The Story of a Girl:
Yesterday my counterpart at work, Jesus Antonio, told me the story of one of the girls in our 10th grade class; let’s call her Laura. This is her 3rd year at my school and her 3rd attempt at passing 10th 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 11th 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 11th 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 16th 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 16th 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
