A Weird Goodbye

Today was my last day at el comedor. I was looking forward to seeing the kids and seeing their reactions to the mural. They all LOVED it! They spent forever looking at all the tiles and searching for their own! But then the strangest thing happened…

We sat down to eat, we ate lunch, and then they all left. They just ate and left—no goodbyes, no nothing. I was shocked. They knew it was my last day (or I thought they did) and they also knew I was THERE, which means the classroom could be unlocked to play with all the toys/books/games.

So I was in the classroom with about four kids and we sat in a circle and played UNO for an hour. Low-key, no stress, no screaming kids, and everyone put away their toys after playing with it. But in reality, no one was really there.

So I told the handful that actually WAS there that we were going on a fieldtrip to find the other kids. I wanted a photo with the kids, the mural, and me and gosh darn if I wasn’t going to travel around the entire neighborhood to find my kids! And that’s exactly what we did. I traveled to four different houses and successfully rounded up a majority of my “regulars.”

We got back to el comedor, and they were cleaning the floor (of course)…so we had to wait. So they played quietly in the classroom and I took quite a few pictures. Then the photo shoot started. Half the kids didn’t even want to be in the photo! It was so disappointing. But I have a few shots of me and a group of the younger girls with the mural and none of the girls wanted to smile for the camera either. So it looks like they were threatened to be in the photo.

Then, to top it all off, as soon as the camera was turned off the kids just ran out! I heard a few “ciaos,” but no hugs or anything. I did convince the two twin girls to give me a hug, so it made me feel a little better, but within minutes, they were all gone and that was that.

The mothers were much more affectionate and I received a hug and best wishes from all of them. Maria even walked me down to the bus stop to chat a little bit more before I left.

But it was a weird goodbye…

Overcoming Boredom

Today was a long, boring day. I found out that the kids are not allowed to come back until MONDAY! Their first day back is my last day—and I’ll need to leave earlier than usual since I have to get home to finish packing and not miss my flight. Also, they aren’t celebrating El Dia de Los Niños with a big fiesta until the 16th of August, so I’ll miss out, which is a bummer.

To pass the time, I wrote out the directions for taking care of the mural (basically, only clean with a feather duster, and DON’T TOUCH IT). I also delivered the extra unused (but painted) tiles to their respective homes—so I got a nice walk around the neighborhood.

However, after all this it still wasn’t 1pm. The mothers took extra long today to cook, and we weren’t handing out food to the families until 2:15pm. We had a small set back when no one had yet cut the cheese (no pun intended) to put with the batata. So there was a quick frenzy of cutting thin slices appropriate enough to feed everyone and to not delay the food serving any longer.

So tomorrow and Friday will be spent doing very little, but I’ll still go to help when I can (especially with regards to the photos in the dining hall).

The day ended with fun news. Maria Rodriguez, the mother closest to me in age (she’s 23 and already has 3 kids), invited me to join her and the other mothers on a girl’s night out on Friday. I’m definitely going and am very curious to see how the evening with go. The youngest mother is 23, but everyone else is 28 or above. All have at least three children if not more (except one mother who has two). I'll have to see how these parents party!

A quick side note: I posted another photo on the bottom of the webpage with me in it, so you get a better idea of the size of the mural…

La Historia de La Floresta

This soup kitchen (comedor) was started fifteen years ago. It is officially called “Centro Infantial La Floresta” or “Floresta Centro” (because there is also a Floresta Norte and Floresta Sur). The women I cook with every day were the same women who constructed the entire comedor, brick by brick.

It originally had a small orchard/farm in the back with vegetables, chickens, and even rabbits. However, over time, they weren’t able to keep it up and it made more sense to have the food delivered—for both greater quantities and most likely better quality.

The dining hall used to be the classroom and had paintings on the walls of Disney characters (ex. Woody the woodpecker and Simba) and basic numbers (1, 2, 3). The room in the back, where the outdoor kitchen is was a recent addition, constructed entirely by the volunteering mothers.

It also has recently received a paint job; recently in the sense that it happened in the past five years, since the “new” paint has already worn off in many areas. The bottom half of all the walls used to be blue, but is now a dark brown.

La Floresta has overcome many changes in the past fifteen years, and they still have plans to improve it. They want to install wooden bookshelves in the classroom to create a more “professional” library. They also want to install a door (picture a garage door) for the fourth wall of the classroom. Tomorrow and Friday, I plan to help Amalia put up pictures from the past years along the walls of the dining hall to compliment the mural.

Lack of Children

I had imagined a crazy day. All the kids returning, screaming, throwing things, each one wanting to do a different thing…I knew I’d be exhausted, but it would be worth it, because today was going to be the grand day when everyone saw the mural!

As should be expected, nothing ever goes quite as planned. In fact, no children came today. A member of the Health Ministry needs to come to el comedor and officially reopen it before families are allowed to eat there and kids are allowed to come. And no one knows when that will be. It could be tomorrow, it could be late this week, and it could be after I leave. So today was spent chopping onions, garlic, and preparing today’s postre—batata and queso—delicious. We’ll just have to wait until the government decides to show up.

El Dia de la Pachamama

Yesterday was a holiday celebrating Mother Earth (la Madre de la Tierra). Laura and Miguel had a small fiesta to celebrate and to demonstrate the ceremony that is done. Since it is a day to celebrate Mother Earth, who provides for us throughout the year, the ceremony is our chance to give back and show our thanks. So in one of the patios, Miguel dug a small hole. Within the hole, they pour water and wine. They also spread incense, and put in coca leaves, cigarettes, fake money, rice, and other types of food (everything in very small quantities of course). After each person has given back to Mother Earth, they cover up the hole and leave it there for the next year to represent their thanks and devotion to the abundance Mother Earth provides annually.

I was told this tradition originated from the indigenous tribes of this area and is not celebrated throughout Argentina.

Miguel also had friends over to help us celebrate. They were a family who lives out in the mountains and had come into town for the past two weeks for the winter vacation’s feria, selling their goods. I had actually bought a blanket from them made from llama’s wool earlier that day. And for the main meal, our guests had brought llama meat. So last night, I ate llama.

It did not taste like chicken. It tasted similar to beef, but was less greasy, and very tasty. Also, in order to make sure everyone ate together, we didn’t end up eating until 11:30pm (which is a record for me) and while I only lasted until about 1:30am, I believe the party kept going for a while after.

It was one of more interesting “religious” ceremonies I’ve been to, since it’s the only one that isn’t based on a monotheistic textbook religion that is normally taught. It is a community’s religious practice based primarily on what they are given, since that is what keeps them living. While a majority is Catholic, each province of Argentina is a different kind of Catholic. I don’t mean separate denominations, but each area uses Catholicism differently. Some rarely practice it. Others are extremely devoted and regularly attend religious services. Some practice it daily by doing the motions of a cross every time they pass by a church (which I see often on the bus). While others, such as Miguel, incorporate their ancestral traditions and create a new religion—a combination of the Catholic influence and one’s own religious heritage.

It's Done

I have no words to sufficiently describe the feelings of relief and happiness I have now that it’s all done.

A photo is at the bottom of the web page.

Still Not Done

Today was extremely stressful. It turns out the varnish ruined a handful of the tiles. We tried it on a spare, and it seemed to work fine, but we didn’t take into account that the tile is standing upright, and gravity will make the marker run. I can’t even begin to explain how upset I was (and am), especially knowing there is nothing I can do. In addition, we still haven’t finished, and today I went out to buy lamination paper to put over it. Don Flores says this is the only other option—so tomorrow, on Saturday, I’m off to el comedor to finish this mural. I could wait until Sunday morning to do it, since tomorrow is el Dia de la Pachamama and I should be celebrating, but I’m too driven and frustrated to wait another day. It’s going to happen tomorrow, end of story.

I may try and fix up a few of the biggest mistakes on the ruined tiles—at least where it’s most important with names being unreadable. But when told something was wrong, Amalia couldn’t find the mistake—so I guess it’s not as bad as I seem to make it. Laura also tried to make me feel better that even if there are a few blips, in the end I accomplished a lot more than past volunteers, so the motivation and initiative will be truly appreciated for years to come (since I hope this mural stays up for quite some time).

After a stressful beginning, I took my frustration out on helping the mothers cook, which kept my mind occupied. I had also baked cookies for dessert especially for the mothers to thank them for all of their help. During lunch we chatted about all sorts of things. They asked questions about whether or not Americans had a problem with Obama being black (I said the discussion was more about whether or not he was Muslim), what was a marshmallow (they asked if it was a fruit), and what is peanut butter (and what do we use it for). Most of their questions concerning American culture and food came from what they’ve seen on the Simpsons. Then, Amalia asked if soup kitchens existed—which they do—and she was surprised that a first-world country like the U.S. would still have enough poor people to need soup kitchens. Also, Adela talked about what she heard concerning the U.S. kicking the Native Americans out of their homelands, and even the rumors that the government kicked them out of the country entirely.

It was an extremely interesting meal, and it was one of the first times they had asked so many questions about where I come from. And it ended with oohs and ahhs and requests for the recipe of the chocolate chip cookies. They were all gone within 15 minutes!

I just hope tomorrow goes smoothly. This has been my longest week since I’ve been here and I want it to end. The fact that its dragging into a Saturday isn’t helping either.

Let's Get It Done Already

The mural looks great, but we still aren’t done and I’m getting a little tired. Each day Don Flores tells me about yet another thing I need to buy, some other product that will be necessary for something. Today’s request was paint thinner, although there is a chance we can’t use it at all since it might eat away at the polyurethane coating and the markers…that would be really bad. So we’re going to “test” it tomorrow and see what happens. Otherwise, we’ll just use the lacquer straight up, which is more difficult to apply since its thickness is similar to honey.

But I’d like to get done earlier tomorrow since I plan to bring cookies for the mothers to thank them for the past few weeks and to celebrate the completion of the mural and my last day with them before I go back to eating with the kids (they start coming on Monday).

I also asked him how much this would cost me. He told me originally that he charges 25 pesos per square meter. It sounds reasonable. The mural itself is a little over 7 square meters, but he was talking about 300 pesos!

I told him it’s about 8 square meters, coming out to 200 pesos, not 300. He agreed to that. Although I know it should be less, I figure I’ll round up to help him out. He lives in the neighborhood of el comedor, and since he injured his leg and can no longer work at the company he used to work for, I’m sure he could use the money.

But I must say, with all these trips to the paint store, and the prices of each item rising each time I go (even when I buy the same thing I did a week prior), the total cost of this mural is really reaching its limits. In reality, DukeEngage did not provide any money meant for any on-site projects. All the costs were for living, food, and medical expenses. Thank goodness I was able to put aside enough of each “pot” to pay for this project…phew.

And for the record, Amalia and the other mothers absolutely LOVE it.

A New Record

A new record has been set by yours truly on the latest time ever to leave el comedor. The cooks had left over 3 hours beforehand. The nurse had even left almost 90 minutes beforehand. The workers and I did not leave until 7:30pm. Now, it may not seem all that late to you crazy-late-workers, but its actually not the wisest idea to be in Villa Floresta when it gets dark (around 7 or so), because it’s not the safest neighborhood.

Now don’t worry, I don’t plan on competing with myself to beat this record. In fact, starting at 5pm, I kept thinking we’d be gone within the next hour…and we just kept pasting tiles. It never seemed to end.

Luckily, this second nine-hour workday did prove to be successful. It started rough because Don Flores and his helper showed up at 11:30am when we scheduled for 10:30am. I guess that’s an improvement to be an hour late instead of an hour and a half late—but still. Tomorrow, we’re meeting at noon, and I asked him to PLEASE show up on time. I’m giving myself permission to go to his house at 12:05 to harass him if he’s not at el comedor at noon.

But we finished putting up all the tiles. All of them. Tomorrow is entirely devoted to putting in the grout. And Don Flores suggested a varnish to put over the grout and tiles to protect everything—which is exactly what I want. So Friday will be spent putting on the varnish. And then it will be done. It won’t have taken two days like Don Flores had originally guessed, but it’ll be done this week, and that is what is most important.

A Long Day

I was at el comedor for almost nine hours today. I’m beat.

I showed up at 9:40am to be ready when Don Flores was supposed to arrive at 10am. He didn’t. Typical.

Valeria showed up around 10:30am and we walked to Don Flores house. He wasn’t there, again. His wife said he left to pick up supplies and planned to be at el comedor around 10. It appears the family doesn’t have a watch or clock because we told her it was already 10:30 and she looked surprised. So we waited.

Don Flores finally showed up around noon. He and his helper (some teenager) went about preparing the wall for the glue by “picando.” I don’t know how to say it in English because this department of vocabulary is unknown to me, but he used a chisel to pick at the wall and scrap off some of the paint. This took over three hours. During this time, I organized the order of the tiles, and starting tearing the blue and orange tiles from the cardboard backing holding each sheet together. My fingernails aren’t very happy with me. Also, after the cooks had eaten, I got a little help from two of the mothers, and later on, the nurse who comes regularly to take care of little kids in families around the neighborhood, helped me.

Don Flores original estimate was finishing the entire mural today and putting in the grout tomorrow. That was a lofty goal, and by 6:30pm we had finished a little less than half. However, we have all of tomorrow to finish it and we’ll put in the grout on Thursday. And once the letters are up for “La Floresta” the rest will be easy-breezy.

Tomorrow’s meeting time is 10:30am and I have higher hopes that he’ll show up on time. He no longer has an excuse to buy supplies…

It was a very successful day and I’m really excited how it looks so far. My only concern is whether or not the spray I put on the tiles to protect the marker will actually stay. Don Flores said he was cleaning them and a little bit wiped away. That’s really not good, especially since it could result in massive wear-and-tear over a short period of time—which is not what I want. Maybe I’ll try adding more “esmalte” tomorrow before we do the grout on Thursday…

An Affirmation and a No-show

I got the good and the bad today.

First and foremost, Amalia has “okayed” the use of the wall we had originally planned to use. She was skeptical because she didn’t exactly understand the project. In fact, she hadn’t yet seen the layout. So today, Valeria and I explained the project, showed her the design and all the tiles, and the goal that it’ll be enjoyed by all of the families when they enter the dining hall. I guess she really liked the idea. So much so, in fact, that she asked me to paste it in the center of the wall (of the wall you immediately see upon entering) so that it’ll serve as a centerpiece for the entire dining hall. Her concern was being able to put up pictures, since they’ve had previous plans to make the room slightly more attractive with pictures—so the mural will serve as the center point. What could be better than that? I was thrilled and a huge weight was lifted off my shoulders; but I did my best not to appear too happy or too relieved so that Amalia wouldn’t rethink her decision.

However, the worker never showed up. We had set the time for 11, and by noon, we hadn’t seen him. Luckily, Maria knew where he lived, and Valeria and I went to his house. He wasn’t there. His daughter said he “would be coming soon.”

A lie. The daughter walked to el comedor about 20 minutes later to say her dad couldn’t make it today because he was doing other work, but would be there tomorrow. Wrong answer.

Valeria (she did most of the talking to make sure NOTHING was misunderstood) made it very clear that he HAS to be here tomorrow, or else we’ll find someone else. We told her the deadline for finishing it was Thursday (even though we have until Friday, I’ve learned it’s best to make the deadline earlier to take into account any problems, such as today’s no-show). We need all of those days to work since quite a few layers of different materials need to be applied to the wall prior to putting up the tiles, and they all need to completely dry. Even once the tiles are put up, they need between 24 and 48 hours before applying the grout. That takes a week.

After helping with the cooking and eating lunch, I stopped by the house once more to double check that the daughter had reached her dad and he knew to come tomorrow at 10am. According to both the daughter and son, it’s a sure thing.

Valeria will also come tomorrow to explain to the worker the importance of coming each day (she’s a saint).

I’m very happy that Amalia now approves, and she has even offered other options for workers if Don Flores (the current one) doesn’t pull through. I hope this works out...

La Provincia de Jujuy

Where do I begin? Today was such a jam-packed fun-filled day I don’t think I’ll be able to recall it all. This excursion had “una ensalada” of people, as our guide Antonio put it. There were 6 Argentineans, 3 girls from Germany (who stuck together and arrived 40 minutes late to one of our meeting points, which limited our time at the church in the pueblito Uquia, which is only open for 1.5 hours every afternoon), 2 girls from Italy, 1 guy from Portugal, and me. We only conversed in Spanish, and I learned how to understand Spanish spoken with an Italian accent—it also was more interesting since their Spanish ability was similar to mine, so we each struggled with different types of language barriers. One of the Argentinean women had an American husband (from Arizona) who unfortunately didn’t go on the trip because he was tired…so I never got to meet him. But I did wander around with the wife and we enjoyed being the “single” women.

Our guide Antonio was funny to listen to because he loved to tell stories about past trips. As they are often the scapegoat, Antonio loved to make fun of the French. “Antonio, excuse moi, but the distance is 14km not 11km.” According to Antonio, the French treat their guide books like the Bible, and would counter any fact or numerical value that Antonio would cite. One time, he got into an argument with them to explain why it really is 11km and not 14km. They finally realized their misunderstanding and marked in the guidebook the mistake and said they would contact the company when they returned home, so future readers aren’t given the wrong information. He also recalled a story where a Japanese group didn’t know you don’t eat the outside of una humita or un tamal, and one Japanese lady had quite an experience. The outside of these entradas is similar to (or is) cornhusk (i.e. NOT to be eaten). So Antonio explained that now each time he stops to eat with a group, he clarifies that one should only eat the INSIDES of these courses.

We stopped at Purmamarca, Tilcara, Humahuaca, Uquia, Maimara, and San Salvador de Jujuy. We spent an average of 30 minutes at each site, so the pictures were taken quickly and one didn’t have time to think about whether or not they wanted to buy something. I felt so rushed.

Although the pace was a little fast, it was great to see so many places in one day, and each city had its own “special” thing. Purmamarca had a big feria (but so did all of them), Tilcara was home to the aborigine population that was holding a festival for Santa Ana, and all of the proceeds of buying trinkets there kept the indigenous population alive. We ate lunch in Humahuaca and were serenaded by a band with Argentinean instruments. The owner even played the accordion, and then demonstrated this oddly shaped horn, unique to Jujuy. It had a horribly loud, obnoxious sound—but hey, if its cultural, why not try to enjoy it? There was also a famous statue of Jujuy’s independence, and a sculpture of La Pachamama (Mother Earth—whose “day” is August 2nd this year). Uquia has a church with the famous paintings of the “Angeles Arcabuceros” (Armed Angels). They are literally paintings of angels with guns. Maimara was a quick roadside stop to take pictures of the cemetery. The cemeteries are almost always on the highest hill of a town; since the souls were closer to heaven, they believed they would arrive faster. Also, if any horrible weather came about, such as a flood, the cemetery wouldn’t be harmed. San Salvador de Jujuy is the province’s capital. We explored the church and the tiny feria.

There isn’t one thing that stood out, but overall it was a great trip and I met a lot of interesting people. One of the Italians and the guy from Portugal have both studied in Spain through Erasmus, and have visited Salamanca—so it brought back a few memories from the wonders of Spain. We also all enjoyed the company of a 10-year old, Ignacio (Nacho) who was traveling with his mom. He loved trying to learn different words in all of our first languages—how fun!

As a quick negative side note, still no news from Valeria.

It was going TOO well

Something had to screw up, and it did. After a great day of painting tiles at two houses, with a total of 231, when I need 222 (in case some break), receiving a handmade scarf and hat from Elva as a gift, and learning to make tortillas, I got the bad news.

To make it even worse, Amalia wasn’t there to give me the bad news (even though she was at el comedor yesterday). Mari, the other main jefa wasn’t even there. I had to hear it from the third string jefa—thanks a lot.

I was leaving and wished everyone a good weekend and how I was excited to start pasting on Monday. Maria follows me out and says that Amalia told her I’m not allowed to use the wall we had originally planned to use. WHAT!?!?!?!

Amalia had given the “okay” over a month ago! I bought all the tiles over a month ago! I’ve been painting tiles with families for almost three weeks, and you tell me NOW, literally the last day I’ll be at el comedor PRIOR to starting the final step of the mural that I’m NOT allowed to use that wall?

I was so shocked with this news that my immediate reaction was in English, and I had to collect myself to ask “Why not?” And of course, Maria being the third-string, said she didn’t know and she was only relaying the message given to her by Amalia. Some nerve.

My two new wall options are as follows. One small wall inside the dining hall that has two windows in the middle—it would be physically impossible to put the mural there. The other option is to move all of the bookshelves standing against one of the walls and moving them to the other side and putting the mural on that wall. “But,” I said, “when we’re done pasting, the bookshelves will cover the entire mural!” Maria said they wouldn’t put the shelves back, and they would just stay on the other side. This could work if all three walls of the classroom weren’t already full of stuff—be it bookshelves or machinery or stacks of cardboard boxes filled with plastic tables bought by some previous volunteer that have yet to be used. Besides, the whole point of the mural was for the families to enjoy it while eating, and it wouldn’t be seen very often in the classroom. And I have no doubt in my mind, that eventually over time it would be covered up by paper or bookshelves, etc.

The original wall for the mural has never been used! There is nothing on that wall. Nothing. What could Amalia possibly need it for?

I am still shocked. I can’t believe she would do this, and so close to the end. It was a low blow.
So I’ve called Valeria who will consistently call Amalia all this weekend until she picks up her phone (of course, she didn’t pick up today, or else I would’ve already heard back). I will fight to the death for this if necessary. I cannot think of any reason that would prevent me from putting this mural up without some way around it. The only reason I can think of is that there are 2 or 3 very small hooks that we would have to remove in order to paste the tiles. If Amalia feels that strongly about those hooks, I will personally make sure new hooks are installed once the mural is done (I’ll even install them myself).

It’s unfortunate that such a great day (especially since the weather was so much better and the sun was out) ended with such miserable news. All I can do is wait. Like before, I should hope for the best and prepare for the worst. The only thing is, the worst could be that I can’t put up the mural at all, and the money and time spent on these tiles will be worthless and a waste of an entire summer. I can’t even process that.

Synonyms for Wimp

Some people may have considered me a wimp today. But I like to think the terms “logical,” “realistic,” and “smart” are a better choice of words.

The wind has spoken. Today was stinkin’ cold. I knew it would be rough today, so I had leggings, pants, soccer socks, and four layers on top in addition to my jacket, gloves, scarf, and hat. I thought I was prepared. I was wrong. And I flaked out pretty early...

I got to el comedor earlier in order to stop by at least two houses today, instead of just one, which is what normally happens. With only today and tomorrow left to paint tiles, I want to let as many more kids as possible have the opportunity. Luckily I had met a mother yesterday who had offered her house, since Mari’s choice had fallen through.

I did make it to two houses and we painted 15 more tiles, but I was back at el comedor by 1pm (normally I don’t get back until 2:30 or 3). I could barely feel my legs, much less my fingers or nose. While I had painted with the kids inside of the houses, protection from the outdoors is minimal, and both families kept the door wide open—allowing in the freezing cold wind.

At el comedor I stood in front of the open fires to defrost, but as soon as I had finished eating and the cooking had stopped (which meant the fires were dead) I left. I felt a little guilty for leaving for early, but I got my daily tile work done and there was NO way I was gonna stand in the open air and freeze my ass off just to save face (what "face" I'm not really sure...).

On another note, I finally have a worker! It’s not Mari’s son since it turned out he wasn’t going to be able to help at all. So instead I have a very nice older man to help me out. We start next Monday at 11am sharp. And I only have about 30 more tiles to paint with the kids and I’ll be set and ready to paste! And I have two more houses scheduled to visit tomorrow.

I think we’ll be more than fine with a full week to make sure everything is done perfectly. Valeria is even coming on Monday to make sure things get started correctly. I’m getting really excited and I think the cooks are getting curious too. One mother even came into the classroom today when I returned from painting to look at all the tiles and ask when I was starting.

Also, today I got another look at just how poor this neighborhood is. Amalia came and set up a table for what appeared to be “registration” for the neighborhood’s residents. As each individual came to pick up food for their family, they had to write down their name, date of birth, D.N.I. (identity number), and sign their name. The first old man didn’t know how to read, write, or sign his name, so they used his fingerprint as a signature. In addition, as each family member gave the appropriate information, their “gift” for registering was a Lays bag of potato chips for each member of the family. I guess I had become so accustomed to the initial shock that the lunch meal is often all a family eats in a day, but that being given a small bag of potato chips is a luxury brings this neighborhood’s poverty full circle.

Windy Weather

Today’s weather was crazy. The entire city was covered in a cloud of windy dust, sticks and dirt. From el comedor, we couldn’t see the city below us. The cooks had to eat inside since embers were flying all around the outside kitchen. On the bus ride home I saw entire trees blocking the road (resulting in bus detours) and trees fallen on electric cables (resulting in power outages all around the city). Many stoplights weren’t working and the house I went to today to paint with kids as well as my own house lost power. Walking home, I held both hands over my face and could only see the ground immediately in front of my feet.

One of the mountains that you can see from my house and during the my entire walk home had caught fire, with huge clouds of smoke rising along the neighboring mountains. It was insane. Accordingly to Valeria, this means within the next few days it’s going to be VERY cold. Rumor has it that it might even snow! And it never snows here!

During this crazy wind, I was able to paint a handful more of tiles with a few adolescents (yay for variety), and if I’ve counted correctly, I only need the kids to paint about 35 more!

Unfortunately, the worker did not come today either. He happens to be the son of Mari (la jefa), which is good and bad. While it’s handy to have an easy source with which to communicate, I also have to limit my harassment of showing up so I don’t appear rude. I told Mari that what is most important is that we start putting up the tiles on Monday, and as long as he stops by (even briefly, since our meeting won’t take long) just once this week to go over the plan to see what we’re doing, it’ll be fine. But I’ve decided if he doesn’t come by Thursday, I’ll look for someone else. I don’t care whom I pay to help me, whether it’s a son of a cook or not, as long as it gets done on time.

Feliz Dia del Amigo

Actually, today is an International Holiday. It is Friend Day (El Dia del Amigo). Although I’ve never heard of it, nor have I celebrated it in the U.S., it appears to be a big deal here, and we had a small fiesta at el comedor (food, CocaCola, wine) in addition to our little game.

We changed our “amigo invisible” because two of the participants dropped out. This time I picked Elva, which is actually perfect. She was the first mother and cook to truly break the ice and has always been very sweet, asking me questions about my time here, where I’ve traveled to, what I study, everything.

Also, this past week I went to her house to paint tiles with her kids. Using the term “kids” may be an understatement, as I think “breeding ground” might be a little more appropriate. Elva, nicknamed “La Gorda” for her obvious appearance, has seven daughters. The sixth is 12 (which I found out when she accompanied me back to el comedor after painting), so I assume the seventh is probably 10. She has un monton de nietos (grandchildren). Ironically, with seven daughters, almost all of the grandkids are boys—there had to have been at least 8, if not more. And they all live in the same house that has a total of two small rooms with multiple bunk beds.

She was extremely inviting and even fed me lunch, even though normally I would go back to el comedor to eat after a painting excursion. Having her as my “amigo invisible” is perfect, as it will be my way of thanking her for her welcoming generosity.

I’ve decided to give her a gift that is specifically for her. With so many kids running around, I doubt she ever has time or money to buy anything for herself. I actually found a necklace that Laura made which is simple but very beautiful (and I even got a great discount since I know the maker!).

We don’t find out who our “amigo invisible” is, but we thank everyone and wish every one a Feliz Dia del Amigo! Elva seemed to really like her necklace! But I think I’ll write her a “secret” note tonight explaining its significance and how she isn’t allowed to lend it to her daughters! It was fun and I was able to have an excuse to take pictures to have memories of all the wonderful women I’ve met at el comedor. I am altogether very happy that the swine flu caused a temporary shutdown of the classroom allowing me this time to get to know the women who run the place.

I was supposed to meet the worker today—but of course, as society is here, everything runs slower—so the meeting has been delayed until tomorrow. Valeria and I will take a taxi to haul all of the remaining tiles to el comedor in the morning and go through the blueprints with the worker (IF all goes according to plan, which it never seems to).

Que linda el viaje a Cachi

Today was a marvelous day! It was a great choice to pay extra for an excursion package!

It started out with a 6:30am wake up to be on the bus at 7. The excursion convoy (combi en español) picked up another 14 passengers at a hotel. I found out they are part of a group of 54 people all from la provinicia de Entre Rios on a weeklong trip to various sites in Northern Argentina. It took awhile to break the ice, being the only outsider, but they all eventually learned my story and seemed to enjoy listening to my adventure at el comedor and my opportunity to be in Argentina and travel. I sat with two middle-aged women during a scrumptious lunch in a small pueblo near Cachi called Payogasta. We chatted about the importance of leaving one’s comfort zone and they were very curious about my work at the soup kitchen.

We only spent less than an hour in the actual pueblo of Cachi itself, to see the church, which has an entire interior made of cactus wood. They cut the cactus down and let it sit out for six months to dry out, and your left with wood! There was also a museum with engraved stones from the indigenous populations way back when. But it was the trip there that was actually the most amazing part. We passed through at least five different types of terrain on the 157 km trip. It started with the flat farms on the outskirts of Salta, turning into subtropical dense forest, then becoming mountains with little vegetation, then mountains with no vegetation but just sheets of different colored rocks that changed color depending on the time of day (the route to and from was very different). Then it changed to huge mountains with snow, then mountains with cacti, then flat land with cacti. The change was amazing. At one point, within a span of 20 km, we climbed 1,000m in altitude.

We stopped at various locations to take pictures of this gorgeous terrain, especially at el Parque Nacional Los Cardones and el Cuesto del Obispo.

The only setback was that one of the other combis got a flat tire and was 20 km behind us. We didn’t find out about it until we stopped at our halfway point rest stop. Our group got to stand out in the cold for over an hour while our driver Marcelo went to find the other combi and give them a spare tire to change. They did have a spare tire, but I guess that had used it for a previous excursion that also got a flat tire. It delayed our trip awhile, but we amused ourselves with the two llamas that were there for tourists to take pictures with and joking we’d hijack the llamas and ride back to Salta.

Overall it was a wonderful trip. I even got applause from the bus at the end for my work so far here in Salta and wishing me luck with the rest of it and continuing on in life. This is a trip I’ll never forget.

No quiero casas ni arboles ni montañas

“I want another tile”
“Okay, what’s your idea? What are you going to paint?”
“A house.”
“I said no houses. We have too many houses.”
“A tree.”
“I said no trees.”
“Then I don’t know.”
“Well, think about it, draw it out on paper, and then maybe we’ll paint a tile”

This is the translated version of a majority of the conversations I held with the kids today. The mothers helped me set up a makeshift table out on the field across the street from el comedor. We thought more kids might be able to paint if we did it near el comedor. Bad idea.

I did have the regulars show up, and they hadn’t yet had the opportunity to paint tiles, but it was a huge group—about 15 kids running around, asking for markers, paper, tiles, everything. When I tried to help one kid, the others literally climbed all over me begging for attention or another tile. I had to turn down so many kids because they either didn’t have any imaginative or new ideas for a tile painting or had no ideas at all. I finally got a few to expand their minds and we painted a total of 44 tiles (a record for a day), but it was very stressful.

I asked the mothers that I go back to going to individual homes, especially since that way we can have more adolescents paint, and get a larger variety of artistic expression. Also, then I’m not stuck with a hundred tiles painted by the same 12 or 15 kids.

Unofficially Salteña

I few things have happened in the past few days that I will take to be signs I can unofficially consider myself a Salteña. Since officially, it’s impossible for me to be born here in Salta.
First, a woman asked me for directions concerning the bus schedule and the bus destinations. Although my answer was “I don’t know,” I obviously appeared to be comfortable enough in my surroundings and approachable enough to ask for such directions.

Second, I stood in a line. I mentioned previously Argentinians love of lines, especially outside of banks, for as long as three blocks. I had to go to the bank, and since they are only open until 1pm or so, going in the morning before el comedor was my only option. I woke up extra early hoping to beat the rush and arrived at 8:40am to find out the bank didn’t actually open until 9am. A line had already formed outside, so I decided to wait. I waited for 25 minutes before being let in, and went upstairs (where you needed to go to exchange traveler’s checks) to stand in yet another line for another 30 minutes. It took over an hour altogether and I even had to take a taxi home in order to grab my book bag and run to the bus station to catch the bus to el comedor. It wasn’t the most rewarding or cultural experience, but at least now I know what many Argentinians go through on a daily basis.

Lastly, I have joined the inner circle of the mothers at el comedor. I was invited to participate in the game “Amigo Invisible,” known to us Americans as “Secret Santa.” I need to bring a regalito on Monday for Adriana—the only problem being, I don’t know who Adriana is. I cheated a little and asked Mari, the head woman, if tomorrow she could point Adriana out for me (since she wasn’t here today). I feel so special to be able to participate in their game!

Also, I get a strong feeling of satisfaction when I set up my day trip excursions at different tourist agencies and I’m asked what hotel I’m staying at. I have a home address to give—demonstrating my stay isn’t as temporary as just any tourist.

The only thing I’m missing is a Gaucho poncho. This is a red and black poncho worn by the soldiers back in the day. But I don’t think I plan to go quite that far…

Valeria's Last Stand

Recent news has brought to my attention that after I leave Salta, Valeria will step down from her position as Volunteer Coordinator for HelpArgentina in Salta. This presents a few problems. First, HelpArgentina will not likely hire another coordinator, unless they can convince Amalia to be the middle-woman for incoming volunteers (which is unlikely, since it’s impossible to get in touch with her and she’s always insanely busy with other work). This means that Salta may not be seeing volunteers for quite awhile. This could mean that I am the last volunteer el comedor will see in a few years…

Now, this is all hypothetical, but if this does happen, it makes me all the happier that I’m doing this mural. This will last so much longer than English classes or more books or stuffed animal tomatoes ever could. It’ll (ideally) be aesthetically pleasing and brighten up the dining hall for all the families that come to eat. It’ll also be a memory for these kids years down the road to see what they had painted years before.

I joked with Valeria how grateful I was that she decided to stick around just for me as the last volunteer, but I think her decision deals primarily with money. Salta doesn’t see a regular influx of volunteers, so her schedule depends solely on people showing up. She owns her own clothing store and runs that throughout the week, and has recently started a job at the customer service desk at the mall, which requires her to work all week (including weekends). Jon Teel, the coordinator in Buenos Aires had a partner to level out his work, however as of a year ago, the partner left and was never replaced. Thus, Jon has taken on the responsibilities of two coordinators and maintaining contact with EVERY volunteer in Argentina.

I hope this doesn’t mean that HelpArgentina will start to minimize its staff to the point where only Buenos Aires is accessible for future volunteers. I was thinking about writing down notes to create a mini handbook for future volunteers in Salta so that they are at least semi-prepared upon arrival (unlike me). But is it worth it? What’s the future for HelpArgentina?

Trial Run #1

Today’s house call what at the Juarez family’s house. I actually got to see just how the poor the neighborhood is by seeing where most of the families and children I work with live. Not only did I see what little they have to work with, I found out that Maribel and Elizabeth, two young twins aren’t the only children of Doña Juarez—oh no—she has at least 3 or 4 more older children. There are a lot of people to fit into a small house. However, it proved extremely advantageous to have older kids because it expanded our repertoire of drawings beyond that of houses, trees, and flowers. At one point, I said people were NOT ALLOWED to draw houses or trees. Maribel ended up drawing a camping site, and Mari Elena drew a boat in the ocean. At least they were semi-thinking out-of-the-box.

So far, we have thirty tiles (this includes the ones the moms did) painted and about 120 to go. But I do know of quite a few more kids that I haven’t met with to paint, and three mothers have already offered their houses and/or kids to help paint! And each day I’m carrying a handful of tiles in my mochila to keep the classroom stocked with blank ones.

Also, the kids were very patient with the rule that they had to draw their ideas on paper before painting a tile. I was actually pretty critical, and often offered suggestions about details or add-ons before giving the “thumbs-up.” Elizabeth had me write out the numbers 1-10, and she wrote out the words in English and drew small pictures of the appropriate number. I’ve also made sure that they sign their tiles, so once they are up on the wall, people will know who designed them.

Por Fin, Buenas Noticias

Today was a successful day. It started out rocky since we made milanesa, so I was pounding meat for two hours, and I didn’t have the time I thought I would have to ask the moms to paint a few tiles. Also, not as many mothers showed up today (go figure). However, I did get two of the moms to paint tiles and one even said she’d like to paint two every day—and I have more than enough! Also, I asked about my idea to go to a different house each day and paint with the kids. They all thought it was the best idea and I now officially have house calls at different homes tomorrow, Wednesday, and Thursday. Ideally, the word will get around and I’ll meet with different kids each day.

I also found out from Valeria that Amalia knows a few men that would be able to help me put the tiles on the wall. All I need to do is let her know a few days ahead of time when I’m ready to starting pasting, and it’ll be organized!

Now, all I need is to keep a steady rhythm of painting tiles with the kids, and ideally I can put the entire mural up in a few days toward the end of the month! Wish me luck!

Music on my mind

I’ve noticed an odd pattern in the songs that have come to mind throughout my time here in Salta. I didn’t bring an iPod, and I haven’t listened to music on my laptop (or really wanted to), so during my long walks around town, bus rides to and from the center (totaling over an hour a day), and traveling, I’ve found myself consistently humming. Not really singing, as I’d prefer that the surrounding individuals don’t hear me. It would make me stand out even more and give them more reason to obnoxiously stare.

To be honest, whether or not you choose to believe me, Friday night, on my walk back to the hostal from dinner, I found myself in a particularly good mood, and decided that I hadn’t skipped in awhile. So I did just that. I skipped back to the hostal. But I did stop anytime a car or bike went by since I thought my skipping might increase my chances of being robbed, and I didn’t want to draw attention to myself at night, in a strange pueblo, as a small white girl. But it was fun.

But back to the music. Most of them have been patriotic tunes. One day walking to the bus stop, I caught myself humming “The Star Spangled Banner.” Another time, I was humming “America, the Beautiful.” The next day I was humming my high school’s alma mater, even though I don’t even know the words!

And when I walked up the mountains at Las Ruinas de Quilmes, I started singing “Go Tell It On The Mountain.” At this moment, I started laughing. I guess it seemed appropriate since I was literally on top of a mountain, but it only made my list of songs even stranger.

I’ve never considered myself extremely patriotic or religious or intensely devoted to my high school so I haven’t quite figured out why these songs decided to pop into my head. Is it my mind’s way to bringing home with me wherever I go or illustrating that I miss the states? I haven’t missed the U.S. all that much, but I think that’s mostly because I know I’m only here for two months—and in the grand scheme of things, that’s no time at all.

I honestly have no solid idea why these songs came up—and please know that none were hummed on purpose. My mind wanders while walking or sitting in the bus, and it takes me awhile before I realize exactly what tune I’m humming. I’ll do my best to note what songs come up later on to see if a pattern continues.

No idea what I was in for

My luck in having a successful traveling day did not continue into Saturday. I had plans to visit the museums, all of which were closed. The hostal owner recommended I go to “Las Cabras de Cafayate.” I had no idea what “cabra” meant and had no idea what I was in for. I was told it was only 1 km away—it was 2 km—but I still walked it to find that it was a goat farm. Cabra means goat. So I took a tour of this goat farm for 10 pesos. The guide explained the different kinds of goats, the different groups they had set up, and how the farm runs. The most interesting part was entering the building where they milk the goats. They put the goat’s head through a grate, which then locks itself in place so the goat can’t move around. Like any living thing, the goats don’t seem to like this very much, and with such stress, they don’t give milk. To solve this problem, they play classical music to calm the goats, and believe that classical music in particular improves the milk, and in turn the cheese. It all sounded pretty entertaining to me, but if it works, why not?

After a nice trek back to the center of town, I ate lunch. Literally twenty minutes later I had taken a taxi outside of the pueblo to climb a path to see las cascadas (the waterfalls). Once again, I had no idea what I was in for. I thought I’d be able to walk it alone, and my taxi driver had told me it would take me no longer than an hour. Wrong on both accounts. I ended up with a guide without asking for one. Gustavo gives free tours in order to maintain the sanctity of nature that exists on these mountains and waterfalls. And when I say “sanctity” I mean it in its purest form. There are no set trails. You have to adjust to what nature gives you, and what it has to offer isn’t always the safest. We climbed up rocks, down rocks, through caves, across the river back and forth, jumping onto rocks and holding onto trees (not cacti, those we had to be careful not to grab for if we started to slip). I don’t think I can fully capture the intenseness of this trip, and I doubt my pictures will give you any idea. Thank goodness I had Gustavo with me. He told me that a few weeks ago a young girl from Germany hadn’t taken the advice to have a guide and fell down one of the mountains, busted her head, and just barely survived.

After two hours of climbing, I saw two of the waterfalls. Unfortunately, I didn’t have the time (or energy) to go further, and the one-hour trek back was much easier. Shortly after, I was once again on the bus for four hours winding through the mountains. It was a jam-packed two days, and it was worth every peso (and every drop of sweat), but I am grateful to have Sunday to recover.

Dinner with Lauro

Now having woken up so early, I was ready to sleep by 8—but I figured I should probably eat dinner first. Unfortunately, the restaurants in Cafayate don’t open until 8:30 or 9pm. Luckily, one restaurant was just opening, and one of the waiters, Lauro, learned of my predicament and offered me a table. I treated myself to a feast and tried the famous dessert wine unique to Cafayate. I even tried a dessert called Cayote con Nuez. It had the texture of butternut squash, but the flavor of REALLY sugary marmalade—I can’t say I was a big fan. But the entire dinner was very nice, and toward the end of my meal, a live music performance started. The guitarist even went to each table and asked where they were from. When he came upon my table, he immediately asked “Where you from?” I answered in Spanish “Los Estados Unidos” but he continued to respond in broken English—oh well.

Cafayate y Los Quilmes

I was given little time to actually relax during my weekend excursion. I woke up at 5am on Friday morning to catch a 7am bus to Cafayate. The four-hour bus ride consisted solely of twists and turns. I did my best to sleep despite the unheated bus and no light in the bathroom. However, one upside to the unsettling bus ride was the view. The trip runs through la Quebrada de las Conchas. This route can be traced back to the Incas and runs between breathtaking rock formations in strong contrasting colors. The entire valley ranges from mountain deserts to subtropical forests.

Upon arrival at Cafayate, a popular pueblo for tourism, I found my hostal. I asked the owner what options I had to visit Las Ruinas de Quilmes. She asked if I wanted to go right then—so I did. I ended up making the one-hour trip to the Tucuman province with an Argentinean driver and 5 French tourists. When we arrived, the driver introduced us as students from Buenos Aires, making the entrance fee only 5 pesos, instead of 10 for non-Argentineans.

Las Ruinas de Quilmes are the ruins of the citadel created by the Quilmes Indians, an indigenous tribe in northwestern Argentina. They resisted all Incan invasions, and resisted against the Spaniards for 130 years before finally being defeated in 1667. The ruins cover an entire mountainside with hundreds of paths weaving in and out of the homes. It’s no wonder that this tribe was able to resist for so long. The invaders could only attack from one side, and with so many paths up and around the mountain that the Quilmes must have known all too well, the intruders never stood a chance. Luckily I was able to explore alone, and climbed up the two peaks on either side of the mountain—the view was incredible.

I came back to the town center, visited the Cathedral, and shopped in the endless amount of tourist stores. While tourist shops are fun to visit, they easily become repetitive, making it harder to find a unique gift. It did help that I went at the low season of tourism (January-March is high season), even though within less than a day, the hostal owner changed my room three times to accommodate for incoming travelers. Also, it appears that the most tourists tend to come from France and Germany.

The Plot Thickens

I didn’t things could get more complicated, but they did. Improvisation, adjustment, and reorganization are all re-entering my “schedule” here.

As it turns out, the child did die from the swine flu. The government (which finances el comedor) has ordered that children will not be allowed into el comedor until July 28th or 30th. Basically, el comedor will be closed for the rest of the month. This puts a spin on things, as my last day at el comedor is August 10th, so I’ll have less than ten days with the kids back. This is definitely not enough time to complete the mural.

SO, I have come up with a rough solution. I will paint (as I was planning on doing before) all of the blue and orange tiles. I will hire help to put the “La Floresta” part on the wall asap, so at least that part is accomplished. I don’t need the kids at all for that part.

Then, I will ask the mothers if I can bring a few tiles to each of their houses and meet with a few kids at a time to paint tiles. It will take quite awhile, but it might even be better this way since I’ll only be with 2 or 3 at a time, and can control what is painted and can help them out. This is better than having 20 some kids running around. I might even ask the mothers to paint a few. I’ve noticed that since there are a core six mothers who cook daily, sometimes with 2 or 3 more, so there is always at least one mother just sitting. What better to take up time then paint tiles?
This wasn’t the news I was hoping to receive, but I had mentally prepared myself for the worst. Now that the worst has happened, I feel I’ve found a solution good enough that it doesn’t seem so bad.

Actually, not having kids at the center really diminishes my chances of catching the swine flu, or any flu for that matter. While cooking, I wash my hands constantly, any time I change what I’m doing, and then some. We wear gloves and masks when serving the families, and family members come in one at a time. Group contact is minimal, so for my own health, this is actually better.

With so many mothers cooking, I ended up cleaning up the classroom. Since tomorrow (9 de julio) is Argentina’s Independence Day (the equivalent of America’s 4th of July) and a holiday, I’ve decided to take tomorrow and Friday off to paint tiles and take a day trip or two. I might as well take advantage of this “break” from kids to work on the project and see more of Argentina.

Roadblock--NO exceptions

Today was an entirely different experience. I went in earlier as suggested by Valeria. Outside of el comedor there is a sign reading that only the cooks, parents of each family, and the teacher (me) are allowed to enter. Children of strictly prohibited from entering el comedor, NO exceptions.

The day started as another observation day and I just watched until they could find something for me to help with. Finally, I ended up helping Maria, a 23-year-old mother of three, to make flan. Now, the flan itself was already prepared, but we were in charge of cleaning the 172 bowls, cups, and mugs (anything we could find) and filling them with flan so that it could set. Since el comedor was closed, families came with boxes and bowls to pick up the food. As we emptied the flan into the families’ bowls (putting in however many family members there were—some had up to 8 people) we had to once again, clean ALL of the bowls. For sanitation purposes, we wore latex gloves and facemasks while doing all of this. I must say, it was literally backbreaking manual labor, as my back was aching after 3 straight hours of washing bowls.

I found out from Maria that the child that died hasn’t been to el comedor in quite awhile (so I wouldn’t have met he or she). Even the mother didn’t come very often because her child had been sick at home for a long time. Right now, the family is in Buenos Aires to have the child analyzed for cause of death. But for complete precaution, el comedor will not allow any children in until further notice. Maria said at worst, it would be two weeks before it reopens.

I actually found out from Laura this morning that Argentina is in a predicament. First of all, education here is free, even at the university level. So, thousands of students come from around South America to study here, use up Argentina’s government money, and leave. Also, Argentina has free medical care. Families only pay a (monthly?) tax of 30 pesos or so to receive any care they may need. However, with such a low tax, the government cannot pay for the necessary expensive equipment (normally from the U.S., which makes it even more expensive) to test for common sicknesses such as the flu—or what’s become more of a problem now—gripe A, or swine flu. The reason why so many people are dying from the swine flu is because Buenos Aires is the ONLY city in Argentina that has the equipment to test for it. Thus, most families can’t afford a trip there, or just assume it’s another illness, and before you know it, the person has died. So what do they do? Nothing. They can’t raise taxes, because people can’t afford it, much less afford to pay for one’s own medical bills.

Despite the intense manual labor—which I didn’t mind so much, as I am the newbie, especially in terms of the kitchen—I’m almost glad the classroom is temporarily shut down. This gave me an opportunity to meet the mothers and see what goes on each day in the back of el comedor. They asked where I was from and how long I’d be there. They even made a comment that they liked that I ate everything given to me. I guess the last girl here, from Ireland, was a vegetarian, and only ate a tomato with bread every day—no thanks. Although one day I’m not sure what I was eating, it appeared to be some sort of intestine or lung or something weird, I just didn’t ask, because it tasted fine, and I ate it. This meal is often the only meal some of these families eat all day, so I should first be blessed to have more opportunities to eat, but I should be thankful they are willing to share their food with me. And to be honest, I eat better at el comedor than I do in my host family’s house. Lunch is the biggest meal of the day, and el comedor has three courses. Soup, main dish, and dessert…what more could I ask for?

I told Maria about wanting to create a mural as my main project. She really liked the idea and had a few good ideas of her own. She normally does not bring her kids to el comedor during the winter because of the increased chances of sicknesses, but also she lives far away. However, she said once the classroom opened up again and I got started with the tiles, she’d bring them so they could paint a few tiles! She even mentioned the idea to the other mothers, and they seemed interested—although Amalia (who I finally met) reminded me that as of now, it’s prohibited to have kids there.

If the worst happens, and el comedor is closed for two weeks, I will simply have to paint tiles with the kids EVERY day. I’ll instruct the older kids to help the younger ones, and stress the importance of doing a good job but getting it done on time. I know that if I leave without it being completed, it’ll never be finished (even the mothers agreed on this account).

Although this has been a small roadblock, it is a different experience, and I kind of like the change-up. It’s a nice small break from crazy screaming fighting kids. Also, HelpArgentina sent me an email to be aware of swine flu and avoid contact with LOTS of kids. Since I was planning on coming to el comedor regardless of this warning, I guess with el comedor closed, it is all taken care of for me.

Light-hearted News

With hopes of countering the heaviness of the previous blog, I thought I’d share a funny and positive thing that happened today. Flor learned my name. Now, please understand, she is in no way verbally capable of saying “Lindsay” but she has managed to pull out the two main syllables, the “L” sound and “Z” sound. However, those letters aren’t in her vocabulary, and she’s created a “new” name that follows the kids pattern of two-syllable repetition of sounds. Thus, my name is “Titi.” If you tell her to say “Lindsay” the “L” becomes slightly more audible, but the name she shrieks across the room is “Titi" (pronounced Tea-Tea).

While it makes me smile, it also means she can verbally call for me with an order, be it to sit with her, eat with her, bring her water, play with her doll, the works. Children tend to be pretty bossy, and so, along with Laura and Miguel, having been christened by Queen Flor with a name, I am now officially one of her many slaves.

Bad News

A lot of bad, sad and unfortunate things have happened in the past three days. It started off okay with an adventure at the tile store and baking cookies. However, yesterday I found out one of my friends from high school is now quadriplegic from snapping his neck diving into the surf in Atlantic City.

When I thought things couldn’t get worse, I went to el comedor today and found a sign. “Cerrado por Duelo” (Closed for Mourning). Someone had died and el comedor was closed. I went home and called Valeria. She called back quickly and I found out a child had died. Amalia wouldn’t say who, so I don’t know if I knew the child or not. They think the child died from the swine flu (gripe A), but no one knows. Thus, el comedor will be closed until further notice. The mothers will still cook, but everyone will eat and leave. I am not to keep any kids there afterward for activities, as that would increase chances of spreading the swine flu or any other sort of sickness.

As of now, I can go in earlier in the morning and help the mothers cook, but that’s about it. Hopefully I’ll find out tomorrow which child it was and what exactly happened. It may not have been someone I knew because if they’ve been sick for a while, they would have stayed at home—but you never know. It’s been a tough few days, and I’m anxious because I don’t exactly know what sort of affect this death and spread of illnesses will have on the success or even existence of my project or even my participation in volunteering at el comedor at all.

The Locals

I have been proud of my increasing confidence with my Spanish. Unlike my time in Spain where I lived with Americans making Spanish practice more difficult, here it’s all I speak and hear. I speak Spanish with Laura, Miguel, the kids at el comedor. The only person I speak to in English is Valeria, and that is normally because we walk about logistics with el comedor and I want to make sure I understand everything and she understands everything I’m saying.

This past weekend I’ve become even more comfortable speaking with strangers. At la feria artisanal I held conversations with a few vendors, asking about their products and what various symbols meant. This afternoon I went to buy pears to make pear jam with Laura, and held a conversation with the two old men selling the fruit. They asked where I was from; I said the U.S. and Virginia Oeste. It appears when I say “Virginia Oeste” (West Virginia) they don’t catch the ‘oeste’ part and all say, “ oh, siii, Virginia.” I let it slide. I would never allow someone to get away with this in the states, but its not worth trying to explain they are two different states. The same old men asked me if it was the same state as Nevada…this shows you the limited knowledge of U.S. geography.

It does continue to show that I stick out and its extremely obvious I’m not any kind of Spanish…but at least they don’t try and speak English or hit on me. I’m noticing they don’t whistle or make sexual comments (unlike the teenagers or middle-aged men on the street) if they are selling a product and I’m the consumer.

The Project

As I’ve mentioned often in previous entries, it’s difficult to explain just how el comedor works in terms of organization, as the classroom and the kids activities run on the lack of organization. The worst part being, it’s impossible to organize everything in such a fashion that a framework could be set for future volunteers as they come and go sporadically throughout the year.

I’ve come to terms with the fact I won’t be able to set a schedule in the short time I’m here, and can only take each day as it comes, moving with the flow of the kids that show up each day. Each day varies in quantity and quality (measured by ease/difficulty to control) of children, and I must adjust to what I am given.

Amidst this controlled chaos, I have decided to pursue one main goal, a permanent project that will leave a mark on el comedor, more so than an attempt to organize anarchy.

The idea, originally imagined by my amazing mother, will be a mosaic mural on one of the walls inside of the dining area. The center of the mural will be the name of el comedor, La Floresta, in blue tiles, surrounded by orange tiles. The border surrounding the name will be white tiles colored and designed by the kids. They can put their names, flowers, animals, stripes, or designs, whatever they wish. There will be a final border to complete the full mosaic of blue and white tiles with a pre-made design. I found it at the tile store, and despite the expensive price of 13 pesos per tile, I decided it was worth it to make the project complete.

The trip to the tile store was an adventure within itself. It took over three hours to find the tiles, find the paint, buy the tiles, and successfully haul them all to the car. With it being the weekend, the place was filled with customers, and it didn’t help when there was a chance I wouldn’t be able to buy the tiles since I was American. I guess every Argentinean has a registration number, which I assume is similar to a social security number in the U.S. However, people give it out whenever they use a credit or debit card so the seller has record of the consumer. I wasn’t about to give out my SSN to an Argentinean tile factory, and I didn’t have my passport with me, so I used the license number on my drivers license. Luckily it worked.

Now, they didn’t have everything I wanted, so I will need to improvise. Speaking of improvisation, for the record, I have baked two more batches of cookies, one of which included baking powder when Laura found some stashed away in a cupboard (its called ‘polvo para hornear’).

I bought blue and orange paint and will have to hand paint every little tile for the name of el comedor. I also need to find various colors of permanent markers for the kids to use on the white tiles.

It’ll be a big project, and I need to start soon, but I’m looking forward to it. I just need to stay focused and prevent kids from breaking tiles. My goal is to have it completely finished by the end of July.

Cooking Nightmare Gone Well?

It’s hard to improvise when cooking, especially when one is in a foreign country, with ingredients in a foreign language, and when they don’t even know how to cook in the first place. Welcome to my life.

I wanted to cook. I’ve been having cravings for peanut butter, but that unfortunately does not exist here in Salta. So then I decided maybe I’d make dinner one night. But after going to two different grocery stores and not finding what I needed, I decided to start more basic—sweet! Ideally, cookies, or brownies, or even my Mom’s amazing banana bread…

Off I went to the store—I found the essentials, butter, sugar, eggs, flour, but I hit a road block when it came to brown sugar. I found azucar negro (black sugar) and decided that would have to do. However, I actually think its white sugar dyed black, because while I was using it and smashing the chunks, I kept seeing white specks…oh well, its improvisation right?

Next problem, chocolate chips. How do they NOT that chocolate chips? They have bars of chocolate, chocolate cookies, chocolate CHIP cookies, chocolate truffles—but no chips for cooking! Do they REALIZE what they are missing out on? Luckily, Laura knew of a store that had them, and we drove into town and found some (thank goodness!).

The biggest problem: baking powder. Now I found baking soda, but no baking powder. I finally went to a grocery store further away with Laura and she found me some. Since it was in a foreign language and looked promising I didn’t question. It wasn’t until I was actually cooking that I opened the box and realized it was yeast. Yeast in Spanish is ‘levadura.’ Baking powder in Spanish is ‘levadura en polvo.’ Not much of a difference in name (in Spanish), but HUGE difference in outcome.

I checked online to see my options. Using baking soda without the powder would make my cookies salty and taste GROSS (says a few websites). Yeast would just be a big mistake. Since the powder and soda make the cookies rise, I decided I’d do without both and just have ugly flat cookies.

Now with the “right” ingredients (or lack there of) I started “mixing.” The big problem is that Laura doesn’t have a mixer—so some was manual and some was used with a machine normally used to slice vegetables into small pieces. Well, it worked, whatever, I improvised. With the mixture finally complete, now came the task of the oven.

They do not have an electric oven, where you can set the time and temperature. No. It is one temperature, warm or hot. I decided to have Miguel set it at warm so as not to kill my cookies. Since I had no idea how long to put them in for, I checked them every few minutes. However, I had no idea how to tell if they were done, since they didn’t look like normal cookies since they lacked baking powder and baking soda.

I eventually decided somewhere between 10 and 15 minutes was enough and surrendered to the reality that these cookies would not win a prize.

Now they are sitting on a plate in the kitchen, looking sad and oddly dark, not burned, but dark (must be the black sugar).

I took a bite. Crunchy, like a cracker, but it sort of melts in your mouth if it sits for a while with the sugar dissolving on your tongue... Not bad for my first batch of improvised Argentinean-American cookies. But I can't say all my cooking improvisations in the past have turned out so "well." But I'll give myself some credit for using what I had and checking online before doing anything stupid.

Tomorrow's goal: Find baking powder.

Premonition of Chaos

I’ve hit as much of a rhythm as possible. My main project has yet to begin, due to delayed meetings with the necessary individuals, but hopefully things will be under way this weekend. But otherwise we have a speckled pattern.

The past few days haven’t been very stressful. The more obnoxious tough-to-control crowd hasn’t shown up, so the smaller group is easier to entertain and control. Each morning has started of with reading a story (or a few). Whether or not the kids help out in reading the story depends on their literacy capabilities—but everyone seems to enjoy it. It’s good practice for me reading Spanish too.

All this week has been spent creating a show. The first day was a rough cut. The second day included a set with trees and flowers glued to a wooden board and puppets. Today, we continued with the set and puppets, but I read “Pocahontas” out loud, and the puppets acted out the parts. Some of the girls had even used a few pesos to buy small pieces of candy to hand out to the audience.

I’ve been locking the classroom during lunch (save one day when there was no chaos) and it proves useful. One day, Miguel tried to trick me by throwing his shoe into the classroom, complaining that I must open the gate so he doesn’t walk around without a shoe. I merely told him it was his fault and he’d have to walk around shoeless. The boys ended up getting the shoe by using a broom and sweeping it to the gate anyway.

My only biggest concern is Valeria’s warning about next week. Next Monday, winter vacation starts. Normally its only two weeks, however this year it is starting earlier because the flu is so common. Buenos Aires gets a whole month off!

This presents itself as a potential problem since I will likely have a LOT more kids ALL day at el comedor, which will make it much harder to keep peace.

But a small break to look forward to is a holiday on July 9th. It better be a big event, especially since Salta has a plaza called “9 de Julio.”

A Promotion

Today I am promoting myself from the starting rank of “Nanny” to that of “Key Master.” The title “teacher” is not yet appropriate (if ever) since teaching is not always on the agenda. But today, I am proud to say I am exactly what the title describes and I kept order pretty damn well for it only being my 6th day at el comedor.

The day started with only six younger kids and I read them a story. While a few lost interest about halfway through, they respected the other’s choice to listen and played quietly in a corner.

A small riot started formulating shortly after lunch had started. A group of 13 boys kept stealing plastic fruit and throwing it around. They then removed a few tomatoes from the top shelves and were throwing those as well. Today, I had come prepared. I told them all toys had to stay inside the classroom, and if they were going to wreak havoc, I had to use my greatest weapon—a lock and key. I had bought the lock this weekend just in case, hoping that I wouldn’t have to use it during lunchtime. But they left me no other choice. So I locked the classroom gate—no one could go inside. A few did try and climb up the gate, but after a few sterns “NO”s and help from a few mothers, everything quieted down, and I ate my lunch peacefully.

After lunch, the gang of boys didn’t come back—so I was back to my regular group of girls with a handful of younger boys. We played cards and drew pictures, but when the mothers wanted to clean the classroom floor we headed for the hills. I had also come prepared with a soccer ball in case something like this would occur. So, we walked across the street and played on a field with two small goals posted at either side. I attempted to form teams, but it ended up being the boys playing, the girls watching or following me around, and me trying to stop any shots the boys kicked my way. We took a few breaks to get some water—it was way too sunny and hot for little boys like Papelito running around without water. Papel had to have been a favorite today. Although he has a horrible habit of wanting to play with any cards in the classroom, and does so by throwing them around—but all morning, he kept asking about the soccer ball, wanting to know when we would play. During the game this little 3-year old would run as fast as his little legs would carry him. Luckily, with a little encouragement, the older boys were patient with him and let him kick the ball every so often. It was too precious.

Eventually the girls started complaining about being bored. I guess they’ll play soccer, but only if the boys aren’t there, since they hog the ball. So, I ended the game, much to the disdain of the boys and we went back to el comedor for water and a clean classroom.

I spent the rest of the afternoon organizing the endless types of cards (math flash cards, alphabet cards, animal flash cards, English phrases, etc), with the wonderful help of a few girls. The others played quietly with cards, drawing or if you were Papelito, you would persistently come up to me with a different set of cards asking if I wanted to play.

Overall, it was a successful day. My new plan is to organize at least one game each day—anything from organized drawing, to teaching English, to soccer, just to keep the kids attention for at least an hour. That should be counted as an accomplishment. For that, I feel “leader” is appropriate enough.

Also, I’ve become more accustomed to each child’s accent and use of words, so I actually understand what they are saying.

As a sidenote, the election results were announced last night. Each province in Argentina gets 3 Diputados Nacionales. The winners were Yarade, Wayar, and Ohlmedo (the first two aren’t a surprise, but I’d never heard of the third). It appears this election was a great victory for democracy. Four parties have substantial roles throughout the country, where normally it is just two. However, this complicates matters when it comes to changing laws, as there will be so many more opposing perspectives.

Keep Truckin'

Not having regular access to modes of communication since I’ve been in Argentina has brought to light a few things. First, our generation was raised with consistent stimuli, especially with regards to technology. Growing up, we had television, radio, movies, computers, CD players, ipods, GameBoys, Tamagachis, Nintendo, and the list goes on. If we got bored with one stimulus, we would simply move onto something else. This illustrates two main points. First, it shows the impressive advancement of technology over a short period of time (Thomas Edison would be proud). However, it also demonstrates our generation’s inability to deal with “down time.” Periods of time in which we literally have nothing to do—and thus we either make something of it or enjoy the quiet time.

Here, I do not have a cell phone, nor do I have friends to call to hang out. I do not have regular Internet, so my emails are written beforehand until I gain access to send them all. I do not have the option of exploring the net, watching youtube videos or playing computer games. My host family doesn’t have cable, so we have a total of two channels. Public TV and Channel 11 which has news, stupid game shows (I hate “Justo a Tiempo” and “El Ultimo Pasajero”), some movies, lots of soap operas and at 6pm on weekdays they show the Simpsons. That’s it. I can’t flip through the channels.

I’ve used this down time for various things. Primarily, to sit, drink tea, and chat with my host family. I’ve also walked quite a bit around the city, trying my best to ignore the persistent staring and whistling. I can’t change being a white girl with blue eyes. In a city like Salta, I stand out. I clean the dishes, read, play with Flor, or just sit and think. If asked what I did that day, I’d probably say nothing. It was relaxing and it didn’t burn my brain cells as I’m told watching too much TV can do. It was “down time.”

However, those few moments of connection with my “other” world, better known as the U.S., send a wave of bittersweet nostalgia. I love being able to skype with my family and Jon and be kept up to date, but it also reminds me of my moments of loneliness, and the challenge that is actually in front of me…being in Argentina, working at a soup kitchen, keeping order with the kids, not being near the people I care for most. I try not to think about what I miss, because it only makes the day harder. Living in the moment keeps me being optimistic.

I plan to make the most of my time in Argentina, but it is still the beginning. I feel I’ve reached the lowest point of the traveler’s parabola. I’ve passed the moment of nervous excitement upon arrival and am still feeling the symptoms of culture shock and helplessness.

My DukeEngage proposal had so many ideas. The main one being to organize a framework for future volunteers so they are more efficient and el comedor benefits more each time. However, I’ve come to realize this may not be possible. My ideas for the kids have all gone up in smoke and I need to recreate my “plan.” My new plan is to not have a plan—however convoluted that sounds.

I feel useless and helpless. The last volunteer that was working at el comedor left in February. They’ve had no one here for over 3 months. It’s no wonder it doesn’t stay organized.

Things will improve. I hope. I just have to keep truckin’.

Mini Paradise

I was told Salta had a steady flow of tourism, even though now is not tourist season. I had yet to encounter many tourists or go to any of the popular sites. I decided to explore the gondola that takes you up to the top of one of the mountains surrounding Salta. From it, I could see that Salta is directly in the center of a circle of mountains. On top of the mountain I encountered a mini paradise. Despite the cold weather, there were beautiful trees and flowers, and stretches of grass and gardens. As you walked around, you were enveloped in waterfalls. The aroma was a mix of fresh water mist and freshly cut grass.

Now there is a staircase that runs completely up the mountain. It starts at the monument of Guemes (Salta’s hero) and ends at the gondola and statue of St. Bernardo. I felt walking down the stairs might be a better challenge than attempting to go up especially since I’m not yet accustomed to the high altitude, and was tired and out of breath from just riding the gondola. On the trek down, I passed many brave individuals who were walking up the hill, as well as a different icon every 50 steps or so. These little houses had an image illustrating part of Jesus’ crucifixion. When put together, the pictures told the entire story. Unfortunately, they had been wrecked by political graffiti and “Leo te amo, --Raquel.” But it still sufficiently demonstrates the existence and importance of Christianity since over 90% of Argentinians are Catholic.

Miguel

Miguel is more of a free spirit. Even Laura talks about how he has no cares in the world. He’s almost best described as an indigenous Argentinean hippy. Coming from an indigenous background, he does stone carvings that tell stories. He loves poetry and is a member of a poetry group where they read their recent work. His spiritual leader is Señor Li, who runs the Tai Chi class, but also has a group of followers in Taoism. He loves talking about what he knows—especially about different types of art and music. He’ll attempt to sing various songs by American artists. This morning, he started belting out “Angie” by the Rolling Stones.

His friends are all painters, photographers, artists, etc. Miguel believes that they have all left the “system.” The system is doing the same thing every day and living by other’s people lives instead of your by your own desires and wishes. He thinks there is too much going on in the world to be happy with just one thing—one needs to escape the “regular” schedule created by society and culture.

I often hear Laura and Miguel bickering about responsibilities. Miguel always has his head in the clouds and Laura gets frustrated. Also, every Wednesday and Thursday Miguel leaves to go to the neighboring province Jujuy to visit his 10-year old son from his previous marriage. Laura understands Miguel needs to visit his son regularly, and almost enjoys this time to clean up the house and keep it clean! She always says Flor takes after her father by making a mess and leaving it.

Miguel is also fascinated with other cultures. Whenever the Argentinean news comes on, he asks how it relates to the U.S., or what is happening in the U.S., or what did I think about it.

This morning, he showed me Spanish haikus and talked about Japanese poetry and its connection to various South American authors. We also took a long walk to the Museum of Anthropology. I didn’t have time to walk inside, but during the walk we talked about what it means to be human. If people are instinctually greedy, power hungry, and crude, or if everyone internally believed in peace and wanted to solve conflicts instead of create them. Every thing has a counterpart, and one must realize that you can’t have one without the other. According to Miguel, just because there is war and killing, in the end, it doesn’t matter, because overall people want peace. Especially, people need to take the time to stop and think before acting on impulse. People normally feel anger in specific instances, not over a continuous period of time. For that reason, he feels people are naturally willing to find harmony.

He’s an interesting character—with so many interests, thoughts, and opinions. But he does love to talk. Often at dinner, he’ll be blabbering about something and Laura will look at me and roll her eyes. Ah true love!

Teachers deserve more credit

Today, Valeria came to el comedor. I realized just how crippled I am at gaining control and order there because of my Spanish speaking ability (or lack thereof). With 15 minutes, Valeria had kids cleaning up voluntarily, playing quietly in corners, and cleaning up after themselves. There was no throwing of paper airplanes, or screaming, or fighting. She made it look so easy.

The kids have talked about the past volunteer here. I found out she was a 31-year-old from Ireland who was a teacher and didn’t know a word of Spanish. While her Spanish skills were very minimal, she knew how to control kids en masse.

I understand I have yet to receive the professional training of a teacher and realize we never give our teachers enough credit for the crap they have to put up with, so I am not necessarily at fault for how difficult it is to keep order. That takes a little bit of the pressure off…but again, my perfectionist personality wants more and can’t settle for “okay.”

Hopefully as my Spanish improves, my adapting skills and awareness of which actions to use to control the kids behavior will improve as well.

Laura

Laura is a prime example of completing changing her life around in less than a month. At age 25, Laura lived alone in Buenos Aires. She worked from Monday to Monday, no breaks. Her life was work. She had all the up-to-date technology, with Internet (cable and wireless), a laptop, a computer, a telephone, a cell phone. She wore marked clothing—not so much because she cared about the icons, but because she made plenty of money, and living alone, what else would it go towards?

One day, she broke her right wrist. During the week, she was a physical education teacher, but with a broken wrist, she obviously couldn’t work. She also couldn’t type on her computer or do anything she normally did. Working at such a fast pace, it wasn’t until this broken wrist that she was forced to sit and think. She realized this type of life was too fast, too stressful, too much. Her material things were holding her down, and she wasn’t happy.

She decided to rent her apartment. The same day she put it up for rent, someone took it. She had 15 days to move out. Within those 15 days, she traveled to Salta, rented a small house, packed all of her belongings, and moved in. In Salta, you don’t get a job through interviews and a resume. You get a job through connections with friends and family. So, Laura started her own clothing line, making jackets and sweaters. She also fixed clothes and made jewelry of all sorts. Six years ago she met Miguel and has been with him ever since. At age 42, Flor became the newest addition to her life.

Now, here in Salta, she does have her own home, and a child, and a job, but the pace at which she runs her life has reserved entirely. Her friends said she’d be back in Buenos Aires in a month. She wasn’t. They often ask her to come back, but she hasn’t. This complete turn around completely changed her outlook on life, and for the better. She could never imagine going back to the fast paced life in Buenos Aires.

This is similar to the beliefs in some forms of Buddhism, to minimize one’s connections with material things and simplify one’s life.

Resolutions

I am a very organized individual. I keep lists and like to know what I have to do, schedule appropriately, and complete everything way in advance whenever possible. Often, being extremely organized is seen as a positive character trait, however it does carry with it a lot of stress if things don’t go right or as I had planned.

During the past two years, each New Year I’ve set between 1-2 reasonable resolutions. One normally involves exercising more regularly, which never holds out for very long. However, the second somehow relates to my personality and ways to improve myself as an individual. I always used to consider myself a very pessimistic person because I hate to be disappointed. My resolution two years ago was to be more optimistic and find the good things in life, however big or small. With help from those close to me, and my own motivation to improve my outlook on life, I have kept up with this resolution relatively well (and I’ve been told by family and friends as well that I’ve improved).

My resolution this past year was to keep up with being optimistic. But I want another challenge that parallels the one I currently have. My adventure here in Salta seems to serve a purpose beyond helping the community here, and has introduced another resolution for me. Reduce my stress. One way of doing so is accepting life as it comes, especially when I can’t control it or organize it to my liking.

People say the first step to changing a problem, is admitting you have a problem. Now, being organized isn’t a problem and it’s a part of who I am, but the amount of stress I consistently carry with me is a problem.

Salta runs on a different clock then the life I’m used to. El comedor has no schedule, and I must adapt accordingly. I must accept that I leave every morning unaware of what I’ll have in front of me, and must adjust to what I’m given. That way, the day will not become stressful or frustrating, but will be seen as another adventure and as opportunity to remind myself that there will always be times in your life that you aren’t prepared and you have to accept it.

Elections

I was wrong. There aren’t only six or seven candidates for Diputado Nacional. There are twenty-four. Twenty-four! And you can only vote for one!

And how candidates take advantage of the poor is done in the most obnoxiously crude and visible way possible. The “top” candidates are normally those who have a lot of money and can pay for an extensive amount of advertising. I can’t walk down the street without seeing hundreds of posters for some guy named Yarade—“Con Vos, Con Urtubey, Por Salta” is the slogan (Urtubey is Salta’s governor). Every single television advertisement is either about a candidate, the up and coming TV show, or cellular phone service. I’m curious to see what happens on TV when Election Day is finally over.

On Election Day, to guarantee that people vote, these individuals drive to the poorer neighborhoods and take the residents on a “field trip” to the voting booths. The candidates walk these people up to the booth, whisper their name in their ear, and escort them back to the neighborhood after they’ve voted. And that’s how they win. Rigging? It should be.

And to top it all off, voting is obligatory. Valeria told me that most people here don’t really care when it comes to voting, but when they don’t vote, it just goes to the majority. So the winner is whoever can ship enough Argentineans to the voting booths and then use the apathetic population to win on a landslide. Absurd.

Now that it is late in the week, with only 3 days until Election Day, the advertising is even more annoying. Every child at el comedor had a pile of pamphlets from various candidates. At the city’s center, there were computers set up for each candidate to vote early and show your loyalty.

Finding Motivation

Today it really hit me that each day I go to el comedor, I will be presented with a completely different situation. A schedule is virtually impossible.

I had bought a soccer ball last night thinking I could keep the kids busy today by playing a nice, long soccer game. But that didn’t happen. Not as many boys came today, the majority were girls. Miguel, the young boy who ranges from being a hassle, to helping clean up, to conversationally chatting quietly with me during lunch, wasn’t there. I was expecting wrestling and fighting. Guti and Bolsa (Bolsa literally means "bag" and is only a nickname, but no one actually remembers his real name), two young brothers, had brought their tiny puppy and were throwing it around recklessly, which kept most of the kids entertained (I wouldn’t be surprised if the puppy doesn’t survive). As a funny side note, they have an even younger brother everyone calls Papel, or Papelito (which means "paper" or "little paper"). Don't ask me why, no one knows (his real name is Jorge).

There were 3 girls all at least 11 years of age, who wanted to practice their English and voluntarily took out small chalkboards and starting copying down English words written on the wall. Some knew more than they would give themselves credit for, some knew a little, and the younger girls still couldn’t read, but copied the letters. I had at least 8 kids continuously running up to me showing me what they had written. I asked them to say it in English and tell me what it meant in Spanish.

Of course, there were still a few that played to the side, spilling legos around, but I worked to keep the majority busy. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised that they wanted to learn. Just so many things have happened over the past three days, it’s tough to find what motivates them—especially when WHO is there varies daily thus changing what works and what doesn’t. It appears as though I need to go in every day with at least 10 different plans, to accommodate for whoever shows up, and hopefully, just hopefully, one will work…

Whenever my brothers and I would argue, my mom would always tell us to “pick our battles.” While this is an important lesson and useful throughout life, it’s often tough to decide which battles to pick. I can’t decide when is the right time to ask people to clean up, such that a majority will actually help, or when is the right time to put my foot down about throwing paper airplanes outside of the classroom.

I often end up just standing and watching the kids as they run around, hoping to observe enough to soak in the “secret” for peace. The past three days have been stressful, but I need to accept the fact that I’ll need at least a week, if not more, to catch my bearings and successfully run each day at el comedor. It’s just finding the patience and motivation to survive that week that will be the toughest.

Dia Numero 2

Today was my second day as nanny. I’ll start by saying it wasn’t quite as bad as yesterday…however, I think that is only because I knew what to expect, so it wasn’t quite as much of a shock.

I have noticed I don’t have to come until noon or so. I arrived at 11am again today and not a single kid showed up until 12:15.

Once again, all hell broke loose around 1pm when families started arriving. The boys were throwing plastic fruit again, the girls kept being tattle-tales on one another (oh, remember the days), and the stray dogs that wander the neighborhood kept coming into the classroom sniffing for food.

Now, I was able to get the handful of girls to sit and draw quietly. The three teenagers (probably only 13 years old) played UNO together. The boys once again threw legos all over the floor. Their favorite game involves sticking someone inside of a cupboard and holding it shut—for that one, I decided not to get involved until someone got hurt (which they normally didn’t)—and at least it kept them entertained for awhile.

Also, today was a little different because they didn’t open up the dining hall. Families stood in line outside the building with bags of empty plastic containers. Eventually, each family went away with a handful of apples, some bread, and containers full of soup. I asked the main cook Maria why, and all I understood was something about them having to leave early today, and they didn’t have time to clean up the entire dining hall—thus the families just had to pick up their food and eat at home. This resulted in a few mothers sitting in the classroom with their infants and small children while waiting for the food. While it sounds more chaotic, it was actually helpful, because I had multiple mothers and older teenagers keeping peace with their own kids, as well as keeping (some) peace with the kids I was normally in charge of.

Now, because the dining hall wasn’t open, that means the kids who I worked with and I both had to eat in the classroom. This meant spilled soup, spilled water, bread pieces, and apple cores scattered around the floor and tables—making clean up much harder and why stray dogs kept trying to get into the classroom.

Once all the families had left, I had a group of 10 kids (give or take). A few from yesterday plus a few more—two of which were at least 13—which helped me in keeping peace and leading different games. They even taught me a few games (all involving running and tagging people), which kept everyone entertained for quite awhile. I figured there was no point in trying to accomplish anything else, so we just ran around all afternoon. This did result in a few girls crying when they accidentally got hit by a large tomato (yes, they have HUGE stuffed animal-type tomatoes in the classroom, don’t ask me why, but I assume it was the project of some other volunteer). But overall, things went pretty smoothly.

Tonight I plan to buy a soccer ball and hopefully have a game going most of tomorrow afternoon—I’ve noticed everyone is more involved and willing to listen if it involves some sort of physical activity. Also, that way, I don’t have to consistently clean up hundreds of plastic coins, cards, and legos.

Tomorrow is another day, another adventure, and another set of unexpected events. Wish me luck.