Goodbye Peace Corps

Where to begin?  This is always the hard part.  I only sit down to write in my blog once a month and I have to man-handle myself to keep me seated in my chair long enough to produce something.  And as those of you who have been following my blog this year can testify, that something is just about anything. 

This is probably (almost certainly) the last blog I will write as a Peace Corps volunteer.  Who knew when I joined Peace Corps in July of 2008 that it I’d still be serving in December of 2011, 3 ½ years later?  Peace Corps has been good to me.  My life in Kyrgyzstan was tough.  Really, really tough.  But I learned so much through my experience there that I otherwise may not have ever seen or understood.  Now Peace Corps has brought me to another continent, this time in my hemisphere, to teach me more about the world and about humanity. 

Everything has been different this second time around.  Instead of freezing winters huddled around coal-fed stoves, the tropic sun warms my skin and bleaches my hair.  Instead of visiting a public bathhouse (with all the women of my community) once every few weeks, I have a private bathroom and I shower daily.  Instead of travelling 2 hours to a neighboring city to use the internet, I have wifi in my house.  And instead of going months without access to fruit or vegetables, I buy the most delicious and exotic fruit from street venders and eat it wherever and whenever I like. 

But there are some similarities.  In both countries, divided by oceans, culture, climate, and religion, one similarity is that the education system is completely broken.  Students who don’t study, still pass to the next year.  The biggest lesson to be learned in school is that studying isn’t important, because no matter what everyone passes in the end.  While no teenager in the world wants to study, it’s their parents’ responsibility to make sure that they do it.  To make sure that they understand that one has responsibilities as well as rights.  That success requires effort and determination.  Without those lessons at home, the teacher’s work in the classroom multiplies 100 fold.  And if that teacher doesn’t have disciplinary support from the school’s principal and vice principal, the task nearly impossible. 

And just like in many places in the U.S., schools focus on preparing students for standardized tests and not for real life.  The teach them to memorize facts and quickly find key information in a text, but don’t teach them to be critical of the source of those “facts” or to analyze the information contained in the text to be able to apply it to real life situations and decisions.   Parents, family, friends, citizens, I appeal to you!  Education is the foundation of a healthy, rational, flexible, and industrious society. An investment in education (quality based) is the best investment we can make. 

Having stumbled into education, I continue in it as something I love and am passionate about.  I still haven’t decided where I’ll be working or living next year, but somewhere here in Colombia (si Dios quiere).  After two months of sending my resume to anyone and everyone, I received two job offers that are both very appealing for different reasons.  Before I got any job offers, I was having to serious think about a border-jump to get a new visa.  I was considering crossing the border into Venezuela, Panama or Ecuador so that upon re-entry I would be given a tourist visa that would give me more time to find work.  Thank God it now looks like that won’t be necessary. 

I have been very blessed to be able to live like I do.  I hope I never take it for granted. 

Goodbye Peace Corps. 

A Different Route

While some people attempt to make their blogs coherent and cohesive, uniting their ideas toward a clear, educating conclusion, I prefer to go another route.  I call it the “What the…?” route. 

THE START:

Over the last 2 days I’ve helped 2 elderly women cross the street.  That makes me a hero, right?  Yesterday was the first time in nine months that I’ve had the opportunity and then today, surprisingly, it happened again.  Both were delightful encounters.  While most Colombians assume that I don’t speak Spanish and try to talk to me using gestures, these women seem to assume that I’m a local.  I don’t know if it’s failing eyesight or just a motherly-desire to welcome all into the fold. Here’s how it happened:

I was looking for my opportunity to cross traffic when a little lady approached me from a few feet away, asking “Are you going to cross?”  Before I could answer, she had her arm in mine and was saying, “I’ll cross with you.  It scares me to cross these streets!  It’s so dangerous!”  I hid my smile at her openness and responded “Yes! It’s terrible.”  She continued, “Just yesterday a man was hit by a bus right over there.  So of course I’m cautious.”  Of all the dangers in the world, crossing the street has never been one that scares me.  We were across the street in less than a minute and as soon as we were on the other side, she released my arm, waved at me as if she were going off to war, said “Thanks so much!” and was heading in the other direction.  That was it.

FROM EARLIER THIS MONTH:

Although it seems like our progress in English class is painfully slow, I’m enjoying getting to know the students more.  Currently my counterpart and I are working on a presentation on relationships for all the students at our school.  The idea is to do the presentation in each group (there are 4 groups of 10th graders and 3 groups of 11th graders).  A week ago Monday was the National Day of “No” to Pregnancy.  Obviously they meant “no” to adolescent pregnancy, though that wasn’t clear in the title.  The statistic that I read was this: In Colombia, one in every 3 adolescents living in situations of poverty is pregnant or is already a mother.  One in three.  Incredible.  This year we have 4 pregnant girls in 11th grade.  It’s hard.  There are so many factors that make it hard to make smart decisions in relationships: machismo, a very sexual culture, lack of role models and parental control, lack of employment opportunities, etc.  In our discussion we focus on how men and women view relationships differently, how love is different than sex, what is self-esteem, and how to be assertive.  I think it’s information that every teen needs to know.  They’ll make their decisions, but I’m hoping that through this presentation they will be better equipped to make the right decisions for them.   

SIDE NOTE:

The tiny ants on my desk have suddenly grown to regular size sugar ants.  If they continue growing at this alarming rate, I might have to ask them permission to stay in my room…

JUMP TO NEW TOPIC:

I’ve been thinking about my mom a lot lately.  I’ve recommended that she read this blog several times, but I’m quite certain she’s never made it here.  For that reason, I feel perfectly safe writing about her now. 

My sister and I are very close in age, so whatever my mother said to one of us, went for both of us.  As I walked to this café where I am currently sitting, I had to jump off the sidewalk several times because the people walking toward me couldn’t consider stepping behind one another so that others could have some space on the sidewalk.  Every time this happens I think “Ok everybody, single file!” because that was what my mother always said it to us.  As children, every time we were walking side-by-side and someone needed to pass she said that.  When I repeat it in my head, I think it’s her voice I hear.  Mothers, do you know that your voice will always be in your child’s head?  Do you know that when they are 25 they will still hear the words you spoke to them when they were little?  I love my mom.  I adore her and admire her intensely.  She hasn’t done everything right, she hasn’t had the life she probably imagined having when she was young, but she is strong and loving and kind.  And to me, those are the traits that make a person worthy of admiration. 

IN UNRELATED NEWS:

Two days ago my counterpart Jesus and I were leading a discussion: Myths about Sex.  Here’s the scene:

Thirty eleventh grade students were all sitting scattered around the classroom and Jesus and I were sitting next to each other. He was talking about STDs and how in some cases the diseases eat-away at the sexual organs, they discharge puss, and other really gory details.  Suddenly, he turns towards me and says to everyone, “Micah knows about this.  She has lots of experience with it.” He nodded at me in a ‘go ahead’ way, and continued “Ask her!” 

I stared at him horrified.  What?  What was he saying?  Surely I misunderstood him… The students looked at me stunned, waiting for some kind of explanation.  I sat staring at him, trying to figure out what he had MEANT to say.  At my look of confusion and the students’ initial repressed laughter, Jesus realized that he might have forgotten to include some context for what he had said.  He hurried to explain “What I mean to say is that she works at a center for pregnant teenagers and the stories they tell about infections and diseases are terrible.”  But the students were already lost to their laughter. 

OTHER THOUGHTS:

I have 1 ½ months left with Peace Corps.  My service ends on December 16^th.  While most volunteers will go home to spend Christmas with their families, I’ll be staying here.  If I still haven’t found work by that time, I will be desperately searching for it.  I still don’t know where or how or what, but some things have recently become a lot clearer for me.  God’s with me in this, He’s got something in mind.  It may not be something I currently want or hope for, but it’s exactly what I need.  The stress is diminishing even as the need to find work is growing.  Some things don’t make sense.  Sometimes it’s better that way.

By bus at night

Last night I saw a kitten fighting with a cardboard box.  It was a tiny, dust-colored kitten, more fur than anything else.  The box lid-flaps were folded shut and the kitten was sitting on top and boxing them.  Its weight as it jumped caused the flaps to open and digest the kitten whole.  After that, I just saw a bouncing box.  The kitten continued fighting the box from the inside.  It wasn’t clear to me whether this was its strategy from the beginning or if it was merely adjusting to the change in situation.  A few more knocks from inside the box and the kitten’s head emerged.  It clawed its way back on top of the box and lay resting for a moment, content in its victory.  But gravity was on the side of the box, and once more the cat’s weight caused the top flaps to collapse and down into the belly of the box it fell again.

I felt like there was a life-lesson to be learned from that scene, but I was too tired to catch it.  My eyes closed involuntarily and my head bobbed with the jerking bus. 

Luckily, after falling asleep for a moment on the bus, my panic about missing my stop usually keeps me awake for the rest of the ride.

You see so much from the window of a bus.  Especially late at night.  The city is the dirtiest at night and the least appealing.  Throughout the day, people drop their garbage carelessly on the ground and it accumulates in the streets.  At night (and sometimes during the day) people pick through the trash looking for bottles, cans, and anything that can be recycled for cash.  Last night, on the 20 minute bus ride I passed about 20 people who seemed to be living in the streets.  There was one young person but most were older.  All were as dirty as the streets.  What do you think when you see homeless people?  Do you wonder what THEY think about?  Do you wonder how they view their situation, their world, OUR stares from inside the bus?  When you see homeless people, what do you think?  How do you feel?  Most importantly: what do you do?

The reality of a country is never how you imagine it.  I once picked up a travel book, and on the first page the author expressed how, when he finally got to a country he had been trying to visit for years, it was exactly as he had imagined it would be.  I put the book down.  There’s no way that was true and I wasn’t in the mood for fiction.

Cartagena, the city where I live is surprisingly developed.  In certain ways.  The major streets are paved and the buses and taxis (and motorcycle taxis) that fill the streets are usually nice.  There are 6 cinemas that show new movies on the same day that they are released in the states.  A lot of my students have internet in their homes.  Personally I have WiFi.  Most of the teachers have laptops.  Is that what development is?  Ease of life?  The idea exists here that if you study hard, work hard, get an education, you can be successful and live the life you want.  After 8 months here, I still don’t know how real that is.  People talk about how jobs only exist for those with connections and that for an honest man it’s hard to get ahead.  Every time I take a bus there’s an average of 4 people who jump on and try to sell their wares (bracelets, bananas, snacks, bags of water).  Officially, those people are “self-employed.”  Apparently it doesn’t matter that what they earn in a day keeps them well below the poverty line. 

One day I did the math to see how much a man would earn if he sold the whole box of gum that he carried.  I priced it at a bulk-food store and checked how many packages it contained.  He would earn about $2.50 if he sold all 100 packages.  On the bus that I was on, I was the only one who bought gum from him.  He earned 2.5₵.  The bus ride itself, if he had had to pay for it, would have cost him $0.75. A bag of water costs $0.25.  Two-fifty doesn’t go far.

I’m sorry this blog is so scatterbrained.  I’m still going to post it.  It’s more than 2 weeks overdue as it is.  Still, I hope that it helps you picture Colombia in a more concrete way.  The unknown can never be exactly as you imagine it.  No matter how clear the picture on the discovery channel. 

Debilitating heat

The word “debilitating” has taken on new meaning due to my studies of the Spanish language.  As some of you might know, the word “debilitating” is derived from the Latin word “débil” meaning “weak.  So in this expression we refer to a heat that makes one feel weak.  Here in my room, with the temperature hovering around 106, this heat is tangible.  It makes you feel like you’ve just finished a marathon, mostly because you’re sweating as if you had. 

Summing up my astounding strength of character and determination, I find a way to push through the heat: air conditioning.  There’s air conditioning in the teacher’s lounge at my school.  It sure beats showering with cold water and then laying naked on my tile floor with the fan blowing directly at me.  That cool feeling doesn’t last long.  Not like I’ve tried it, I’m just saying…

Before I left for vacation in the U.S. we finished second period at my school.  This marks the halfway mark in the school year.  Thankfully about 2/3 of my students passed English, compared to 1/6 the first period.  It seems like were making some progress, not just with the students’ knowledge, but also with their attitudes towards learning.  In the past it seems like their teachers were in a hurry to move them on to the next grade, whether they knew the material or not. Obviously, this led to a complacent attitude in them.  Based on their behavior, their internal dialog must have been something like: “School is just a required waste of time.  I’ll be here while I have to, but you’re not getting any more than the bare minimum from me.”  And that bare minimum was really almost nothing.  I hope and pray that they’re beginning to see the value of a good education and that all good things require sacrifice.

I try to understand where these kids are coming from, but it’s hard.  While I was a poor kid from a broken home, I had a lot compared to them.  Poor kids in poor neighborhoods, violence around every corner, lack of support from adults around them, media that declares that what you are is what you have and what you look like.  Hunger, abuse, waste, frustration, anger, hate, disillusionment.  And they’re 16 and 17 and trying to make some sense of something.  And they’re brave, funny, playful, smart, compassionate.  Quite amazing really.  And I’ll do whatever I can to help them overcome the obstacles and be a source of joy and hope in this world.

For those of you that want more concrete details about my life:  I’m still working Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday at my high school.  On Thursdays I still volunteer at a foundation for pregnant teens.  In my free time I go to the beach and try to stay cool while not getting burned.  I feel guilty about not being around my family more.  It makes me sad to think of all the things I’m missing as my niece and nephew grow up.  I’m ok with the sacrifice I made in coming down here, but it hurts that my family also had to make a sacrifice in letting me go.  I think I’ve got a pretty good idea of what my life will be like for the next 6 months, but after that I’m clueless.  It’s tough being unsure. 

My friends and family, I love you all dearly!  You’re in my heart, my thoughts and my prayers.  Cuidense!

Micah

Mucho Mas Mayo

Coastal beaches, domineering mountain ranges, enveloping jungle: Colombia has it all.  But who has Colombia? 

During our training in Barranquilla we learned about the significance of the Colombian flag.  The flag is simple, it has three stripes that run horizontal.  The widest of the three and the one that occupies the top part of the flag is yellow, underneath that is a blue stripe, and then a red stripe.  The yellow stripe, we were told, represents the gold that exists in abundance in Colombia.  The blue stripe represents the waters that flow generously in almost all parts of the country: Colombia has shores on the Caribbean Sea and Pacific Ocean, as well as many rivers that form a complex, perilous system that empties into the Amazon.  The final stripe, the red one, represents the blood of the people that was shed to gain independence from Spain.  When the flag was adopted as the symbol of the nation, who could have known the blood of the people (the red stripe) would continue to flow in a struggle for control of the country’s resources and wealth (yellow and green stripe)?  

Another topic (or is it the same topic?):

This week there has been a festival called Mucho Mas Mayo.  It is a festival celebrating art, music, dance, and afrocolombian culture.  All over the city for the last 5 days there have been concerts, poetry readings, dance performances, and discussions.  Today the final concert was held in the historic district in the Plaza de la Paz (The Plaza of Peace).  It began at 8pm and the crowd was mostly composed of youth ages 16-24.  Various hip-hip, rock, and rap bands performed on the center stage, and on a side-stage local breakdance and hip-hop groups displayed their skills.  I was in the center of the crowd, standing in front of the stage with my host brother Esteban.  The bands were good, with messages of hope, peace, and respect.  Everything you would expect from a production sponsored by the local government.  Then a heavy metal group took the stage.  As soon as the lead singer began screaming into his microphone, commotion erupted on my left.  I looked over and suddenly a circle was opening up in the middle of the crowd.  I was pushed back, along with everyone around me, to make space for….what? 

I soon discovered that the space was for fighting.  Young men who entered the circle, entered with fists flying.  It became a swirling mess of young men pushing and punching one-another, dispelling rage and energy in the most violent of ways.  The group performing on stage seemed only encouraged by the chaos.  At one point the lead singer shouted “Jovenes Cartageneros, quiero que se maten!” (Youth of Cartagena, I want you to kill each other!).  My stomach turned.  I stood there, watching the crowd, those plunging into the fray, and those standing near me, just observing the mania.  The main band of the night hadn’t played yet, but I was ready to leave.  As we walked away from the Plaza, we discussed what was happening there.  Esteban had seen one of the kids get a tooth knocked out, and Yamina (a teacher-friend) talked about the influence of drugs at this kind of event.   The night’s events now make sense and yet are so contrary to how things should be.

I don’t have a conclusion for this blog.  I can’t think of anyway proverbatize what I saw.  I want more explanations and, even more, I want solutions. 

Today is my 4 month anniversary in Cartagena…

Chronicles of Cartagena

The Story of a Girl:

Yesterday my counterpart at work, Jesus Antonio, told me the story of one of the girls in our 10^th grade class; let’s call her Laura.  This is her 3^rd year at my school and her 3^rd attempt at passing 10^th grade.  The quintessential teenager, she pays attention in class, most of the time, does the assignment, some of the time, and nods as the teachers talk to her.  But other students began sharing stories.  Some girls came forward and said that Laura was pressuring them into selling themselves for sex.  A new female student at the school said that she had been invited to Laura’s house, and woke up the next day without a clue about what had happened the day before.  The last thing she remembered was that Laura had given her something to drink.  Now Laura’s been expelled from the school (‘thrown out’ as it’s literally translated from Spanish).  The school’s psychologist said she couldn’t help her.  Now the police are involved.  What has happened to this girl in her life?  What will become of her in the future? 

There are so many stories here.  So many things that are hard to see.  My students seem to be more ‘world wise’ than me.  Among my 11^th grade students there is one boy who is already a father, and three girls who are expecting.  Today I read that Colombia, and Cartagena (my city) in particular, has the highest rate of unplanned pregnancies in teenagers in all of Latin America.  On the website where I found this information, I also found some answers to questions that I’ve had about this city.  I discovered that in 1993 the population of Cartagena was only 500,000.  Today it is over 1 million.  It has doubled in size since my 11^th grade students were born.  Why the flood of people?  People come escaping violence in other parts of the country.  Some come looking for work.  They come with hope.  Yet how often is that hope realized?  How many find what they’re looking for?  Instead they find a city that doesn’t know to support the people that that live within it.  Every day the news is flooded with violence.  Unemployment here is higher than almost anywhere else in the country.  Other statistics are equally sobering. 

Now that I’ve begun to see the reality of this city, I want to help so badly.  But I am feeling a little unprepared.  A little unsure about ‘how?’  I have, however, decided where to start: my school.  What a great opportunity!  I have access to hundreds of teenagers from difficult situations.  I’ll share with them all the skills and experience I have and, who knows, maybe I can find a way to motivate them to create positive change in this city.  I believe in the power of people committed to changing what they don’t like in the world.  The evidence of that power is everywhere. 

Changing topics completely:

My birthday was 2 days ago.  It just happened to fall on a Tuesday, my hardest work-day of the week.  On Tuesdays I have 9 hours of classes, starting at 6:40am and ending at 6:30pm.  It’s a long day.  This Tuesday, like every Tuesday, I showed up early to school, found the key to the classroom, and began preparing for the first lesson.  Students began trickling in after the time to start the class had already passed.  My counterpart, Nelly, came in late too.  She smiled and asked me how I was, as she always does.  I didn’t want to make a big deal about my birthday, so I hadn’t mentioned it to her.  Our first lesson is 2 hours long and we taught for about an hour before Nelly informed me that the students had to meet with the school coordinator in their classroom.  So I quickly wrapped up the lesson and we sent them on their way to their usual classroom.  Then Nelly told me that the coordinator wanted to speak with the teachers too.  So we went.  Upon approaching the classroom I heard the excited shouts, “Here she comes!” and caught sight of the balloons!  I took a step back and looked at Nelly.  She looked delighted and guilty and took my hand to keep me moving.  They had decorated the classroom and prepared a surprise party for me.  How sweet!  They made a party schedule, sang me three different birthday songs, read poems, made speeches, and shared soda and snacks.  They had pooled together money to buy me a giant fruit basket.  There’s a rumor at the school that I don’t eat candy, and only eat healthy snacks.  For the sake of setting a good example, I haven’t disabused them of this notion.  Great kids!  In each class throughout the day, it was the same.  The students sang and clapped and howled, made speeches about my greatness, and presented me with something they had made or purchased for me.  It was amazing.  I am so grateful to all of them for trying so hard to make me feel special on my birthday. 

During a 3 hour break from 9 to noon, I caught a bus down to the historic center of Cartagena.  This is the part of town that attracts tourists from around the world and gives Cartagena the reputation of being such a beautiful city.  The city has been preserved almost exactly as it was in the 16^th century.  It’s cooler there than where I live because it’s right on the water.  The rock walls that surround the city are 5 feet thick and you can sit (or lay-down) in the windows of the wall and enjoy the quiet and the view of the Caribbean.  That’s how I spent the latter part of my morning: in a key-hole shaped window in a 16^th century rock wall, overlooking the sea, wondering “How lucky am I to be here?!”  While walking to the wall, I stopped at Juan Valdez, a Colombian Starbucks-styled coffee shop.  I paid 8,000 pesos ($4) for a blended coffee drink and drank it slowly over the course of an hour.  Nobody bothered me and I was perfectly content to sit and watch the passersby through the café window.  That was my first drink at Juan Valdez.  It cost about ½ of what I make in a day.  Possibly the best and cheapest birthday present I’ve ever given myself! 

As I left Juan Valdez there was an indigenous woman sitting on the corner with her young daughter.  She was braiding her daughter’s hair and begging for money.  I always feel strange about giving people on the street money.  I know that it just supports a reliance on others and keeps them trapped in the cycle of having to beg.  I’ve always said that it’s much better to support a local foundation that works to alleviate poverty than to give money directly to people who beg in the streets.  Essentially, I feel guilty when I don’t give them money (because even on my Peace Corps salary, I can afford it) and I feel guilty when I give them money because I know that it doesn’t create real change in the life of the person who is begging.  On my birthday, it was much easier to not give in to the guilt: “I’ve got 2,000($1) in change from my coffee drink at Juan Valdez. It’s my birthday present to her.”  I handed it to her and continued walking toward the wall and toward the view of the sea. 

To my friends and family, I miss you all dearly!  I’m happy to be where I am, but it costs me deeply to be away from you.  I hope that all is well in each one of your lives, that you’re always learning and growing, and being a blessing in the lives of those around you.  It is a privilege to know you, and I am grateful for your friendship and your love.  Con un corazon lleno de cariño,

Micah

Human Essentials

Dear Friends and Family,

Thank God it´s Friday!  Each week seems long and yet the time is flying by. I can’t believe I’ve been here for over 2 months!  Incredible!  Here’s what I’ve been up to lately:

I teach classes in the mornings and evenings Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Friday.  On Thursday I don`t go to the school, but instead I go to an NGO called ¨La Fundacion Juan Felipe Escobar Gomez.¨ This fundation works with pregnant girls, ages 13-18, from the lowest socioeconomic classes.   In Colombia the economic divisions are oficial and each family has a place in the socioeconomic hierarchy (they’re divided by “strata”:  stratas 1 - 6).  There are 150 girls in the foundation.  They come daily for technical classes on cooking, sewing, child care and now: English!  Some have already had their babies, others are pregnant.  Some bring their babies to the sessions, others leave their babies with family members at home.

I know these girls;  we`ve just met, and we come from different worlds, but I know them.  I know their thoughts; I know their struggles; I know their hopes; I know their fears.  How?  One thing I’ve learned in my short life: everyone is the same.  We’re all unique of course, but we’re all the same in the essentials.  We all have the same hopes, fears, wants, and needs.  We all need love and affection.  We all fear that things won’t work out the way we hope they will.  We all want to be happy and not be in need.  These girls, like most girls, struggle with self-esteem.  They look for love and affection.  They look for support and ways to reach their goals.  They worry; they hurt; they struggle; they smile; they laugh.  And I’M super excited about working with them.  I know I can learn a lot from them.  The world is a difficult place, but it’s full of beautiful people!  Cliche?  Sure.  True?  Absolutely.

I know this isn’t much and doesn’t touch on my life here very deeply or directly, but it’s all I feel inclined to write right now.  I love and miss everyone at home.  I could use your prayers if you have time to spare some.  Peace and love today and always!

-Micah

Cartagena

Dear friends and family,

Lonely Planet describes Cartagena as “a fairy-tale city of romance, legends and sheer beauty. Cartagena de Indias is an addictive place that can be hard to escape. This is the place to drop all sightseeing routines. Instead, just stroll through Cartagena's maze of cobbled alleys, where enormous balconies are shrouded in bougainvilla and massive churches cast their shadows across leafy plazas.”

The historical center of Cartagena is exactly that.  Breathtaking, mesmerizing, captivating.  But, of course, there are many sides to everything and Cartagena is no exception.  The real story of Cartegena is a tale of many cities.  Downtown Cartagena, the part the Lonely Planet focuses on, gets a fair amount of attention from foreign travelers.  Two cruise ships arrive weekly with tourists to deposit.  The shops in that sector include the most expensive clothing stores, jewerly shops, and cafés.  In other neighborhoods, such as mine, Cartagena is a concrete jungle with few charms.  There are few trees and no parks or fields for children to play in.  Their playground is the street.  Beyond those neighborhoods, the city opens up, the concrete fades into dirt and the city mixes with the jungle that borders it.  On the city´s edge you can find two extremes: stunning wealth and heart-wrenching poverty.   Gated-communities and shanties. 

This is Cartagena.  This is my home.

Everyday I walk to my school and i`m usually there from some random time in the morning until the evening.  School has been in session for two weeks now and I´m still following Peace Corps` recommendation that I observe classes before beginning to teach.  The students are very reserved with me, which is something that I didn´t expect.  I`m told that once they get used to me, they´ll open up and it´ll be hard to set boundaries.  The English program at my school seems well developed.  Many people here on the coast recognize the importance of English and are eagar to learn it.  I work with two local teachers and we teach 10th and 11th grade (there is no 12th grade in the Colombian education system).  Next week I`ll start teaching.  I`m excited about the lessons I`ve been putting together.  I love this age group and I`m hoping to see a lot of growth in their English capabilities as well as in their intelectual, social, and emotional development. 

In my free time I´ve been researching organizations that work here in Cartagena.  My desire is to work with kids who have had to drop out of school for various reasons.  I’ve visited 2 organizations so far but haven’t found a place where i’m needed and I can do something meaningful. 

I’ve been really fortunate in everything I’ve encountered so far.  I have a terrific family and I feel super comfortable in my home.  I have my own room with a private bath and shower.  Imagine!  Running water just for me!  Fantastic!  My host family consists of a woman in her mid-fifties, Ruth, her husband Oscar, their 19 year old son Estéban, and Yamina, a woman in her 40s who rents a room with us.  They are all very warm and welcoming and are careful to make sure that I’m feeling at home, and checking to make sure that things at school are going well.  I’m really grateful for their care and attention.  I have the Independence to come and go as I please and yet when I want to be with family, they’re here to talk and sympathize with me.  I couldn’t imagine a better family. 

I’m going to stop here and post this before I get distracted and let it set for another week on my laptop.  I miss you all but I’m glad I’m here.  I hope that winter is passing at the rate you’d like it to and that spring is promising to be a great time for everyone.  With love from Cartagena,

Micah

Training Days

Dear friends and family,

Where to begin?  It’s been 2 weeks since we arrived in Colombia.  Two weeks in Colombia and we’ve spent very little time outside of the hotel.  Although we are Peace Corps Response volunteers, because of the unique situation in Colombia, we are required to participate in a 3-week long training process.  Every day we sit through sessions regarding safety and security, health and vaccinations (shots for everyone!), and teaching methodologies and resources.  We all look at the training as an unnecessary, bureaucratic evil, but one that we’re willing to deal with in order to have the financial and security support of Peace Corps. 

Our experiences outside the classroom have been really positive.  The worst elements of Latin American culture are surprisingly absent here.  The staring, cat-calls, harassment, super high levels of privatized security (ie guys with guns), are minimal here.  I can walk down the street, go shopping, take the bus, do almost everything without feeling too out-of-place or foreign.  A girl in our group commented yesterday that she was almost missing the “movie star affect” that she’d become used to in her last assignment in the Dominican Republic.  It’s not completely gone, but neither is it completely overwhelming.  Another pleasant surprise.  I spend most of my evenings in the central park here in town, meeting people, talking, getting to know the city and occasionally playing volleyball.  I’ve made some great friends with amazing insights into Colombian culture.

Every day the temperature hovers between 75-95 and is sunny.  It hasn’t rained here yet but we’ve been warned to be careful when it does.  The city streets turn into flood-rivers (“arroyos”) that can sweep cars away.  Signs posted along the worst streets depict water lines and a human skull: “Don’t cross the arroyo. Arroyos kill!”  The rule of thumb is that the higher the curb, the worse the flood-rivers can get there.  Some curbs are nearly 3-feet high.  Who would have thought that the scariest thing I would face in Colombia would be the rain!  J

This Friday we finish training and move to our work-sites.  I will be working in an ‘educational institute’ in Cartagena.  The institute is similar to a technical school for students in 10^th and 11^th grades.  Students from all over the city can choose to take classes there in the afternoon.  The institute teaches English, technology, craftsmanship, etc.  I’m really curious to see how it works.  Last Wednesday we found out where we would be going and I couldn’t be more thrilled about moving to Cartagena! 

That’s everything for now.  Cheers to new adventures!  With love from Barranquilla,

Micah