here we go

Okay, I’ve gotten my break from blogging in, and now I’m back at it.

So you might just be wondering how much can happen in just one month. The answer to that question is a whole heapin’ ton. In the past month or so I’ve been in 3 countries, 7 states, and slept in 12 different beds—a bit ridiculous, I know.
But I’ve finally made it to my summer home.

A few days ago we drove down to southern Chicago, where I’ll be for the summer. I’m here with a team of three others in the Humboldt Part area and will be leading week long high school mission trips in the area throughout all of the summer. It’ll be an adventure for sure. So here we go again…

kuna yala in pictures

right now there's not enough time for words.

1 week notice

here´s my 1 weeks notice.

tomorrow we´re saying goodbye to Costa Rica, and flying to Panama. then monday we'll be making our way to the Kuna Yala islands to live with the Kunas for a week.

so, there will be nothing now here until our return.

hasta luego.

reasoning

So you may be wondering why I haven’t been updating this thing lately. Let me explain:
•Internet access in Grecia was extremely limited
•Many times the site would be blocked for some reason
•Grecia was amazing, and we spent a ton of time just hanging out with our friends and families

There’s my reasons.

pira

My three week stay in the region of Grecia is now complete. For dinner last night I ate a pira, the food that everyone here talks about. Considering all that’s on a pira, I can’t believe I ate one, especially a whole one. Then again I had only eaten breakfast at 7:30am and it was 6pm.

But here is Costa Rica they seem to like weird (for us) food combinations, and the pira is the perfect example. If you know be well you should be amazed and proud that I ate this all based on this description:

Nestled in between two huge bread buns first there are two tacos. You have to understand that these are Latin American tacos—not what we think of in the States—that are for us something along the lines of a taquito. In between the tacos is a piece of chicharon, which is a bit like sausage. On top of the bulk there’s a tomato, catsup, and a head of shredded cabbage. And that is a pira.

Like I said, you should be proud that I ate it and a whole one nevertheless.

and so it begins

Leaving for Grecia they gave us a calendar outlining the rest of the semester, and though it’s helpful to know when assignments are due having the calendar has been a terrible thing. Seeing there is only a month left in our semester is a hard thing not to dwell on. The majority of us love it here in Grecia, but we’re all hitting that low point of the semester—the point where you want to give up, stop caring, and call it quits. I think this happens as the end of every semester draws near, but it’s even stronger when you know it means that you’ll get to go back to a place where you can finally let your hair down after walking ion cultural pins and needles for three months.

On top or that I’m trying to start planning the conference that I will be in charge of next year (you can look at this year’s conference at www.taylor.edu/nslc). I’m constantly having to research and maintain communication with those back at Taylor, which is hard when you only have internet access 2-3 days a week. It’s a stressful thing to have to start while you’re overseas.

With all that said, I think we are now facing our biggest challenge of the semester: not mentally or emotionally checking out because it’s the end of the semester. But avoiding this is getting harder and harder. Fortunately we’re all going through it in some degree or another, so we help catch each other when someone’s starting to go down that track.

what is going on in the world?

I’m sure there’s been many times in the history of the humanity that people have asked this question—times of crisis, war, injustice, change. I too have found myself arriving at this question. My reason: World Cup Qualifiers.

Let’s just examine the facts: Last night Mexico lost to Honduras 3-1. The US tying El Salvador was ridiculous. Though the US is still in 1st place for the region, Mexico is in 4th!

But really, I love soccer and the fact that the qualifier games have started makes me ridiculously excited. Since I’ve been here we’ve watched a good number of the games (yet none with the US or Mexico unfortunately), and I’ve since noticed a difference in the styles of the game. It seems to me that in our Western or European style of futbol things are a bit more organized. There’s a plan; the attacks/plays/whatever you want to call them develop from the back and lead to a goal. You can see it coming; it’s a process. Passes are crisp and highly intentional; they reach their destination. You get to see all the little parts come together paving the way to the ultimate climax, the goal—it’s a work of art that is made over time.

Then there’s the Latin American style, or so it seems to be to me. Instead of something that builds, it is all about the moment of magic, like waiting for a firework. Riskier moves are taken, and ball possession isn’t maintained for long periods of time. But eventually after hundreds of seemingly sloppy moves and passes there’s a connection. It’s so creative and free flowing that, even after the 10 replays, you’re still amazed at how it happened. Yet to get that moment you have to watch the 100 or messy moves that were made before.

After watching a good number of the firework games, I’m feeling ready to head back to the US to watch some western style games—I miss it. The form of the game really is different.

Now that I’ve probably officially bored anyone who’s not interested in soccer or possibly everyone I’ll finish by saying if you haven’t been a fan of soccer in the past, now is the best time to start. The World Cup is right around the corner (South Africa 2010), and the world has already begun to watch. Consider it an act of global engagement!

my stomach was not made for this

My stomach was not made for this. This is one of the phrases that I think I’ll always remember about my semester abroad. Actually it’s not what you think; the majority of the food here is amazing, but on the other hand the amount that’s given to you is way too much. Let’s look at some examples:

San Jose family—they’re pretty good about letting my serve myself my own portion sizes, however I always get harassed for not eating enough. It’s a battle to make sure that they understand that you like their food; it’s just that if you eat another bit you just might explode. Then again there’s always the time when my mom just scoops more food onto my plate, as I try to fake a smile.

Nicaragua—Nicaragua was a bit different. In orientation we were warned, ‘you have to eat everything they give you [to avoid a major offence].’ There was no option here. Some families had had LASP students in the past and knew that gringos didn’t eat that much, but not my family. In fact I had the hovering mom who would watch to make sure I ate and liked everything. Here was my secret for surviving: skirts are great for hiding food, especially if they have pockets. I became a pro at hiding tortillas, bananos [this is not a spelling error], and the waxy vegetable in my skirts. Yet there was one thing that you couldn’t get around—the rice jello. Fortunately my family couldn’t afford it, so I only had it once at a neighbor’s house.

Grecia—when I thought they gave us a lot of food in San Jose, I was wrong—it doesn’t even compare to Grecia. Every day we have cafecito around 4, which consist of coffee (I’m all for that), a sandwich, some sort of bread, and sometimes something else. This amount of food during cafecito is what I would eat for a normal meal. But then around 7 we have a full blow dinner too. Fortunately I’ve figured that if I only eat crackers for lunch and only eat a sandwich at cafecito, I can make it through most of my food at dinner.

Spanish class in Grecia—the other two days of the week, when we don’t have work, we have Spanish class. We already arrive with full stomachs after a massive breakfast. Then at 10 we have a snack, which would be the equivalent of my lunch. Still an hour and a half later we have a massive lunch. Don’t forget there’s still cafecito and dinner when you get home too. Allowing our stomachs to survive Spanish class has become a team effort. For the snack time we all try to take something different, so it looks like a bit of everything was eaten. Then at lunch we figure out who likes what, and literally sit there eating off each other’s plates. For example, I’ll eat some of Brady’s salad, Brady will eat some of my potatoes, and Melissa will eat some of my rice. Katie also came up with another brilliant method to make it look like we eat more—cut your food into smaller pieces. Generally it’s a secret for anorexics, but it works well for us too.

If we all come back 20 pounds heavier you will know why—the LASP 20. I think we’re all looking forward to being able to have the choice to not eat. But by we’ve all become expert food smugglers. And who knows, maybe these tips can help you when you’re having to eat way too much food in Latin America.

holy gertrude!

I don’t think that I wrote about this earlier, but I’ve moved cities yet again. For the next three weeks I will be living with a family in the Grecia area, have classes two days a week, and work at a high school the other three days of the week.

We’ve only been here three days, but I think that this is going to be the best part of the semester. My family lives in a little town called Santo Gertrudis (aka Holy Gertrude, I think it’s hilarious). I am loving being with this family. My sisters are seven and three, and as cute as can be; we spend a lot of time playing and doing ridiculous things. Both of my parents are very relaxed and easy going, which is a great change (the opposite of my family in San Jose). The area itself is gorgeous, and the way of life is so much more laid back than that of San Jose.

Time will tell about life in Grecia, but right now it seems to be pretty good.

so close...

Today was so incredibly close to being one of the highlights of my time with my family in San Jose. Why you ask? First let me give a little background information.

My bedroom in our house is right next to the wash/laundry room, also home to our two dogs. Bonita is a cute little, floppy black thing, but then there’s the other, Pookie. Pookie is one of those little white dogs that always seems to have some dog body fluid staining his fur and that likes to bark. Every morning at 5am I don’t need to set my alarm clock because Pookie will promptly start yipping and crying is that high pitched howling. The thing is that I’m the only room close to Pookie, so it really doesn’t matter to anyone else. So there you have the history.

Today, like many days, my tico dad took Bonita and Pookie out and left them on their little leashes that are nailed into the ground. I was walking back to the house and saw that the neighborhood police, a neighbor, and my mom we all on our porch. I soon discovered that Pookie had escaped. I’m not going to lie, I was a little excited about this. I’ve actually thought about what would happen if I accidently let Pookie out of the house one day. It wouldn’t be a bad thing—he could join a group of dogs that roam the neighborhood and be able to run free. So you could say that I’m trying to look out for the best intentions of Pookie.

After half an hour I was ready to officially celebrate the escape, but it all came to a crashing halt. There was a knock on our door, and there was Caesar, our neighborhood police guy, and Pookie. I thought Caesar was supposed to be on my side after all the times he tries to hit on me. I should have called his phone number that he gave me the first day (see ‘can i have yo numba’).

That is how today was so close to being a tremendous highlight, but no, the prodigal dog had to return—lucky me.

Some of you might be reading this thinking that I’m a horrible person for having such thoughts, but really, I do like animals. I won’t try to free your dog because I think it is annoying. It’s just Pookie, really.

can i have yo numba?

So now that we’ve been here in Latin America for a little more than two months now, I’ve been able to make a few observations—observations about things like cultural values, cues, differences, all that good stuff.

Let me share with you one of my favorite observations.
What is the number one question that I’ve been asked by men of all ages here?

Do you have a boyfriend?

Upon an answer of no to that first question a bit of small talk will ensue ultimately leading to the question, “can I have your number?” When you try to explain that you don’t know it, they are all too willing to give you theirs.

After a few months of this, I’ve come up with my solution. I’m just going to start making up crazy stories when they ask:

¿Tiene un novio? [Do you have a boyfriend]
No, en realidad tengo tres—dos en Estados Unidos, un de Costa Rica porque necesitaba alguien para comprar cena para mí. [No, acutally I have three—two in the States, and one from Costa Rica because I needed someone to buy me dinner]

There you have it, my new response. We’ll see how they respond to that one.

beautiful and tragic

Spending time in the campo, I was a bit surprised at the way of life there. I expected it to be a lot harder, but it was actually a bit relaxing. We would wake up at 4.30am every morning and my dad and sisters would milk the cows and make sure all the animals were fed. My sisters went to school from 8-1:30. During the day my dad would work for a little while, come back to the house, rest for a long time, do a little more work, and be done for the day. And it was practically the same routine for my mom except in the house.

Life was easy and simple. There was one choice of food, no electricity, three pairs of clothes for everyone, and an outhouse out back. Much of the day was spent on the porch simply being. It was a very restful and natural way of life. Something beautiful.

However we came to know that this simple and beautiful way of life is also the most tragic. Back in the US we have surrounded ourselves with buffers—health insurance, saving accounts, grocery stores. But there in the campo there are no buffers; life is tragic. Children in my community die of fever. In another community that a group was at, a five-year-old fell and literally had a hole in his head—a sizable piece missing. They simply cleaned it out and used some of our Neosporin to fill the hole and stuck a bandaid on it. If a disease spreads through the farm animals the families are left with nothing.

Their life is simple and beautiful, but so very tragic. But which is better? Living this simpler life is more natural and closer to the reality probably. However it is the buffers that we have created that often give us a safety net to prolong the inevitable many times.

Which is better?
I haven’t decided.

a bit of a summary

I’m back once again. Sitting here writing on an English keyboard I’ve noticed that I’ve gotten so used to typing on a Spanish keyboard that it’s now hard to type on an English keyboard—wow.

We made it back from Nicaragua, and it was undoubtedly two weeks that were well spent. The first three days we were in the capital, Managua. It’s an interesting place for a capital, because it’s not at all what you would expect. Back in its day, Managua used to a bustling metropolitan area, but after the earthquake in the early 70’s most of the city was destroyed and has not recovered since. Many places throughout the city literally felt like a ghost town. While we were in the city we had some amazing speakers including a woman presidential candidate and was a top general in the revolution, got to see some remarkable sites, go to a protest site made up of shanty town, and surprisingly have some time to relax.

After a few days calm in Managua the real adventure was ready to begin; it was time for the campo. Leaving a 4am, my group took a 7 hour bus ride from the capital to a town called Rama. From there we took a long boat for about 45 minutes down a river, follow by a 45 minute walk and hour on horse. When the man who was on the other horse, who I later found out was my dad, opened the door I had made it to my house in the campo. I spent the next week living there in the community of Concha 2. Most of my days were spent on the porch playing with my three-year-old-cute-as-all-get-out brother, going to school with my sisters (10 and 12), going to church, or doing absolutely nothing. We slept on the floor making every night a sleepover with my sisters, cooked on an open fire in the house (no electricity), took care of the farm animals, ate rice and beans for every meal, let the sun dictate when we slept, and enjoyed a much better pace of life.

After a week in the campo all the small groups that were spread all throughout the country met in the city of Granada for a few days of reflection and recuperation. We were all pretty worn out for life in the campo, but I know I wouldn’t replace it for anything. It is a moving experience. Granada was a perfect place to recover and process. It’s an old city right off Lake Nicaragua with all of the old buildings brightly painted and cobblestone streets—I loved it along with everyone else in the group.

On the way back from Nicaragua I was dropped off, and went to the beach at Tamarindo with some friends for a couple of days. Now I’m burnt and looking like a lobster, but it was great.

So that’s a bit of what we did in Nicaragua. It’s a hard experience to describe, however I’ll try to share a few thoughts later. For now here’s some pictures from the trip...

2 weeks, one backpack

We’re packing everything we need for two weeks into one backpack.

Monday at 6.30am we’re meeting at the bus station to make the 11 hour trip to Nicaragua. I’m excited and nervous all at once, but I think the excitement outweighs everything else.

Lately, as a part of Core Seminar, we’ve been Nicaragua’s history and how the US has constantly sought to hinder it. If you don’t know anything about the history there I would recommend looking it up—it’s a worthwhile endeavor. It’s a sad and troublesome history.

The first few days are going to filled with “charlas” (talks/interviews), so that we can hear more of the story and learn about the reality of today in Nicaragua. Then we’ll be splitting up into small groups of 4-5 and travel to every corner of the country to live with rural families living in poverty.

I am excited! I don’t think this trip could have come at a better time.

So due to the fact that we won’t have internet access for two weeks, you can expect to see nothing new here for the next two weeks. See you all in March!

orange juice and the 80's

There are many days here that are hard—especially with my Tica family. But I am learning how important the little things are.

A lot of times on the buses in between Spanish songs there will be a song in English from the 80’s. It’s so ridiculous, but just hearing a familiar song makes the day so much better. Today I got to sit in a little street side café, drink orange juice, and listen to songs like “Uptown Girl” and “Living on a Prayer.”

The 80’s and orange juice—a great combination to brighten your day.

john stam

I you haven’t been able to figure it out yet, I really like stories—probably more than you would think. I’ve written papers on and studied the psychology and spirituality of stories. We’re people of story, and I love that. All that to say that’s why I end up writing about people so much; I love their stories. So here goes an attempt to share another story.

Today for Core Seminar we had John Stam come and visit us. This guy is nothing short of amazing. I was made fun of, because my eyes were glued on him the whole time, I talked to him during the break, laughed at every one of his little jokes and puns, and had an endless amount of questions during the Q&A time.

John is an 80 year old missionary and dreamer whose lived in Latin America for the past 60 or so years. He’s lead Bible studies for Sandinista revolutionaries of the Nicaraguan Contra War, knows more about Latin American history then any North American that I’ve ever met, seen how the US has repeatedly stirred up and initiated wars, revolutions, conflicts, and near genocides throughout Latin and South America; spent late nights talking with Fidel Castro about Jesus, and so much more. I told you this guy is amazing.

I want to live a life as full as this guy.

everyone needs a girl's night

We’ve entered into the final push of the semester. After next week it’s all downhill, but as for now it’s been a bit stressful. Something that’s made it a bit more difficult for me is my family (tico family that is). This has been the first major wall that I’ve hit since I’ve been here.

A lot of the other students have had a hard time with their families, because they do nothing. Mine is the extreme opposite. There is never a quiet, not-busy, down moment with my family. I’m grateful to have an active family, but it can be tiring. Whenever I’m home, even in my room with the door shut, one of my parents will find some reason literally every 10 minutes to come, knock on my door, and get me. So it’s pretty hard to find alone time. The majority of the time I’m not really talked to, I’m just talked at. My dad likes to explain everything, and I mean everything. This is a tortilla. You can buy torillas in the store. This is how you fold and eat a tortilla. This is a thermos. You put hot food in it like this…you get the picture. Thanks for listening to my little vent.

Yesterday we had our final presentation for our Spanish class. As we were waiting to go in before the panel, one of the girls in my class had the idea of going over to her house afterwards for a girl’s night. So after the presentations Liz, Lindsay, and myself walked back to Lindsay’s house. We played with her little siblings (little kids refresh me), ate PB&J and ice cream, had good conversation (we are girls, of course), and watched Momma Mia. It was a great night, and I felt/feel so refreshed.

Praise God for girl’s nights, PB&J, ridiculous movies, and friends.

reclaim

Before coming on this trip, I remember having a conversation with one of my close friends, Jamie. I was trying to explain to her what was going through my head as I was getting ready to come here, but, as is common with me, I couldn’t find the right words to express what was in my mind. I couldn’t think of a better way to express what I was thinking other than saying I need something of my own again.

Once I got here I was trying to explain this same feeling to another dear friend, and finally was able to come up with a word to describe it—reclaiming.

Today I got to sit in a circle with my peers at LASP as we all got to share a part of our spiritual journey. When it was my turn to share, I shared this thought about reclaiming. The past year and a half or so have been rough and have taken a heavy toll on me. In coming here I, in some ways, feel like I’m getting a fresh start. A time to step back from the norm and rediscover, reclaim.

I think that may be my word for the semester.
reclaim.

spanish thoughts

Every Thursday, during our Core Seminar time, we meet in smaller groups to help process all that is going on. This past week my group was with Javier, a LASP professor who is a Tico. Thus our conversation had to be in Spanish.

It was phenomenal. As we were discussing I found that I wasn’t actually thinking about what I was speaking or working on translating in my head, I was just speaking. I can’t even begin to explain how excited that makes me. It’s the same story with Spanish class. This past week we had in depth, great conversations about the essence and purpose of humanity, sexuality, poverty, racism, and theology in Spanish. I even translated Tozer’s thoughts into Spanish! This new found fluency is ridiculously exciting.

As we closed our time on Thursday, Javier shared with us how amazing it was to have a group of young people from the typically dominating culture and world power discussing major issues such as poverty, economics, and sustainable development in a language that is not their own. He said that seeing that was extremely powerful. I agree.

vamos, vamos ticos...

Walking through the streets of San Jose throughout the day, it didn’t feel normal. People were extra friendly and jolly. Half of the crowds were dressed in red too.

It was the day of the World Cup qualifying game between Costa Rica and Honduras.

I met my sister’s boyfriend and his friends in front McDonald’s in La Plaza de la Cultura, and we were on our way. Every five minutes someone would pat me on the back or say something, because I was wearing my Costa Rica jersey. The streets were extra busy. At the bus stop there was a line that went on forever and was carefully guarded by police. When someone in a blue and white (Honduras) jersey walked by, chaos would erupt.

As we walked into the stadium I was a bit nervous, because I had been told by some classmates that the section that I was sitting in had the reputation of being insane to say the least. Before entering we had to put our coins in our shoes—they don’t allow anything in the stadium, including coins, because people would through them at the players on the field. Two hours before the game, half of the stadium was already filled with people on their feet singing and chanting. Many times the actual infrastructure of our section would sway and move with the crowd.

When the Honduran players were being announced, the announcer would say their first name, but it was impossible to catch the last name because it was drowned out with the Tico’s shouting ‘perra’ or bitch. Once the game started the energy in the stadium was out of control, in some ways literally—police having to break up/prevent fights, lots of middle fingers given and strong words said. But the best part was when Costa Rica scored (twice). It didn’t matter who you were surrounded by, everyone got a hug.

The game was an amazing experience. In many ways it was like what you see on the TV about Latin American soccer games. And did I mention that we won, 2-0? I’ll leave you with two victory songs…

Ole, ole, ole, ole, Ticos, Ticos!
Vamos, vamos Ticos. ¡Esa noche se ganará!