A lil´somethin

As I sit at a little table in front of my friend Alonso’s house trying to explain to him the conjugations of the verb “to be” we decide to take a break from studying and enjoy the peaceful pacific sunset in the distance. The light blue sky radiating with every shade or orange, red and purple imaginable.

Alonso, who is in his early 20s and has never been very far from our little mountain town of 350 people explains to me that he doesn’t want to spend the rest of his life working in the fields with a machete making $6 a day like the rest of his friends. He tells me about the luxury hotels and resorts, and multimillion dollar homes he knows are located just out of sight on the other side of the mountains and how if he spoke English he could easily get a decent paying job anywhere along the coast. This, he believes, with bring him the more exiting and fulfilling life he is looking for.

The fact that he was never exposed to English in his rural elementary school and unable to attended high school due to family work obligations makes English learning a particularly daunting task. Never the less he is undeterred and probably one of the hardest working students in my community English class. I gladly take some time to work with him one-on-one to make sure he keeps up with the others.

We stare in silence when suddenly a flock of squawking chickens streak past. I look up to see Alonso’s mom in hot pursuit with a broom in here hand cursing something about hell and damnation at the animals which have invaded her door-less kitchen for the umpteenth time that evening. She nicely smiles at me, lights the lantern on our table and goes back to sweeping the dirt floor of their humble little house.

After finishing the generous dinner of rice, beans, eggs and homemade corn tortillas, I give Alonso a little extra homework and say my goodbyes to his parents and 5 brothers and sisters. Taking out my flashlight I turn to start the hour and a half walk back to my house when Alonso’s dad yells from the doorway, like always reminding me that I should buy a horse or mule, instead of always walking everywhere.

I chuckle and wave goodbye, inside knowing he makes a valid point. Since most of the roads (trails) are too steep, rutty, rocky and/or muddy for a bicycle, it makes complete since to invest in a horse. What is hard for them to understand is that in a lot of way I enjoy the long quiet walks, especially at night. Aside from passing no more than a handful of sleeping house and the occasional pasted-out drunk, it is just me and the stars, the cool breeze, the crickets, and the howler monkeys that make it their job to scares the crap out of me when I get too close to their trees. In a countryside as beautiful as this why hurry?

This is a fairly typical evening for me here in rural Costa Rica and the story of Alonso is similar to many others in my town. Although I was not sent here specifically to teach English, I do find that teaching takes up a surprising portion of my time. In a rural town located only about 12 miles from some of the country’s most popular beaches, in a country who’s economy depends largely on tourism revenue from North Americans and Europeans, the locals understand more than anyone the benefits of learning English. Though most people I meet here are happy with life the way it is, there is a surprising amount of people, mostly the youth, who have a strong urge to make a different life for themselves.

For me, as I knows many of my fellow PCV friends here will attest too, living for so long with a host family can make life a little more...lets say…“interesting.” For instance, I’m getting to the point now where I can tune out the roosters that start crowing furiously outside my bedroom window everyday at 4:00am but I still have to wake up at 6:00 with visions of buffalo soldiers dancing through my head because my host-brother finds it necessary to blast the same Bob Marley CD every morning while getting ready for school.

Also for some reason it still disturbed me a little when I’m sitting in my room reading just before dinner and watch through the window as my 12-year-old host sister runs out the backdoor and brutally kills an unsuspecting hen with whatever object happens to be laying around at the time. Then 20 minutes later there it is sitting on the table with the usual dish of rice and beans. Of course I have more gruesome accounts involving pigs and cows, not that I hesitate to eat any of them.

Due to the numerous tourists here it is fairly easy, especially in the more developed parts of the country, to be just another gringo (American) walking down the street. Most people are friendly and fairly patient with my stumbling Spanish, and some thoroughly enjoying the opportunity to practice their English. This is usually little more them the yelling out of random words or phrases as I walk by them on the street. I hear “hello my friend” call out from from random people all the time but if I stop and respond in English they are suddenly silent and embarrassed. A also remember one instance standing at a bus stop when a boy I had never seen before ran up, look me in the eye and said “thank you very much.” When I simply replied with a “you’re welcome” his face lit up and he ran away grinning, obviously content with his conversation skills.

I guess in some ways Costa Rica might be a little different from the traditional Peace Corps country. I have even heard it referred to by some as the “Posh Corps” due to the existing luxuries that are very rare in other Peace Corps location. I can agree when I think of a few of my fellow volunteers who I know live in homes with wireless internet and are a short bike ride form malls, Burger Kings and movie theater. Even the more “isolated” volunteers like myself don’t live much further than a couple hour bus ride from places with internet, restaurants and bars. Most of us here also have cell phones which also makes life that much easier. Considering the beauty and popularity of the country and the considerable luxury that many volunteers live in, one might be confused to learn that the dropout rate here is among the highest in the region. Although the reasons for this are debatable I think I have a pretty good idea. Keep posted for more.

Pura Vida

Heath