for.

Dia de Madre a la Guaro

I hate to write about dancing again, but it feeds into a bigger issue, which is that everything I do is apparently cause for laughter or chisme (gossip). Today, I was excited to wake up with a tentative plan for the afternoon- helping my host mother make pasteles (basically fried dough filled with some sort of rice mixture) for the school bake sale. (My host mother is one of the cooks at the school.) Anyway, if I do something well it’s funny and if I do something badly it’s funny too. I started off rolling out the dough in less than perfect circles. Then, when I switched to stuffing the pasteles with the rice mixture, it was “take a picture and send it to her novio!” When I finished this task, I asked for another (this is my strategy for getting through the next two years- stay busy). One cook then turned to my host mother to ask, “can she chop?” My host mother responds, “yes, she chops for me.” This indirectness drives me loca. More than once, I have been in a situation where someone has asked someone else for my name or some other piece of information about me when I am sitting right next to them. “My name is Kathryn,” I always jump in curtly.

But back to dancing. So I just faced another impromptu, unplanned, unanticipated Friday night dance and thought I would be safe sitting at the door selling food. Nope. I can’t even tap my foot without being called out. They laugh. They point. “Are you going to dance?” “We’ll see,” I always say. I buy food at the bake sale and I get laughs. “Your teeth are going to fall out,” someone said when I ordered a fried dough-type pastry. I felt like saying, “I don’t put four heaping cucharaditas in my coffee twice a day.”

I think the real reason that I am uncomfortable with the dancing scene here is because it goes hand in hand with the guaro (general term for hard liquor) scene. Adults and young adults alike get giddy like guilas (general term for any child, but also used to refer to groups of guys or groups of girls) on Christmas Eve when faced with the possibility of drinking guaro. I was invited to a Mothers’ Day (Mothers’ Day in Costa Rica falls on the 15th of August) party on Thursday for the mothers of the sixth graders, who will graduate in December. Upon arrival, I realized thay this was just another excuse to drink guaro, as is every holiday, party, birthday. “Get close ladies,” the host said, “so we can drink guaro!” Giggles followed. The best part was that the “guaro” they were referring to was the Costa Rican equivalent to a bottle of Andre champagne (flash back New Year’s at Moots). After a cheers, they sipped their shot of “guaro”, meanwhile making comments about where they would crash later that afternoon; joking about someone having finished theirs before everyone else. When they brought out bottles of Pepsi and Ginger Ale, instead of frescos of tamarindo, moro, or limon, I should have known something was up. In the center of the table appeared a smaller Pepsi bottle filled with a questionable liquid (flash back parties in the tri-bar). “Who wants guaro?” Did I mention it’s 3pm and we’re celebrating Mothers’ Day?

Back to work- so I am still not over the fact that I singlehandedly got nearly 40 people to attend my FODA last week. When I say singlehandedly I must admit I am a little bitter and proud at the same time. I am bitter because it should not have been an independent effort. I made invitations and distributed them to all of the committee leaders in my town, as well as made and hung posters in the pulperias advertising the event. Days before, I visited the committee leaders and other friends to remind them of the date and time. I bought the fresco and galletas and arrived early to assemble five tables and set up 30 chairs. Meanwhile, I was thinking to myself, am I not a stranger in this town and in this country? How is it that I am here setting up for an event that I will facilitate in Spanish in a community that has no real alliance to me? I might have written before about the laziness/apathy factor, which I was strongly considering when I was in the store debating whether or not to buy refrigerio for 30, knowing full well that if it rained that night I was going to be eating cookies and drinking fruit punch for weeks.

Perhaps I did not give myself enough credit. Or perhaps I did not give my community enough credit. The majority of the people I invited, from friends to neighbors to committee leaders, showed up- and not on “tico time” (this is typically ½ hour late). Representatives from the following committees were present: the Catholic Church, sports, crafts, emergency, roads, health, women, children’s rights, aerobics, development, and nutrition. It is also noteworthy that poor communication, egoism, and lack of unity are among the greatest problems faced by the community of Ortega. As such, I was extremely pleased to see both friends and foes seated around the same tables. (This was after I had to ask them to come and sit with the group.) It was even more striking to see them participate in (and enjoy) an icebreaker I insisted on doing.
While I was upset to have had to have asked for feedback from my counterpart group- I am still unsure as to whether or not they understand that the activity and my work here is intended to be supportive of their initiative, which is community development-, I received nothing but positive commentary from all of the attendees. The hard part comes next week, when I will get them together again to analyze their needs, wants, and obstacles so that we can rank them according to feasibility, cost-effectiveness, time and resources needed, and utility. My goal is to keep the discussion going as long as possible- I would like to continue with biweekly meetings because it is a unique opportunity to get many of the major players in town in the same place at the same time. Fast forward two years and this would certainly be a major success, as organizational development is one of our principal goals as Rural Community Development volunteers.

La Negrita

Yesterday was the Day of the Virgen of Los Angeles in Costa Rica. Many people walk miles to make a promise to the Virgen either in Cartago or, in my case, in Los Angeles, which is just outside of Santa Barbara in Guanacaste. During training, we participated in a scavenger hunt in Cartago, and my group was tasked with learning the story of the Virgen of Los Angeles and the meaning behind the holy water. It’s a pretty cool story- there was a girl that discovered a doll in the forest but, when she returned to the spot the next day, the doll was gone. This continued to happen- one day it was there, the next day it was gone- and the girl finally went to speak to the priest. The priest concluded that this could only be explained by a miracle- an act of God.

Anyway, they built the church in Cartago in the exact spot where the doll appeared. The Virgen of Los Angeles is associated with miracles. For this reason, many of the people who make pilgrimages to visit La Negrita, as the Virgen is called, are asking for a miracle. They collect the holy water with buckets, as they believe that it has the power to heal. (When we were in Cartago, we witnessed people bathing themselves with the water.) Many approach la Negrita on their knees, inching forward from the entrance of the church to the altar.

When I heard that there would be a romeria (also called a caminata- caminar = to walk) from Ortega to Los Angeles, I decided I would participate, as it is a local tradition and I am trying to integrate into my community. I was told that we would meet at the church at 4am; although, I had spoken with others who wanted to leave at 1am or 2am in an effort to avoid the many guilas (general term for girls and boys) who go to vacilar (to joke around). Anyway, when I arrived, I was disappointed to see that there was only one other person waiting. Fortunately, I knew her from aerobics. She wanted to get going, so we set off, just the two of us, for burrolandia (the land of burros) sans foco (flashlight). I tried to make conversation, figuring it would be a much longer walk in silence, but was confronted with one word answers. Maybe she’s praying, I thought, as many recite the rosary as they make their promise to la Negrita. I don’t want to be that person that sits next to you on the plane or bus and asks filler questions while you’re trying to read or listen to music. Luckily, shortly after we left, we ran into two other women I knew, so I stopped stressing about making conversation.

Four hours later, and about 15 miles, we arrived in Santa Barbara, greeted with food vendors selling pastels de arroz con pollo or arroz con carne (rice with chicken, rice with meat) and frescos de zanahoria, frutas, y horchata (carrots, fruit, and something that tastes like chocolate milk). While we rested in the center of town, the guilas arrived from Ortega on bikes, and we headed toward the church. They processed with La Negrita from the church to a beautiful outdoor altar, where they would say mass later that morning. With a pounding headache from the sun and dehydration and throbbing pain in all of my joints, I decided to make my promise to the Virgen and head back to the bus stop. I definitely pulled a Tara O’Brien waiting in line to touch the representation of the Virgen, thinking as I inched closer, H1N1… I ended up touching it in the most obscure place I could find- one of the stars dangling in the back. Ha, I do the same thing in public bathrooms- trying to touch a really high or really low part of the door. Anyway, it was a memorable experience and I decided that I’m going to train for next year’s romeria so that I can return on foot as well. (I hitched a ride back to my town with the girl from aerobics.) Hitching a ride, by the way, is basically the same in Spanish- “ride”, but roll the “r.” Ticos use the thumb too, but they hold it out sideways…

One other tradition on the Day of the Virgen of Los Angeles is to host the rosary for community members. There were prayers at at least four houses- at 2pm, 3pm, 4pm, and 5pm. Those that host the rosary do so as their promise to the Virgen and prepare chicheme (drink made from corn) and comidita (could be arroz con pollo, arroz con carne) expecting to feed at least 100 people. While many participate in the rosary, I would estimate that more than half of the people that go to the rezo (prayer) go to socialize and eat. I heard more than a few people complaining of a stomach ache yesterday because they had gone to all four rezos.

To change the subject, you might be interested in knowing that I’m taking a class through UNED, which means something like the “distance learning university.” The class is 20 hours (five Saturdays for four hours) and has to do with project planning. My work counterpart is also enrolled, as well as a member of our Comité Tutelar, which is a community organization that has to do with children’s rights. The material has a lot to do with community development and sustainability, so it fits well with my project assignment in Ortega. The other “students” are community leaders as well.

Four random cultural notes to leave you with:

Sunscreen- this is a completely novel concept apparently because, over the course of a day, I am told more than a few times that I am really sweating. Even if it weren’t suntan lotion, OF COURSE I’M SWEATING! YOU ARE SWEATING TOO, I want to say sometimes.

Gorda- the word “fat” is thrown around way too often, in my opinion. “Isn’t she fat,” I am frequently asked. They can hear you, I panic. They’re sitting right next to me. My response? “They’re beautiful.”

Brava- so the word “brava” is used in a million and one different contexts. The literal translation is something like “angry” or “furious.” The following things can be described as “brava”: women, waves, the sun, dogs, and people who are eating.

Ahorita- this has thrown many of us PCVs off since day one. “Ahora”, which we were taught to have meant “now” in Spanish 101, can mean anywhere from “in a few minutes” to “3+ hours from now.” For example, yesterday, when I was waiting for the bus back to my town, I was told that the bus was coming “ahorita.” It was 920am and the bus was due to arrive at 1130am. That’s not “now”, I thought, that’s FOREVER from now!

KennedyBunkPork

Many Peace Corps volunteers pick up odd hobbies over the course of our 27 months in an effort to help pass time. As a matter of fact, Tico 19 is planning a talent show for 2011, when we will show off our new so-called “talents” to our peers. Lately, I have taken to making elaborate birthday cards with magazine cut-outs, colored pencils, and markers. Get excited… if you’re lucky, you’ll get two before I complete my service! I have also found a guitar teacher, who is committed enough to helping me learn the guitar that he is trying to coordinate a trip with me to San Jose to pick out a guitar. Who knows, maybe I’ll return to Queens to be part of a mariachi band?

I am also pleased to report that I have finally confronted my fear of dancing in Ortega. People in Ortega live for parties! While work is seasonal and times are tough, we would rather have our coffee “con lengua” (literally means “with tongue”, which is another way of saying that there is no money to buy bread), than forego having an Imperial at the Saturday disco. Anyway, I certainly did not expect to find this scene in my Rural Community Development site as a Peace Corps volunteer- the salon comunal transformed into a dance floor, smoke machine, strobe lights, and karaoke screens. Up until last weekend, I have conveniently had (made) plans on dance nights, so as not to have had to face the questions: “want a drink” or “want to dance?” I should have known that the weekend of the celebration of the annexation of Guanacaste would bring not one dance, but two. So when I came back to my town on Sunday, I was greeted with the dreaded question: “are you going to the dance tonight?” I decided it was the perfect opportunity to face my fear- a dance put on by the sports committee that was not being hosted in the cantina. So I offered to help take money at the door- my plan being that I could convey to my town that I was not afraid of dancing, but also defend my refusal to dance by explaining that I was “working.” It’s really quite a shame, I must say, as those of you who know me know that I LOVE TO DANCE. Unfortunately, though, it gets a little tricky when you’re the only gringa in a town of macho men, who like their women, their music, and their guaro (the general term used for hard alcohol). I also must add that it is more than a little intimidating when the majority of the action takes place outside the dance- say, for example, that the dance begins at 7pm. From 7pm until 10pm, people get dolled up just to come and stand outside the dance to see who is inside, what they’re wearing, who is dancing, who they’re dancing with, and how they are dancing. Wouldn’t they just love to see the lone gringa step out on the dance floor, I thought. So my heart raced-from 7pm until 10pm- wondering if someone was going to ask me to dance, who was going to ask me to dance, and why… was this a plot to get me on the dance floor to laugh at the gringa and her non-existent hips, butt, and rhythm? Long story short, I was saved by the bell when the husband of my good friend asked me to dance- not a creeper, not a fabulous dancer, and no hidden agenda. I don’t know how many eyes were on me for those five or ten minutes, but I will tell you that I am still hearing about it days later. And thank goodness, I was given a “ten.” With that, I said “goodnight”, locked my door, and let out a huge sigh of relief.

Finally, while many Peace Corps volunteers arrive as vegetarians and leave as carnivores, I am moving in reverse. Strike one was the chicken coop behind my house in Río Conejo. Colby would come to language class with the news “our mothers are killing forty chickens today.” Then, sure enough, when 6pm rolled around- chicken. Strike two was the chanchos (pigs) at my grandfather’s house. I had spent the previous afternoon watching the three of them run (I did not know pigs ran! And fast!) and take turns trying to get at the rice my host mother was cooking for the mass for the anniversary of her mother’s death. Anyway, I was hooting and howling, tears rolling down my face, watching these lazy creatures scavenge for food. Next day- chicharrones (carne de chancho- pork). “We killed a pig yesterday,” my mother said. I choked. I explained to my host family, so as not to cause any confusion, that while I understand and appreciate the tradition of killing a pig and eating the meat for various celebrations, I will opt to eat rice and beans come December. I explained that I like pork, but I have never before been faced with the prospect of eating the meat of an animal that I knew (and grew fond of, quite frankly). Strike three was the monta de toros I went to on Saturday for Guanacaste Day in Santa Cruz. Unlike Spain’s corrida de toros, where they kill the bull, Costa Rica’s monta de toros is a spectacle that showcases the bull and the rider of the bull- yes, someone gets on the bull, the bull is let loose in the ring, and the rider tries to stay on the bull as long as possible while it is bucking and jumping and running and FREAKING OUT. Meanwhile, the bull ring is filled with macho men (many of them drunk), who get a kick out of taunting the bull and running for their lives when the bull FREAKS OUT. What didn’t I like about the event? One, my palms were sweaty, looking at the crowd of people in the ring, anticipating whether or not they would be able to jump the barreras in the event that the bull took off in their direction. Two, rather than letting the bull retreat from the ring when he had successfully bucked the rider off, (which was what he clearly wanted to do), horsemen came out and lassoed the bull by the horns and the neck. Stuck, and often tangled, the bull put his head down in a gesture of surrender. But no, five, six men grabbed onto its tail and started pulling with all their might. At the same time, another proceeded to jab the bull in the butt with a metal prod. NO ME JODAS, said the bull. Rightly so.

Just a footnote to this last vignette- I recognize that the monta de toros is an important part of the culture of Guanacaste, as is the corrida de toros an important part of the culture of Spain. For this reason, I went to a corrida de toros in Madrid and went to a monta de toros in Guanacaste. I didn’t like them and will probably never go again. But I went. I will try it all, but I don’t have to like it. Integration is about trying.

I want to leave you with this- remember what chanco means? This is how my host father understands the name of my town, Kennebunkport:
Presidente + bunk + chancho
He thought “bunk” was pretty easy, and so were the other parts, when you subbed in “Kennedy” and “pork” = KennedyBunkPork.

No me jodas!

I wasn’t sure if it would be possible but, as it turns out, I have successfully communicated my sense of humor to my Costa Rican family. Not only do they understand it, but they appreciate it! My host father in particular is one to “joder” or “vacilar.” In other words, he jokes around with me a lot, as do many men in my town. Since day one in Guanacaste, the most machista part of Costa Rica, I decided that I was not going to take any lip from the men here. So I have learned to sass back and be sarcastic… in Spanish. This is really a survival tactic; otherwise, I think they’d make the next two years pretty uncomfortable. Now that they know that I’m “intelligente”, as they say, which really means “quick” in this sense, I may even make some male friends in Ortega.

My host mother spends considerable time at her father’s house, where her siblings, nieces, and nephews also congregate. I love the atmosphere and energy, as I have fond memories of Dempsey reunions at Huntington Common, Woodlawn Avenue, and Summer Street. I like to go with my host mother after dinner, to walk off all the starch, and to share in the conversation. Last night we had three good laughs- I mean Meghan crying, Uncle Ricky wheezing laughs:

1. The women from the aerobics class called a short meeting yesterday to plan a surprise birthday party for someone on August 23rd… hmm, I thought, is this a joke? That’s my birthday. I played along for a while- sure, I can chip in a mil for a cake… They kept on, though… hmm, I thought again, “who’s birthday is it,” I asked. “We can’t tell you,” they said. “It has to be a surprise.” Finally I couldn’t stand it anymore, “Are you really not talking about my birthday?” I asked. They had no idea. Were so embarrassed. “We can split the cake,” they said. “No,” I said, “but can you at least wish me a Happy Birthday, if you’re planning this party for August 23rd?” I asked, noticeably down. Being a lover of birthdays, this would undoubtedly be my worst nightmare- celebrating someone else’s birthday on my own birthday without receiving even a “Happy Birthday.”

2. When I heard that my next door neighbor had dengue, I went into panic mode. I dug into my suitcase for the mosquito net that Peace Corps gave us during training- still neatly packed. You tax payers will be glad to know that we do not have the pretty pretty princess nets, that hang from the ceiling and fall neatly on each side of the bed. No, we have the mustard green, nylon, grandote mosquito nets that can be hung with no less than four nails. You have to tuck it in on all sides because it was most certainly not designed for a twin bed. It took my host mother, brother, and me to put it up one night- one hot, sticky, Guanacaste, Costa Rica night in a tiny room with little ventilation. We had sweat dripping down our faces and were hysterically laughing making jokes about them finding me dead in my tent one morning, having overheated because the faint stream of air from the fan can’t make it through the thick nylon thread.
I secretly like it though- it really does feel like I’m camping, especially since I read at night by the light of a flashlight.

3. Finally, we all had stories about this little devil girl who, as my uncle put it, “jode, jode, jode.” In Spain, this word, “joder,” meant “to fuck”, and was considered a swear word. In Costa Rica, “joder” means more “to fuck with”, as in “to play,” “to bother,” “to joke around.” Anyway, this girl is a devil child. The other night we were playing “Gran Banco,” which is like Monopoly, but all of the sites are in Costa Rica. When she saw that I was playing, she ran at me full speed ahead and began to pet me like a new puppy. “Please don’t touch me,” I said. (Petting continues…) “When someone asks you not to do something you should stop doing it,” I said. (Petting continues…) “You don’t like it when I touch your hair?” She asked. “Nope.” I said. “Your toe nails?” She asked, touching my toe nails. (I hate toes, by the way.) “Nope.” I said. (Petting continues…) This went on for I can’t tell you how long. (Meanwhile, all the other neighborhood boys and girls are observing this exchange.) Finally, Francilena, who cannot be much older than this girl, says to me: “I hope my daughter is not like that.”

In other news, I have been making a lot of progress with my community interviews and am actually excited to start writing my community analysis and work plan, which I have to present to my Project Manager and fellow volunteers at the beginning of September. My goals for the next three weeks include: finish speaking with community leaders, read the project descriptions, interview the Principal, organize an informational meeting in coordination with the health clinic about high blood pressure, diabetes, and exercise, and facilitate a FODA (strengths, weaknesses, opportunities, threats). The latter is an activity you can do with community members to encourage discussion about the resources and needs of the community.

Two big challenges I will surely face over the next two years include the lack of community ownership/pride and the distrust of community leaders and organizations on the part of community members. I spend hours interviewing one person only to hear from another that they are a liar, a cheat, a thief. I hear that the development association has had the same five or ten projects for the past four years- the eco-museum, the salon comunal renovations, the elderly home, the crocodile park, the basketball court, the road improvements. Community members are disillusioned, but development association members speak confidently. So what’s the real story, I ask myself pretty much every night at 2am, when I wake up tossing and turning thinking about English class, the CAT (Community Analysis Tool), and the VRF (Volunteer Report Form). I’ve decided that rather than trying to get to the bottom of it, I will work to promote better communication and transparency.

Yesterday I pitched the idea of a community newspaper to one of the disillusioned members of the development association (yes, there are also the disillusioned development association members and the confident community members, to make matters more confusing). I explained that with a community newspaper we could promote the progress of the development association and other committees, while also publicizing events and meetings, to encourage community involvement and rebuild trust. With over twenty different associations and committees, we would also save considerable paper, markers, and masking tape spent on communicating reuniones. Finally, in order to make the paper sustainable, I had the idea that we could involve youth in the interviewing, writing, and production processes, and maybe even look to sell the paper at some time in the future. The reaction I am anticipating, unfortunately, is no reaction. For this reason, I will be prepared with plans b and c, when I finally present it to the development association. I will be armed with community support, funding, and volunteer staff. I hope.

Diay! Part 2

Are you still scratching your head wondering how I came to be a teacher of aerobics in a foreign country? Sorry to have left you hanging on that one. I was asked by one woman on my first site visit if I was going to be giving aerobics classes like a previous volunteer. She told me that there had also been a class given by the technician at the health clinic but that, unfortunately, for a number of reasons, including an unwillingness on the part of the students to contribute to the light bill for the space, it was no longer offered. How did I revive it? I suggested we have class an hour earlier, at 4pm, so that we would not have to use the lights. What did I do? I pooled all of the knowledge I have acquired from kickboxing, yoga, and step classes with that from Kennebunk High School pre-season and free personal trainer sessions for new gym members. In addition, I lucked out and had the help of twelve gringos studying Public Health at Temple University, who first started sending students to Ortega in 2002. My goal is to turn the class over to a tica so that their attendance is not dependent upon mine-- although, where I thought it might soon become more of a chore than an activity seeing as how we meet every day, I have come to really look forward to the class and already feel a strong sense of camaraderie among the women. One woman told me this morning that the class has already helped her tremendously, as she had been struggling with depression-- a result of spending so much time alone in her house, with her son in school and her husband at work. Other women are extremely dedicated to the cause of losing weight for health reasons such as high blood pressure and suggested that we have regular weigh-ins in coordination with the health clinic. Two more images to complete the picture- one, imagine that I arrive at the salon comunal already sweating (the temperature hit 97 the other day); two, picture a group of mischievous- looking male youth observing the class on their bikes. My goal for the class is to incorporate other themes relating to overall health such as: nutrition, self esteem, alcoholism, and domestic violence. I was also thrilled at the suggestion of one of the founding members that we form our own mini association and take up a collection to raise money to throw ourselves a small party for Mothers; Day. She also suggested that we take the initiative as a group to plant flowers in the new cemetery.

Margaret and Erin (and my mom) will be pleased to know that the "say yes policy" is in full effect here in Ortega. I accepted an invitation a few weeks ago to speak to university students about my project with the Peace Corps and my studies at Fordham. The teacher lives in Ortega and has a class entitled "National Reality", which addresses the social, economic, and political realities of Costa Rica. We thought it might be beneficial, not only for the students, but for me as well, as I have to complete an analysis of my community before I begin my work. I put together a powerpoint presentation that began with my studies at Fordham, continued to describe my work with CMMB, and finished to explain the Peace Corps and my project as a volunteer. Little did I know that the professor had allotted two hours for my presentation and the students' questions (which were few and far between); however, my Spanish served me well, and I was able to communicate my initial observations of Costa Rican culture, Guanacastecos, and life in Ortega. I was reluctant to speak candidly about the "national realities", recognizing that my initial observations are no more than that-- initial observations. At the same time, I was more interested in the reflections of the students on their own culture. They talked about complacency, resistance to change, bureaucracy, and dependency, and asked for my perspective as a U.S. citizen. I explained a bit about our recent election and the push for change, noting that a big effort was made by youth and young adults. We also talked about overcoming obstacles to change-- the most common of which appears to be money-- or, at least, this is the answer one is often given when they suggest a new idea or project. I explained that my role here was not to finance projects (a common misconception), but that it had more to do with offering support and guidance-- troubleshooting, creative thinking, problem solving.

I have begun giving English classes to members of a nearby municipality two nights a week for two hours each. While at first I was flustered to find that the students were not all beginners as I had previously been told, I am starting to get the hang of teaching a mixed level class, and actually like the fact that I am able to talk about rules and exceptions to rules and compare and contrast spelling and pronunciation of English and Spanish sounds. Next week I will start working with a group of youth and adults who are studying to pass their high school exit exam for English. Students range in age from 17 to 40+; some are preparing to graduate in December and are facing the test for the first time, while others have only to pass this one lingering exam, and have tried previously with no success.

On Sunday the "active women of Ortega", an association of about thirty women, planned and threw a party for the fathers in Ortega complete with food, games, and prizes. It struck me funny that the women brainstormed the entire list of 137 fathers-- well, their nicknames. (Everyone in Guanacaste has a nickname, by the way.) The women plan Fathers' day, children's day, and, to my dismay, their very own Mothers' day. I told them that they deserve a surprise just as the fathers do and, while they agreed, they laughed.

In closing, I would like to speak directly to Jeannine and Moot. Jeannine was kind enough to introduce me to the wonderful world of Bannanagrams via an extremely thoughtful care package. For those of you who have not yet had the pleasure of crossing Scrabble with Crossword Puzzles, let me explain briefly: the object of the game is to create as many words as you can in the form of Scrabble while your competitors are doing the same independently. Players have the option to trade in letters for a penalty of three letters, and other rules, etc. The first person to use all of their letters wins. Anyway, I was thrilled to see that the game had directions in Spanish and shared it with my host parents. (My host father and I often share the crossword puzzles in the Teja, a cheapo newspaper full of bikini-clad models and classified ads.) When we sat down to play, I suddenly realized that I had agreed to play in Spanish--Right, I live in Costa Rica now. My host mother was quick to give up and decided instead to help my host father make sense of his letters. "No puede ayudarle! Ustedes hablan Espanol!" I exclaimed. (You can't help him! You guys speak Spanish!) Minutes later... I won... twice. I am not sure how much longer these games will continue; however, as I challenged him three times tonight on the spelling of his words-- I have found that some members of my community spell words according to how they pronounce them. If he weren't so competitive himself, I would let it slide, but the way he says "Bannanograms" with a big smirk makes me want to remind him that he is playing dirty against a non-native speaker. You better start practicing for summer 2011, Mom. After two years of Bannannograms in Spanish, Scrabble should be a walk in the parque, a piece of queque.

Diay! Part 1

Now that I am settled in my permanent site in Ortega, I can give you a good summary of the past few weeks, as well as fill you in on the details of my new home and new "schedule." Site assignment day was just about a month ago. We gathered around a map nervously as the PC staff had their fun with us, blindfolding the first few people, pinning their site on the map, and instructing the rest of us to direct them to it. To my surprise, there were lots of smiles, screams, and shouts, and very few tears. The previous three months of training had felt pretend and we were anxious to make a home in Costa Rica. Next came counterpart day, when we met our future work partners in San Jose for a brief training. For the most part, the counterparts for my program, rural community development, are leaders in the development association in the community. The purpose of this visit was to travel accompanied to our sites and meet our host families, the school director, staff at the health clinic, attend a meeting of the development association, kick around the soccer ball at the plaza, etc.- really to confirm our commitment to the PC. Leave now or forever hold your peace... On this visit I made a point to wave to everyone, introduce myself when possible, introduce my project when possible and, most importantly, RECORD NAMES!

We then returned to our training communities to say goodbye to our families, friends, and neighbors- realizing quickly that they were not "goodbyes" but "see you soons." (Remember the name of my going away party in New York? Same idea. Out of sight, never out of mind.) It was such a beautiful thing to see host mothers estimating (correctly!) the sizes of their respective volunteers, having bought new shorts, blouses, jeans, and sandals as tokens of their great affection. We sent ourselves off with a going away party for our families, which was planned and catered exclusively by us, despite heightened emotions, un monton de mandatos, lingering assignments, and empty suitcases. Swearing in was certainly a reality check- as I mentioned earlier, training felt at times like summer camp, thanks entirely to the friendships we made with tico 19ers, language facilitators, PCV staff, and community members. When we pulled in front of the Ambassador's residence, when I saw the tent and chairs, the Costa Rican flag next to the American flag, the PC logo behind the podium, I recalled the months of medical exams, reading and revising essays, visits to the PC office, pros and cons lists, phone interviews and, finally, packing lists. When we sang the Costa Rican national anthem, followed by the national anthem of the United States of America, when our classmates gave their address, when we took our oath of office, I was overwhelmed with emotion- I felt proud to be an American, I felt fortunate to have been selected as a PCV, I felt regret that my family was not present at the ceremony, and I felt happy that my grandpa was.

But "where the hell are you," you are surely asking. Ortega is located in the province of Guanacaste, which is known for its folklore, beaches, traditions, parties, dances, food, and heat. My site has about 1,000 people, an elementary school of about 200 students, a cemetery, a health clinic, a nutrition center, several bars and pulperias, a soccer field, a Catholic and an Evangelist church, a meeting hall, a policeman, a bullfight ring, and two tourism businesses. In addition, my town has a sports committee, an arts and crafts group, a children's rights group, a development association, a women's and men's soccer team, a health committee, a women's group, an alcoholics anonymous group, and a school board. They are known for a tradition called "la largateada", which is over 100 years old. "El largato" is a crocodile, so "la largateada" translates to something like "the pursuit of the crocodile." On Friday of Holy Week, town members travel to the river and capture a crocodile, which is brought back to town and kept in a cage for the duration of Holy Week, when it is released in the river unharmed. Last year, I was told that 6,000 people came to Ortega for la largateada- rural tourism is a major industry for Ortega and surrounding communities due to crocodile-infested wetlands and local arts and crafts. The town is accustomed to seeing tourists "like myself"; although, I have made it very clear to all that I am not a tourist, nor do I plan to live the lifestyle of one. I want to become a member of the community, I want to be respected as an equal, I want to learn local dances, eat local food, participate in events such as soccer games, baptisms, birthday parties, etc., and understand and appreciate work. On that note, I am pleased to report that in my first week in Ortega I have milked a cow with both hands, made pasteles filled with arroz con pollo, learned to make a traditional beverage, attended a memorial service, attended mass, picked mangoes, ridden a horse, played in a band, danced at a dance, attended a soccer game, witnessed a primary, learned a card game, and attended student council elections. While we are advised to take it easy for the first three months of our service, concentrating our efforts on our community analysis, I have revived a daily aerobics class for women and agreed to teach a twice weekly English class.

Home away from home away from home

I can't say enough about tech week, even though I missed the meeting of the development association and the trip to the cataratas. The drive south was beautiful-- we were heading to the province of Puntarenas near San Vito to a town called Jabillos, where a current PCV has been for nearly one year. My host father was the president of the association and the PC vol's local counterpart (every volunteer has a local counterpart). He is 43 and his wife is 33. They have two daughters, who are 12 and 14, and one son who is 7. After two days with the Chacon Moras, I became their "oldest daughter." They had never had a volunteer stay with them and were so eager to spend time with me and introduce me to their extended family. I felt so comfortable in their house-- it was the first occasion I have had to put my feet up on the couch in front of the television! It was also nice to be removed from the chisme of Rio Conejo, so I took the opportunity to confide in my new tica mother about many things-- some PC, some personal.

Before I jump to the projects we did, I just want to make a few quick notes:
1) I will never forget riding in Don Carlos' (padre) truck (picture a cattle truck) with my new siblings in the back, the girls, posed unintentionally like models, looking like twins, one on each side of the back, legs outstretched, weight on their arms, their hair blowing in the wind. Meanwhile, the gringa was safe and sound inside with mom and dad.
2) Stepping in and out of a mosquito net makes me feel like a princess.
3) I saw my first arcoiris in Jabillos, after what I would call a perfect summer storm, but what was actually a winter storm-- the first of many. Ya begins the rainy season, by the way. (It's awesome, at least in Cartago-- we get 1/2 day of warm sunshine and then, at 1pm on the dot, when we are safe and sound in our classroom, we get a tormenta like no other. Thunder, lightning, power outages, MUD, SO FUERTE we laugh reading the lips of whoever has the mala suerte to be presenting at that time.)
4) After my five hour ride with the language facilitators to Jabillos and a long conversation with my new tico grandpa, I feel comfortable saying that my Spanish is improving. I have finally, after 10+ years of language instruction, figured out how, when, and why to use the Imperfect tense!
5) I milked my first cow... is the verb still "milked" if no milk came out?
6) I'm bringing back "pura vida" to the U.S.-- It is the perfect answer to "how are you" when you're riding in the back of Don Carlos' truck, subiendo and bajando montanas, watching the sky turn magical shades at dusk, welcoming the cool breeze after the day´s humidity.
7) "What a beautiful glass," I said to the wife of the man who operates and maintains the aqueduct that serves Jabillos and neighboring communities. "Take it and remember me," she said. I introduced myself, accepted the gift with a puzzled look, and walked out wondering what she would do when the sixth guest wanted a drink on Easter Sunday.

My English class consisted of seven Kindergarteners, two of whom preferred their game to mine, and spent the entire class in the other room playing with their cattle figurines. While I was disappointed that they were not interested in joining us to count fruit, sing, or play Bingo, I was touched that they continued to invite me to join them for the duration of the class. The valuable lesson learned here was that Kindergarteners need to be constantly stimulated and ought to have something in their hands at all times that they can be creative with. Another difficulty I faced was the lack of support from the Kindergarten teacher in the way of discipline. It was as if she was waiting for me to arrive so that she could take lunch...

My second project was a group project with the school on the environment. We began with a brainstorm on the environment, followed up with a discussion on definitions and causes of pollution, and finished with a walk around the plaza, either picking up trash or picking up items relating to the environment. The students then made some pretty impressive collages-- some more sucio than others.

The other group did a charla on nutrition for the women in the community and touched one everything from the food pyramid, to the nutrition facts, to exercise, to healthy cooking, to concerns such as high blood pressure and high cholestrol.

I was surprised and impressed to see such a strong showing at all of our reuniones-- the best of which was hands down our fiesta de despedida, which was organized by our host families and community members in the salon comunal. My night started with an intensive lesson on Cumbia from a 14 year old tico dance instructor. Other highlights included: DONUTS and a touching reflection on the week by both our host families and us. Tears preceded words of thanks and invitations to return to our beds any day, any time.

While I spent a mere four days with my family, I felt moved to give them a framed picture of our family before I left. My brother and sisters were clearly moved as well, as I returned to Rio Conejo with a pair of earrings Carol purchased in San Vito, a necklace Stephanie no longer wears, and a shot glass Diego must have given me from a personal collection.

One final lesson learned, as we gear up to find out our permanent sites in less than 48 hours, while I could give a preference for climate, work, location, and family, the only deal breaker for me would be an overwhelming feeling of isolation, which I sensed I might feel in Jabillos if I were there alone. The sites where we will be serving are already rural sites, with few more than 300 people, often no less than one hour from the nearest big town or small city. For this reason, I have asked to be placed in a site with a clear center. While Jabillos had a church, pulperia, and salon comunal within a stone's throw, they appeared to be no more connected than stops on a bus route. We had few interactions with community members in town because their houses are fairly spread out. To give you an idea, I am embaressed to say that I got lost one day going home for lunch, having taken the one road that did not lead to my house... I walked for at least twenty minutes in the sweltering heat with an empty water bottle and was struck by the realization that if I fainted from dehydration no one would even stumple upon me-- no one other than a vaca.

No, it wasn't swine flu

So tech week looked grim on Saturday, when I woke up in the middle of the night cursing the torta de atun that we had for dinner that we certainly to blame. When I woke up again to my alarm, I was violently sick to my stomach in a foreign country, in a foreign house, with a foreign mother. When you feel the way I felt, you don't want to have to worry about things like cultural sensitivity... and I didn't. I sat myself down on the bathroom floor to my mother's horror. There was no other option as far as I was concerned; although, she tried to bring in a bench from the kitchen. She also kept telling me she had pastillas for this and that. Luckily, fellow PCV and neighbor stopped her before she got me and told her PC did not allow us to take meds, but only agua de arroz, which is literally the water from cooked rice with cinnamon. When the PC prescribed meds over the phone, I was out for the afternoon. I woke up to the tico version of chicken broth, which has noodles and potatoes, carrots, and chayote. My family was really wonderful and my mother even cried with me! I must admit, though, while the TLC was above and beyond, and so necessary without family and friends, I snaped one time and told her to pelase stop worrying and that I had lived by myself for nearly six years. I could hear her all weekend talking to family and passers by saying "pobrecita, Katarin, she won't even eat a tortilla, which won't make her feel badly, not even an egg in her soup." The up side of going late to San Vito (I ended up carpooling with the language facilitarors on Monday), was I got in some good integration time with my host mother, which has been extremely limited. Anyway, she took me on a different route to her sister's and showed me all her family's coffee fields and how they had been divided up amongst their children. We also passed a beautiful ranch just in time to get a tour from the duenos. It is rented out for wedding parties, birthdays, etc., and it is walled off by palm trees. There is a beautiful pool with a fountain, where tilapia swim,
a treehouse-type area for dancing, and a doll house-like three floored log cabin that sleeps two couples and has a picturesque simple kitchen. This would certainly be a contender for luna de miel destinations if I were to fall in love in Costa Rica...

Creative Katica

I am weeks late in posting this, but I wanted to tell you about my second English class. After the first class, one of my family members expressed interest in learning how to order food in a restaurant. I planned the class around a game of Bingo, with detailed drawings in colored pencil of vegetables, meat, salad, drink, menu, bill, dessert, etc. Backing up, I planned an activity where we would take turns playing waiter and client by posing the question "Excuse me, what would you like..." and "I would like..." This was great practice, but I was most excited about Bingo, particularly after I decided that whoever got Bingo would have to say "Excuse me, I would like..." and name all of the items where they had markers as if they were ordering in a restaurant. While I only managed to get four of the five required people to come, and I failed to secure a committment from a PCV to observe my class, I thought it was extremely successful!

I have had such a blast here rediscovering my creative side, which has been masked by other interests or preoccupations since probably high school. I am now making birthday cards again, painting with water colors, making card games, and writing letters. I am dreaming up ideas fro my future classrooms, including shadowboxes, kaleidoscopes, mailboxes, world maps, masks, mobiles, collages, murals... I also had an idea today that involved a world map mural and a series of "Where in the world is Carmen Santiago", where we could take "trips" to different countries ever day or week and learn about key aspects of other cultures, packing suitcases for climate, cutting out pictures from magazines, and sending postcards. Where in the world is Kathryn Rouillard? Tune in next week!

Diosito Santo

For those of you (taxpayers) who are wondering whether or not I am working or, if so, how so, here’s the story…

Last week I gave my first English class to my extended family- an aunt, uncle, and four cousins. Ages ranged from 7 to 40. José Antonio, the 7 year old, cannot read or write in Spanish, but is currently learning numbers and colors in school. Olga, the mother of José Antonio, was skeptical about returning to English class after a bad experience with the verb “to be.” Tatiana, daughter of Olga and sister of José Antonio, was eager to begin class, as her boyfriend, Alan, speaks nearly perfect English. Alan has lived in Philadelphia and spent significant time working in the hotel business in the Cayman Islands.

Anyway, after individual conversations with my prospective students, I decided it would be appropriate to teach the first class on greetings, goodbyes, and emotions (“How are you?” “I am sad, tired, scared, nervous, happy, sick, etc.”). I got home on Wednesday fifteen minutes before my class was to begin and was surprised to find a full house; although, it was unclear as to whether or not the montón de gente had arrived for my class or for cafecito. I was told that Katia and Cynthia, aunts on whose attendance I was counting, had forgotten about the class, and ran down the path behind my house to recogerles. Luckily, when six o’clock struck, I had my required five attendees and my peer evaluator, a fellow PC trainee.

We started the class with an ice breaker- “what makes you nervous about learning English?” “what do you want to learn?” “why do you want to learn English?” This was a great way to start- among other things, I learned that Olga wanted to learn so as to be able to keep up with her son, José Antonio. Spelling and speaking were expressed as common concerns. I had drawn pictures to accompany each word or phrase, so we went down the list one by one, emphasizing pronunciation and meaning. When we finished each group of words, we did several practice exercises as a group, i.e. “Your best friend forgot your birthday yesterday. How do you feel? I feel sad.” Finally, we used the associated pictures to play a game of memory, which was a huge hit. Every time a person picked up a card, they had to give the associated word or phrase before trying to make a match. Occasionally, I would ask them for the Spanish equivalent to make sure that they understood the definition as well as the pronunciation. Afterward, I asked my new students to assess the class and suggest material and activities for next class. I received great feedback and will plan to teach vocabulary to order food in a restaurant and to ask for directions next class. Bingo was the number one request for a practice activity.

In addition to teaching three English classes, we have to attend a meeting of the integrated development association in our town, plan and implement a service learning activity, invite community members to an asset-based approach event and facilitate a discussion on the strengths, weaknesses, opportunities, and threats related to the development of the town, present on an institution of Costa Rica (mine is the Ministry of Agriculture and Farming), complete weekly reading assignments, facilitate a presentation on a week’s reading assignments, and conduct a mini community analysis task, which requires interviewing community members about population, transportation, health, socio-economic activities, resources, projects, etc.
Needless to say, there are not enough hours in the day to complete the required assignments, integrate with our families and communities, develop relationships with PC trainees, appreciate the indescribable sunsets, explore the many hidden paths that weave through the coffee plantations, and keep up on the noticias and latest drama un el Último Matrimonio Feliz. Now that I know the beauty that is a Costa Rican sunset or a Costa Rican night sky, I will gladly give up an hour or two of restless sleep- between the night allergies, the full stomach, and my eight-legged comrades, I am lucky if I can keep my ojos cerrados until 531.

Luckily, I have gone from zero to sixty and look forward to my two cups of black coffee every day. So as to continue growing upward as I say (as opposed to growing outward), I have decided to forego the powdered milk and sugar. After trying several different techniques to comer menos and with less grease, i.e. “I love salad,” “I don’t like throwing food away, so please serve me a little and I will ask for more if I am still hungry,” “I eat all the food you serve me because I like the food, but it makes me sick to eat so much,” I have come to the conclusion that my host mother is deliberately sabotaging me. No, just kidding, I know she takes pride in feeding me to the brim, but picture this scene: Last night I said to Vilma, “that’s fine, thank you,” when she was serving me dinner and, not only did she continue dishing out white rice, but she put my plate down, dumped a bag of cheetos on top, and said “coma, coma (eat, eat)” with a wide grin. Diosito Santo…

Al chile?

I just got back from a family lunch of 17 people and nearly 17 comidas- tortillas, beans, rice, salad, fried eggs, sardinas, tuna, pasta, soup, and arroz con leche. Today is Sabado Santo, a day of rest and relaxation and preparation for the resurrection of Jesus. There is another procession tomorrow from Río Conejo to the parish in San Juan Norte. Since Thursday, there has been no bus service, no soccer games, and no soap operas. We have been eating a small (-er) breakfast of coffee and pan casero (bread filled with chiverre, which is sweet) and then a large lunch at noon. All the students are on vacation, so there have been primos in and out every day. Yesterday, I woke up from a nap to find my host mother, her daughter, and granddaughter braiding another granddaughter’s hair for the Easter procession on Sunday. Hours later, Melanie had 100 braids. My friend and I commented the other day that no moment feels wasted here- whether we pass them braiding hair, washing clothes, practicing guitar, or painting.

Easter break was well overdue; although, classes on Monday and Tuesday were great! We spent Monday at my friend’s house learning from his padre tico how to plant and cultivate coffee. Tuesday, we spent the day at my house learning how to make tortillas and pupusas. Wednesday dragged, as technical days often do, but Thursday was well worth the wait. Many friends were invited to spend Semana Santa away with their tico families and I was disappointed that my family had nothing planned. While I was anxious to participate in the religious celebrations with my family, I was equally anxious to get away and experience something new. I was thrilled when my friend came over to invite me camping with his host family.

The site was a twenty five minute walk from their house, but it felt much further. We were probably 10 or 12 in total and had three tiendas (tents) between us. Everyone helped prepare dinner, cutting culantro by the light of a foco, pouring coffee, stirring frijoles, and warming tortillas. The scene was so refreshing- the campfire, the full moon, the cool breeze, the wine, the word games. As I have said earlier, camping would have been enough to make me stop and smile, but camping in Costa Rica with new friends was incredible. We walked to the river in the morning, after a breakfast of scrambled eggs, salchichas, gallo pinto, and coffee, to play charades and rhyme time.

Last night we watched a movie with the same bunch and ate palomitas (little pigeons- popcorn). While we left late to walk back to my house, the path was completely illuminated by the light of the moon. Luckily, a month into our service, we are still struck by the night sky, and stopped to take it in. It’s funny how when we travel to a place for a week or ten days for vacation we fail to notice things like stars shining, clouds moving, birds chirping, and wind whistling- we don’t have time. Instead, we pick out the beautiful buildings, the store windows, the fountains, parks, museums, and people, because they are easiest to spot and appreciate. I do not feel rushed in this way, as I have 26 months ahead of me in Costa Rica. I do not feel pressured to capture every moment on film and, as a result, I am able to savor every moment for the moment. This is truly a blessing.

Palmas- Jacó Beach and el Domingo de Ramos

Yesterday, after a long week, RCD’ers were treated to a day at Jacó Beach thanks to a friend and his padre tico, Don William. Don William is the principal at the school in San Juan Sur and had chartered a bus to take students and their families to Jacó Beach for the day. He was brave enough to offer the remaining thirteen spots to us gringos- todos impaciente a ver la playa!
The day began at 336am, when I woke up naturally in time to catch the bus at 430am. We arrived at the beach around 9am and ran straight into the bath water- qué caliente! There were mountains to the left and right and a long beach to walk in between. The waves were fierce, the current strong, the water clear, the sand dark, the rocks red, and the sun strong. The town offered bagels, iced coffee, internet, and ice cream at a steep price. The familiarities were refreshing and overwhelming at the same time. We kept commenting about how strange it all felt- where were we, what were we doing there, how did we get there.

It is so strange to think about our life before, our life now, and our life to come. I feel like I have successfully transitioned from the before to the now; but, we are already anticipating the next and most difficult transition. While we left friends and family behind, we quickly made new friends and new family in our training communities. When I was at home thinking about my service, I envisioned my professional life and personal life entwined- my host family and my community members. I envisioned myself trying desperately to fill hours of alone time, with books, journals, and letters. I skipped over training entirely. Now, beginning week four of training, I cannot imagine being away from my new friends and new family. I am not going to imagine it either, because I would never want to wish this away. At the same time, it does not serve me to project what the next transition will bring- just as it would not have served me to set expectations for my Peace Corps service. Each day is an adventure and debe ser así.

From palm trees to Palm Sunday. Today I traveled with my family to San Juan Sur, where Palm Sunday was to begin with mass and a procession to the parish in San Juan Norte with a figure of Jesus on horseback preceded by the apostles. It was really a beautiful thing to be a part of- families and friends walking with their sombrillas (“shadows”- umbrellas), palms in hand, singing. When we got to the parish, mass continued with the reading of the Passion, which I strained to follow, standing in the back of the church. I am pleased to report that I am making strides toward the accomplishment of my goal to be able to participate in the entire mass in Spanish. I also just want to note that I feel so blessed to be able to experience and appreciate this part of Costa Rican culture. It would have meaning anyway, as it is an integral part of Costa Rican culture; however, as a Catholic, I look forward to celebrating mass with my family and community members every Sunday.

Sunday mass is also very emotional for me, as this is the time when my mind wanders to thoughts of my loved ones- present and deceased. All it takes is for me to walk into church and sit down and my eyes fill up with tears thinking about my grandfather, my mom, sister, aunts, uncles, and cousins. I would say that I miss him, but I can’t figure out if I am missing him like I missed him in New York, or if I am missing him forever. I try to miss him like I missed him in New York because it is a much safer place for me but, at the same time, I know that it is a false sense of security. I am terrified of the other place.

Green gringa turned tuanis tica

Yesterday we got a preview of the rainy season—diay! Thank goodness I bought the suggested poncho that covers both you and your mochila (just call me green gringa). Besides the pre-poncho wait at the bus stop, I actually enjoyed the tormenta. It reminded me of rainy summer days at Drakes Island in Wells, Maine, when we would make a fire, bundle up in sweats, and play round after round of Chucks (six rounds, two decks= great rainy day game! Stay tuned Tico 19ers…) It felt nice to come home to Río Conejo yesterday after four days in San Joaquín de Tuis near Turrialba. We had our site visits last weekend and split up the fifty two of us to quedarnos with current volunteers in all parts of the country to learn about their regions, communities, and projects.

I was thrilled to have the opportunity to visit a friend from Fordham who, por casualidad, has been in Costa Rica with the Peace Corps in Rural Community Development for nearly a year. While we were merely acquaintances at Fordham, with a number of mutual friends from Buffalo (here’s to Thursdays in the square ha), when we met at the bus station in Turrialba it was as if we were mejor amigas. Turrialba is the perfect sized city- it felt comfortable, safe, and familiar; however, at the same time, it had all the features of San José or cualquier ciudad- a farmer’s market, plaza, coffee shops, restaurants, rafting shops, even a botanical garden. It was here in Turrialba where I used my first coconut bowl and coconut spoon to eat the famous ‘dulce.’
The ride to San Joaquín de Tuis was memorable for a number of reasons. First, we boarded what looked like an abandoned school bus brought out for Halloween. The mood was lightened, however, by the blaring radio, offering a play by play of the partido de fútbol contra México. Initially, as we traveled further and further from Turrialba, all green, untouched hills, I was overcome by a feeling of claustrophobia. I don’t know how to explain this other than that I felt like we were traveling deeper and deeper into nature and for a short while I found it difficult to breathe. I think this was a combination of the impending darkness, the loss of my bearings, and the absence of street lights. Anyway, when we woke up in San Joaquín de Tuís the next morning, I welcomed the fresh air, warm sunshine, and breathtaking view. We were anything but alone and lonely.

Sunday, we walked over an hour on what appeared to be an untouched trail to attend a rally against a proposed hydroelectric dam in Río Pacuares, which is known for its rapids and fresh, clean water. Following the rally, everyone was invited and encouraged to walk to the river to make our own dam! Old, young, extranjeros, indigenous, men, women- all splashing, swimming, jumping, laughing, chanting. Pura vida. Other highlights of the weekend included invitations to attend a meeting of the road committee in a neighboring town, a women’s group meeting, and a meeting of the local development association. I was extremely impressed with the women of San Joaquín de Tuis. They were well organized, supportive, respectful, creative, and motivated. Women brought homemade crafts including woven baskets, knit swimwear, and a piggy bank made from paper mache. Surely there were a few dominant voices; however, they made a conscious effort to solicit for the opinions and impressions of the other members. It was a beautiful thing to see them come together with so much energy and vision, uniting behind a common purpose and mission. I noticed that they had been craving the camaraderie.
Finally, after visiting the elementary school and high school, I was struck by the compassion and dedication of the teachers, administrators, volunteers, and cooks. The elementary school includes a classroom for seven kindergarteners and another for 17 2nd-6th graders. There is one World Teach volunteer who conducts all the English classes and the Director, who teaches the class of 17 in all other subject areas. The high school includes five classrooms and a dining room, where one woman lovingly prepares balanced meals for the 50+ students. Several students travel between one and two hours walking from the indigenous reservation to attend school in San Joaquín de Tuis every day.

While at first I felt overwhelmed at the thought of leaving my site for the weekend to travel solo to a new part of the country, I returned feeling excited and encouraged, eager to settle into my permanent site, begin building relationships, and assess strengths and weaknesses of my community and its organizations and institutions. When I first received my assignment of Rural Community Development, I envisioned myself living under a rock for two years. This is anything but the case with Anna, who is loved and respected in her community. She is often double booked, wanting to show her support for the represa, but fighting the desire to help a young cousin prepare for her English exam; eager to learn how to make chiverre, but committed to her dedicated English language learners.

I wouldn’t wish these days away for anything, so I am back to the here and now. Dad, I said “rabbit, rabbit” today, so I am looking forward to four weeks of good luck, savored moments, and lasting memories. While I returned from training today tired and full, I was excited to relay the events of my day to a host grandson and share with him the “magic” rocks I brought from the Colony Beach in Kennebunkport, Maine. Watching the Selección Nacional with my host parents and aunt, I look forward to the day when I can sing the himno nacional, let my teammate know where I am on the field using Spanish commands, and score a goal with a bicycle kick. In other words, I fully intend to be part tica when I return the States.

Pura vida? Pura vida.

Last weekend, Río Conejo had a festival to honor their patron saint, San José. Coincidentally, this was also our first weekend in Río Conejo. It started with “bombas” on Thursday night- (luckily I was not alone when these went off, or else I would have questioned whether or not Costa Rica was really a neutral country). Saturday night I asked my family to accompany me to the center of town just below us for karaoke, which is a favorite past time of just about everyone I have met since I arrived a week ago last Sunday. There were many families present, kids hanging out in groups on the bridge (Kennebunkers- envision the bridge rats), cars parked in the street, music, food, drinks- amazing energy! I saw lots of family too- cousins, aunts, and was introduced to friends of cousins, friends of aunts. One aunt sung a song that I am determined to learn so that I can sing karaoke during Semana Santa. (I practiced last night on our machine and have the refrain down perfectamente!) Yesterday, I went to mass with my mamá and other family and took the opportunity to socialize with community members. After, there was dancing, bake sales, chicharrones, and bingo. Qué dicha!

At the turno (fiesta de puebla), we met a couple who invited our class to come to their house to make bizcocho (tortilla con queso) and have cafecito one day this week. We went today and ended up spending the entire afternoon with them- we learned how to make tortillas, set off fireworks in the driveway, played the guitar, found the national flower of Costa Rica, ate the national flower of El Salvador straight from the tree, picked lemons, drank coffee, learned that girls are goats in tico speak, and listened to Don Checho tell jokes. My point in relaying this is that the people we have met just in the last week have been so friendly, open, honest, and generous. It is really a beautiful thing. Just another example- yesterday, my friends from Jerico came to Río Conejo to disfrutarse de los festivities. Unfortunately, since we did not know they were coming (this is not to be misunderstood as nostalgia for my cell phone), we were not there to greet them. My host mother however, quick to pick out the gatitos machitos (gatitos for blue eyes, machitos for fair skin), swooped them up, bought them arroz con leche, and invited them up to our house for empanadas and cafecito. Qué amable es mi mamá!

One more ejemplo de como amable es la gente tica- since my language class is so small, we are able to take mini field trips, whether to visit with a mamá of one of my classmates, or with the directora of the school, or the cooks at the soda (similar to a diner, but smaller), or the owner of the abastecedor (similar to a bodega in New York). This morning, we set off en parejas to visit two señoras to engage them in an informal interview about common illnesses and treatments. One of the questions we were instructed to ask translates to: what medical conditions do you have? While I posed the question as politely as possible, I still expected a slap across the face. Nope, instead, I learned about her high blood pressure and also that there is a service covered by social security that sends representatives door to door once or twice a year to check vital signs, give flu vaccines, and deliver medicines.

I have been laughing a lot since I arrived in Río Conejo. These events themselves would be enough to make me chuckle at home in the States but, when I tag on “in Costa Rica,” I lose it. Try these and see if you get where I’m coming from:
- I was sitting in the backseat of the school principal’s car eating chips with ketchup and mayonnaise… in Costa Rica.
- I bathed with a bucket of cold water and a cup in a shower… in Costa Rica. (This was a one time occurrence. No le preocupe.)
- I applied aloe vera, which I obtained from a plant, which I picked from a garden, which belongs to a couple, whom I met at a turno, which took place in my neighborhood… in Costa Rica.

Paso a paso, long live spiders!

My dad will appreciate the fact that after twenty three years, I am finally learning to live peacefully with spiders. At home, I would not turn out the light until I knew I could sleep safely without swallowing a spider, mosquito, or moth. Anyway, I figure that if I was able to quit my job, give up my apartment, say goodbye to my loved ones, and move in with a stranger in a foreign country, I can let a spider explore my new digs.

After working tirelessly to finish painting my room and the bathroom in anticipation of my arrival, my mamá moved onto the kitchen this afternoon. She chose a color that, when paired with the pink that will soon coat the outside of our house, will look like the green chunks in peppermint ice cream from Big Daddy’s in Wells, Maine (Mac and Mom’s favorite!) Painting was fun- I went across the street to get my compañera de clase, Ashley, and the three of us painted the back hallway that connects my room to the rest of the house. I had a pinch me moment stepping outside of myself for a second and observing the three of us painting together, making small talk in Spanish, and listening to the radio. Additionally, it was awesome to be painting outside at 9pm- not too hot, not too cold, just a light breeze.

Another pinch me moment from today- I came back from class today pretty tired after having spent seven hours in a dark, cool classroom learning about leadership, development, and how to organize a successful meeting. I stopped first at my host mother’s Bazar Yulian to say hello and to buy a carpeta. There I chatted with another granddaughter and daughter and explained that I would soon have to plan and give English classes and would love their input on the lesson plan. After, I sat down with another grandson and went through my pictures, explaining the presence of the huge boot in front of the LL Bean store and the oso grandísimo in front of FAO Schwarz. The door that separates the kitchen from the back porch and bathroom was open as usual and in ran my friend (and primo). My host mother was thrilled to see him again and invited him to come in for a cafecito. Why was it a pinch me moment? First, I am thrilled to have met such great PCV friends in such a short time. Also, I love that our door is always open to family and friends (as is the case with other hosts). For example, my class of six visited a classmate’s house uninvited yesterday to inquire about their family’s traditions around meals and cooking. The day before, we arrived as a class at my tía’s house after a long, hot walk and were greeted with a refresco.

One more thing, unrelated, to help you get in my zapatos- our sessions today, while they were long and dull at times, addressed themes that are of tremendous interest to me. We touched on teaching English as a Second Language, sustainability, and culture/gender roles. I kicked myself a bit afterward, remembering how exhausted, frustrated, and annoyed I felt in response to the somewhat disjointed discussions. The reality is that I am extremely fortunate to be here, not only because I am among friends, in a beautiful country, speaking Spanish, and serving in the Peace Corps, but because I have the opportunity to get hands on experience working in any number of fields. Qué dicha decimos los ticos.