San Jeronimo and el espiritu humano (episode 2)
-"Miss Jess! Miss Jess!!- Como se dice seguir en ingles?"
I looked up from my notebook at a set of two chocolate brown eyes staring back at me
-"Oh I'm sorry, I don't speak spanish" I replied
-"Mentira!"
Silence
_"OOKKKAYYY How do you say seguir in english?
-"To pursue or follow"
Digna returned to her seat and stuck her tongue out at me
- sí, me entiende!
-no, no entiendo espanol. Soy gringa pura- No tengo ni idea!
giggles
It was just about time for lunch and the kids were getting rowdy. I was in a room decorated with bright pictures and maps, the english alphabet pasted above the chalk board and surrounded by 12 5th graders. The kids asked questions often, and I was more than once surprised at their capacity to quickly grasp the english language.
The school was small and modest, but incredible to consider. Everyone in the community was somehow involved in the creation of the school. The land the school was built upon, the materials of which the buildings were made, the administration: it was all planned out by parents in the community. At San Jeronimo Bilingual school, socio-economic class is not a big issue. Everyone in the community is able to apply for the opportunity to study at the school. Being a private school, payment is due in two ways: traditional monetary payments are available for those students who can afford it, and a payment through service to the school is available for those who cannot afford the tuition. This means that the majority of the staff at the school are parents.
Mostly everything at the school is donated by people who care. And that's what makes it such an incredible place: because you can see the progress materializing before your eyes: the physical embodiement of social change. All the sweat and labor of the school is poured right back into the community. We were working to create opportunity for social growth. And it seems to be working.
I wonder if a system like this, a co-operative and completely democratic system, a system where all the money is poured directly into the community and then back into the school, a system where the teachers are there because they care, and everything is working based on the pure idea of education for the greater good- would a system such as this would ever work for a school in the united states?
I moved to another homestay, this time with a beautiful 23 year old woman named Sadie and her adorable little boy. Elouisa and Gerrison often visited and drank beers with us outside on the porch. Elouisa tried to teach us gringas how to dance, a process that was both hilarious and embarassing. It was the ideal laid back location in which I was instantly comfortable, even despite the oppressive heat.
The house itself was beautiful: bright colored walls- deep pinks, tangerine oranges, cool greens. I loved it immedietly when I saw a vase of yellow daisies and a buddha statue guarding the water pila. There was a window in my room which looked out onto the beautiful view of the cement of the building nextdoor. So although the house was perfect in and of itself, its location was odd. It was as if someone had plucked this house out from some country town and plopped it in a cramped lot behind a chinese restaurant. But it was still beautiful, and it's hidden location added a level of character that I could appreciate.
Ah, the water situation. The water situation is a bit tough to explain. It's not that there is a shortage, it's more of a distribution problem. So there were some days when we were without running water. But like all challenges in life, people learn to adapt and overcome. So to overcome, each house came equipped with something that resembled a mix between a sink and a bathtub, which was filled with water and kept on reserve for those times when the water wouldn't turn on, or for washing clothes. And so I quickly learned the beautiful art of taking bucket showers.
It's always interesting to me how people change depending on their situation. Sounds stupid, sounds obvious. But seriously, I'll be the first to admit that I get really pissed off at school when the hot water doesn't turn on, or get freaked out whenever I see a spider. But for some reason, in my situation at that simple and cozy house with orange walls, I was content with limited running water, and no hot water whatsoever. The thought of spiders or any kind of bugs didn't phase me- I even tried to capture a roach and set it free outdoors. (but alas, someone's shoe got to the poor thing first!) I was doing manual labor. I was mixing cement by hand. I was digging ditches with a broken shovel and a pick-axe. My parents don't believe me. I almost don't believe me. But it happened.
The ability for the human spirit to overcome even the most devastating experiences was humbly presented to me one day when I learned that the mother of two little girls in the school was murdered. That same day, I learned that many of the students at our school were abandoned by their parents at an extremely young age and left to live and be raised by their relatives, while their parents sought a stable, however small, income in the united states. Most of the time, I was told, that plan doesn't work so well. But there those kids sat, inhaling the thick humidity and pronouncing english words with accurate, quasi-american accents. Writing stories in their notebooks about monsters and devils and adventures. Just like any "normal" 5th grade child. Incredible.
I now know how to make cement. And mix it by hand. To be there, kneeling in dirt and cutting rusty metal wires with rusty metal saws was intensely humbling- a realization I had one morning while drinking 90 degree humidity into my lungs: this would all go by much faster and much easier if we actually had tools that worked. Playing soccer with the 9th graders was another moment of realization: it would be so much easier to play soccer with balls that weren't flat, and real standing goals and pinnies so that we can distinguish between the teams. A realization in class when I asked a boy where his science notebook was and he replied that he didn't have one. They make due with what they have, no complaints, no "why me's" or "it's not fair's". They deal with it like they deal with everything in their lives, day by day.
An old man asked me how I liked Cofradia
I told him it was a beautiful town
He replied: Yes beautiful. But very dusty!
I looked up from my notebook at a set of two chocolate brown eyes staring back at me
-"Oh I'm sorry, I don't speak spanish" I replied
-"Mentira!"
Silence
_"OOKKKAYYY How do you say seguir in english?
-"To pursue or follow"
Digna returned to her seat and stuck her tongue out at me
- sí, me entiende!
-no, no entiendo espanol. Soy gringa pura- No tengo ni idea!
giggles
It was just about time for lunch and the kids were getting rowdy. I was in a room decorated with bright pictures and maps, the english alphabet pasted above the chalk board and surrounded by 12 5th graders. The kids asked questions often, and I was more than once surprised at their capacity to quickly grasp the english language.
The school was small and modest, but incredible to consider. Everyone in the community was somehow involved in the creation of the school. The land the school was built upon, the materials of which the buildings were made, the administration: it was all planned out by parents in the community. At San Jeronimo Bilingual school, socio-economic class is not a big issue. Everyone in the community is able to apply for the opportunity to study at the school. Being a private school, payment is due in two ways: traditional monetary payments are available for those students who can afford it, and a payment through service to the school is available for those who cannot afford the tuition. This means that the majority of the staff at the school are parents.
Mostly everything at the school is donated by people who care. And that's what makes it such an incredible place: because you can see the progress materializing before your eyes: the physical embodiement of social change. All the sweat and labor of the school is poured right back into the community. We were working to create opportunity for social growth. And it seems to be working.
I wonder if a system like this, a co-operative and completely democratic system, a system where all the money is poured directly into the community and then back into the school, a system where the teachers are there because they care, and everything is working based on the pure idea of education for the greater good- would a system such as this would ever work for a school in the united states?
I moved to another homestay, this time with a beautiful 23 year old woman named Sadie and her adorable little boy. Elouisa and Gerrison often visited and drank beers with us outside on the porch. Elouisa tried to teach us gringas how to dance, a process that was both hilarious and embarassing. It was the ideal laid back location in which I was instantly comfortable, even despite the oppressive heat.
The house itself was beautiful: bright colored walls- deep pinks, tangerine oranges, cool greens. I loved it immedietly when I saw a vase of yellow daisies and a buddha statue guarding the water pila. There was a window in my room which looked out onto the beautiful view of the cement of the building nextdoor. So although the house was perfect in and of itself, its location was odd. It was as if someone had plucked this house out from some country town and plopped it in a cramped lot behind a chinese restaurant. But it was still beautiful, and it's hidden location added a level of character that I could appreciate.
Ah, the water situation. The water situation is a bit tough to explain. It's not that there is a shortage, it's more of a distribution problem. So there were some days when we were without running water. But like all challenges in life, people learn to adapt and overcome. So to overcome, each house came equipped with something that resembled a mix between a sink and a bathtub, which was filled with water and kept on reserve for those times when the water wouldn't turn on, or for washing clothes. And so I quickly learned the beautiful art of taking bucket showers.
It's always interesting to me how people change depending on their situation. Sounds stupid, sounds obvious. But seriously, I'll be the first to admit that I get really pissed off at school when the hot water doesn't turn on, or get freaked out whenever I see a spider. But for some reason, in my situation at that simple and cozy house with orange walls, I was content with limited running water, and no hot water whatsoever. The thought of spiders or any kind of bugs didn't phase me- I even tried to capture a roach and set it free outdoors. (but alas, someone's shoe got to the poor thing first!) I was doing manual labor. I was mixing cement by hand. I was digging ditches with a broken shovel and a pick-axe. My parents don't believe me. I almost don't believe me. But it happened.
The ability for the human spirit to overcome even the most devastating experiences was humbly presented to me one day when I learned that the mother of two little girls in the school was murdered. That same day, I learned that many of the students at our school were abandoned by their parents at an extremely young age and left to live and be raised by their relatives, while their parents sought a stable, however small, income in the united states. Most of the time, I was told, that plan doesn't work so well. But there those kids sat, inhaling the thick humidity and pronouncing english words with accurate, quasi-american accents. Writing stories in their notebooks about monsters and devils and adventures. Just like any "normal" 5th grade child. Incredible.
I now know how to make cement. And mix it by hand. To be there, kneeling in dirt and cutting rusty metal wires with rusty metal saws was intensely humbling- a realization I had one morning while drinking 90 degree humidity into my lungs: this would all go by much faster and much easier if we actually had tools that worked. Playing soccer with the 9th graders was another moment of realization: it would be so much easier to play soccer with balls that weren't flat, and real standing goals and pinnies so that we can distinguish between the teams. A realization in class when I asked a boy where his science notebook was and he replied that he didn't have one. They make due with what they have, no complaints, no "why me's" or "it's not fair's". They deal with it like they deal with everything in their lives, day by day.
An old man asked me how I liked Cofradia
I told him it was a beautiful town
He replied: Yes beautiful. But very dusty!
posted by Jessica @ 7:11 PM
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