Today was an absolutely beautiful day. Finally, I was strong enough to run again and indulge in the cool, crisp air and somewhat quiet streets - not too quiet - of Costa Rica at 6:00 in the morning. It's amazing how much better of a person I am when I start the day with a rapid heart beat and a little sweat.
Then came class, which was absolutely fabulous. Because I would rather not speak than risk being wrong, when I am in a class with my peers, I depend on them to do the talking and remain as quiet as possible. When dying to be fluent in Spanish, this is not very affective. Therefore, this week I am taking two hours of private classes every morning, ridding me of the opportunity to be timid; I can already see an improvement. Today in class my teacher, Ana, and myself had the picture perfect example of language barriers at their worst; her English is worse than my Spanish. We were talking about my farm, and the animals at my farm (in Spanish of course). When I got to the point in which I wanted to tell her about Oliver and Annie, our infamous goats, I forgot what the word for goat was in Spanish, therefore I asked her in English. She told me 'Las Fantasmas."
So I started talking about 'Las Fantasmas' and she was absolutely enchanted. I told her that they were orphans that we found and decided to keep. She asked where they lived, and I told her with the donkeys; she was perplexed, but pleased. She asked me who protected whom, and I told her the donkeys protected the goats. She asked me if we let visitors see them, and a little bit confused, I answered yes, of course. She asked me if they talked, and at this point I became a lot confused. I thought for a moment and decided in my mind that she must mean do they make noise, so I said yes. She asked if they talked to me or the donkeys. At this point all I could think was, "dang, this woman is nuts," but I told her they talked to the donkeys and each other, not me. She asked what they sounded like, and a bit mortified, I said, "Baaaaaa." Then finally, she asked me if they were in the shape of an animal or a human... and I was like WTF!? I told her they looked like animals because they are animals... and this was the moment that it clicked; we were NOT on the same page. We both sat there silently for a moment, and then she realized... when I said Goat, she understood Ghost. A goat is 'una cabra' and 'una fatasma' is a ghost. So while I was sitting there thinking she was nuts, she was also sitting there thinking I was an alien and that Americans really are insane. We were laughing so hard we were in tears...and laughed and laughed and laughed for a good ten minutes. Goes to show how much one word can change the entire meaning of a story.
After class I FINALLY went in search for a solution to my bed that is breaking my back. After going to two stores and fumbling around trying to ask for a foam cover for my mattress that would be good for a bad back, I was told to go to a store called Proursa, which was in walking distance, just four blocks down the street. An hour later, I was still walking. Finally I found it, and am hoping I sleep like a baby on my new three inch, firm Espuma tonight.
This afternoon, I went to Los Cuadros to teach English; it was by far the best day yet. I not only connected more with some of the children, but I also learned a lot about the area, the main teacher, Joan, and the "Boy With a Ball" rep, Sergio, who is in charge of the "Los Cuadros project." To say I fell in love with many people today is an understatement.
This is the "nice area" of 'Los Quadros.'
First, I fell in love with Joan, when I asked her to tell me more about herself. I learned she moved to Costa Rica with her boyfriend in January; her home is in Guatemala City, Guatemala. After asking her if she liked Costa Rica, we ended up talking a lot about Guatemala. She told me about the fear she grew up with, in an area where deaths are so normal that one grows numb to the pain of losing loved ones, because if they didn't, they wouldn't be able to survive. She told me about the gangs, the corruption, the rape and the murder. Though there were cops on every corner, she was taught to fear the cops, because they're often the worst of all. Three times, she was held at gun point just for her phone, and when I asked her if they really would have killed her, she said yes; it happens every day. She met one young man, of only twenty years, who murdered some one for just $50 dollars. Life there doesn't have the same value as it does here and in the States.
And then she began to talk to me about Sergio. He is under five feet tall, covered in tattoos, and a bit of a "gangster." He speaks little to no English and is very shy, therefore I don't know him well yet, however, through watching him with the children, I can see his kindness and have become very fond of him. When we entered the neighborhood, he ran into someone's house, leaving us in the car, so Joan took the opportunity to share his story. Sergio is also from Guatemala and moved to Costa Rica six years ago; he has been working for "Boy with a Ball" since October. He has never talked to her about his past, yet through working together they discovered that they have mutual friends/family; she learned his story from her uncle, who Sergio called "his brother." Growing up, he was initiated into one of the worst gang Guatemala at a young age, and only God knows what he has seen, done, and suffered. Six and a half years ago he decided he wanted out of the gang, but was told death was his only option. Until he met a representative who works for an organization that helps young males flee their counties in order to escape the Guatemalan gangs. He left everything he had ever known behind, desperate for a new chance at life, and now he is mentoring children in the largest, most violent slum in Costa Rica. What a story. No wonder I like him. 
And then there is this little princess, Jocelyn. She is 17 years old and 9.5 months pregnant. The majority of the people in this slum are Nicaraguan, and she, too, is from Nicaragua. She came here with her family for a 'better' life, however, this is what she found. Who am I to say it is not better than where she was before, but for someone so smart, so sweet, and so beautiful... sometimes life is just so unfair. Because many of the Nicaraguans are here illegally, and none of them have insurance, she can not go to the hospital to be induced or get a c-section; all she can do is wait and hope that the baby will come soon, and that he/she will be healthy; and pray that she can survive the labor in whichever of these slums she calls home. When I asked Sergio if the father was around, he told me he was not sure. He told me that in this slum, it is very common for parents to decide they no longer want there children, leaving them on the streets to fend for themselves. Often, the young women are taken in by a distant relative or acquaintance, who then begins to rape them. As of now, Sergio is not sure if this is the case with Jocelyn, or if the father is a young man, a good man, or what. When we asked about sex education, he said it does not exist: not in the schools and not in the homes. When one 11 year old girl started her period, she told her mother she got bitten by a bat in the middle of the night, and her mother gave her a towel, told her she would be fine, and left her to figure the rest out for herself. Sergio and Joan asked that I take Jocelyn under my wing, talking to her about my life, be a temporary mentor, and show her an alternate path than the one she believes she is destined to.
And then, of course, Cristian. A twelve year old boy who is more gifted than he knows, and has more potential than he could ever dream of. The attractive, kind, smart young man, who supports his peers, encouraging the ones who are lost and afraid, and teasing the ones who are confident and "cool." The adolescent who knows exactly how far he can push the limits, getting a laugh from his classmates, while also refraining from being disrespectful and getting in trouble. I have always had a soft spot for this kind.
And last, but certainly not least, this little angel, whose name I have yet to learn, but whose face and sweet smile I will never forget. She is the little sister of one of two of the girls in our class, and belongs to the family who lives in the 'center' from which we teach. They live there for free, however, have to maintain it, pay there pills, keep it clean, etc... There are five children in the family, and she is the fourth. Both the daughter before her and the son after her have severe mental retardations, yet she and her two oldest sisters are perfectly healthy; they are all absolutely beautiful. This little one, though, has absolutely stolen my heart. The first day we went, she asked me for a pen and a piece of paper. On it she drew a picture of a beautiful home, with flowers, and a smiling family, entirely different from her own. And since that day, she has been my little shadow... wanting nothing more than a smile and maybe a little affection. I may have to bring her home.
It is so refreshing to fall in love with people. There are so many stories about bad guys, tragedy and the world falling to pieces, that we often forget about the beauty. It is times like these, when I am free of pressure, distraction, worry, or fear that I am capable of seeing how magnificent so many people in this world are. There is a lot of bad, but a whole lot more good; we could fall in love with someone new every day.
"I am beginning to think that maybe this world is just a place for us to learn that we need each other more than we want to admit."
Richelle Goodwin
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