I got a package in the mail today. Y’all know I love mail. It was full of starbursts, skittles, suckers, pictures and a letter from a friend who describes motherhood just beautifully.
And then there were puzzles for my students. Crosswords. Sudoku. Word Games and Mad Libs. The mad libs were a huge hit and a great way to practice parts of speech. Note the following conversation:
Luis Miguel just walked up to me. He looked at me sweetly and motioned with his finger for me to bend down, as though he had a secret. I obliged and he wrapped his hand around my neck, pulled me closer and kissed me on the cheek with a loud shhmack sound.
I was still grinning when he said, “Mees, I have only seven days more to give you kisses! It is okay if I give you two kisses today?”
Sometimes I sit down to write and the words come easily. I’m not sure where their origin is or how they find their way behind that flashing black line on my computer screen, but they do. They find their way there and they stay for a while. Until I read them and change them into some different word that’s bubbled toward the surface.
Today isn’t one of those days at all. I’ve been sitting here for ages begging thoughts to come, words to flow. Praying that somehow something worthwhile would end up here, but it hasn’t yet and I’ve been sitting for more than an hour.
I think maybe I’ll give up. I’ll lie down and let dreams take me over. Words come alive there and sometimes I wake up and scribble them in the notebook on my night stand. And when I wake in the morning, there they are, confused and twisted like nighttime words are. And every so often they’re in two languages and I smile at the absurdity of that.
I spent all day Saturday in Chinchina, a small town between Manizales and warmer, at a coffee farm owned by one of the families from school. I’m always amazed by the hospitality of these people and do my best to be sociable when I’m offered an invitation. I admit that sometimes I let the day pass thinking I’d rather be reading or writing or in a place by myself somewhere, but this was not one of those days.
The drive took about an hour and I watched in silent awe as the Rio Chinchina cut through the land, rushing over rocks winding its way toward a sea somewhere. The breeze was constant and pleasantly cool, the smell of coffee carried on it. At last, the jeep made its way down the drive and I grinned at the family standing hand in hand at the gate to welcome us. I like Colombian families. We shuffled off the bus, sipped freshjuice, and the went for a short walk.
“We call this Eden,” Jose Fernando said and I understood how they’d come up with name. The space was alive with flowers and birds in exotic colors. Orange, red, and yellow against the deep green of coffee plants. The sound of trickling water running into a small pond. Yes, Eden. And then there were the orchids. I hung onto every word el abuelo said about his precious plants. I watched as he touched their leaves, gazed adoringly at their blooms. I saw in his touch, heard in his words, how he cares for them, loves them. How they need time and affection and how “like a lady, they desire the heart of their companion.” I was moved.
We shared lunch at a table set for eighteen and took our time savoring the smells and tastes of fresh cheese, ajiaco, arepas, and tinto before we moved toward the coffee fields. I walked through the rows, plants far above my head and listened to stories about the life of Colombia that blooms white, bleeds red, and bears fruit. I asked questions like a child and stood speechless at the answers I received.
All of the coffee is picked by hand. The laborers bring their loads and rest in houses set on stilts. The farm uses the outer shells of the beans for fertilizer. The beans are washed again and shelled once more. These parts are used to make the energy that washes, bags, and loads the final product. Nothing is wasted. Juan Fernando touched the leaves of each plant he passed gingerly, searching out and pulling parasitic plants that “steal the life from the coffee, the land, and from me.”
I shuffled through the rows as we turned back toward the house, the flowers, and Eden. The smell of coffee like a blanket in the air.
How did I get myself into this? I’m such a sucker for peer pressure. So, week 2 of the good ole challenge.
I’ve been training for a triathlon that a friend has roped me into completing with her. (note again, sucker for peer pressure) I’ll admit, though, that it’s helped me build up my mileage, increase my speed, and added to my overall health. Until this week that is.
I’ve had a nagging pain in my hip (okay it’s not really my hip. It’s more like my groin, but I didn’t really want to blog about my groin. Kinda personal. Don’tcha think?) Anywho, the pain became a little more than nagging after last Saturday’s long run and Tuesday’s swim. So, I’ve done zero exercise this week. Lots of ice, lots of Advil and lot’s of eating less than I want to in the hopes of balancing out the no exercise thing.
And, although I feel a little lazy, no severe weight loss goal damage has been done. Down .5 kilos! Yes, kilograms. Conveniently, there are no scales that use pounds in Colombia. Zero mileage for the week, but the hip pain (that’s not really hip pain) seems to have eased and I should be back on the road bright and early Monday morning!
My picture contributions don’t really fit, I don’t suppose, but my kids loved that I didn’t get up at 5:00 to go running this week. They also loved that I shared my snack with them everyday. So, we took a picture to celebrate “Miss-Witt-is-hungry-and-really-misses-Diet Coke-but-she-is-very-tough.” Do you think Carlos will kick me out? (insert sarcastic whiny voice and wink here.) Gosh. I sure hope not. The other is my 5:00 a.m./Medellin media marathon running buddy. He liked sleeping in, too.
Blondes don’t always have more fun. Especially when big, way-older-than-you men get your attention by screaming “Oye, mona!”
Perhaps it isn’t a good idea to live in the mountains if you’re prone to carsickness.
It’s hard to eavesdrop on conversations when you live in a foreign country where they speak another language.
There’s a reason people from Mississippi don’t eat beans at every meal. H-E-L-L-O, we go back to work after lunch!
You just can’t be mad at a kid that says, “You smell of lemons” even if you never eat lemons.
Yes, a four mile drive can take an hour. In fact, it usually does.
If the man in the restaurant next door has your Friday dinner in a to-go bag with your name on it (that name being “mona” of course), you’re entirely too predictable.
Spanglish isn’t just a movie title. It’s a way of life.
Someone asks you to coffee. Clear four hours from your schedule.
One little vowel changes “What a shame” into “What unmentionable part of the male anatomy?” At least that’s what someone told me. ahem.
There are lots of things that I like about teaching in Colombia. Dark faces and hair. Precious little accents. Hugs in the mornings. Kisses in the afternoons. Open air classrooms on pretty campuses. The challenge to learn a new language. The chance to meet new people, to see a new world. Learning to appreciate coffee and chocolate.
The last two mornings I’ve come to school and found a bag stuffed full of guallabas, small red fruits that remind me of muscedines, on my desk. They’re tart and have tiny seeds and I could eat them every one in a single sitting. I loved the tootsie rolls and diet coke that littered my desk in Mississippi, but there’s just something precious about a child bringing in a bag of fruit that they picked just for me. It tastes sweeter, I think.
Fruit on my desk. Yeah, that’s another thing I like about teaching in Colombia.
Here’s a little taste of Colombia. Yes, it’s a cheesy sort of promo video, but it also clues you into some lesser known facts about this country I’m in for awhile. It also definitely has the, um… Colombian sentiment. I’ve heard the word passion more in the last year than I’d care to admit. It’s a little disturbing, but somehow endearing, too. If that’s possible.
Nah, you’re right. It’s just disturbing.
FYI: The kid that narrates this video sounds a lot like the kids I teach everyday, but his accent is a little better. We’re a work in progress.
I’m a mess today, really. Some days are just like that I suppose, but I don’t like them very much. I don’t like feeling crazy and all full of emotion that is ever-threatening to burst at my already tight seams. I don’t like feeling insecure and needy or homesick. I don’t like being frustrated by meetings in Spanish or on edge with my eight year old students. I don’t like being discontent and temperamental and unwilling to put forth the effort to change my attitude. I don’t like it at all.
I’d much rather be thankful for another day and happy to just be breathing in it. Happy that I’m away and learning new things and growing spiritually and figuring out the hard things for myself. I’d rather be embracing tears, knowing that they’re there because my love for people and home is so great. I’d rather watch little Colombian angels paint murals and build houses with popsicle sticks and not worry about the clutter, the chaos, or the chatter.
I’d rather hold onto the joy I have in Jesus and let that be enough.
June 12, 2008 
Posted in colombia 
4 Comments » 
“We call this Eden,” Jose Fernando said and I understood how they’d come up with name. The space was alive with flowers and birds in exotic colors. Orange, red, and yellow against the deep green of coffee plants. The sound of trickling water running into a small pond. Yes, Eden. And then there were the orchids. I hung onto every word el abuelo said about his precious plants. I watched as he touched their leaves, gazed adoringly at their blooms. I saw in his touch, heard in his words, how he cares for them, loves them. How they need time and affection and how “like a lady, they desire the heart of their companion.” I was moved.
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