Continuing The First Day of School, January 16, 2017

Camera pulls focus on me in the row of teal chairs in the cancha/basketball court/auditorium.

I’m sitting on the end of the row in my recently purchased Hilary Clinton sweater. I’ve already sung the Star-Spangled Banner twice today (one more to come).

I wonder how long the commencement ceremony will go on. Does it last til the school day ends, is it 6 hours long? But they call a recess and I decide it’s time for snacks. I approach the ladies who have come inside the school to sell snacks to the kids. I stand in line with the students and notice none of the other professors do. But I’m hungry. I ask what they are and she says: Rellenitos. They’re browned balls of food: could be fried chicken or a donut ball for all I know but I ask for 1q’s worth cuz it’s all I’ve got. Then I approach a group of girls, giggling at me. They look like they might be 14 or 15. I’ve learned to pull out my notepad and take names. It’s really hard to remember everyone’s names because there are a lot of double names and then, a lot of people have the same name. It’s possible everyone in this town is named Clara, Maria, David and Miguel. That’s also why middle and last names play more of a roll here.

I talk with them for a few minutes. They ask me to take them back to the States (I hear this a lot). Then they ask me if I have a passport (I hear this a lot). But we cover other territory: Where do you live in Santa Clara? How long will you live here? How old are you? Where do your parents live? Do you have children? Do you have siblings? Just the one? How long have you lived here now? Who brought you here? And sometimes: what do you pay in rent?

I write all their names down and they are giggle factories throughout the exchange. Every thing I do is funny: partly because I like to make them laugh, partly because I’m extranjera and partly because they’re teenagers and giggling is like a form of prayer in adolescence. But I decide, I don’t care that the staff said “don’t go home” to the teachers, I am going to buy a snack. I’ve eaten the rellenitos and to my grand satisfaction they are like donut balls made with platanos (believe you me- I will be frequenting the rellenito venta). But I need both a minute to myself and a change of scenery, to exercise my independence in this foreign land. I get money from the ATM and see someone with choco-bananos and ask: “where did you get that?!” They point me to the Sarita. And I walk up to that counter and see exactly what I hope to see: a crock pot with warmed chocolate inside. This means they won’t be pre-frozen pre-dipped bananas. I see peanuts. I am in refa heaven. I ask for one and how much do they cost: 3q, a bit steeper than I’m used to for a good choco-banano, but I don’t hesitate. I tell her I need change so I go to the dispensa and decide on more Picamás sauce. I’m running out and I need to break this 100 from the ATM. I head back to the chocobanano and though the banano is hard (I’ve become an aficionado of these things) I eat it in peace as I walk back to the school. I know I’ve been gone longer than 20 but I decide it’s okay.

Sure enough, recess has gone over 20 minutes. I approach the next group of giggle girls, they are ordering a licuado (smoothie) and the giggling ensues at my approach. I write down their names, more giggling. Ana Homy. I thought she was saying Anaomi. She’s almost as pale as me, an unusual site here. I ask their ages and we head to class.

I pick a classroom and sit in the back. There aren’t any teachers inside so the kids appear to be waiting. I put my things in the back and pull out my notebook. Time to aprovechar. I ask their names one by one, walking around the crescent-arranged desks and writing them down. They whisper four words and I have to ask for repeats: Mary Jesusita. Santos. Miguel Antonio. I ask their ages. I notice that one student seems ashamed and shy: I understand why when he tells me he is 16. He is in primero básico which is ideally for students of age 12 or 13. How would you feel to be in a class of 12 or 13 year olds at age 16?

Profe Ronaldo comes in and I promise he’s not interrupting anything. I retreat to my desk. He has a very formal tilt to his speech and I jot down his words. The boys in front of me continue to look back at me, like they are watching a volcano erupt and don’t want to miss a beat. They smile at me and chuckle to themselves. Nothing I do will be normal or unnoticed: everything will be funny, weird or a little scary (I realize). And as I sit in the back, I remember I’m supposed to fill out a formal “classroom observation sheet.” I take notes. I notice the kids don’t interrupt him, but they’re also not called on to speak. He doesn’t ask their names, maybe he already knows them. His speech flows in flowery turns of phrase I couldn’t begin to duplicate in Spanish if I lived here double the time. “Our gran propósito” he says and charges the kids to recognize the gift of education their parents have given them. Let’s be punctual, respectful and I can’t remember the third. He passes out the supply list of what they need to buy for classes. I don’t get my hands on a copy. He tells the students this will be a good year 2017 and he packs up to leave.

It appears we are waiting for the next teacher. Awkward silence descends with classic school-kid style whispering as the students turn to face me in rhythm of a choreographed routine for which I missed rehearsal. I approach the board but there isn’t a marker. I ask Profe if there is a marker and he says: maybe you can ask the director for one? so I do and he passes it over but asks for it back with a smile. *No markers are left in classrooms. Duly noted. I will be bringing my own*

“Hello… I’m… Licenciada Natalia.” I’m wearing my badge with my name. I deliver the Elevator Speech and I run out of words. In walks Seño Maria, thank maíz, and she sits at a desk. I anticipated we would be switched, I’d be the one observing, but I don’t want the kids to think I’m unprepared (which I am) or intimated (which I am not). (Yet).

“Do you have any questions for me?”

Moscas.

“Any questions about my life in the States, my work, my family?”

Moscas.

“My… culture?” I feel myself offer as a final plea.

Moscas.

Okay,  I use the marker to find my way:

I draw a horrible outline of the US map. I show them the places I’ve lived.

(Does anyone remember regarding “the board” in grade school as a position of power and intrigue? I didn’t know the insecurity that accompanies the command of it when you’re in charge of the content).

I let the marker lead:

I’ve lived in Seattle, I’ve lived in Alaska, I’ve lived in Birmingham (Universidad), I was born in Florida, and my family lives in Atlanta. I must say, I’ve lived a lot of places and traveled to a lot more. I point out where Houston, LA, and New York are (popular places to immigrate, quite possibly their parents work in some of these cities).

They seem to be interested enough, whisper to themselves, but say nothing to me specifically.

So I go back to the project, Juventud in Desarrollo, I ask Seño Mary for help on spelling Desarrollo as I always think it has two s’s one r, and then I jot down subject matter we will cover: Like the blinking light at the back of the bar “Miller Lite” or “Open” I see in the distance the words “Salud Sexual” and I try to avoid them, write anything else down first. Of course, all I can think of is “Salud Sexual” in my attempt to avoid it.

So I circle the burning bush about birds and bees and try to pick up other subjects first: Autoestíma (A nice neutral tone- who doesn’t need more self-esteem?), Identitad Positiva (greige), Comunicación Familiar Positiva. I let the marker catch up with my words. But now it’s time: Tomar de Decisiones, Salud Sexual. I can fell the reaction behind my back as I write but what can I do?

Seño Mari pipes up: “Natalie- I saw a very strong reaction in the room when you mentioned this, can you elaborate more on salud sexual?” “Oh sure.” (Where is Julie Andrews when it comes to condom demonstration? Just major chords and favorite things?)

Seño Mari elaborates: For example, what should the girls think if their bodies are not of the age to become pregnant but they are being taught about it?”

Alex, what is: may I sing the Star-Spangled Banner again?

Not only have I NEVER taught this subject before, I have to say it in Spanish. I make my attempt: “Es importante conocer temas que uno no esta realmente experimentando, por eso, vamos a hablar de esos temas para preparar los estudiantes por los cambios de sus cuerpos.”

(I don’t remember word for word but it was something like that). And Seño Mari nods and I thank her for the question.

Then she asks: “So what about el aborto in the United States? Is it true that that is legal?”

She strikes again. I’m starting to wonder if Seño Mari and I are on the same team.

I respond: “That is a very heavy subject. There are places in the United States where abortion is legal. However, the subject of abortion is very fuerte. Also, the US is very amplio: for example, my parents are religious (mi papa es un pastor) so my parents do not believe in abortion.” (In this culture, abortion is not a divided issue. In order to build confianza, I knew it would be best to say this even though I myself have a lot of thoughts on the complex issue of abortion. There are issues that I will encourage new thoughts on, but it’s Day One and I’m not in a place to do that nor on this topic). “There are places where abortion is legal because many people try to do abort babies sin ayuda o médico, and that ends up worse. But yes, that is a topic very dificil.”

Seño Mari speaks from her seat: “Natalie brings up a very good point. The US is a big place and the news only represents it one way” ***Snaps*** this woman is pilas! “For ejemplo, I hear it on the news that in the US a man can marry a man. Now we know that La Biblia says that this is not right.” ***Mental snaps cease*** I feel so many things and I have to keep them all under wraps. How must my gay counterparts feel in this situation who’ve come to serve this country but are inherently rejected? My heart is burdened but there is no one to blame.

She goes on: “So no matter what you’ve heard about the US, they may not be true.” ***Snaps recommence*** I am whiplashed. She leaves and Profe Domingo appears **Note: in Basico, the teacher moves, not the class. And they bring their markers with them.**

He says: “I’m sorry to interrupt but I’ve gotta assign the students their limpieza.” And the class ends with Luis and Miguel sweeping the floors ferociously. They are better at sweeping than I am. They’ve been taught how to clean things and clean them well. I’d like to see how a group of US 6th grade boys would sweep a classroom. I ask them to snap my picture by the map and head to the office.

The day ends and I ask for a class schedule. It’s not ready yet, they’ll have one for me on Wednesday. I leave and say “Nos Vemos!” I don’t know all the right words of despedida so I chime “Chawilana!” which is “Se Cuida” in K’iche’.

I sang the National Anthem thrice in one day, that’s a record, wore my Hilary Clinton sweater, and fortified my apurase with refas for the moments when I was so out of my element that I needed a snack. Choco-bananos are a cure-all for most feelings (this I learned during training).

It was a long afternoon. Between inner-school dynamics, culture twist and shock in how events go here, the volume of kids who stared back up at us, plastic teal chairs, recess, wipe-off boards with markers no where to be seen and learning that Sarita sells choco-bananos every day, it was time to go home and not think about anything.

I survived day one, or maybe DAY ONE SURVIVED ME. Hi-C-Ya-Hold-Tight!