Mi casa, 4:30
After a seven month stint out of the classroom and five weeks here in Costa Rica, the first day of school finally arrived this morning. In the US, the first day is a big event for both students and teachers: everyone wants to make a good first impression, so everyone is 100% ready to go. Thinking back to my first day at Cohasset, I had been in my classroom for two days prior to opening in order to get my room/introductory lessons ready, and an hour before the bell on the first day. As is always the case in the US, all of my students were present on the first day, and we jumped right into things. I had been told time and time again to expect the complete opposite of the US experience, and that’s pretty much what I got.
I got up relatively early, leaving time to shower, eat, and walk my 50 second commute to school. Oscar and I left together, and arrived at 6:50, ten minutes before the “start” of school. At 6:57, I realized that I had forgotten my dictionary at the house, and I was there and back by 6:59. As 7 came and went with no indication of anything starting, I walked over to my classroom to see how the cleaning/wall-putting-up was coming along. Good news: I had a wall. Bad news: desks in total disarray, and I’m pretty sure that some men were carrying sacks of potatoes out of my room. I immediately wrote off any chance of the room being ready for the day.
Once my director, Mario, gave up on trying to fix our speaker system for the opening ceremonies, we did a quick pledge of allegiance and national anthem, followed by what I soon find out is teacher introductions. I made sure to line up as far away from Mario as possible, just in case he decided it would be funny if he handed me the microphone. Always thinking.
After that, all the kids went off with their classroom teacher. And by “all,” I mean “the ones who remembered today was the first day and decided to show up.” Of the 190 or so kids that are supposed to be in my school, I’d say no more than 35 showed up. I ask Mario what I can do, and he said that I was free until a meeting at 10.
With my classroom being cleaned, I decided to haul all of my materials to a rancho de palma, which is basically a traditional thatch hut made of bamboo-like wood and dried palm leaves. (One is pictured in the post below as ‘my office’.) I decided to organize all of the materials left behind for me into categories, mostly because it’s the only thing I could think of. Before long, about a dozen students (who I’m pretty sure were supposed to be in their classroom… but at this point I’d stop trying to make sense of the day) were in the rancho with me, shouting out whatever English they know in an attempt to please “Tichar.” Two sixth grade boys, Andres and Miguel, struck up a conversation with me, and to my surprise I had no trouble talking with them for the entire hour and a half that I was organizing. Some third grade girls eventually joined the fun and passed me things to place into piles, regardless of whether the item had already been placed into one. All the kids were extraordinarily nice and accommodating, and I definitely felt more comfortable with my ability to communicate with them by the time we finished.
With over an hour to spare and nothing to do, I walked around the rest of the school looking for things to do and students to meet. I eventually find my way to the computer lab which, as I had been told, is pretty amazing by Costa Rican standards. After talking to a few boys playing Mario Kart 64 on the computer (they take great pride in showing me the other games they have… Cruisin’ USA! I will find a way to plan a culture lesson around these games…), the computer teacher showed me to a computer with internet access, correctly guessing that all Gringos want to check their e-mail at every possible second. So, two hours into my first day of teaching in an indigenous Costa Rican village on the top of the mountain, I am checking Facebook to see what’s going on in the exciting world of wall postings.
10 o’clock rolls around, the kids go home, and the staff sits down around an outdoor table for the meeting. Mario introduced me to the rest of the staff. Here’s an exact translation, no lie: “This is Daniel, the new English teacher. He is single and good looking.” No comment. We get a couple of letters that I’m able to follow along with, and I’m feeling pretty good about myself. Then, we get the meeting schedule: 26 items long, all of which will be addressed by Mario in monologue form. Sweet.
At this point, things get a bit hazy. I try to follow along, but it simply wasn’t going to happen at that speed. Then, I switched to my “at least look interested” mode, where I intently look at Mario, pretending to get everything he says. I do this for about 25-30 minutes, having no idea where we are on the list of 26 items. Mario pauses and checks off the first two items. Great.
The talking continues, but eventually we got some coffee. The talking continues some more, but eventually they brought us lunch. The only let up is when another Gringo, who seemed to be a tourist, walks up to our meeting, pulling the kindergarten teacher away to offer her some toys. As we listened in, we heard him struggle through the conversation. I spoke up for the only time during the meeting, saying that there’s at least one person in Boruca who speaks worse Spanish than me. My only joke of the day was a success, but it does nothing to lessen the dullness of the rest of the meeting.
Luckily for me, our school has a part time volunteer who’s half-Borucan/half-American, and she let me in on any important points I missed. Which turn out to be… well… not much. We talked for a good while after, and she’s a huge help in finding out the ins and outs of Boruca and its small-town quirks. I head home to get a second dose of lunch, then head back to school for two nondescript hours of classroom arrangement. The room that I once considered massive (by Costa Rican standards) is now packed to the brim with 30 desks, with barely any room for aisles let games that involve movement. A slight downer, but I was still planning on holding half of my class outside anyways.
Soaked in sweat and covered in dust, I head home to hang out with Nashaly and the family’s new tiny dog, Dooby. ‘Tiny’ as in, he fell asleep in my palm. The family’s other dog, Scooby (get it?!) is a bit jealous, but you’d be too considering Dooby's cuteness:
Nashaly and (sleeping) Dooby
Dooby wakes up right as I take the photo. Cuteness remains.
‘Tis all for now. Another 1,200 word post. I’m going to have a book by the end of the year. Hasta luego.
DP
