November Rain

Sometimes when I’m writing these blogs, I forget that they are public. I am writing what is on my mind without the intention of offending, pleasing, entertaining, confusing or scaring anyone. I am just writing what’s on my mind. Today, my mind is heavy. So I don’t know how this blog will end up.

I feel like this:

You see that glass of anisette before you? Now you just see anisette. I, on the other hand, because I need to be inside everything I do, see the plant it came from, the storms the plant endured, the hand that picked the grain, the voyage by ship from another land, the smells and colors with which the plant allowed itself to be imbued before it was placed in the alcohol. If I were to paint this scene, I would paint all those things, even though, when you saw the painting, you would think you were looking at a simple glass of anisette.
-Paulo Coehlo, Eleven Minutes

24 year old Maria* was intriguing from the day I met her. She boasted about her 5 year old daughter who is excelling ambitiously in school and just won a dollar for dancing the best at Student Appreciation Day. Maria is beautiful without trying and so animated when she speaks that sometimes you have to remind yourself to blink. She shows up to meetings on time and participates willingly. Maria greets me by my name everytime she sees me. But just the other day I learned about a new side of Maria. She was orphaned at the age of 3 and moved houses a lot with her only sister, growing up without a home. She fell into the hands of an abusive boyfriend who is now the father of her child and owner of her house. She desperately wanted to continue her studies and to be a professional and now she needs to get permission from this man to leave her house, and who knows what awaits her when she returns.

6 year old Saira lives with her grandma and family of her 3 year old cousin, Katie. She doesn’t know her father, who left for the States while her teenage mother was pregnant. The same mother now lives 2 hours away and seldom comes to visit. Saira calls her mother by her first name. Katie is the baby and cute as a button. While Saira is washing dishes, Katie is playing with new toys her grandma brought from the market. When grandma comes home with 2 new pairs of shoes, and Katie likes Saira’s better, Katie gets those shoes. Katie whines and cries for the shoes loudly, but Saira weeps. Saira is quiet and often falls out of the picture. But her eyes light up when you acknowledge her.

I had all of my students write down 3 things they like on the back of their name tags. Many read like this:
-I like to look for firewood for the house
-I like to clean the house (coming from a young boy)
-I like to wash dishes
-I like to spend time with my family
-I like to help my mom
I smiled reading them. I don’t see little Joanna anymore. I see a 7 year old girl, proud to contribute to the family work. I don’t see Erick, but an innocent boy who does not know what “machismo” is and is happy to help with household chores. I see kids who are appreciative, hard-working and beautiful; each in their own way.

I think about how I saw my community when I first, first walked in. I saw a broken road, heard noisy farm animals and smelled burning trash. I felt the dirt floors I walked on and did not understand the language that passed through my ears. I thought to myself, how different this place is.

But now, I see my community. I didn’t see it before. I see the suffering, the struggles and the hardships. I see the longing, the hope and the aspirations. I see the kindness, the warmth and the selflessness. I don’t see Maria and Saira anymore. I don’t see my students or my canton. I see much more. When Maria greets me, I see a strong woman who is lost and asking for help. I see strength and determination in her eyes but I can feel the weight of the chains pulling her back. When Saira runs up and throws her arms around me, I don’t see a 6 year old child. I see a heart throbbing for love. I don’t feel her hug, I feel her relief. I think about people from back home and realize how similar this place is.

It is raining non-stop for day 6 now. I have not seen the sky since last Friday and the past 2 days I have not even been able to see the tree tops. Classes are canceled til Monday. The country is alternating between Red and Orange Alert, while evacuating thousands of people and clearing countless landslides. My road is flooded and my washed clothes still hang sopping wet on my lines. The rain pounds hard on my tin roof, but I don’t hear it.


*The stories are real but the names have been changed.