I've been taking the same bus for a week now. 6:30 A.M. I leave from my stop at the corner of Paseo de la Republica, ride la Ocho to San Juan, Fe y Alegria Number 26 School, get off, get to work by 8:00 A.M., have lunch, prepare for our workshop, play with the parents, play with the kids, being there, leaving at 6:30 P.M., getting off the selfsame bus, and walking home, to arrive by 8:00 P.M. and sleep.
For anyone that knows me, this is a freaking insanity of a schedule. I have never done anything like this before in my life. And I constantly have to be on my toes. Yesterday I had an off day, I wasn't on my game, some boys whistled at me and yelled gringo, stopping after I turned around and stared at them. Everything was haywire, it wasn't the perfect eutopia where every kid loves and understands me completely, where every touch I give cures their woes.
And its never been like that, but yesterday it was apparent. It was obvious I still have a long way to go, on many levels that speak to more than what this program and this adventure means. That there is so much room to grow is humbling and frustrating, but at the same time at its utmost necessary.
You have to be there. You have to be in it. But you have to also go through it. The preverbial crucible is just that, it is a constantly evolving challenge that you face, and to push through, it takes time. And it takes dedication. And it takes heart. And its freaking hard.
But that is the place you grow. And this is the place I am growing.
Because my life isn't as it was presented in the opening paragraph of this blog. What fills in the cracks of this story is what makes this journey so significant.
Talking about Tenacious D with Humberto, showing him my Jables impersanation, him laughing his head off; me giving English lessons to Fabiola, who is just learning, to see her smile when she says, "Where my girrrrls at??" dead on; spending an hour playing with this one young boy, not even knowing his name, all because he came into the room when only I was there. He wanted to be a soccer player, he loves Robinho, and he is so very special. I don't mean to get sappy, but I was with this boy, and his friend joined him then left, just sitting with him. He came in, I said how are you, then I went back to my business, writing letters to the parents. He just stayed there, silent and shy, minding his business. Then we talked. I coaxed him to a few words, as he was obviously intimidated, but he wanted so bad to be there. When we got to soccer, he opened up, shed his placidity for excitement, and smiled so broadly.
He loves soccer. He has one brother. He wants to learn how to box correctly. I tell him. He loves math. I give him harder and harder word problems; he is perfect at every one. In fifth grade, in the poorest of neighborhoods in the center of Lima, here is this boy.
And I saw who he was. And I saw that he was special.
And I hope someone he knows that, and that I can see him again.
But if I don't, I was there. It was so small, what my presence will do for him. But at least I know him, and I won't forget.
Becuase he was just one of many, struggling, but loving. Living all they can, learning what they must, parents living for their kids, teaching what they have. It's so hard, when these parents had no education just the same. But they are trying. There is some hope, some chance, I guess. All I can do is be here and do what I can. And it feels so little. But I know this is just the beginning, to take this in and share it at my future's end. To one day return to this people, as a force greater than what I am now, to help them all the more.
This experience is a joy. It breaks my heart. It makes me cry. But it is a joy. To hear Elisa say my soul is beautiful, to see the smile on Maria's face when I say something to make her laugh, to know my family and friends are so close to me while they are so far away, to know that I am still a freaking kid at heart, to know I have another ride on the 8 bus tomorrow, to know I have another chance to make a difference, to feel satisfied with my purpose in life; this is all I need.
4 comments:
love you so much, brother. I'm with you in spirit!
<3<3<3
Hi there Walter, I loved reading about the day in the life, and your directing attention to the details "in the cracks". Your big heart and loving energy now is embodied in a daily practice and demanding discipline and it's wonderful work, needless to say--or as you say a joy ride aka marathon. As I'm reading the blog and posting back here on the computer I'm baking you some chocolate chip cookies to send to down there. Wondering if you were able to get in shome shredding this weekend. It's typical mid-July in vabeach: the Bermuda Effect is the weather pattern (a week of days when each day is a little hotter and more humid than the previous, and there are scattered thunderstorms in the afternoon or evening) and the waves are non-existent or shore breaking. No sport events except for the British Open next week (begins July 19 at Carnoustie wherever that is). A week from Tuesday Char flies back. I've been working on my Spanish most every time I drive my car. It's Sunday so Dad is taking the day off; we'll play tennis and spend some time on the beach later. Clio is cute. Can you picture it? Guess that sums it up. Love you muchos, La Senora Howell aka Mom
Me again. I"m always reading these backwards, and I just read the earlier blog with your reflections on the huelga, and your sensitivity to evaluating the many perspectives. It's so true that anger and violence are so easy, so readily available, and build so fast like wildfire and in no time the source becomes insignificant and the cause can become lost. I just went to the Reuters site and read about the "angry demonstrators" who took hostabes 700 miles south of Lima--it sounds dire. I hope with the new week there is some progress.Love you, Mom
DAD SAYS---- Hi walt. I am using mom's account. The huelga is symptomatic of something other than the test. Look for the real motivation of the teachers--give me R E S P E C T ! This is symbolic--They are saying "Don't judge me. I am on the front lines of a war to educate the children of our struggling nation, and rather than investing in education, you act like you are doing something by testing us in math when we are struggling to teach the children how to read and right." A movement cannot always chose the issue that presents itself to get the parties taking each other seriously and for making energy--the heat of change. For you, Walt,
another perspective.
Love, Dad
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