Take Me To Church

Three times my alarm went off this morning. Not even in college did I ever have to wake up before 8am and now I have to be in the classroom by 6:30. About 15 minutes before class starts, I finally roll out of bed and stumble my way into the kitchen in search for coffee. Standing in front of the stove and cooking up a mean breakfast was my host mother Doris, who turns to me and lets out a laugh with a grin so big I couldn't help but cackle a little myself. In this moment, I must really be personifying the stereotype of American laziness.

I couldn't help but to be utterly confused over the fact that so much food was being prepared when both of us had to be standing in front of a class in less than 10 minutes. Doris handed me a plate and mug with that million dollar smile still plastered across her face. "Gracias por la comida," was the only thing I could think to say at that point as she joined me over at the dining table. Still chewing on my buttered bread with cheese, I just had to ask if she was at all concerned about being late. "¿No conoces chica?" I had officially experienced my first costeño moment of being utterly misinformed.

In Colombian culture, Thursdays are considered to be just as holy as Sundays. Doris filled me in on the whole scenario, starting with the fact that first and second period of classes would be canceled. Ignoring the lost reality that I could’ve slept longer this morning, I had a new hurdle to conquer. Apparently the teachers were to take the students to church during this time, something that I have not done in over 5 years.

"¡Vamos chica!" I followed closely behind Doris like a lost puppy. Not only had I not done this in what felt like forever, but now I had to go to a mass conducted in an entirely different language. Talk about double trouble. For lack of better words, Doris ditched me as soon as we got through the doors and found herself a seat close to the front. I sulked into the nearest pew I could find next to a group of 6th grade boys.

Absolutely everything was different from what I was used to. First of all, the organ was not a thing. There was a man in the far right front of the church jamming on the electric keyboard. Everyone started clapping their hands identical to the exaggerated heavy baseline. While there was still an element of seriousness to the mass, the level of character went far beyond the monotone version in the United States.

Although I am quite awkward when it comes to religious encounters, I found this experience to be an unforgettable one. I do not know if I will find myself in a situation like this again during my stay here in Barranquilla, but one thing I am getting accustomed to is the "take it easy" approach of the costeño.

The World Through His Eyes

Roving crowded streets in the hopes of finding recognition; astray with no chance of altering this reality. Humans sense the desperation he radiates but rarely show an effort to understand his grim world. Subconsciously, passerbyers are in sync with the thought that someone else will help, oblivious to its repetitiveness. He who wanders has heard it all before.

So much these eyes have seen. From the brightest hour to the darkest moment in the night, there is no existing reference of time and place. His voice is mute although there is so much to be said. Existing is his only motive, giving some level of purpose to the little opportunity of a better life. 

Insignificant to society, his most personal interactions tend to be shooing hands. He is cursed to witness many harsh realities of the city alongside the lost souls who straggle with him. The good, the bad, and the ugly. The center of his struggle also provides him the upmost safety. As danger lurks the rugged calles in the night, he fades into the shadows, unseen and protected.

If lucky he will come across a giving soul or scattered rubbish along the path he wanders. His perception finds treasure in someone else's waste. Nothing is taken for granted or goes unappreciated. The personality that is most deserving of the gift that keeps on giving, has little understanding of the concept.

Blended amongst the many others who roam the streets, he must keep moving in order to survive. He is lost but never found.

School is in Session

Classes are officially in session at IE Antonio José de Sucre, meaning that my role as an English teacher has begun as well. As I passed the security guard through the gates of school, I could already feel all eyes on me. Originally I was under the impression that my Italian features would make me blend in, but once I arrived it was obvious that "gringa" was stamped across my forehead. As I made it past the main corridor and into the hall, I was waved down by a man who will remain my mentor for the rest of the semester. Of course, the first words out of his mouth when spotting me were, "you must be our new fellow! It is so nice to finally meet you!" Once again it was proven that I stood out like a sore thumb.

As my mentor, I assumed Professor Polo was the only one expecting me other than the co-teachers I was meant to guide throughout the semester. This was not at all the case. When showing me around the school he went on about how all the students and teachers have been gossiping about my arrival for weeks. I was surprised to hear how everyone desired to meet the gringa from the United States. Only 10 minutes into my first day and I was officially nervous to start the classroom experience.

Teachers escorted me to each classroom to fulfill student's curiosity over my presence. I felt like a broken record when repeating my name, history, and reason for being in Colombia. In my introduction I had to deny a few date requests and justify my reasoning for being unavailable to eager 14-16 year old students. In each classroom, I could sense the underlying intentions behind the question of my age and whether or not I had a boyfriend back in the States.

The first teacher I worked with was the lovely Nayibe who might I add, exemplified the selflessness of Colombians. After a simple introduction she was already going out of her way to find me a better living situation for the rest of the year. To my surprise, she asked me to take over the lesson right at the beginning of my first classroom experience. With hesitation I agreed. One thing I have learned about Colombian culture is that using the word "no" is considered rude and rarely used. Lucky for me the lesson of the day was centered around the role of scouts in society. Being a girl scout for 14 years, I was more than prepared to guide students on the history of the movement and regular activities scouts carry out in an average setting. Clearly I did something right when entirely winging the lesson because before the end of class, students were already referring to me as their teacher and displaying a level of comfort that is usually gained over time.

It is crazy to think that I am the first interaction with an American that some of these students have ever had. There is no better feeling than watching their expressions when you partake in English small talk. Throughout their entire academic career they have been taught, "Good morning; how are you; I am fine, thank you." In being present in the classroom, I get to give them a real-life response to these basic questions. The cheesiest smiles in the world are shown when I reply, "I am great! How are you?" That in itself the true definition of priceless.

I can already tell that this experience is going to absolutely change my perspective on the things taken for granted back home in the United States.

One Down, 5 Months To Go

After a full day of travel and 3 hours of sleep, I can officially say I have conquered my first day in Colombia. If it wasn't for the tradition of breaking 5 times a day for coffee consumption, I am pretty sure my body would have failed me at some point today.

Anxious waves keep drowning my mentality with millions of questions. All of them center themselves around the idea of whether I am ready to stand my ground on my own in such a place. Today's 8 hours of orientation consisting of safety threats and evacuation protocols, definitely didn’t sit easy on my conscious after severe sleep deprivation. I almost want to laugh at the whole situation now that it is over. I could only imagine the likeliness of any of those circumstances actually happening during my teaching experience.

The next 7 days will consist of intensive orientation sessions with no breaks except for of course, coffee and if one so wishes, maybe a cup of tea. Even after one day I am seeing why this is such a tradition in the Colombian culture. Over several cups of hot coffee I found myself striking up conversations with fellow teachers from all over the world. I have been fascinated by each individual who possesses a unique journey that brought them to Colombia.

It baffles me that tomorrow I will be meeting the Executive Director of Heart for Change and the head of the Ministry of Education. When I first applied to this program I did not see my social service to be all that selfless. After much conversing with the locals I have encountered so far, I've learned that the program I have dedicated myself to for the next 5 months is of high importance to strengthening the Colombian education system.

Tonight I will rest easy not just because I never made it to REM last night, but because I have finally thrown myself into the gaming field. After 4 years of reading about corruption and philanthropy in the international arena, I am finally going to make a story instead of read one.