The date of my departure from Silencio has come and gone, yet I find myself still living there. I decided to stay an additional six weeks past my original departure date and forego the project in Alajuela. The work in Silencio is varied, the people are wonderful, I am able to practice my Spanish hourly, and I couldn´t bear to leave the people who have become my friends. In fact, leaving here will be the most difficult thing about my trip thus far.
I´m really glad I stayed. Last Saturday there was a big dance, and I had an awesome time. My friend Christopher danced salsa with me, or rather he dragged me around the dance floor and didn´t seem to mind that I´m a terrible follower. Another guy whose name I don´t even know wasn´t so accomodating and gave up rather quickly. I danced for virtually the entire night, mostly with Diego, who I´m now referring to as my amigovio (a cross between amigo/friend and novio/boyfriend--you probably now understand why I haven´t left Silencio!), and not a scrap of fabric of my dress was dry when I left because of the heat. I loved every minute of it.
Work continued last week. I dug in the ditch again and then worked three days at the lecheria. Twice I rode horses and I continue to enjoy it. The highlight of the week was Wednesday. When I arrived at the lecheria, there was a cow tied to a tree, and Lango promptly informed me it would be killed that morning. When I asked where, he pointed to the adjacent field. Moments later, my friend Andres, and two of my uncles showed up with knifes and plastic bags. I quickly learned it takes only the following to kill and butcher a cow: a few knifes, a few ropes, some plastic bags, and some burlap bags. With sincerest apologies to my vegeterian friends, I admit that I helped to butcher that cow.
Andres offered me the knife to slit the throat, but I was still adjusting to the fact that not only would a cow be killed right in front of me but that they would then proceed to butcher the thing right there in the field. Andres cut a section of skin from the neck and then the artery, and while the blood ran from the cow, the men ate breakfast. Yes, I´ll say that again, they ate breakfast. I even asked one of them, How can you eat? I mean, the poor cow was lying there dying and mooing.
But I guess it´s true that you can become desensitized to just about anything because I found myself helping out. Hold the hoof here, pull here, help us roll it over. And before you knew it, I was asking for the knife. Again, my apologies to my vegeterian friends, but I helped to take the skin off one of the back legs and found that I wasn´t even grossed out. After about 3 hours, we made the drive into town with the meat, and I couldn´t keep my jaw from dropping when they threw the head of the cow at the feet of some people sitting in front of a house. I´m not sure I want to know what the woman of the house was going to do with that head. After breakfast I headed down to the house where they were cutting up the meat, and I ended up helping for a short time. I now feel that having helped to butcher a cow, I have earned the right to eat as much meat in my life as I care to partake of.
This week, I decided to not work and instead am studying Spanish in Manuel Antonio. I have to catch the bus each morning at 5:15 (the only bus) for the ride to town. My mother packs my breakfast which I then eat at the bus stop in order to kill time before class starts at 8:00. I love, love, love my class. My teacher is fabulous, and I can understand the majority of what she says. Class last four hours and is conducted only in Spanish.
Monday there was a Spanish conversation group that met after class, and I was delighted that I´m one of the more capable students. Yesterday was a free surfing lesson. What a trip that was! I desperately wanted to stand and I guess, mas o menos, I did--for about 2 seconds. I couldn´t seem to get a wide enough stance with my feet to have any balance, but then what can you expect with only one hour of instruction. If not for the extremely salty water, I´d take additional classes, but yesterday left my throat, eyes, and nose burning.
Today was a free salsa lesson, and I enjoyed it more than the surfing if only because I was much better. I really wished that I had had this lesson last week, before the dance in Silencio, because Christopher wouldn´t have had to drag me quite as much.
There are more volunteers who have arrived in Silencio. Amanda, a girl from Maryland, came last week, and I spent two hours with her Sunday taking her to the orchard, the lecheria, and the chicken farm. As I explained things, I recalled the tour that I received of these places with Christopher when I had known him only for a day. There was little conversation between him and me because I understood so very little. In recalling that day,I realized how different things are now. When I first arrived, I wanted to interact with the locals but sometimes avoided it because I knew I wouldn´t understand and I could bear neither the frustration nor the feeling of stupidity. In fact, one night I called Mike just to hear the sound of a language I could understand. Yet now I find myself wanting to interact and not avoiding. Their questions still often stump me, and they probably tire of hearing me say, ¨que?¨ (what?), but rarely do they give up on me. And while they may sometimes have a laugh at my expense, I sometimes generate a laugh from them intentionally.
Next week I will return to work and will continue my nightly forays to the ¨house of pool¨where I almost always find Diego playing (I now refer you to the facebooks photos of him.) and we usually hang out at his house afterwards. Last week he visited his two kids in Quepos, and I loaned him my camera to take some photos of them. (Some of you are probably thinking, you loaned him your camera? and even he said to me in Spanish, you have trust in me, but it wasn´t a big deal. I did totally trust him.) Monday night I gave him the prints I had made for him, and his face was priceless; it was such a simple thing for me to do, yet for him it was huge because he had only two pictures of them before Monday. That was a stark reminder for me of how different life is for the people here.
I´ve been reminded of that quite frequently of late. Two nights ago I had my Swiss Army knife out because I needed to use the pliars (oh, how I love that knife!) and Diego asked me how much it cost. When I told him $50 US, he quickly handed it back to me as if to say, I don´t want to break it, but when I bought it months ago, $50 seemed like a small amount to me. Prior to that I was hanging out at the albergue with Mario and Christopher who were desperately wanting french fries but who lacked the 1500 colones ($3 US) it would cost. While on the one hand I felt like Mario was taking advantage of me by asking me to buy them, on the other hand I felt like, what´s 1500 colones for me? A pittance really. And if I can give them 2000 to buy fries and a drink when I feel as fortunate as I do, then why not? I would feel guilty not buying them. Christopher asked me how much I spent on my Spanish class and I felt guilty telling him $320. What $320 wouldn´t buy for him and I throw it around like it´s nothing. Yes, I feel guilty that I have the means and the ability to be here.
Mario told me last week how difficult it is for them to travel to the US and I asked my teacher about it today. She explained that yes, indeed, that is the case. For most, obtaining a visa to go to the US is like winning the lottery. You have to have money, property, and/or connections, and even then the number of visas given out is limited because the US government limits them. It just doesn´t seem fair to me.
I continue to feel both fortunate and extremely content. Each afternoon this week I board the bus for Silencio, oftentimes knowing some of the other passengers because they reside in Silencio. When I make that one hour ride, I often find myself staring out the window and smiling because I feel like I´m going home. That is my bus, that is my route. I know exactly where it´s going and am glad to be going there. And when I step off the bus at my destination, it feels good that there is usually someone there who knows my name and is asking, ¨¿Como esta?¨ Yes, it definitely feels like home.
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