I have always heard that inversion poses in yoga are rejuvenating for both the body and the mind. However, it wasn’t until this evening at 11:42 p.m., in my bedroom on my yoga mat, doing my new bedtime yoga sequence, when the “importance of the turning the world upside down daily”, made sense. I would even venture to call it a downward dog epiphany of sorts, as that was exactly what I was doing. Eyes closed, taking long, deep breaths in downward dog. Remembering the words of the yoga instructor on a DVD a friend burned for me, I open my eyes and look up towards my navel, relaxing into the pose even more, expecting to see the wall behind me. Instead, my eyes bring into focus nine little upside down boxes, eight of which are occupied by small upside down black hearts, while the ninth box holds the upside down word Simplify.
I am momentarily confused, wondering if too much blood has rushed to by head, until I realize that I am, in fact, staring up at a tattered plastic bag that has been dutifully hanging from my doorknob, serving as a trash receptacle. And I feel suddenly sheepish for never having seen it before. Obviously, I must have handled this particular plastic bag on more than one occasion. I mean, I carried something home in it. It probably sat on the counter for a few days, then maybe spent some time in the small bin in the laundry room where we keep extra plastic bags. Then, at some point, I hung it on my doorknob. Most likely during a random and rare housecleaning spree a while back. This would mean that countless times a day over the course of last few months in my waking life, lost in the business of coming and going and coming and going, my awake mind had registered and catalogued this plastic bag as a merely functional object; one dimensional, bare, void of detail and uniqueness, nothing that might warrant a closer look. However, in my upside-down state, I was struck by the beauty of this plastic bag, hearts exposed, literally clinging to my doorknob with one handle, faithfully carrying out the function I had assigned to it. One handle is stretched almost to the point of breaking while the other handle hangs limp at its side, unable to relieve the stress.
Some might say that a plastic bag is an unlikely and impossible messenger for simplicity. Maybe even claim that it should be illegal to put hearts and feel good words on such inherently wasteful products, as it is yet another classic example of corporate America capitalizing on the piece of our consciousness that wants to proudly exclaims to the world, “Look at me! I am so into peace and love and simplicity. Look! I even have peace and love and simplicity on my plastic bags to prove it!” I continue to breath in downward dog, staring up at this upside down bag covered in upside down hearts. I am reminded of the short film, Plastic Bag, which explores the existential crisis of one particular plastic bag on its quest to find its maker. I begin to see that the upside down plastic bag kind of looks as if it in the middle of pulling a joyful, one-handed cartwheel. And it is saying to me, “Ok, so I am here to serve you for an eternity and I am willing to do so, of course, I mean, that is what I am built to do so. But let’s be honest, you don’t need me. You never needed me, or any of my brothers or sisters for that matter”.
I find myself nodding my head in an affirming way, still in downward dog. I suddenly think of the handmade cloth bag handing in my laundry room in the dark, that I brought all the way from Austin, Texas. My best friend Jen gave me at her first fair-trade sale at Café Mundi a few years back. It is ironically also covered in hearts, and has just been hanging out, waiting for me to open up my eyes. I wrap up the yoga mat and hop into bed. My right side up gaze falls again on the right side up heart covered Simplicity bearing plastic bag hanging from my doorknob. I almost want to say goodnight to it. I think I will. It has been an unlikely but very patient, effective messenger. In the end, it was I who had to change my perspective to be able to receive it.
Sometimes it is easy to me to convince myself that change is too difficult, too complicated, too hard, too risky, too time consuming. Sometimes it is easy for me to convince myself that there isn't a solution to a problem I am facing. In reality, surrendering to change is such a simple act, and it is always accessible to me. From any point on the globe, I can safely turn myself on my head and remain grounded. Some call it gravity, others call it God, but either way, it is built into the system. It is a force greater than myself, which allows me to gain a new perspective without having to fear that I might lose my balance and just float off in the process. In this sense, it is funny how hard I actually have to work at being ungrounded. In the scheme of things, even my finest efforts to thwart this force can at best be short lived. An integral part of my maintaining this sense of groundedness will be to cultivate a willingness to believe that teachers come in all forms, even the most unlikely or expected ones. If I am willing to believe this, then maybe over time and practice, I will begin to hear when hate softly beckoning me to love, fear encouraging me to open, apathy urging me to take action, and maybe I might just take them up on it.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Friday, August 6, 2010
Cuéntame Magic: Gifting the Recordings to the Kids
This is true story of an amazing afternoon that unfolded last Tuesday afternoon in San Jose, Costa Rica, in which we gifted the first round of recordings, books and Mp3 players to the Cuéntame pilot project participants.....
All the children are squirming restlessly in their seats, well aware of the fact that they were invited here because we have a present for them. They just have no idea what it could be, nor do they have no idea who I am, as I am not one of the psychologists they see when they come in for therapy at Seeds of Love. However, I feel like I already know each and every one of them. I have heard all about them for months, sitting next to their mothers in the Good Sheppard Prison, listening to the stories they tell me while we work on the recordings for their children through the Cuéntame Project. Most of the children that are here today now live with their grandmother. She is the one who brings them in for therapy and who has brought them here this afternoon to pick up the surprise. One glance at the group and the tears begin to well up. All of them, these children as much as the women in prison, look exactly like their mothers.
Some of the children were home when the police came to arrest their mom and took her to jail; others simply came home to find she was gone, and won’t be back for a long time. Some of the kids know where she is and have been able to go for a few visits, others no. Some of them are hoping that their mom might be released this year; others have another 15 years to wait. One thing rings true for all of them: They miss their mom. A lot.
Each woman in the prison receives four ten-minute blocks of phone time each day at predetermined hours. An example of a typical call schedule would be: 7:40 a.m., 10:50 a.m., 2:40 p.m., and 8:20 p.m., with ten minutes at each of these times to make and receive phone calls, period. Between school, other activities or the lack of a phone in the house where they are staying, it can be complicated to connect even once a day. Plus, as we all know from talking on the phone, ten minutes can go by really quickly, especially if there is more than one person to catch up with.
Jeannette, on of the psychologists and founders of Seeds of Love, introduces me as, “a good friend of ours, who also has spent a lot of time talking to your moms”, which sparks their curiosity. The shyness starts to melt away. I ask them, “What would you say if I told you that with the surprise that we have for you, you could hear your mom’s voice five times a day?” Eyes brighten and twenty-four little hands shoot up in the air, the room suddenly full of little voices screeching, “Me! Me! I want that! I really miss my mom”.
“What could this surprise be?” I ask them, “Something that you could use to listen your mom’s voice ten times a day if you want to?” Twelve little faces scrunch up, thinking. “A telephone?” one boy suggests, scratching his head. “Hmmm…it is not a phone,” I reply. “What else could it be?” We play the guessing game for a few more minutes and then pass out the presents. On the count of three, chaos unleashes, as they begin ripping off the wrapping paper, tearing the plastic off the books and taking Mp3 players and cords out of its packaging.
Now comes the difficult part: recapturing their attention so we can show them the real surprise, what is actually on the mp3 player. I have drawn up a little diagram of the mp3 player with instructions, and while Jeannette is explaining step by step how to connect the headphones and move from one track to the next, the other volunteers and I are walking around the room, helping them get set up.
Within a matter of seconds, the room is silent. They all have their headphones on, listening. Their faces light up when they realize it is their mom they are listening to. Over the past few months I have listened to the recordings so many times that I practically have each one memorized. Although the room is quiet, I feel like I am listening with them, as the words of their mother are running through my head.“Hello my love…do you know who this is? Yes, it’s your mom. I want to read a story with you, so that it the moments you feel sad or really miss me, we can be together…”
Pretty soon, the tears start flowing, as the brothers, sisters, and grandmothers all take turns listening to the recordings. No one is really paying attention to the books at this point. They just want to hear their mom’s voice, hear how much she loves them and misses them. I know it is not the recording that is making them cry. They are crying because they miss this person. One of the grandmothers has tears in her eyes and says softly to me, “Even I like to listen to it, hearing her voice. That's mydaughter, you know?”
After a while, we bring everyone sandwiches, juice boxes, and cookies, which lightens the mood. The children start running around and their grandmothers and other family members start getting ready to go. One of the little girls comes up to me and taps my leg, beckoning me down. I bend down on one knee, so we are eye to eye. She puts her arms around my neck and whispers in my ear, “I am going to listen to my mom every day in my room.” As everyone is leaving, one little boy stops suddenly, turns around and runs up to me. He is wearing the mp3 player around his neck and a very concerned look on his face. He leans in and says, “And you are sure that this is for me, to take home?” “It sure is.” I reply. “And I can really listen to it whenever I want?” he asks. I nod my head. He gives me a big smile, clutching the black bag dangling from his neck. “Don’t forget to call your mom and tell her thank you, alright?” I remind him. He nods furiously and runs out the door.
One of the grandmothers comes up to me and says, “I just want to say that the work that you all are doing, with the Cúentame project and at Seeds of Love, well, it means a lot to me. To us. There is so much about the prison system that people don’t see or think about…like what it is like to have someone you love on the inside, what happens to your family. Society forgets about them and it forgets about us too. So thank you, for helping us, you know, not feel so forgotten.” I hug her for a long time.
As I am riding the bus home, my head resting against the window, tears rolling down my cheeks. I don't know if they are happy tears or sad tears. It feels like a little bit of both and a million other feelings at the same time. I’m thinking about the hours that we worked on the project, all of the people that sent money to make it possible, that donated recording equipment, the friends that donated their time to edit the files, all that has happened up until this point so that tonight, maybe for the first time since their mom went to prison, their mom’s voice might be the last thing these kids hear before falling asleep. I know that this project won’t magically make their lives any easier. All of them – the children, the women, their families - their lives are complicated, and will continue to be so. However, I do hope that maybe for today, their lives will feel a little less so. Even that is enough for me to know that it was all worth the effort, and that we should do it again.
You can find more information about the Cuéntame Project and even donate online on our beautiful new website that is up and running in English and will be up and running in Spanish shortly at www.cuentamecostarica.com.
All the children are squirming restlessly in their seats, well aware of the fact that they were invited here because we have a present for them. They just have no idea what it could be, nor do they have no idea who I am, as I am not one of the psychologists they see when they come in for therapy at Seeds of Love. However, I feel like I already know each and every one of them. I have heard all about them for months, sitting next to their mothers in the Good Sheppard Prison, listening to the stories they tell me while we work on the recordings for their children through the Cuéntame Project. Most of the children that are here today now live with their grandmother. She is the one who brings them in for therapy and who has brought them here this afternoon to pick up the surprise. One glance at the group and the tears begin to well up. All of them, these children as much as the women in prison, look exactly like their mothers.
Some of the children were home when the police came to arrest their mom and took her to jail; others simply came home to find she was gone, and won’t be back for a long time. Some of the kids know where she is and have been able to go for a few visits, others no. Some of them are hoping that their mom might be released this year; others have another 15 years to wait. One thing rings true for all of them: They miss their mom. A lot.
Each woman in the prison receives four ten-minute blocks of phone time each day at predetermined hours. An example of a typical call schedule would be: 7:40 a.m., 10:50 a.m., 2:40 p.m., and 8:20 p.m., with ten minutes at each of these times to make and receive phone calls, period. Between school, other activities or the lack of a phone in the house where they are staying, it can be complicated to connect even once a day. Plus, as we all know from talking on the phone, ten minutes can go by really quickly, especially if there is more than one person to catch up with.
Jeannette, on of the psychologists and founders of Seeds of Love, introduces me as, “a good friend of ours, who also has spent a lot of time talking to your moms”, which sparks their curiosity. The shyness starts to melt away. I ask them, “What would you say if I told you that with the surprise that we have for you, you could hear your mom’s voice five times a day?” Eyes brighten and twenty-four little hands shoot up in the air, the room suddenly full of little voices screeching, “Me! Me! I want that! I really miss my mom”.
“What could this surprise be?” I ask them, “Something that you could use to listen your mom’s voice ten times a day if you want to?” Twelve little faces scrunch up, thinking. “A telephone?” one boy suggests, scratching his head. “Hmmm…it is not a phone,” I reply. “What else could it be?” We play the guessing game for a few more minutes and then pass out the presents. On the count of three, chaos unleashes, as they begin ripping off the wrapping paper, tearing the plastic off the books and taking Mp3 players and cords out of its packaging.
Now comes the difficult part: recapturing their attention so we can show them the real surprise, what is actually on the mp3 player. I have drawn up a little diagram of the mp3 player with instructions, and while Jeannette is explaining step by step how to connect the headphones and move from one track to the next, the other volunteers and I are walking around the room, helping them get set up.
Within a matter of seconds, the room is silent. They all have their headphones on, listening. Their faces light up when they realize it is their mom they are listening to. Over the past few months I have listened to the recordings so many times that I practically have each one memorized. Although the room is quiet, I feel like I am listening with them, as the words of their mother are running through my head.“Hello my love…do you know who this is? Yes, it’s your mom. I want to read a story with you, so that it the moments you feel sad or really miss me, we can be together…”
Pretty soon, the tears start flowing, as the brothers, sisters, and grandmothers all take turns listening to the recordings. No one is really paying attention to the books at this point. They just want to hear their mom’s voice, hear how much she loves them and misses them. I know it is not the recording that is making them cry. They are crying because they miss this person. One of the grandmothers has tears in her eyes and says softly to me, “Even I like to listen to it, hearing her voice. That's mydaughter, you know?”
After a while, we bring everyone sandwiches, juice boxes, and cookies, which lightens the mood. The children start running around and their grandmothers and other family members start getting ready to go. One of the little girls comes up to me and taps my leg, beckoning me down. I bend down on one knee, so we are eye to eye. She puts her arms around my neck and whispers in my ear, “I am going to listen to my mom every day in my room.” As everyone is leaving, one little boy stops suddenly, turns around and runs up to me. He is wearing the mp3 player around his neck and a very concerned look on his face. He leans in and says, “And you are sure that this is for me, to take home?” “It sure is.” I reply. “And I can really listen to it whenever I want?” he asks. I nod my head. He gives me a big smile, clutching the black bag dangling from his neck. “Don’t forget to call your mom and tell her thank you, alright?” I remind him. He nods furiously and runs out the door.
One of the grandmothers comes up to me and says, “I just want to say that the work that you all are doing, with the Cúentame project and at Seeds of Love, well, it means a lot to me. To us. There is so much about the prison system that people don’t see or think about…like what it is like to have someone you love on the inside, what happens to your family. Society forgets about them and it forgets about us too. So thank you, for helping us, you know, not feel so forgotten.” I hug her for a long time.
As I am riding the bus home, my head resting against the window, tears rolling down my cheeks. I don't know if they are happy tears or sad tears. It feels like a little bit of both and a million other feelings at the same time. I’m thinking about the hours that we worked on the project, all of the people that sent money to make it possible, that donated recording equipment, the friends that donated their time to edit the files, all that has happened up until this point so that tonight, maybe for the first time since their mom went to prison, their mom’s voice might be the last thing these kids hear before falling asleep. I know that this project won’t magically make their lives any easier. All of them – the children, the women, their families - their lives are complicated, and will continue to be so. However, I do hope that maybe for today, their lives will feel a little less so. Even that is enough for me to know that it was all worth the effort, and that we should do it again.
You can find more information about the Cuéntame Project and even donate online on our beautiful new website that is up and running in English and will be up and running in Spanish shortly at www.cuentamecostarica.com.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Some doors just take time to open: Crossing the one year mark as a Rotary Ambassadorial Scholar
It is hard to explain how month fourteen could be so different from month eleven, but all I can say is that it was, on every level I can imagine. Time transforms, patiently weaving novelty into routine, awkwardness into comfort, turning a foreign place into home. My first year in Costa Rica as an Ambassadorial Scholar came and went, crept and flew by simultaneously. However, crossing the one-year mark and I was suddenly conscious of time. It has been a year! I can’t believe it has been a year! What! When? How? And then the one year accumulation of moment-by-moment learning experiences hit me, as if all of my every day's bundled together into a giant ball and handed itself over for reflection. I been here a year! I have learned so much, have changed so much, and have had so many incredible interactions. The one-year mark reflection has enabled me to see and feel a new dynamic in my experience as a Rotary Scholar. It is like watching a movie for a second or third time; you begin to notice a series of details that you completely missed the first time around. This is what I mean when I say that some doors simply take time to open. It takes time to find them; it takes time to learn how to knock. After nine or ten months, I admit that I was beginning to think that I had seen what there was to see, that I more or less had the country and the culture figured out. And then boom...Costa Rica bumped it up a level, and it was all new again. I realized that while I knew a lot about certain things, I knew nothing about so many others. However, the good news is that this past year had given me a whole new set of skills to go exploring.
One such door that has been slow to open has been that of the women’s prison, El Buen Pastor. I initially applied for entry into the prison to carry out my pilot project Cuéntame! (modeled after the Texas Storybook Project) in September, with the hopes of gifting the books and recordings of the women reading these stories to their children as Christmas presents. However, a series of bureaucratic speed bumps led to an almost seven month delay in the approval process. It deserves mention that the only reason that I eventually got permission to set foot inside El Buen Pastor was due to the fact that I partnered with Seeds of Love, a small non-profit organization that offers psychological services to children of incarcerated parents and their caregivers, which already had permission to enter and recruit new participants. It also deserves mention that the only reason that I knew about them was the fact that I happened to share my idea with my friend who works in the technology industry, exactly one day after Seeds of Love had come to his work to give a presentation. The lesson here is that if you have a good idea (that doesn’t require a patent) and no idea how to make it happen, just start mentioning to everyone you know and meet and eventually someone will have a cousin who can put you in contact with a friend they went to high school with, and before you know it, the ball is rolling. It is a small country.
While waiting for the Cuéntame! project paperwork to be approved by the Ministry of Justice, I spent a few months pouring over the literature and case studies about the growing number of women behind bars all over the world. In general, incarcerated women have a very distinct profile, one that is very different from their male counterparts. The motivating factors that led to their criminal behavior, the types of crimes woman commit and against whom, and their rates of recidivism, are very marked by gender. A large majority of women are in prison for drug related crime (trafficking of small quantities of drugs), have a long history of sexual and physical abuse from romantic partners or family members, and have a history of substance abuse (often as a way to cope with the other forms of abuse), and have little education and/or work experience. Additionally, on average women receive harsher sentences than men, even when they commit the same crime. The specificity of feminine incarceration means that this population has very unique needs and obstacles to overcome upon release, and data shows that women go back to prison at alarmingly high rates. Although this trend is a global one, it is even more exaggerated in Latin America, and Costa Rica is no exception. However, It is one thing to read statistics; it is quite another to be sitting on the other side of the visitation cell, listening to a woman´s life story through a metal grate. The first phase of the Cuéntame! Project was the initial interviews, to get to know the women and understand more about their current relationships and communication with their children. 9 of the 11 women that I interviewed are serving 5 – 8 year sentences for minor drug trafficking. Although it was not the focus of the conversation, I found it interesting that all of them mentioned at one point or another in our interactions some sort of abuse, ranging from incest to emotional abuse to regular beatings and/or death threats from abusive partners. I am not excusing their criminal behavior or activities based on these factors. However, I do think it is extremely important and relevant to explore the relationship between domestic violence/ sexual abuse and criminal behavior.
Additionally, the interviews have been very emotional, as I only say the word children and the tears start to well up. All of them say that being separated from their children is without a doubt the hardest part about being in prison. Each person receives 4 ten-minute phone calls a day, but ten minutes is hardly enough time to have a deep, meaningful conversation. The conversation is often a check-up: how was school, are you eating, did you do your homework, are you behaving, etc. They tell me it is hard to deal with the stress of prison life and often times they feel depressed, but they try their best to not cry or be emotional during the phone calls or visits, because it makes their children cry. It is especially complicated in the wake of difficult questions such as, “When are you coming home?” or “Why can’t you come home?” I had one mother ask me, partly in a rhetorical tone and partly seeking an answer, ¨“How do I explain to my child that I killed someone, that I took a life?” I did not have the slightest idea what to say. While the women are adamant about not wanting to ever come back to prison, about wanting to make up for lost time with their families and start fresh, it is evident in the shake of their voice or the wringing of their hands that they are not quite sure about how to do so. Given their personal histories, and knowing that in Costa Rica social reintegration programs are completely non-existent, it makes it all the more disheartening when they express their fears and concerns about release.
After the emotional heaviness of the first phase of the project, Phase II was a nice relief, full of laughter and loving kindness. The recordings required a great deal of creativity, as the lack of security and quiet space inside the prison meant that we were trying to record in the midst of absolute chaos, smack dab in the middle of the modules (that house about 100 women each). The women were also a little nervous about being recorded while reading into a microphone, so I photocopied the books so they could spend the weekend practicing. Each woman also prepared a short letter to read before and after the story to each child, which took a little guidance at first, but they all turned out to be incredibly beautiful. In order to drown out the background noise, a friend of mine suggested that I construct something out of cardboard box to create a barrier. In theory, it was a good idea, although the reality of trying to convince someone to read a book with a cardboard box over her head while holding a microphone is not as easy as it sounds. However, I must say that the utter ridiculousness of the box, in that the first couple attempts to record were often impossible due to fits of laughter, served to relax the woman, and they seemed to forget about the microphone. It always a precious experience to sit and laugh with another human being, and even more joyous to hear laughter echoing throughout the module. Luckily (for the sake of the recording quality) on day three, I managed to get my hands on a more high-tech unidirectional microphone, making the cardboard box obsolete, as we no longer had to worry about the noise. With each recording, I am more and more excited to gift the books and the Mp3 player with the files to the children. The next step in this process will be to edit the files, which is a tedious task that I am not quite sure how to do, but have begun asking everyone that I know, and so the ball continues to roll.
It is an unparalleled opportunity to see a side of Costa Rica that even most Costa Ricans never see. None of the women in my graduate program have ever set foot in the prison, and so it opens up a new dynamic between us, for me to be explaining to them what it is like. In Spanish, conoce means that you know, or that you understand. Here is Costa Rica, the hipster crowd uses a new term, conoche, and it means that you get it, that you really know what is going on. I was sharing my experience with a colleague over coffee, and she just starting smiling and told me, ya conoches Sarah, ya conoches. It was a nice compliment. Often times it is impossible at the beginning of a process to even fathom just how much it can change you or your trajectory. The line between insider and outsider, foreigner and native, Amercian and Costa Rican, is not as obvious as it was a year ago. While I am content with the progress of the Cuéntame, my conversations with the women have opened my eyes to another real need for reentry programs and initiatives in the prison and the community. I am taking advantage of the fact that my foot is in the door, and am currently in the process of requesting permission to begin a participatory research group to develop a series of classes and support groups that deal specifically with reentry. I am grateful to have another year to pursue this goal. This door would not be opening without the opportunity of being multi-year scholar. Instead of preparing to wrap up and go home, I am still diving into Costa Rica. I only have one year left, and time, as always, is of the essence.
One such door that has been slow to open has been that of the women’s prison, El Buen Pastor. I initially applied for entry into the prison to carry out my pilot project Cuéntame! (modeled after the Texas Storybook Project) in September, with the hopes of gifting the books and recordings of the women reading these stories to their children as Christmas presents. However, a series of bureaucratic speed bumps led to an almost seven month delay in the approval process. It deserves mention that the only reason that I eventually got permission to set foot inside El Buen Pastor was due to the fact that I partnered with Seeds of Love, a small non-profit organization that offers psychological services to children of incarcerated parents and their caregivers, which already had permission to enter and recruit new participants. It also deserves mention that the only reason that I knew about them was the fact that I happened to share my idea with my friend who works in the technology industry, exactly one day after Seeds of Love had come to his work to give a presentation. The lesson here is that if you have a good idea (that doesn’t require a patent) and no idea how to make it happen, just start mentioning to everyone you know and meet and eventually someone will have a cousin who can put you in contact with a friend they went to high school with, and before you know it, the ball is rolling. It is a small country.
While waiting for the Cuéntame! project paperwork to be approved by the Ministry of Justice, I spent a few months pouring over the literature and case studies about the growing number of women behind bars all over the world. In general, incarcerated women have a very distinct profile, one that is very different from their male counterparts. The motivating factors that led to their criminal behavior, the types of crimes woman commit and against whom, and their rates of recidivism, are very marked by gender. A large majority of women are in prison for drug related crime (trafficking of small quantities of drugs), have a long history of sexual and physical abuse from romantic partners or family members, and have a history of substance abuse (often as a way to cope with the other forms of abuse), and have little education and/or work experience. Additionally, on average women receive harsher sentences than men, even when they commit the same crime. The specificity of feminine incarceration means that this population has very unique needs and obstacles to overcome upon release, and data shows that women go back to prison at alarmingly high rates. Although this trend is a global one, it is even more exaggerated in Latin America, and Costa Rica is no exception. However, It is one thing to read statistics; it is quite another to be sitting on the other side of the visitation cell, listening to a woman´s life story through a metal grate. The first phase of the Cuéntame! Project was the initial interviews, to get to know the women and understand more about their current relationships and communication with their children. 9 of the 11 women that I interviewed are serving 5 – 8 year sentences for minor drug trafficking. Although it was not the focus of the conversation, I found it interesting that all of them mentioned at one point or another in our interactions some sort of abuse, ranging from incest to emotional abuse to regular beatings and/or death threats from abusive partners. I am not excusing their criminal behavior or activities based on these factors. However, I do think it is extremely important and relevant to explore the relationship between domestic violence/ sexual abuse and criminal behavior.
Additionally, the interviews have been very emotional, as I only say the word children and the tears start to well up. All of them say that being separated from their children is without a doubt the hardest part about being in prison. Each person receives 4 ten-minute phone calls a day, but ten minutes is hardly enough time to have a deep, meaningful conversation. The conversation is often a check-up: how was school, are you eating, did you do your homework, are you behaving, etc. They tell me it is hard to deal with the stress of prison life and often times they feel depressed, but they try their best to not cry or be emotional during the phone calls or visits, because it makes their children cry. It is especially complicated in the wake of difficult questions such as, “When are you coming home?” or “Why can’t you come home?” I had one mother ask me, partly in a rhetorical tone and partly seeking an answer, ¨“How do I explain to my child that I killed someone, that I took a life?” I did not have the slightest idea what to say. While the women are adamant about not wanting to ever come back to prison, about wanting to make up for lost time with their families and start fresh, it is evident in the shake of their voice or the wringing of their hands that they are not quite sure about how to do so. Given their personal histories, and knowing that in Costa Rica social reintegration programs are completely non-existent, it makes it all the more disheartening when they express their fears and concerns about release.
After the emotional heaviness of the first phase of the project, Phase II was a nice relief, full of laughter and loving kindness. The recordings required a great deal of creativity, as the lack of security and quiet space inside the prison meant that we were trying to record in the midst of absolute chaos, smack dab in the middle of the modules (that house about 100 women each). The women were also a little nervous about being recorded while reading into a microphone, so I photocopied the books so they could spend the weekend practicing. Each woman also prepared a short letter to read before and after the story to each child, which took a little guidance at first, but they all turned out to be incredibly beautiful. In order to drown out the background noise, a friend of mine suggested that I construct something out of cardboard box to create a barrier. In theory, it was a good idea, although the reality of trying to convince someone to read a book with a cardboard box over her head while holding a microphone is not as easy as it sounds. However, I must say that the utter ridiculousness of the box, in that the first couple attempts to record were often impossible due to fits of laughter, served to relax the woman, and they seemed to forget about the microphone. It always a precious experience to sit and laugh with another human being, and even more joyous to hear laughter echoing throughout the module. Luckily (for the sake of the recording quality) on day three, I managed to get my hands on a more high-tech unidirectional microphone, making the cardboard box obsolete, as we no longer had to worry about the noise. With each recording, I am more and more excited to gift the books and the Mp3 player with the files to the children. The next step in this process will be to edit the files, which is a tedious task that I am not quite sure how to do, but have begun asking everyone that I know, and so the ball continues to roll.
It is an unparalleled opportunity to see a side of Costa Rica that even most Costa Ricans never see. None of the women in my graduate program have ever set foot in the prison, and so it opens up a new dynamic between us, for me to be explaining to them what it is like. In Spanish, conoce means that you know, or that you understand. Here is Costa Rica, the hipster crowd uses a new term, conoche, and it means that you get it, that you really know what is going on. I was sharing my experience with a colleague over coffee, and she just starting smiling and told me, ya conoches Sarah, ya conoches. It was a nice compliment. Often times it is impossible at the beginning of a process to even fathom just how much it can change you or your trajectory. The line between insider and outsider, foreigner and native, Amercian and Costa Rican, is not as obvious as it was a year ago. While I am content with the progress of the Cuéntame, my conversations with the women have opened my eyes to another real need for reentry programs and initiatives in the prison and the community. I am taking advantage of the fact that my foot is in the door, and am currently in the process of requesting permission to begin a participatory research group to develop a series of classes and support groups that deal specifically with reentry. I am grateful to have another year to pursue this goal. This door would not be opening without the opportunity of being multi-year scholar. Instead of preparing to wrap up and go home, I am still diving into Costa Rica. I only have one year left, and time, as always, is of the essence.
Monday, October 19, 2009
!Cuéntame! Prison Project in Costa Rica
Dear family and friends,
As you know, I have been studying in Costa Rica as Rotary Ambassadorial Scholar for the last year. This coming Christmas will mark the halfway point in my Masters’ program in Family Violence and Gender Studies at the University of Costa Rica in San Jose. The program has been challenging, partly because of the language barrier but also because of the content. Each and every day brings with it a new lesson on appreciation – for family support, friends, social networks, social services, security, possibilities of self-growth, and of course, technology! It is incredible how technology can transform distance, as it has allowed me to continually share my experiences with you all and keep up on what is happening in your lives as well.
I like to invite your support for a pilot project I have proposed to the women’s prison here in San Jose. It is grounded in that same concept, a simple use of technology to overcome distance, facilitate meaningful communication, and maintain family ties.
When a mother, especially a single mother, is incarcerated, the psychological effects of the separation can be devastating for the entire family. Incarceration is more than geographical separation; it is a multi-dimensional distance, one that is difficult to bear. Studies have shown that family separation tends to affect incarcerated women to a much greater degree than their male counterparts, with the majority of incarcerated mothers expressing extremely high levels of stress over the mental health and educational progress of their children, who are often staying with family members, neighbors, or in the care of the state. This sense of anxiety and isolation is exacerbated by the fact that women in prison in Latin America receive significantly fewer visits from family members than men, due to limited family resources and an overall lack of willingness of male family members (spouses, brothers, fathers) to bring the children for regular visits.
One activity in particular that suffers when a parent is incarcerated is the opportunity for their children to be read to daily. Reading storybooks aloud with children is not only an invaluable bonding activity between parent and child, but plays a fundamental role in their acquisition of language, literacy skills, and overall future academic success. Children with incarcerated parents are a particularly vulnerable and at-risk group, as the emotional effects of the separation tend to negatively affect their personal and social development.
The creative use of technology can help to simultaneously reduce the anxiety of both parent and child during the time of incarceration. The “¡Cuéntame!” Storybook prison project seeks to provide children with incarcerated mothers the opportunity to continue reading “with” their mother, in the form recordings. The project model is simple: make a video or CD recording of the mother reading a storybook and then gift the recording and a copy of the book to each child in the family. The cost is minimal, but the positive emotional and psychological impacts of the project in the lives of the participants are extraordinary.
Testimonies from participants in similar programs in Texas and throughout the United States show that these types of activities have an extremely positive social impact, both inside and outside the prison. Participants affirm that simply hearing the voice of their loved one is extremely therapeutic. In addition to promoting literacy, the recordings enable the children to have access to their mother’s voice anytime they desire, instead of being limited to sporadic prison visits. The recordings often include personal messages before and after the story, providing the mother with a platform to express her love to her children. The long-term goal of the project is to ensure that each child receives a new storybook and recording every three months.
There is an overwhelming need for creative, low-cost mental health services for incarcerated individuals and their families, especially in regions such as Central America. The goal is to eventually extend the service to all prisons in Costa Rica, with possibilities of emulating the project throughout Central America. Our pilot project will provide 15 families (single mothers currently incarcerated in the women’s prison el Buen Pastor with children between the ages of 4 and 8) with recordings, storybooks, and audio equipment as a Christmas gift.
To make this project possible, I need to raise $1,500 dollars before December 15, 2009. Each child will receive a 1) copy of a storybook (written, illustrated, and published here in Costa Rica), 2) a CD or DVD of their mother reading the story, and 3) a small CD player*. Project costs include: transportation to and from prison, transportation for at least three visits to each family’s residence, purchasing of reading materials, blank CD’s, and CD players.
I have a meeting with the prison administration on the 28th of October to officially present this proposal. It will be very powerful to show up for this meeting with pledges for the entire amount!
You can make a pledge several ways:
1. Email: cut and paste the pledge form below into an email and send to
rarick.sarah@gmail.com
2. Facebook: cut and paste the pledge form into a personal message/friend request for Sarah Rarick
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Pledge form - !Cuéntame! Prison Project
I, ___________________________________ , pledge $ _______._____ to the !Cuéntame! Pilot Prison Project.
Email: _______________________________________
Phone number: (______) _______ - ___________
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Please know that all contributions you make will positively impact the possibilities for this pilot program becoming an established program in the Costa Rican prison system. Thank you for taking the time to read this letter and for being a part of my life!
Sincerely,
Sarah Rarick
Rotary Ambassadorial Scholar
rarick.sarah@gmail.com
www.sarahrarick.blogspot.com
As you know, I have been studying in Costa Rica as Rotary Ambassadorial Scholar for the last year. This coming Christmas will mark the halfway point in my Masters’ program in Family Violence and Gender Studies at the University of Costa Rica in San Jose. The program has been challenging, partly because of the language barrier but also because of the content. Each and every day brings with it a new lesson on appreciation – for family support, friends, social networks, social services, security, possibilities of self-growth, and of course, technology! It is incredible how technology can transform distance, as it has allowed me to continually share my experiences with you all and keep up on what is happening in your lives as well.
I like to invite your support for a pilot project I have proposed to the women’s prison here in San Jose. It is grounded in that same concept, a simple use of technology to overcome distance, facilitate meaningful communication, and maintain family ties.
When a mother, especially a single mother, is incarcerated, the psychological effects of the separation can be devastating for the entire family. Incarceration is more than geographical separation; it is a multi-dimensional distance, one that is difficult to bear. Studies have shown that family separation tends to affect incarcerated women to a much greater degree than their male counterparts, with the majority of incarcerated mothers expressing extremely high levels of stress over the mental health and educational progress of their children, who are often staying with family members, neighbors, or in the care of the state. This sense of anxiety and isolation is exacerbated by the fact that women in prison in Latin America receive significantly fewer visits from family members than men, due to limited family resources and an overall lack of willingness of male family members (spouses, brothers, fathers) to bring the children for regular visits.
One activity in particular that suffers when a parent is incarcerated is the opportunity for their children to be read to daily. Reading storybooks aloud with children is not only an invaluable bonding activity between parent and child, but plays a fundamental role in their acquisition of language, literacy skills, and overall future academic success. Children with incarcerated parents are a particularly vulnerable and at-risk group, as the emotional effects of the separation tend to negatively affect their personal and social development.
The creative use of technology can help to simultaneously reduce the anxiety of both parent and child during the time of incarceration. The “¡Cuéntame!” Storybook prison project seeks to provide children with incarcerated mothers the opportunity to continue reading “with” their mother, in the form recordings. The project model is simple: make a video or CD recording of the mother reading a storybook and then gift the recording and a copy of the book to each child in the family. The cost is minimal, but the positive emotional and psychological impacts of the project in the lives of the participants are extraordinary.
Testimonies from participants in similar programs in Texas and throughout the United States show that these types of activities have an extremely positive social impact, both inside and outside the prison. Participants affirm that simply hearing the voice of their loved one is extremely therapeutic. In addition to promoting literacy, the recordings enable the children to have access to their mother’s voice anytime they desire, instead of being limited to sporadic prison visits. The recordings often include personal messages before and after the story, providing the mother with a platform to express her love to her children. The long-term goal of the project is to ensure that each child receives a new storybook and recording every three months.
There is an overwhelming need for creative, low-cost mental health services for incarcerated individuals and their families, especially in regions such as Central America. The goal is to eventually extend the service to all prisons in Costa Rica, with possibilities of emulating the project throughout Central America. Our pilot project will provide 15 families (single mothers currently incarcerated in the women’s prison el Buen Pastor with children between the ages of 4 and 8) with recordings, storybooks, and audio equipment as a Christmas gift.
To make this project possible, I need to raise $1,500 dollars before December 15, 2009. Each child will receive a 1) copy of a storybook (written, illustrated, and published here in Costa Rica), 2) a CD or DVD of their mother reading the story, and 3) a small CD player*. Project costs include: transportation to and from prison, transportation for at least three visits to each family’s residence, purchasing of reading materials, blank CD’s, and CD players.
I have a meeting with the prison administration on the 28th of October to officially present this proposal. It will be very powerful to show up for this meeting with pledges for the entire amount!
You can make a pledge several ways:
1. Email: cut and paste the pledge form below into an email and send to
rarick.sarah@gmail.com
2. Facebook: cut and paste the pledge form into a personal message/friend request for Sarah Rarick
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Pledge form - !Cuéntame! Prison Project
I, ___________________________________ , pledge $ _______._____ to the !Cuéntame! Pilot Prison Project.
Email: _______________________________________
Phone number: (______) _______ - ___________
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Please know that all contributions you make will positively impact the possibilities for this pilot program becoming an established program in the Costa Rican prison system. Thank you for taking the time to read this letter and for being a part of my life!
Sincerely,
Sarah Rarick
Rotary Ambassadorial Scholar
rarick.sarah@gmail.com
www.sarahrarick.blogspot.com
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Thursday, August 6, 2009
That'll be the day...
Ever since I abandoned my mission to appear more latina (i.e. gave up on trying to have black hair and am back to the blond), people seem to take great joy in addressing me as (or yelling at me from passing cars) - "Macha". I figured it had something to do with being a gringa, but never really bothered to investigate, as there are quite a few comments that I receive in the streets that I am fairly sure I am better off not knowing the meaning of. Last week someone explained to me that Macha means "blond". I originally thought that maybe the word was taken from a similar one: Mancha, which means a spot or a stain, because my hair is quite a few shades of blond at the moment. However, this morning, a fellow meditator Felix corrected my faulty thinking by explaining the historical root of the word. When American films first started being shown in Costa Rica, many of them were action films starring John Wayne. As the character John Wayne is obviously soooooo macho in all of his roles (and happens to have lighter hair), the slang term for blond then became macho, which in it's feminine form would be macha, which would be me. La Macha. I am not quite sure which association is worse - blond like John Wayne or blond like Paris Hilton..
Thursday, July 23, 2009
knock knock!! Door-to-door in Costa Rica
Once I left my position with the sales company and began working in social services, I was certain that my days of going door-to-door were offcially over. However, life is always full of surprises! I wanted to share two short stories with you all.
As a Texan, the reality of a rainy season (where the downpours are quite possibly the only punctual happenings here in Costa Rica) are slightly hard to grasp. My response to the rainy season was to purchase an accordion. Seemed logical to me - finding a nice, indoor activity to pass the upcoming wet months. Once I had the accordion, however, I didn't have any idea how to play it! I needed a teacher. I began asking everyone that I came across and found that necessity of an accordion teacher is actually an excellent conversation starter. One of my English students mentioned that roughly 17 years ago, a teacher in his school played accordion and that he was fairly certain that this Señor still lived in Heredia (where I live). He didn't have any contact information but drew me a little map that would get me in the general vicinity of his house, telling me that "from there, I would just have to start asking for Franco".
That following Saturday when the rain clouds cleared, I decided to take advantage of the clear skies to begin my search for the accordion guru. I followed the map as far as I could and then began knocking on doors, asking little old ladies sitting on their front porches, people outside working on cars, etc. "Oh yes yes Franco! Ah yes turn left and go 50 meters and then turn right and go 100 meters...". Eventually I found myself in front of hopefully the right house, and I rang the bell. A woman came to the door, looking me up and down rather tentatively and I say through the bars and barbed wire, "Hello. I am looking for Señor Franco. I heard that he plays Accordion and I am actually looking for a teacher.." She gave me a funny look and asked me to hold on for one second while she went inside. She comes back about five minutes later, opens the gate, and guides me to the living room. Here I meet Franco, a small, smiley, gentle, white-haired man, who is already laughing at the fact that a gringa (a north american) has appeared on his doorstep asking for accordion lessons. He proceeds to take out his accordion and play/sing traditional songs, telling me stories about musicians and the music scene inbetween. Although he doesn't teach anymore, he gave me the contact information of his niece who lives close by and is in fact n official teacher (with whom I had my first lesson yesterday). However, he assured me that as soon as I learn the basics that I can come anytime to the house and we will jam out on our accordions. After a few hours I left the house and began to stroll back to my apartment. The rain clouds began to fill the sky once more, as if they had only opened up only long enough to provide me with this magical experience. By the time I reached the apartment, it was raining once more. I smiled to myself, thinking that we receive so many windows of opportunity in this life, as long as we are willing to see them for what they are and head out into the unknown.
This same week, I happened to meet a guy from New York who is also studying a Master's degree here in Costa Rica. He has been here for over 3 years and is working on his thesis. During our coffee break, he was explaining his project to me and lamenting the fact that he is having trouble recruiting people to help him do his surveys in two rural Costa Rican communities. I got very excited and exclaimed, "I love going door-to-door! I'll do it! How do I sign up??". He seems slightly surprised at my enthusiasm, but as I quickly explained, the opportunity to go to two beautiful communities in the mountains and spend a half hour an hour talking to families about conservation and the like to me sounds like an incredibly enriching and unique experience! (not to mention the fact that he willl be covering all the expenses!) I can hardly wait and I am sure that when I return I will have many more stories to share, as one never knows what is behind the next door..
As a Texan, the reality of a rainy season (where the downpours are quite possibly the only punctual happenings here in Costa Rica) are slightly hard to grasp. My response to the rainy season was to purchase an accordion. Seemed logical to me - finding a nice, indoor activity to pass the upcoming wet months. Once I had the accordion, however, I didn't have any idea how to play it! I needed a teacher. I began asking everyone that I came across and found that necessity of an accordion teacher is actually an excellent conversation starter. One of my English students mentioned that roughly 17 years ago, a teacher in his school played accordion and that he was fairly certain that this Señor still lived in Heredia (where I live). He didn't have any contact information but drew me a little map that would get me in the general vicinity of his house, telling me that "from there, I would just have to start asking for Franco".
That following Saturday when the rain clouds cleared, I decided to take advantage of the clear skies to begin my search for the accordion guru. I followed the map as far as I could and then began knocking on doors, asking little old ladies sitting on their front porches, people outside working on cars, etc. "Oh yes yes Franco! Ah yes turn left and go 50 meters and then turn right and go 100 meters...". Eventually I found myself in front of hopefully the right house, and I rang the bell. A woman came to the door, looking me up and down rather tentatively and I say through the bars and barbed wire, "Hello. I am looking for Señor Franco. I heard that he plays Accordion and I am actually looking for a teacher.." She gave me a funny look and asked me to hold on for one second while she went inside. She comes back about five minutes later, opens the gate, and guides me to the living room. Here I meet Franco, a small, smiley, gentle, white-haired man, who is already laughing at the fact that a gringa (a north american) has appeared on his doorstep asking for accordion lessons. He proceeds to take out his accordion and play/sing traditional songs, telling me stories about musicians and the music scene inbetween. Although he doesn't teach anymore, he gave me the contact information of his niece who lives close by and is in fact n official teacher (with whom I had my first lesson yesterday). However, he assured me that as soon as I learn the basics that I can come anytime to the house and we will jam out on our accordions. After a few hours I left the house and began to stroll back to my apartment. The rain clouds began to fill the sky once more, as if they had only opened up only long enough to provide me with this magical experience. By the time I reached the apartment, it was raining once more. I smiled to myself, thinking that we receive so many windows of opportunity in this life, as long as we are willing to see them for what they are and head out into the unknown.
This same week, I happened to meet a guy from New York who is also studying a Master's degree here in Costa Rica. He has been here for over 3 years and is working on his thesis. During our coffee break, he was explaining his project to me and lamenting the fact that he is having trouble recruiting people to help him do his surveys in two rural Costa Rican communities. I got very excited and exclaimed, "I love going door-to-door! I'll do it! How do I sign up??". He seems slightly surprised at my enthusiasm, but as I quickly explained, the opportunity to go to two beautiful communities in the mountains and spend a half hour an hour talking to families about conservation and the like to me sounds like an incredibly enriching and unique experience! (not to mention the fact that he willl be covering all the expenses!) I can hardly wait and I am sure that when I return I will have many more stories to share, as one never knows what is behind the next door..
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