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..
Monday, June 8, 2009
oh grammar
I just noticed that my last post has quite a few spelling errors in it. hehehehe. I am losing my ability to speak English!!! There are certain things that are now easier for me to explain in Spanish, which is actually kind of cool...
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Let it flow
I apologize once again for the prolonged silence. As my graduate studies are now in full swing and my life has some routine to it, I let myself fall into the mental trap of perceiving my seemingly mundane daily activity as no longer "blog-worthy", relative to crocidile encounters or island adventures. I realized last night that this type of logic is completely absurd. The point of this blog is to keep my friends and family up to date on what is going on in my life, however unadventurous it might seem to me in the moment.
Highlights
1. I am getting pretty ripped. I joined a gym that just opened three blocks from my house that has the best Zumba (an aerobics class with music from all over the world), Pilates, and Spinning classes ever. The one advantage to being a student and having all night classes for my school program is that it opens up my days to attend regularly, a luxary I never had in Austin.
2. I bought an accordion. I decided that my rainy season activity would be to learn how to play the accordion, and conveniently my friend's Dad was selling his grandmother's old accordion for an incredibly good price. I had not thought threw the logistics of actually taking buses around town with an accordion in tow, but it is a little more difficult than originally anticipated, as the accordion is quite large and quite heavy. Good thing I am getting ripped at the gym.
3. I am getting closer to finding an accordion teacher that lives near me so I don't have to take the bus. Nothing definite yet, but even the thought of not having to carry that accordion 15 blocks to the bus stop makes my triceps very happy and hopeful.
4. If I learn at least one song on my new accordion, I already have work. If I can learn one song, I will make my long awaited debut in the world of puppet shows. It will be nice to have my foot in the door. ; )
5. I got all A's my first trimester. I can honestly say that my Spanish is coming along quite well, although there is much room for improvement. The nice thing is that I no longer return from class with an enormous headache from exerting all of the energy that my body had produced in a three hour class session.
6. I got to go to Austin and to the beach during my break from school. I managed to squeeze a short visit in to Austin, to pick up a piece of luggage I had left with a friend and help my little sister find an apartment and get settled into her hew home. It was a whirlwind of a week, packed full of visits with family and friends and shopping sprees to pick up a long list of items for myself and friends in Costa Rica that are half the price in the states. It seemed to be over before it started and to this day I am not sure if it actually happened or if it was just a dream. When I returned, my classes had been postponed for a week due to the fact that my professors were out of the country, so I headed to Samara Beach to enjoy the extra vacation time. Managed to stay with friends in a house right on the beach with a pool and plenty of hammocks. Niccccceeeeeeeeee.
7. I made a pair of sandals, like really made them. I had never thought about the possibility of making my own shoes until my friend started a shoe-making business. It is actually a pretty complicated process, but luckily Fadrique has all the tools and machinery necessary. It was both of us, as he had never made a pair of sandals before either. I really love them and will post a picture on the site.
8. I turned 29! It is quite nice to have people constantly telling me on a regular basis that I look 8 years younger than I actually am. I rang in the new year of my life on the dance floor (big surprise), breaking in down to my favorite group from San Jose called Sonambulo!
Lowlights
1. Rainy season has started. Every day at about noon, the clouds come roll in and the downpour begins. The disadvantage of having night classes is that I often have to make a mad dash for the bus in the midst of downpours, for which an umbrella is only marginally helpful in avoiding getting soaked. It rains sideways more often than it rains up and down. The upside to the rain is that it provides ample opportunties to stay in and watch movies and practice accordion.
2. I have to take Statistics this trimester. I thought my Spanish was getting better until I showed up last week to a 3.5 hour Stats class with a professor from Spain whose accent I can't quite seem to wrap my brain around. After understanding about 2% of the dialogue during that time period, I approached her and we developed a "Sarah needs you to speak more slowly" hand sign that I am confident will be very useful and highly utilized in the upcoming weeks.
3. I have to narrow down a thesis project soon! Yikes. Already? I was originally planning to do something related to peace studies, but as of two days ago I am leaning more towards investigations of the women's prisons here with a focus in gender.
4. My rent went up. Darn it! We had sent a request to our landlord stating our financial limitations, but maybe we didn't cover it with enough smiley face stickers because she shot it down in less than 24 hours.
Insights
1. Routine is actually quite nice.
2. It is really nice to get up early and enjoy the few hours of morning sun.
3. Normal phone calls now seem rather boring when compared to Skpe video calls!
4. It is quite valueable and perfectly alright to not understand what is going on around you at all times.
You can learn new things at any time in your life if you're willing to be a beginner. If you actually learn to like being a beginner, the whole world opens up to you. - Barbara Sher
Highlights
1. I am getting pretty ripped. I joined a gym that just opened three blocks from my house that has the best Zumba (an aerobics class with music from all over the world), Pilates, and Spinning classes ever. The one advantage to being a student and having all night classes for my school program is that it opens up my days to attend regularly, a luxary I never had in Austin.
2. I bought an accordion. I decided that my rainy season activity would be to learn how to play the accordion, and conveniently my friend's Dad was selling his grandmother's old accordion for an incredibly good price. I had not thought threw the logistics of actually taking buses around town with an accordion in tow, but it is a little more difficult than originally anticipated, as the accordion is quite large and quite heavy. Good thing I am getting ripped at the gym.
3. I am getting closer to finding an accordion teacher that lives near me so I don't have to take the bus. Nothing definite yet, but even the thought of not having to carry that accordion 15 blocks to the bus stop makes my triceps very happy and hopeful.
4. If I learn at least one song on my new accordion, I already have work. If I can learn one song, I will make my long awaited debut in the world of puppet shows. It will be nice to have my foot in the door. ; )
5. I got all A's my first trimester. I can honestly say that my Spanish is coming along quite well, although there is much room for improvement. The nice thing is that I no longer return from class with an enormous headache from exerting all of the energy that my body had produced in a three hour class session.
6. I got to go to Austin and to the beach during my break from school. I managed to squeeze a short visit in to Austin, to pick up a piece of luggage I had left with a friend and help my little sister find an apartment and get settled into her hew home. It was a whirlwind of a week, packed full of visits with family and friends and shopping sprees to pick up a long list of items for myself and friends in Costa Rica that are half the price in the states. It seemed to be over before it started and to this day I am not sure if it actually happened or if it was just a dream. When I returned, my classes had been postponed for a week due to the fact that my professors were out of the country, so I headed to Samara Beach to enjoy the extra vacation time. Managed to stay with friends in a house right on the beach with a pool and plenty of hammocks. Niccccceeeeeeeeee.
7. I made a pair of sandals, like really made them. I had never thought about the possibility of making my own shoes until my friend started a shoe-making business. It is actually a pretty complicated process, but luckily Fadrique has all the tools and machinery necessary. It was both of us, as he had never made a pair of sandals before either. I really love them and will post a picture on the site.
8. I turned 29! It is quite nice to have people constantly telling me on a regular basis that I look 8 years younger than I actually am. I rang in the new year of my life on the dance floor (big surprise), breaking in down to my favorite group from San Jose called Sonambulo!
Lowlights
1. Rainy season has started. Every day at about noon, the clouds come roll in and the downpour begins. The disadvantage of having night classes is that I often have to make a mad dash for the bus in the midst of downpours, for which an umbrella is only marginally helpful in avoiding getting soaked. It rains sideways more often than it rains up and down. The upside to the rain is that it provides ample opportunties to stay in and watch movies and practice accordion.
2. I have to take Statistics this trimester. I thought my Spanish was getting better until I showed up last week to a 3.5 hour Stats class with a professor from Spain whose accent I can't quite seem to wrap my brain around. After understanding about 2% of the dialogue during that time period, I approached her and we developed a "Sarah needs you to speak more slowly" hand sign that I am confident will be very useful and highly utilized in the upcoming weeks.
3. I have to narrow down a thesis project soon! Yikes. Already? I was originally planning to do something related to peace studies, but as of two days ago I am leaning more towards investigations of the women's prisons here with a focus in gender.
4. My rent went up. Darn it! We had sent a request to our landlord stating our financial limitations, but maybe we didn't cover it with enough smiley face stickers because she shot it down in less than 24 hours.
Insights
1. Routine is actually quite nice.
2. It is really nice to get up early and enjoy the few hours of morning sun.
3. Normal phone calls now seem rather boring when compared to Skpe video calls!
4. It is quite valueable and perfectly alright to not understand what is going on around you at all times.
You can learn new things at any time in your life if you're willing to be a beginner. If you actually learn to like being a beginner, the whole world opens up to you. - Barbara Sher
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Into the swing of things...
These recent weeks have flown by and crept along simultaneously, as although certain tasks (like reading and writing in Spanish) continue to remain tedious and time consuming, it always seems to shock me when the weekend comes again, so quickly. There have been a few firsts - my first potluck party, my first political rally, my first time crying in a bathroom stall after class.
The content of the coursework is challenging. Most days I feel as if I have to lay out all my beliefs about gender and sexuality on a table, take a step back, and begin to analyze where exactly this particular belief came from, how it has changed and why, if am I willing to defend it or wanting to transform it (slightly or completely), etc.
The rally that I attended was on the International Day of the Women. A small group of 30-35 individuals protested outside of the judicial building and I learned a few interesting things. One, there was a law passed last fall in Costa Rica to protect victim's of domestic violence that included psychological violence. Recently, four judges challenged this law and it was been declared unconstitutional because it was decided that psychological violence (or violence that does not leave a physical wound or mark) is rather subjective; therefore, it is unconstitutional to put a specific penalty on an act that is difficult to prove or categorize. Basically, it is unconstitutional to penalize someone based on the victim's verbal claim of abuse, one person's word against another's (usually a women's word against a man's word). What this means is: if your partner is verbally abuse, you have no recourse. If your partner is physically abusive, but careful not to leave any visible marks (also quite common), you have no proof. If your partner abuses you, leaves marks, but you are scared to go immediately to the authorities (which is also quite common) and happen to wait until you don't have visible marks anymore, you have no proof. I am also fairly certain that individuals who have been incarcerated over the last year under this law will be released. One of my professors had printed off the names and ages of all of the women who have been killed by their partners over the last year to hang on the building with flowers. Most of them were my age, or younger.
On a brighter note, the potluck-party was a success! It was a wonderful intersection of the folks I met at the meditation center and the women from my program, and the laughter, food, and dancing helped wash away any residual anxiety that sparked a solitary sobbing episode a mere four days earlier in the fourth floor bathroom of the Universidad Nacional.
My friend Fadrique (love the name) is headed to his mother's eco-hostel on the Caribbean coast this weekend and invited me to tag along. I am going to take him up of the offer, as reading on the beach sounds a lot more appealing that reading in my apartment. Plus, it has been over almost two months since I have been able to work on my tan. Until later...
The content of the coursework is challenging. Most days I feel as if I have to lay out all my beliefs about gender and sexuality on a table, take a step back, and begin to analyze where exactly this particular belief came from, how it has changed and why, if am I willing to defend it or wanting to transform it (slightly or completely), etc.
The rally that I attended was on the International Day of the Women. A small group of 30-35 individuals protested outside of the judicial building and I learned a few interesting things. One, there was a law passed last fall in Costa Rica to protect victim's of domestic violence that included psychological violence. Recently, four judges challenged this law and it was been declared unconstitutional because it was decided that psychological violence (or violence that does not leave a physical wound or mark) is rather subjective; therefore, it is unconstitutional to put a specific penalty on an act that is difficult to prove or categorize. Basically, it is unconstitutional to penalize someone based on the victim's verbal claim of abuse, one person's word against another's (usually a women's word against a man's word). What this means is: if your partner is verbally abuse, you have no recourse. If your partner is physically abusive, but careful not to leave any visible marks (also quite common), you have no proof. If your partner abuses you, leaves marks, but you are scared to go immediately to the authorities (which is also quite common) and happen to wait until you don't have visible marks anymore, you have no proof. I am also fairly certain that individuals who have been incarcerated over the last year under this law will be released. One of my professors had printed off the names and ages of all of the women who have been killed by their partners over the last year to hang on the building with flowers. Most of them were my age, or younger.
On a brighter note, the potluck-party was a success! It was a wonderful intersection of the folks I met at the meditation center and the women from my program, and the laughter, food, and dancing helped wash away any residual anxiety that sparked a solitary sobbing episode a mere four days earlier in the fourth floor bathroom of the Universidad Nacional.
My friend Fadrique (love the name) is headed to his mother's eco-hostel on the Caribbean coast this weekend and invited me to tag along. I am going to take him up of the offer, as reading on the beach sounds a lot more appealing that reading in my apartment. Plus, it has been over almost two months since I have been able to work on my tan. Until later...
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Whispers.
There is sort of twisted comfort in expectation - what society expects of us, what our loved ones expect from us, and what we expect from ourselves. Although these expectations might be antiquated or senseless, they are clear nonetheless, and so we adhere to them, move accordingly to the cues out of obligation, out of fear, or even out of habit. Suddenly, here I am, standing on a blank page, and I found myself looking around timidly and saying to the air, "Ummm. O.K. and now... what? Where to?" And there is simply silence.
But silence is everything but blank - it is music, rich with guidance. I am discovering that we are too dynamic, too vibrant to live in blankness, and although the shade or tone we choose changes from time to time, we cannot be anything but COLORFUL. Each time I ask this blankness who I am, each time I seek counsel in silence, I can feel my colors changing. I can see the spectrum changing. The blankness is unfolding, and a new self is emerging and beginning to take form. I am watching it happen the way one delightfully watches a cloud reinvent itself over and over in it's journey across the sky. Even a child understands that it is useless to try and anticipate the shape a cloud will choose. Why then are we so willing to do this with our selves?
The colors we carry inside come pouring out, surrounding us, transforming us, reflecting us back to ourselves. Now that my program has started and I am molding my new 'daily' everything, I have spent the last two weeks trying to figure out which way is up, where I want to go, who I want to be. It seemed logical to begin by painting and decorating my apartment, and this creative process has provided much insight into my priorities and needs at this moment in time. I feel now that they changed quietly some time ago, however without the space that blankness provides, there was no room to emerge and reveal themselves to me. As I make this place my home, this new self is covering my walls, filling my bookshelf, stocking my fridge, and I can only nod my head in agreement that yes, every day is more colorful than the last.
"Do you know what the music is saying?
“Come follow me and you will find the way.
Your mistakes can also lead you to the Truth.
When you ask, the answer will be given.” - Rumi
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
What Better Time than Now
Whew.
I can honestly say that the last few months have been like a dream. Traveling has a way of doing that to you if you can do it right. Time becomes seamless and categories such as dates, days of the week, hours, and minutes, become increasingly abstract and inapplicable concepts. Everything is going according to the plan - as the name of my blog suggests. Every day is a new adventure, in it's own unique way. I am not quite sure how to sum it up, not sure if there are even words, and that is why I chose to post the pictures first. Upon looking at them, you will definitely understand the extent of my speechlessness and awe.
I finished my Spanish classes in mid-December and was definitely looking to get as far away from San Jose's constant traffic and lousy weather. The opportunity presented itself to travel with two new friends - Hector (from Costa Rica) and David (from North Carolina in route to Argentina) to spend the holidays with Hector's family in Guanacaste, in the Nicoya Penisula. As Hector is from Costa Rica, we had the inside scoop to everything and were able to spend most of our time with Ticos, off the beaten tourist path. We headed to hot springs, hiked a Volcán Arenal, did a zip-line Rainforest Canopy tour, BBQ'd at the beach, went camping, sang and played a lot of music (both Hector and David are incredible musicians), and laughed, laughed, laughed. It was so refreshing to have the opportunity to travel with two guys who like to list off five things they are grateful for every night before they to bed! Around the 3rd of January, we headed back to San Jose so Hector could work for a few days, and then we took off again, to Panama!
Little did we know that the very day we left, an hour after we crossed the CR-Panama border a major earthquake would hit Costa Rica. In fact, I didn't check my email for five or six days and was so surprised to log on and quite a few messages from friends and family wondering if I was O.K! We were oblivious, getting off the bus and heading to Bocas del Torro, where we stayed for a week - snorkeling, kayaking, bathing in the sun, and doing at least one thing every day that scared us. Scary thing Day one for me was doing my very first back flip off the diving board at the hostel that was about 10 feet high. From there we got a recommendation for a tour in the San Blas islands - a group of 300+ islands in the Caribbean. Many of the islands are inhabited by an indigenous Indian tribe, the Kuna. The San Blas province actually has it's own government, autonomous from Panama, and each island is ruled by a chief. You have to get special permission from the chief to enter into the province, and electricity and running water are not found on most of the islands. Our island was an hour boat ride off the coast, with 15 small cabanas. It was like stepping into a postcard, or as my friend Forest commented on one of my photos, a motivational poster that you find at the mall. Crystal blue water, white sand, coral reefs, loads of fresh coconuts to crack open with a machete, beautiful sunsets, and starry nights. We originally bought a tour for four days/three nights, but just kept..well...staying one more night until more than a week had gone by. After a week in paradise, we headed back to the real world, as my days for traveling were becoming limited. Panama City is infinitely better than San Jose, and I would like to return when I don't have fractured toes (soccer accident on the island) so I can visit some of the swanky Salsa clubs in the city. After a few days, it was back on the bus for me while David stayed in Panama to continue south in his journey to Argentina. It was a tough goodbye, as it is always sad to separate from a travel partner and a friend. When you spend 24 hours a day, seven days a week with someone - two months becomes an eternity, and I admit, on the bus I pulled the bill of my hat down and shed a tear or two during the 21 hour lonely bus ride back to San Jose.
I arrived at my apartment Saturday night at around 6 p.m. and headed straight to the hospital to get an X-ray of my poor foot, which verified that it was indeed fractured. Nonetheless, I went home, switched out the clothes in my backpack, got four hours sleep, and headed to the bus stop for yet another adventure, an inner adventure at the 10 day silent meditation retreat in Puntareñas. This time I was serving the course, which meant that I would be rising and shining at 4:30 a.m. to cook and clean for a group of 40 meditators, while having 3 to five hours a day to meditate myself. The site was breathtakingly beautiful - view of the ocean, fabulous sunsets, amazing food (I learned a ton of new recipes!), and again, time slowly dissipated until the sound of the gong was the only indication that it was indeed time to change activities. It was a wonderful bridge, to wind down from a free spirited wanderer and gather my intellectual and emotional strength for graduate school. On day 10 of the course, when the participants can indeed talk, I was able to connect with a few amazing men and women who live close to me in Heredia and are interested in getting together to meditate and practice yoga!
I arrived at my apartment at about 6 p.m. I couldn't believe that in the last two months I had spent only four nights in this place. I also couldn't believe that I was starting my classes the following day. The very next evening I was sitting in a class of 40 students, desperately trying to follow the professor's Spanish as she flew through the syllabus. Suddenly, the sandy beaches and crystal clear waters seemed like ages ago, another lifetime. Another chapter of my life has started, the chapter that brought me here to this beautiful country. It is going to be an intense program, but after attending my first two classes, I am humbled by the quality of education that I will receive at the university, as all of my professors are published authors and well known voices in all of Latin America on the subject of Gender and Women's studies. My time will now be spent laboring over long, theoretical texts and painstakingly writing reflections over readings and planning presentations, as well as settling into my apartment, my new routine, and this new time in my life which is slowly unfolding with each passing day, each passing moment. With each inhale and exhale comes the next grand adventure.
“You must live in the present, launch yourself on every wave, find your eternity in each moment. Fools stand on their island opportunities and look toward another land. There is no other land, there is no other life but this.” - Henry David Thoreau
I can honestly say that the last few months have been like a dream. Traveling has a way of doing that to you if you can do it right. Time becomes seamless and categories such as dates, days of the week, hours, and minutes, become increasingly abstract and inapplicable concepts. Everything is going according to the plan - as the name of my blog suggests. Every day is a new adventure, in it's own unique way. I am not quite sure how to sum it up, not sure if there are even words, and that is why I chose to post the pictures first. Upon looking at them, you will definitely understand the extent of my speechlessness and awe.
I finished my Spanish classes in mid-December and was definitely looking to get as far away from San Jose's constant traffic and lousy weather. The opportunity presented itself to travel with two new friends - Hector (from Costa Rica) and David (from North Carolina in route to Argentina) to spend the holidays with Hector's family in Guanacaste, in the Nicoya Penisula. As Hector is from Costa Rica, we had the inside scoop to everything and were able to spend most of our time with Ticos, off the beaten tourist path. We headed to hot springs, hiked a Volcán Arenal, did a zip-line Rainforest Canopy tour, BBQ'd at the beach, went camping, sang and played a lot of music (both Hector and David are incredible musicians), and laughed, laughed, laughed. It was so refreshing to have the opportunity to travel with two guys who like to list off five things they are grateful for every night before they to bed! Around the 3rd of January, we headed back to San Jose so Hector could work for a few days, and then we took off again, to Panama!
Little did we know that the very day we left, an hour after we crossed the CR-Panama border a major earthquake would hit Costa Rica. In fact, I didn't check my email for five or six days and was so surprised to log on and quite a few messages from friends and family wondering if I was O.K! We were oblivious, getting off the bus and heading to Bocas del Torro, where we stayed for a week - snorkeling, kayaking, bathing in the sun, and doing at least one thing every day that scared us. Scary thing Day one for me was doing my very first back flip off the diving board at the hostel that was about 10 feet high. From there we got a recommendation for a tour in the San Blas islands - a group of 300+ islands in the Caribbean. Many of the islands are inhabited by an indigenous Indian tribe, the Kuna. The San Blas province actually has it's own government, autonomous from Panama, and each island is ruled by a chief. You have to get special permission from the chief to enter into the province, and electricity and running water are not found on most of the islands. Our island was an hour boat ride off the coast, with 15 small cabanas. It was like stepping into a postcard, or as my friend Forest commented on one of my photos, a motivational poster that you find at the mall. Crystal blue water, white sand, coral reefs, loads of fresh coconuts to crack open with a machete, beautiful sunsets, and starry nights. We originally bought a tour for four days/three nights, but just kept..well...staying one more night until more than a week had gone by. After a week in paradise, we headed back to the real world, as my days for traveling were becoming limited. Panama City is infinitely better than San Jose, and I would like to return when I don't have fractured toes (soccer accident on the island) so I can visit some of the swanky Salsa clubs in the city. After a few days, it was back on the bus for me while David stayed in Panama to continue south in his journey to Argentina. It was a tough goodbye, as it is always sad to separate from a travel partner and a friend. When you spend 24 hours a day, seven days a week with someone - two months becomes an eternity, and I admit, on the bus I pulled the bill of my hat down and shed a tear or two during the 21 hour lonely bus ride back to San Jose.
I arrived at my apartment Saturday night at around 6 p.m. and headed straight to the hospital to get an X-ray of my poor foot, which verified that it was indeed fractured. Nonetheless, I went home, switched out the clothes in my backpack, got four hours sleep, and headed to the bus stop for yet another adventure, an inner adventure at the 10 day silent meditation retreat in Puntareñas. This time I was serving the course, which meant that I would be rising and shining at 4:30 a.m. to cook and clean for a group of 40 meditators, while having 3 to five hours a day to meditate myself. The site was breathtakingly beautiful - view of the ocean, fabulous sunsets, amazing food (I learned a ton of new recipes!), and again, time slowly dissipated until the sound of the gong was the only indication that it was indeed time to change activities. It was a wonderful bridge, to wind down from a free spirited wanderer and gather my intellectual and emotional strength for graduate school. On day 10 of the course, when the participants can indeed talk, I was able to connect with a few amazing men and women who live close to me in Heredia and are interested in getting together to meditate and practice yoga!
I arrived at my apartment at about 6 p.m. I couldn't believe that in the last two months I had spent only four nights in this place. I also couldn't believe that I was starting my classes the following day. The very next evening I was sitting in a class of 40 students, desperately trying to follow the professor's Spanish as she flew through the syllabus. Suddenly, the sandy beaches and crystal clear waters seemed like ages ago, another lifetime. Another chapter of my life has started, the chapter that brought me here to this beautiful country. It is going to be an intense program, but after attending my first two classes, I am humbled by the quality of education that I will receive at the university, as all of my professors are published authors and well known voices in all of Latin America on the subject of Gender and Women's studies. My time will now be spent laboring over long, theoretical texts and painstakingly writing reflections over readings and planning presentations, as well as settling into my apartment, my new routine, and this new time in my life which is slowly unfolding with each passing day, each passing moment. With each inhale and exhale comes the next grand adventure.
“You must live in the present, launch yourself on every wave, find your eternity in each moment. Fools stand on their island opportunities and look toward another land. There is no other land, there is no other life but this.” - Henry David Thoreau
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Where did the time go??
Ok. I know I haven't posted anything since December 23rd. Life has been a whirlwind since then, trying to fit in all of my traveling before school officially starts on the 9th of February. I just bused back 20 hours from Panama City with a fractured toe and am heading directly to Puntarenas for a ten day meditation course (volunteering at this one). I have much to tell if you can bear with me for ten more days of silence... Hasta pronto! Pura vida.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Xmas Plans
Well...I am heading to Guanacaste today to spend the holidays with a friend's family. I am not sure what my internet access will be like, so Happy Holidays! Feliz Navidad y Feliz Año Nuevo! I'll be back in 2009....
Sunday, December 21, 2008
What Your Parents Don't Know Won't Hurt 'Em...
I tell ya, going to the hospital isn't all that stressful...when you are simply going along to provide a friend with emotional support. My friend Megan took a spill this past weekend trying to get into the boat when it was raining and managed to break her fall with her ribs, hitting the side of the boat (she did, however, not fall into the water, which kept her from potentially being eaten by alligators - always a positive). Seeing as how it hurts to lay down, laugh, sneeze, breath, and a few other common day to day activities, we figured it would be wise to head to the hospital to have some x-rays taken. In general, Megan figured the call home to her parents would go more smoothly if she could say the following: "Yes, mom, don't worry, it's fine. Yes, I went to the doctor. Yes, I got x-rays taken. No, mom, there was nothing broken. Everything is fine". It sure beats the alternative conversation, which would go like this: "Mom...it's not a big deal. I mean, it hurts to breath, but I am sure it's fine. Don't worry..." And then Megan's mom would spend half the night pricing plane tickets to Central America. So, hospital it was, and I told Megan I would come along for the cultural learning experience, like an excursion.
If there is one thing that the Megans have learned, and that they are teaching me, is that if you need to go anything, ask about ten ticos first, what they would do if it were them, or their kid. We took a poll during the day to get the general opinion of "How to approach a hospital visit in a cost and time effective manner", and we certainly received a few interesting answers. One person suggested that we call 911 and say that it really hurt and then we could go in an ambulance, which would mean that Megan would be seen much faster and not have to do so much paperwork or stand in the lines. Another person suggested that Megan act like she didn't speak much Spanish, for the same end result of avoiding lines. Two people suggested that she wear a skirt and lipstick. We were also told to be prepared for a four to five hour wait. When we swung by the apartment to grab some reading material and her insurance card, our neighbor Lance decided to tag along and his contribution was two decks of cards and a giant root beer float to share in the waiting room. Score!
It is amazing what sugar, cards, and good company can do to make you forget you are in the emergency room at the hospital. Two hours later (record time!) Megan had x-rays in hand and was heading to the pharmacy to pick up some prescription Advil. Not bad at all, and better yet, she hadn't broken or fractured anything. Just a nice bruise, a little R & R, and a calm phone call home to her parents in the States, although she did leave out the bit about the alligators in the water. These are things that you share with your parents a few years down the road when you are safely back in their house sharing a nice dinner and you can say, "Oh, did I not tell you about that time when I almost died?? Must have slipped my mind. Anyway, it went something like this..." You might get a scolding, but in general, all heart attacks and sleepless nights were avoided, and everyone is happy.
If there is one thing that the Megans have learned, and that they are teaching me, is that if you need to go anything, ask about ten ticos first, what they would do if it were them, or their kid. We took a poll during the day to get the general opinion of "How to approach a hospital visit in a cost and time effective manner", and we certainly received a few interesting answers. One person suggested that we call 911 and say that it really hurt and then we could go in an ambulance, which would mean that Megan would be seen much faster and not have to do so much paperwork or stand in the lines. Another person suggested that Megan act like she didn't speak much Spanish, for the same end result of avoiding lines. Two people suggested that she wear a skirt and lipstick. We were also told to be prepared for a four to five hour wait. When we swung by the apartment to grab some reading material and her insurance card, our neighbor Lance decided to tag along and his contribution was two decks of cards and a giant root beer float to share in the waiting room. Score!
It is amazing what sugar, cards, and good company can do to make you forget you are in the emergency room at the hospital. Two hours later (record time!) Megan had x-rays in hand and was heading to the pharmacy to pick up some prescription Advil. Not bad at all, and better yet, she hadn't broken or fractured anything. Just a nice bruise, a little R & R, and a calm phone call home to her parents in the States, although she did leave out the bit about the alligators in the water. These are things that you share with your parents a few years down the road when you are safely back in their house sharing a nice dinner and you can say, "Oh, did I not tell you about that time when I almost died?? Must have slipped my mind. Anyway, it went something like this..." You might get a scolding, but in general, all heart attacks and sleepless nights were avoided, and everyone is happy.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Oh there you are Costa Rica!!!
It took me about a month, but I finally found it. I finally found Costa Rica, the Costa Rica that I fell in love with in 2003. In Sarapiqui, the environment is harsher, not in an aggressive way, but rather a gentle refusal to consider human necessity or desire as part of the plan. It is a place that requires a certain type of human spirit - one that is flexible, full of acceptance, and willing to live on mother nature's terms. It is place full of change, a place that is always changing your plans, or reminding you not to to have to many. The river could, and often does, flood. The rain restricts what one can do, and to be agitated by the environment would mean maintaining a certain level of discontent year round. I decided that all of this creates an ambiance of relaxation, or at least of slowing down. The gentleness of this place was reflected in the eyes of every person that I met, flowing as freely as the river and the rain. All of the stress of San Jose, of horns honking, constant fireworks, cars backfiring, florescent lights, barred windows, and dirty streets was washed away. At times, in between the pitter patter of raindrops and the waves splashing against the boat, I could almost hear the wind whispering, "Tranquilo....tranquilo". Oh, the places you end up when you stop trying to plan and just let go and roll with the punches (or invitations)....
This past week marked the end of my month of Spanish classes at Conversa in San Jose. I really wanted to get away and head to the beach to bask in the sun, but my friend Megan convinced me otherwise. I cut my classes short by one day, so I could go with the Rotaract Club on their service trip to Sarapiqui. I didn't know what to expect - I was told to bring clothes I didn't care about, mosquito repellent, rubber boots, and that I wouldn't need a bathing suit because the river is full of crocodiles. Gulp.
Of course, I had to do it Sarah style, which meant squeezing in a night of dancing even if it meant total sleep deprivation. On Thursday night, David, fellow volunteer and avid salsa dancer, and I packed up our stuff, went Salsa dancing until 2 a.m., took a taxi to the apartment, showered, slept for 15 minutes, and then got up to catch the 4 a.m. ride out of town. There were ten of us total, sitting on the curb outside the church in the moonlight waiting for the truck to pick us (and the 10 garbage bags of presents) up. Dave and I were the only gringos, but his Spanish is perfect after living in Argentina doing mission work for almost two years, so I was a little "behind the tree" as they say in Spanish - translation: totally lost. However, everyone seemed to find the look on my face completely endearing, and they did a wonderful job of making sure I made my way out of the woods and into the conversation, even if it meant explaining things over and over again.
We loaded up the truck with our luggage and the presents/supplies and headed out in a mini-bus. Two hours later we arrived in Sarapiqui, where we all loaded into the back of a truck for the next two hours of the journey. As the door closed and we were left with darkness, people started cracking jokes about the "Migra" and border patrol, until the truck started moving and it was too loud to make talking worthwhile. Two hours later the door opened and our driver jokingly asked us for our passports as we all scrambled out of the truck to stretch our limbs. We then piled into a water-taxi for the final leg of the journey, and I was informed to keep an eye out for crocodiles. I spent the entire trip imagining the boat tipping, me falling into the water, and being pulled under and eaten alive. We finally arrive at "The Mission", a self-sustaining Christian mission camp/farm on the river. Anna, the founder, came to Costa Rica 15 years ago, and this place is the end result of over a decade of work. She and the volunteers eat what is available on the farm, and use electricity when the solar panels are working properly and candles when they are not. They have a main kitchen structure, another structure that serves as a bodega (storage space), and then they have a house boat with five rooms with bunk beds, where we slept for the weekend. It rains here 9 months out of the year, and I was really excited to break in my new rubber boots, which I had decorated with Rock Band 2 stickers spice them up a bit! Man o man, did they get a lot of use, as it rained 80% of the time.
Anna has been working with the Rotary club for the last few years to organize Christmas parties for the community. During the days we put on christmas parties, complete with masses, singing, puppet shows, games, bobbing for apples, handing out presents, and lots of laughing. The children were precious. At night, we sat around playing cards and telling stories in the candlelight. I feel like I made some long lasting friends, especially with a girl named Daniella. I liked Daniella immediately, mainly because she has short hair, and because she is hilarious. I also got to know Megan better, whom I will be sharing a room with for the next five months, and we get along really really well, which sure is nice to feel sure of!
I didn't necessarily want to come home, but Monday morning was the day that the Spanish school was coming to pick me up at my host family's house to give me and my suitcases a ride to Heredia, where I will be living from here on out. I gathered up my things and spent one last night in San Jose with my host family and then moved to Heredia. Daniella had called me to see if I wanted to come help her and her little brother set up her grandmother's Nativity Scene, and of course I accepted. We took a series of buses to get to Atena, where her grandmother and most of her family live. We then proceeded to put together the most elaborate Nativity Scene I have ever seen in my life, which included a number of animal figurines that I don't remember being part of the Bible but that she insisted on their presence, like dogs, a rocking horse, a giant rabbit, four or five little bo-peep look alikes, etc. It took up half of the living room! Her grandmother is 83 years old and still lives alone. I decided that there are five levels of fluency in Spanish - level four is UNDERSTANDING GRANDMOTHERS. She spoke very fast and I only caught about 50%, but she was a riot. At one point she looked me straight in the eye, and wagging her finger, and swore up and down that washing machines are a total joke (she prefers to wash everything by hand).
We stayed until the sun set and night came, and she fed us tortillas, gallo pinto (typical rice and beans mix), and arroz con leche until I was sure I was going to explode. We took the bus back to Daniella's house and I crashed on the extra mattress because it was too late to bus back to my house. I think that Daniella's family is going to officially adopt me for the holidays, now that Tom and I are going to move our Xmas travels to mid-January to ensure good weather. Her little brother helped me make a list of "Costa Rica slang" so I can fit in more. As we were laying in bed talking, Daniella asked me what I learned this weekend. I said that for the first time since I arrived, I feel like I live here - that I am happy to be here and have this country as my home. Like I am finally getting the hang of "Pura Vida". Life is good. Life is really, really good.
This past week marked the end of my month of Spanish classes at Conversa in San Jose. I really wanted to get away and head to the beach to bask in the sun, but my friend Megan convinced me otherwise. I cut my classes short by one day, so I could go with the Rotaract Club on their service trip to Sarapiqui. I didn't know what to expect - I was told to bring clothes I didn't care about, mosquito repellent, rubber boots, and that I wouldn't need a bathing suit because the river is full of crocodiles. Gulp.
Of course, I had to do it Sarah style, which meant squeezing in a night of dancing even if it meant total sleep deprivation. On Thursday night, David, fellow volunteer and avid salsa dancer, and I packed up our stuff, went Salsa dancing until 2 a.m., took a taxi to the apartment, showered, slept for 15 minutes, and then got up to catch the 4 a.m. ride out of town. There were ten of us total, sitting on the curb outside the church in the moonlight waiting for the truck to pick us (and the 10 garbage bags of presents) up. Dave and I were the only gringos, but his Spanish is perfect after living in Argentina doing mission work for almost two years, so I was a little "behind the tree" as they say in Spanish - translation: totally lost. However, everyone seemed to find the look on my face completely endearing, and they did a wonderful job of making sure I made my way out of the woods and into the conversation, even if it meant explaining things over and over again.
We loaded up the truck with our luggage and the presents/supplies and headed out in a mini-bus. Two hours later we arrived in Sarapiqui, where we all loaded into the back of a truck for the next two hours of the journey. As the door closed and we were left with darkness, people started cracking jokes about the "Migra" and border patrol, until the truck started moving and it was too loud to make talking worthwhile. Two hours later the door opened and our driver jokingly asked us for our passports as we all scrambled out of the truck to stretch our limbs. We then piled into a water-taxi for the final leg of the journey, and I was informed to keep an eye out for crocodiles. I spent the entire trip imagining the boat tipping, me falling into the water, and being pulled under and eaten alive. We finally arrive at "The Mission", a self-sustaining Christian mission camp/farm on the river. Anna, the founder, came to Costa Rica 15 years ago, and this place is the end result of over a decade of work. She and the volunteers eat what is available on the farm, and use electricity when the solar panels are working properly and candles when they are not. They have a main kitchen structure, another structure that serves as a bodega (storage space), and then they have a house boat with five rooms with bunk beds, where we slept for the weekend. It rains here 9 months out of the year, and I was really excited to break in my new rubber boots, which I had decorated with Rock Band 2 stickers spice them up a bit! Man o man, did they get a lot of use, as it rained 80% of the time.
Anna has been working with the Rotary club for the last few years to organize Christmas parties for the community. During the days we put on christmas parties, complete with masses, singing, puppet shows, games, bobbing for apples, handing out presents, and lots of laughing. The children were precious. At night, we sat around playing cards and telling stories in the candlelight. I feel like I made some long lasting friends, especially with a girl named Daniella. I liked Daniella immediately, mainly because she has short hair, and because she is hilarious. I also got to know Megan better, whom I will be sharing a room with for the next five months, and we get along really really well, which sure is nice to feel sure of!
I didn't necessarily want to come home, but Monday morning was the day that the Spanish school was coming to pick me up at my host family's house to give me and my suitcases a ride to Heredia, where I will be living from here on out. I gathered up my things and spent one last night in San Jose with my host family and then moved to Heredia. Daniella had called me to see if I wanted to come help her and her little brother set up her grandmother's Nativity Scene, and of course I accepted. We took a series of buses to get to Atena, where her grandmother and most of her family live. We then proceeded to put together the most elaborate Nativity Scene I have ever seen in my life, which included a number of animal figurines that I don't remember being part of the Bible but that she insisted on their presence, like dogs, a rocking horse, a giant rabbit, four or five little bo-peep look alikes, etc. It took up half of the living room! Her grandmother is 83 years old and still lives alone. I decided that there are five levels of fluency in Spanish - level four is UNDERSTANDING GRANDMOTHERS. She spoke very fast and I only caught about 50%, but she was a riot. At one point she looked me straight in the eye, and wagging her finger, and swore up and down that washing machines are a total joke (she prefers to wash everything by hand).
We stayed until the sun set and night came, and she fed us tortillas, gallo pinto (typical rice and beans mix), and arroz con leche until I was sure I was going to explode. We took the bus back to Daniella's house and I crashed on the extra mattress because it was too late to bus back to my house. I think that Daniella's family is going to officially adopt me for the holidays, now that Tom and I are going to move our Xmas travels to mid-January to ensure good weather. Her little brother helped me make a list of "Costa Rica slang" so I can fit in more. As we were laying in bed talking, Daniella asked me what I learned this weekend. I said that for the first time since I arrived, I feel like I live here - that I am happy to be here and have this country as my home. Like I am finally getting the hang of "Pura Vida". Life is good. Life is really, really good.
Monday, December 8, 2008
Good news
This is going to be a good week. I can feel it. Oh wait! Could it be?? Sunshine? Maybe that is what I am feeling?!! What a difference a little sunshine can make. It felt really nice to walk to my Spanish school today having to squint (I crushed my sunglasses the other day on accident and hadn't bothered to buy another pair due to constant cloud cover). When I showed up at school, there were five Christmas presents waiting in the classroom, as our Xmas present collection drive is coming to a close this week, and more people are bringing in their donations. More good news (because it will be great practice): I will need to make two presentations this week, for 30 minutes apiece, in Spanish! One is for a Rotary meeting tomorrow night and the other is for my class on a theme of my choice. I spent all day yesterday making a Power Point presentation about Austin that I am sure the audience will find riveting! I even included pictures of breakfast tacos, since that was about 70% of my diet. (Did you know that Austin was the site of the first tortilla factory in the United States?). When I was looking for pictures online, I stumbled across a picture of Leslie (a semi-famous male icon in Austin whose claim to fame is his dress code, which always includes a thong). I decided it would be a bit much for the presentation, but it did make me smile. The best part about making a presentation in another language that you are obviously not proficient in is that excessive hand motions are completely permissible, and almost encouraged (especially if you don't know the word). I am banking on the fact that there will be at least five words that I will try and remember that I can't, and with a minimum of one -two minutes of charades with the audience to get them to guess the word, well that is ten minutes right there. Just kidding. But not really.
Saturday, December 6, 2008
A little trivia...
Interesting Costa Rica facts that are not in any of the travel guides: 1) Paternity tests are not mandatory under any circumstances. 2) The penalty/fine for drunk driving is $40. Yup. $40 dollars. They just passed some legislation that will double the fine, but still, I think I have had library fines for that amount for a few overdue videos. Keep in mind, this applies whether you hit someone or not. 3) There is an island off the Pacific coast, San Lucas Island, that is now a protected wildlife area. From 1873-1980! it was a prison, and an incredibly violent one that that. Twenty percent of the people who went there didn't make it out alive. A prisoner, José León Sánchez (falsely accused who spent 30 years there until he was pardoned and released) wrote a book called San Lucas: La Isla de Los Hombres Solos while in prison, for which he won several awards and drew quite a bit of international attention. I read in the paper the other day that the island will now be open to the public as a tourist attraction.
Interesting Taiwan facts: 1) If you have no trouble having kids, but your sister can't get pregnant, you can gift her a child quite easily. It is a common family tradition, and the child grows up knowing that he/she was given from one family to the other, but it carries no social stigma. 2) If you buy eggs or mini-fish, you have to be really careful, because there are companies in China that manufacture artificial eggs and mini-fish that are made of plastic. They look exactly like the real thing, and can even have the same texture, but Veronica says the flavor is pretty horrible.
I am finishing up my last week of Spanish classes at Conversa. All of my professors have been amazing, and the classes are interesting. My Spanish is definitely coming along. For any of you that have been wanting to learn Spanish but perhaps don't have enough vacation time to move abroad for a month, the school offers individual classes online, which is pretty sweet. You can actually see the professor, talk to them, and write comments on the "chalkboard". It is a great way to prepare for a trip, like if you were planning on visiting me here in Costa Rica and wanted to brush up on your Spanish before you came....just a thought.
Advice: Yes, cosmetic services are cheaper down here. I opted to try out some of the dental services - getting my teeth whitened with a laser. Let's just say that my gums are swollen and my teeth are not that much whiter. I was assured by the doctor that my teeth would continue to whiten over the weekend. Maybe she told me this because after I looked at my teeth, I looked at her and said, "But they aren't white". I have a follow-up appointment on Tuesday. I am going to ask my teacher if we can practice a nice Spanish version of "Can I please have my money back?".
Interesting Taiwan facts: 1) If you have no trouble having kids, but your sister can't get pregnant, you can gift her a child quite easily. It is a common family tradition, and the child grows up knowing that he/she was given from one family to the other, but it carries no social stigma. 2) If you buy eggs or mini-fish, you have to be really careful, because there are companies in China that manufacture artificial eggs and mini-fish that are made of plastic. They look exactly like the real thing, and can even have the same texture, but Veronica says the flavor is pretty horrible.
I am finishing up my last week of Spanish classes at Conversa. All of my professors have been amazing, and the classes are interesting. My Spanish is definitely coming along. For any of you that have been wanting to learn Spanish but perhaps don't have enough vacation time to move abroad for a month, the school offers individual classes online, which is pretty sweet. You can actually see the professor, talk to them, and write comments on the "chalkboard". It is a great way to prepare for a trip, like if you were planning on visiting me here in Costa Rica and wanted to brush up on your Spanish before you came....just a thought.
Advice: Yes, cosmetic services are cheaper down here. I opted to try out some of the dental services - getting my teeth whitened with a laser. Let's just say that my gums are swollen and my teeth are not that much whiter. I was assured by the doctor that my teeth would continue to whiten over the weekend. Maybe she told me this because after I looked at my teeth, I looked at her and said, "But they aren't white". I have a follow-up appointment on Tuesday. I am going to ask my teacher if we can practice a nice Spanish version of "Can I please have my money back?".
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