Home is where the Ticos are

After four bus rides totaling out at about 6 hours, my group of 9 RCD trainees arrived in Cristo Rey, CR. This community is probably too small to Google Map, but if you look up Los Chiles, CR and let your finger move to the southeast into that empty pixeled area you'll have an idea of where I was for the last week for site visit number 2.

This is a small farming community only about a 20 minute drive from the Nicaraguan border. The roads are red clay mud rolling over grassy hills and overlooking open fields that slope into a thick forested jungle marsh surrounding a slowly snaking river. There are cows everywhere and locals trot around on horses as a primary means of transportation. The majority of houses are government-issued cookie-cutter boxes with the same plaster walls and heavy tin roofs. Those who didn't qualify for the houses (mainly because they are Nicaraguan and not Costa Rican citizens) live in wooden shacks strewn together with nails and boards.

Despite the poverty, the people are some of the most friendly and happy I have ever met. Kelsey (the volunteer my group visited there) walked us through the community and we were welcomed with smiles and kisses on the cheek. We each lived with different families in the town and I was placed with a family consisting of a young couple and their three small boys along with their niece and her son. They also had a Futbolin (fuseball table) that brought hoards of neighborhood kids over to play.

Each day was a mix of Spanish classes, exploration, mini project planning, and teaching English in the local school. As a group we visited a different family for lunch everyday so as to experience a different home. I taught an hour long English lesson to 3rd and 4th graders, teaching them command words and playing several intense rounds of Simon Says. The project we carried out in site was a Peace vs. Violence charla (informational talk and activity) with 4th-6th graders. We split them up into small groups and each of the 9 of us facilitated a group. We then spoke to them (yes, in Spanish!) about different types of violence, how to deal with anger and sadness, and why peace is important. They were to draw pictures of what they thought of as peace and violence in their lives and we then placed all the pictures on a poster to make a Peace vs. Violence mural. It is astounding to see the depth of some of these students considering how little experience they've had outside their small community. I was in awe of their passion, creativity, and desire to learn.

We also attended a Cristo Rey ADI meeting. This is the community association that exists in Costa Rican communities but may or may not be active depending on the community. We witnessed Kelsey actively participate as the community board members discussed the building of a playground at the school, what the sports committee is doing, who will take over the officer positions for the next year, and much more. It took place in the town Salon Comunal made of rickety old boards slapped together on top of the natural dirt floor. It also acted as a bit of a sauna and some of the ladies took advantage of this by selling bags of flavored ice for 100 colones each (less that a quarter). The meeting progressed with some arguing, some applause, some cries of agreement and happiness as any meeting does. Kelsey even stood up to speak about how she has worked to get funding for the school playground. It should be built in the next few months. This is exactly what we are training to do; to be a working part of a community, leading them to improvement, facilitating their success. Seeing the tangible work of Peace Corps reminded me again of why I want to be a volunteer.

One evening I played soccer with the local kids on their red dirt (or clay depending on the rain) concha de futbol. They play barefoot, so I did too. I sprinted around with them, kicking the ball and dribbling rapidly toward my goal. My feet were callused and stained a semi-permanent pinkish color. They were surprised at this gringa's ability to actually play soccer. And they were all amazing of course. Everyone in Costa Rica can play soccer. It permeates all levels of socioeconomic status and ignites passion and competition in every age. The day I returned to Jerico, my womens team had a game and I again donned my number 8 uniform, Adidas shoes and shin guards, and trotted out onto a lush green field illuminated beneath bright, expensive lights. I was struck by the stark contrast of what I now see as a fairly wealthy San Jose suburb (Jerico) and the life of the campo (countryside) where I will most likely spend my next two years of life. I was also struck by the similarities. The same fiery will to play, the same goals (literally), and the same teamwork, friendship and laughter. This sport I love so much will be a wonderful tool.

One day we offered our time and our muscles to help haul water pipes and tubing to a house being built in town. Mano de obra, or manual labor, is a good way to show strength of character and pride in the community. Two hours later our muscles were burning and our clothes were covered in the community's famous red dirt, but we had moved hundreds of pipes and brick boxes into the shell of the new house. We then laughed and chatted and had caffeicito and arroz con leche with the local workers.

I woke early in the mornings to run before the extreme heat and humidity fully took effect. One morning took me to the host home of Leslie, a fellow trainee, as the family was milking cows. I of course had to try. Milking a cow is not as easy as it looks. Not only is a surprising amount of firm strength and pressure necessary to expel the milk, but the process is filled with challenges like dodging the feces when the cow decides to relieve itself during the milking. It is a common occurrence to be completely splattered. I was able to avoid that thankfully, but one of our Spanish instructors was not so lucky. We watched the processes of storing the milk for later sale as well as the making of cheese from the milk. These two products are the big income of the farms in this community. The Costa Rican cheese is very unique. It's called squeaky cheese and looks like a white sheet of rubber. When ground up I think it kind of tastes like parmesan, but it's definitely a unique taste. This farm house with it's many animals was also the place where we all had the opportunity to ride horses. I rode a large brown stallion and it was incredible. I felt some sort of connection with the animal and we even got up to a gallop at one point. It was comfortable and freeing and fun.

Nearly every night there was a downpour- I mean a real downpour. It woke me up without fail as it pounded down onto the tin roof as if wanting my undivided attention as it soaked and saturated the land. And this is dry season. You can tell it's dry season because during the day it only rains maybe once if at all. But I became accustomed to the nightly rage of water. This water fed the red dirt and often created the clay that cakes onto shoes in the most extraordinary fashion. When I look at this clay I of course think of the French Open, Rafael Nadal, or where I could build a red clay tennis court here....

I drank the juice out of a coconut- a pipa. All natural pipa juice is a common refresco here they have with meals. I also drank sugar cane juice or agua dulce. We crushed the sugar cane in a metal appliance that looked about a hundred years old and watched as the branches flattened and emitted the sweet sugary liquid into the attached bucket.

One night I returned to my family home to find a chacharra had flown into the house. This is the giant harmless insect that buzzes loudly through the night. It's hard shell is supported by long and detailed wings. My host brothers were a mix of fear, curiosity and excitement. The littlest baby boy (age 1 ½ ) loved it from a distance, but when we brought it close, he screamed in fear. The other boys enjoyed catching it and throwing it at me. This a is a fun game, as the bug almost always begins flying in the opposite direction from which it was thrown. It's sticky legs attach instantly to whatever it lands on first and with the large group of us in the room, it often stuck onto a person, creating all kinds of fun. The 5 year old brother's name is Christian and they call him Chris, which also happens to be what I am called in Costa Rica since the 'ten' at the end of Kristen is a difficult consonant in Spanish. He and I took to each other very early as we shared a name and a love of pineapple. He is shy, but drew me lots of pictures. On the last day, my family gave me a letter they had written telling me how much they enjoyed my visit and inviting me to come back again. Christian had painstakingly written a very detailed signature he had been practicing throughout the week. He even ran out and gave me a hug at the last minute before the bus arrived to take us away.

Reina is the niece that lives in the house with her baby. She is 15 and has only been through the 4th grade. One night she brought out a children's text book on learning English and asked if I would listen to her read in English. I was nearly brought to tears throughout the next two hours as we worked through pronunciation, vocabulary and other basics of the English language. English is incredibly difficult and yet so incredibly important to know in our world. Reina is Nicaraguan and has not had educational opportunities. Because she is not Costa Rican, she cannot attend the formal school here. But her passion to learn is so much stronger than I would have expected. I made correction after correction and each time she furrowed her brow in concentration and fixed her mistake. I am happy to report that Kelsey is working to open an non-traditional colegio (high school) for ANY adults and teens who want to learn. Kelsey will teach the English and hopes to find others willing to instruct other subjects.

On the final day of the week-long visit we took a trip into the jungle. We watched as the locals fished in the river using nets and a log with holes in it. There were no fishing poles in sight. They led us deep into a thick forested area where the majority of us received anywhere from 10-100 mosquito bites. Luckily, I was on the lower end of that spectrum since I had haphazardly sprayed on some repellente before the trip. It was here we saw the group of about 10 howler monkeys swinging in the thickness. I had heard their deep hoots throughout the night but hadn't seen them until now. They looked at us for a second, then lost interest instantly and continued their play high in the tree tops. We watched for a long time in awe of this natural siting. After much walking and a few more attempts at fishing in certain areas of the river, we came to the natural piscina (swimming pool). For girls, the American idea of a bathing suit is not really appropriate in this area. So we had our bathing suits under shorts and t-shirts and leaped into the river water. The bottom was all mud and as we climbed out to jump in again, our feet sank at least two feet into the soft malleable floor. Soon the locals led us around one more bend surrounding the natural pool and we were introduced to a gigantic tree with long, thick vines. One by one we ran with the vine and let it swing us far over the water below before letting go and plunging deep into the river. I must have done it twenty or more times and my arms ached from climbing out of the river and up the rock and mud wall below the tree.

We hoofed it back to the farm house muddy and soaked, but smiling from ear to ear and laughing loudly. When we got back we were surprised with a barbecue in our honor. They had slaughtered a cow and grilled it up for us along with arroz con pollo (a celebratory food). They also served up fruit like cantaloupe and pineapple that they grow right there on the farm. All the food we ate that night was naturally grown right there with no added chemicals. It was delicious and amazing and so much fun.

The next morning bright and early we climbed onto the first bus in the series of buses on our journey back to our training communities. We all felt pangs of sadness at leaving this magical place. We also all felt pangs of jealousy at Kelsey having this site. We each loved it for all of its aspects and on the ride home we chatted about how we hoped to get a site very much like it.

As I thought over the week on the ride home I left the bus window open and let the fresh Costa Rican air bathe my face and my lungs in the endorphins of my heightened happiness. I thought to myself, this country is magical, this country is now my home.