Wherein Korla uses profanity

Fuck this noise: Tucson schools ban books by Chicano and Native American authors

Read all sorts of books, y'all. Read 'em! And raise hell when anyone tries to ban them.

Do you hear what I hear?

Minnesotans are not supposed to admit to disfavor when it comes to A Prairie Home Companion.

One aspect of my Masters inheritance, however, is that I can almost always find some part of a PHC show that annoys me. (Even if that is simply the fact that Garrison Keillor ALWAYS feels the need to "sing" a harmony along with his musical guests.) But at this last Saturday's show, there was a number that was a parody of "Do you hear what I hear?" In the verse between the Shepherd Boy and the Mighty King, their response was snarky and the king's answer to the boy's question of "do you know what I know?" was all about how dumb the little boy was, because he was poor and uneducated.

I know. Simmer down, Masters. Unbundle your undies. I'm not going to unpack that response necessarily. (And I can admit that it wouldn't irritate me nearly as much if it weren't on the show of a pompous, self-important jerk. But I digress.) I'm going to step away from the negative and say (hopefully briefly) why I really like that song, tired as it is.

It is, admittedly, a completely sentimental, syrupy song in a lot of ways. But that third verse gets me every time:

Said the shepherd boy to the mighty king, "Do you know what I know?

In your palace warm mighty king, do you know what I know?

A Child, a Child, shivers in the cold,

Let us bring Him silver and gold, let us bring Him silver and gold."

The little boy is bold enough to ask the king, of all people, "Do you know what I know?" and then he goes on to tell him, implying that, no, the king in his palace warm does not know. This verse of this song is not THE epitome of my faith. But when I'm about to celebrate the coming of God into our world in the form of a newborn soon-to-be-refugee baby, I damn well better like the idea of a little child having a thing or two to tell a king - and having the spirit and the nerve to make that known!

The Magnificat it is not. The king is still the only one in the song to address others with a command ("Listen to what I say!") rather than a question. He is not a mighty one completely humbled, as Mary's song envisions. But he is a ruler who takes at least this one cue from a child. When was the last time that happened? (And I don't mean rulers acting "like children.") It's not earth-shaking, but it's hell of a thing. It makes me smile every time I imagine that little child asking, "Do you know what I know?" I know I don't, but I want to.

It's 3:30pm and we've already had 56 people in the museum today. (That makes it a pretty darn good day.) Nothing extraordinary to report, in general. My days tend to consist of, in rotation, El Sitio, the museum, and patinaje. I work, hang out with the other volunteers, hand out with the folks from the museum, wander town. There is something comfortable about a routine, so long as it doesn't become inertia. I'm getting to know my neighbors, through the young guys who come to patinaje and live next door. (A word on language: English needs a word that works like "joven" that isn't as pretentious as "youth" when referring to a specific number of people.)

The kids in El Sitio are in final exams this week. Christy and I wrote the English exam and Christy proctored it on Wednesday. (I didn't go since I was a bit sick earlier in the week.) Thursday I went and helped with the language arts exam. It's not the most enthralling thing to proctor another teacher's exam, though this one included the word "playboy," so as the only native English speaker, I was in high demand to tell the kids what it meant (which I was also under instructions not to d0). Once a few of them started finishing, I noticed that a sheet of paper was going around and quantities of change recorded - noticed, but didn't think to ask about it. Turns out the kids have to pay for the paper that they write their tests on.

We're starting to get in the habit of going on citas (dates) as volunteers. We got good at doing group stuff before I left and now that we're six, we want to be more intentional about getting to know each other individually as well. We're trying to figure out how we form ourselves into a community, which doesn't come easily (or even naturally, really). And on top of that, how do we act within and interact with the larger communities in which we live. We had a really good conversation yesterday about where we're at and what is really feeding us here. For almost all of us, that answer at least in some way included the kids we work with. But it was a good jumping off point for me to think about other people, places, books, activities that are feeding me as I am here. (And I mean that not just "as I'm here", but as I am here - as in existing, being).

So I want to know: What feeds you? What gives you life and joy? I'm still turning this one over and enjoying the process.

[Note: I am choosing not to say anything about the defeat this week of the DREAM Act and repeal of DADT in the Senate. There are already enough eloquent words about these. I also don't have anything on the execution in Virginia last night, apart from Lord, have mercy on us. This week, my spectacular students are just too spectacular and even large-scale disappointments are no match.]

I really, really love the kids I teach. Some of them are predictably adolescent and, as is normal, I have a hell of a time getting them to take anything seriously. But they are so great - all of them. Yesterday was our first day of English-only classes and they went so well! I had a whole lesson brewing in my head - a walking tour of the community where we could learn useful vocab while building on asking and answering questions (what we've most recently studied). That all got blown to bits when I found an English copy of Green Eggs and Ham.

Oh my, but that book is perfect for what we've been learning - questions, "I like"/"you like," new vocab - all with a healthy dose of repetition. It also allowed me to set up the future and conditional tenses ("Would you, could you in a boat?" etc.). I had 7th grade first and they were such troopers. There were a couple of momentary crestfallen looks when things didn't compute immediately, which set us up to learn the phrases "this is REALLY, REALLY DIFFICULT" and "just breathe!"

At the end of the 7th grade class, after I had officially closed off the lesson and was almost out the door, I turned around and assured them (in Spanish) that they could come and clarify things with me during recess. A minute later, one of the squirreliest of the 7th graders was in the office grabbing a chair and he was downright ecstatic about the class. It was really difficult, but a lot of fun(!), he said. He also said that they were all really surprised at the end when I switched back to Spanish. "It sounded so strange after hearing you speak English for an hour - we were all shocked!" That level of excitement from Evaristo was one heck of a vote of confidence.

Then later, during recess, another really sweet moment. There's a guava tree in the in schoolyard that reminds me profoundly of The Giving Tree. It has no bard left because the kids climb all over it all day, every day. But it produces hundreds of guayabas each year. At this point in the season, most of the easy-to-reach fruits have been picked and what remains are either close-but-not-ripe or WAY out where only the smallest middle schoolers ought to climb. (Though that does stop some of the medium ones - especially when what they need is for someone to weigh down a limb so that the fruits are reachable from the ground.)

For me it's sort of heart-attack-inducing to watch them - the kind of thing that would give MPS lawyers a liability stroke. But climb they do. And yesterday, after a good 15 minutes of searching, maneuvering, and reaching, one of the kids grabbed himself one. Now, I already sort of have a soft spot in my heart for Milton because he reminds me a TON of a guy from the theater at South and he also is always ready to volunteer in class and willing to make mistakes and learn from them. I'd been watching for several minutes, occasionally encouraging, more often commenting that I was going to die just from watching. So after all of this, he comes up and gives me the guayaba, complete with the wormy part picked out. I tried to deflect, then I suggested sharing it, but he would have none of it. This was my guayaba and that was it. It was quite tasty, and not only because it was perfectly ripe.

One week in

I started teaching this week at the school in El Sitio Cenisero, a town about a 15-minute boat ride from the landing in Suchitoto.

I'll be teaching twice a week to the 7th, 8th, and 9th grade classes. The older kids have school in the afternoon (younger kids in the morning), but I go to El Sitio in the morning with the other teachers. So I have a bit of time to just be there and do lesson planning. I'm still getting my bearings and already realizing that it is going to be a challenge (though the good kind). There is quite the disparity in the lengths of the different classes - about 1 1/2 with the 9th graders, but only about 30/45 minutes with the 7th/8th graders (respectively). They're all starting out at about the same level - effectively no history of English classes - but the difference in time means that will change quickly. I can barely get into the day's material with the 7th grade class before the day is over. (Once I start having homework to cover at the beginning, I have no idea how we'll get any new material accomplished!)

But oh my goodness are they a delightful bunch of kids. (Ok, actually, not all are kids - a few of them are in their late-20s, but still in school, which I have to give them huge credit for.) They are eager to learn and are admirably game to do dorky things (as long as I do them, too), given most of them are adolescents. Yesterday I told each class that I really, really want them to make mistakes in class, because that would show me that they were taking interest and risks. I also promised them that I would take risks with my Spanish, given that we're all in the same boat, as far as learning and using new languages goes. They seemed willing to go along with that general idea, even if they were a bit surprised when I first said I wanted them to mess up.

The other teachers in the school really amaze me. We arrive at school at about 7:30am and leave at 5pm and they teach almost constantly that entire time - save for a few short recesses (maybe three of 10 minutes each) and an hour between morning and afternoon classes. They each teach two grades in the morning - younger kids, so they teach all subjects - and one in the afternoon, where they specialize in a subject. On top of that, they're all in school themselves on the weekends AND a couple are studying English in the Center. And one also functions as principal, requiring that she do the administrative work associated with being a public school. I am in awe of their energy levels, for sure.


Last night, there were five of us in the Center. We cooked up a tasty dinner, then I skyped with the family (including Justin and Amy, with whom I studied last time I was down here). All in all, a lovely evening. (Fact: Bat sonar comes through amplified on skype.) Then this morning I went to the market to grab some veggies to make a salad for lunch. Just chopping up cabbage, onions, and carrots was so nice after going almost a week without doing much food prep. I also tried to buy tennis shoes (my faithful pair finally began to disintegrate in Xela, so I left them there), only to discover (as I had sort of suspected) that my feet are bigger than what El Salvador understands as human feet. Ah well, such is life.

Arrival in Suchitoto

Here I am in Suchitoto, writing from the office of the Centro Arte para la Paz. A bit about my viaje yesterday:

I woke up at 3am in my hostel in Antigua, Guatemala, to pack a few last things and get ready for the trip. My shuttle to the bus station came at 4am, to arrive at 5/5:15 at the station. Except....that the company I booked with seems not to have told the drivers that I needed to go to the TicaBus station, rather than the airport, where everyone else was going. So I had to take a taxi from the airport to the terminal, given that I only had about 20 minutes to make my bus. (Didn't have time to argue, negotiate, etc. - I just had to get there, since I couldn't make my reservation over the phone beforehand.)

Once I got to the terminal, I was fine. I bought my ticket, waited a bit, then left at 6am. We got to the border at about 9am, went through customs, and continued on our journey at about 9:30. I got to San Salvador shortly before 11am and Peggy picked me up. We got back to Suchitoto at about noon, after an absolutely beautiful drive though the campo.

I met a few of the wonderful folks who are currently working here at the Center as volunteers for various spaces of time. They're all from California (though traveling in groups of 1-2), so it has been fun watching them find the different ways in which their lives cross paths. We went out for dinner last night in the town center at a restaurant that makes AMAZING roasted vegetables as well as really spectacular pupusas. (Note: I am going to die of a heart attack here, for all the pupusas I plan to eat. Oh my goodness. It starts now.)

The only problem was that I was so extraordinarily exhausted after several late nights in Xela and then the early morning and travel - as well as the heat, difference in elevation, etc. - that the entire day felt like an out of body experience. I went back to Peggy's (truly spectacular) house right after dinner and fell asleep.

After sleeping from 8:30 til 6am, I felt like an entirely new woman. (More importantly, I simply felt human.) This morning, Peggy and I chatted while getting ready and eating breakfast, came over to the Center (across the street), then picked up a woman who works with Capacitar, an org that trains people in the communities here in using accupressure, massage, etc. in treating the physical effects of psychological trauma. From what people have said, it is an amazing way in which people who are so often ignored and told that their trauma is all in their heads can take control of both the physical and psychological injuries and empower themselves to really fix them. I am probably going to take part in a once-per-quarter set of four trainings offered throughout my time here. On the way to Aguilares (where we were dropping off Joan), we also picked up the principal of one of the schools. We chatted a bit, my Spanish actually doing me proud(ish).

On the way back, Peggy and I talked a bit about what I will be doing here. Between now and November, I will be teaching English two days a week in El Sitio, one of the communities that we visited last time I was here. The teachers live in Suchitoto, but take a boat every morning to the class across the lake. I'm pretty excited. I may be living at the Center or I live with the teachers. That remains to be seen, but for the time being I'm with Peggy (at least a few days while a group of Argentine priests are here).

This morning we might take a hike over to Los Tercios, a cascade nearby. That also promises to be quite excellent. Otherwise, I'm headed to the market to buy some fruit.