Peeing in the Dark

About a month ago, the light bulb burned out in the teacher's bathroom. The problem was temporarily remedied with a candle which barely lighted the toilet seat. Nonetheless, it was sufficient.

Now all the candles are gone. And I'm assuming because of budget cuts, the light bulb hasn't been replaced. But now, the bathroom is completely dark requiring master navigation of toilet paper, sink, and soap.

I'm really diversifying my talents here in Mexico.

Spanglish

When I visited family a couple weeks ago in Canada and the US, it was the first time being back in an English-speaking world. I quickly discovered that I had lost my English fluency.

In Mexico, the only people I speak English with are the other volunteers (and in my English classes). We speak a form of Spanglish. Mostly English, but when we forget a word in English or a Spanish word just fits better, we can use it without the worry of being misunderstood.

I quickly discovered, thanks to my mom's blank face, that when talking about not having the "ganas" to go out or that something was "mala onda" that I had lost my English.

So while my Spanish flunecy increases, my English fluency decreases. I guess there's only so much processing and containing of information my brain can do. But really, I'd like to speak just one language without any difficulty.

Reverse Culture Shock

Mexico has become my home so much to the point that when I went home to the US I found everything "weird." Upon my reutrn to Mexico, everything was once again "normal." Like, in the US, why couldn't I negotiate prices? Why did I blend in so much? Why is just a sandwich $6-7 instead of $3.50? Why is it so darn cold?

Whereas when I arrived I could write a blog entry a day based on cultural differences, I'm starting to have nothing to say because American culture customs have become a distant memory and I have replaced it with Mexican culture.

Soy Un Hombre

Today, while two of my girls were straightening their hair using my roommate's straightener, I was joking around with them about being a guy. Those of you who know me know I spend little time in front of the mirror putting on make-up, fixing my hair, etc. My girls were asking me why I don't straighten my hair, and I jokingly said "It's because I'm a man."

One of the girls continues to joke with me, while the other one falls silent for a few minutes. Finally, she looks at me from the mirror and goes:

"Naomi, are you really a man?"

...I don't think my sarcasm will ever come across in Spanish. That's what I get for having an American accent and not speaking fluently.

Family

This weekend, my uncle passed away.

I'm sad, but there's a strange comfort about being here at NPH. Being in the presence of my kids, of kids who have lost so much more than I have at a far younger age than anyone should, has calmed me. I feel far from alone.

I realized that I have become part of another family. And as long as I'm with my second family, the grief is bearable and loneliness a long way off.

Every 15 Days

To say “every two weeks” in Spanish is “cada quince días,” or literally in English “every 15 days.” Fifteen, you say? One, from the US as least, would question why it’s not fourteen.

Just as two weeks are referred to as every 15 days, every week is referred to as every eight days.

In English class, the kids this week are learning about budgeting and living within their means. They each had to chose something they spent on daily that isn’t a necessity, then calculate how much they spent a year on this.

Sonia said she spent $2 pesos a day on candy. So they teacher calculated how much she spent per year like so:

$2 pesos x 8 days x 52 weeks = $832 pesos

...my world is altering. I’m questioning my definition of a week. There are seven days in a week, aren’t there?

Translating

With these past two weeks, I feel I can now add “translator” to my resume under job experiences.

As I’ve mentioned, the kids produced Romeo and Juliet last Thursday. They’re doing so under the direction of three directors from Holland who have funded the play. They speak, as it seems, every language on earth – except Spanish. The poquito of Spanish they speak makes it difficult for them to communicate with the kids and staff here.
Sophie and Naomi to the rescue!

We became the official translators of NPH. We’ve decoded English to Spanish and vice versa, running into problems only when the Dutch start speaking in Dutch because they get confused when switching from English to Spanish to Dutch, then back again.

The UN is my next step.

Día de los Santos

Another delayed blog entry for a day that cannot go by unmentioned: Día de los Santos, or All Saints Day, celebrated on November 1st.

To celebrate All Saints Day we had mass. The kids had the opportunity the week leading up to the day to write in a book the names of their loved ones who had passed away. During mass, Father Phil read every name the kids had written. Over at least the next five minutes, more than 100 names were read. As the names of their passed parents, siblings, relatives and friends were read, the kids bowed their heads, some whose eyes were filled with tears.

It was a reminder for me of how much they have lost, but an even greater reminder of how strong they continue to be.

Michael Jackson Tribute

At NPH in American style Halloween we had a costume and dance contest. Many of the kids got really into it, while the directors, caregivers and volunteers did our own rendition of the thriller dance.

Pictures will explain it all.


Some of the boys in the costume contest.


Sophie and I with Alex


Dancing thriller...or the attempt.

Día de los Muertos

This post is a little delayed, as Día de los Muertos was on October 31st, but I couldn’t let the day go with no mention.

Día de los Muertos is done a little differently down here than Halloween in the US. Black and orange, pumpkins, and hay rides are all American traditions (that derived from Mexico’s much older tradition).

The children here though have taken some of the US traditions and put on a twist. Trick-or-treating is done November 1 and 2 at anytime during the day. You must sing a song, and stores and restaurants are the most popular sites on the route to ask for candy.

Judgment Day

A couple of weeks ago, I was a judge. Elected from the various office workers of NPH, I had the grand pleasure to judge the ofrendas at the High School.

Ofrendas, or offertories, are made for Dia de Los Muertos to honor the dead. They’re like alters, each with four levels and specific components. They need food, for example, to welcome the spirits, and a photo of the one honored.

Each grade and concentration in high school made an ofrenda. I walked around to each, listening to the explication of each ofrenda and judging how closely they followed the components of an ofrenda. I docked off points for references to Halloween (such an orange and black color scheme).

They were beautiful.

Fonts

At NPH we take t-shirts very seriously.

I’ve been in more than a couple meetings with half-an-hour or longer discussions about the design, color, and message of our latest t-shirt need. This week our t-shirt project concerned those participating in Romeo and Juliet.

First concern addressed: Color
Options: blue, green, red, maroon?
Conclusion: we settle on 6 different colors (why just one?) for who knows what number of different groups.

Second concern addressed: Logo
Options: heart w/arrow, no arrow, two hearts, one heart?
Conclusion: we settle on one heart, no arrow. Whew.

Third concern addressed: Font
Options: scribbly, block, white, black, outlines, slanted, italicized?
Conclusion: none arrived at. Decide to print out 20 fonts from an art program to decide at a later date.

Suffice to say, after half-an-hour, we came to somewhat of a conclusion for our Romeo and Juliet shirts.

We won’t know for sure though until we have a prototype. We must revise that first ;)

Like I said, at NPH, we take t-shirts very seriously.

Make-Out Patrol

Every other week, I work nights. Meaning, instead of getting off at 8pm at dinner, I get off at 9:30pm on weekdays and 11pm on weekends because I put the kids to bed.
Between dinner and bedtime, the sun sets and darkness sets upon all the nooks and crannies. This means one thing for high schoolers: PRIME MAKE OUT TIME when they can hide. Thus, one of the my responsibilities for the night shift includes make-out control. On my nightly rounds, I have had the pleasure of finding many a couple engaging in the exploring their loved ones.

How fun it is to yell “Oye, vete” (Hey you, get out of here) when I find a couple and watch their guilty saunter back to the lighted patio. Only negative: walking to the garbage piles. A necessity, as kids who want to do the deed are rumored to do so amongst the trash. When I explore over there, the smell of the garbage is the least of my fears, if you know what I mean. Fortunately, my eyes and ears have not been scared by my voyages to the garbage pit. I pray it stays that way, for their sake as well as mine.

Cards, cards, cards

Since the summer, at least two days of every afternoon have been spent making mini-cards that you can attach to Christmas presents. It’s part of the Christmas card program fundraiser at NPH, which plays a big part in our budget.
The mini cards are made for the past years card catalog. We cut up the mini images, glue them to paper, let them dry, then cut them to form before punching a whole in each one and packaging. I say “we” but really it’s more the first and second year girls, whose finger gluing skills are far beyond mine.

Yesterday, the preparations concluded and the selling began at a presentation in downtown Cuernavaca. I never thought that I could hate Christmas cards before…but I am not sorry to say good bye to those red and green squares. The images sometimes flash before my eyes.

If though, you are interested in checking out the cards, go to www.nph.org, click on “Gift Shop” on the left tab, then go to “Greeting Cards -> Mexico.” My two second plug.

Picture on right of the second year tourism students who made and served appetizers for the card presentation.

Happy Birthday Daddy

Tribute to my dad. Who I have always been thankful for, but a little more here because I realize that I have been extremely blessed.

Birthdays

Today is Emi's birthday. She is one of the girls I have become closest with, and I could see that she depended on me to make her birthday special. For the month leading up to her birthday she reminded me almost everyday. And as it got closer, she asked me what would we do. Would we see a movie? Could we go out to eat? Could we have a party with the girls.

It broke my heart that all I could tell her was "we'll see" because, no matter how close I am with her, it would be unfair to give her something I couldn't give the rest of the girls on their birthdays.

I settled on taking her to a local store and having her pick out something to eat. Then we watched a movie later on my laptop. There's so much more I wanted to give her though. It upsets me I cannot give her more. It upsets me she doesn't have the figures in her life who, in "normal" circumstances, would give her more.

With Emi, as a girl who was abandoned by her father at a young age, and later by her mother who left the country, I couldn't even think of what to talk about. The normal birthday topics of "favorite birthday" and "best gift" I found inappropriate. Maybe they're not, but I was afraid of bringing up a sad memory on her birthday.

I'm still trying to figure out my place here.

Doors Closed

In high school, I had the formula down for the consequences of arriving late.
If you are more than 5 minutes late = 1 tardy
3 tardies = 1 absence
3 absences (or 9 tardies) = FAIL the class

Here, at NPH, they have a slightly stricter policy for arriving late, by even 1 second.

If you are 1 second late = LOCKED OUT OF SCHOOL (doors close) meaning…
You cannot enter a WHOLE DAY of classes (eight), which is:
8 absences from classes
8 sets of activities missed
8 zeros for participation

Today, 20 kids got locked out. They’re told to go back home. Five of them snuck into school another way, but got caught and talked to by the vice principal.

What? Punished for trying to snake into school?

Supposedly, it’s all to teach them responsibility. Teach them life lessons” for their future jobs. Teach them respect. A bit extreme? I’ll let you be the judge of that.

Bronchitis

I’m just coming out of a slight lapse in health caused by acute bronchitis. Ironically, the two weeks I was sick, we were doing the “Health Unit” in English class. This included learning vocab such as vomiting, fever, dizzy, appointment, and injection. It also included examples of role play. Fortunately, I didn’t have to come up with anything to say. I just used my personal experience.

This is the following role-play between my teaching mentor, George, and me (vocab words bolded as emphasized during role-play):

Me: Hello, is this the doctor’s office?
George: Yes, how may I help you?
Me: Well, for a week now I have had a runny nose and productive cough.
George: That sounds horrible. Have you been taking any medicine?
Me: Yes, I went to the doctor last week and she gave me allergy medication (true story).
George: Oh, well I don’t think you have allergies. It looks like you have a cold. I’m going to give you a prescription for cough medicine.
Me: Ok, thank-you doctor.
George: If you don’t feel better, give me a call.

Somehow, the allergy medicine and cough syrup got me out of my acute bronchitis. Thank the lord because I’m uninsured ;)

Complete Sentences

When the kids learn a new grammar rule, they must write examples in complete sentences (I’m sure we all remember doing this in our foreign language classes). Here are some of the sentences my students came up with:

For present perfect:
Toño is dizzy because he has drank five beers.

For using “must” to express certainty:
Hugo must wear a thong to school.

For noun clauses followed by phrases with the impersonal “it”
It is quite obvious that Beto is gay.

It’s a little more lax, to say the least, in Mexican classrooms.

Romeo y Julieta

A European couple is coming the first two weeks of November to produce “Romeo and Juliet” with the kids. For the month of October, an acting coach has been working with the kids to teach them acting skills and read through the script.

On Monday, auditions were held. The process was a bit different than I imagined it would go. First off, the teacher opened the floor to nominations for parts. Then, each nominee had to read off from the script to the cheers or boos from his or her fellow pequeños.

The acting coach seemed to give the part to the more talented actor. But then, when the last role was given, someone said that the girl who received Juliet had an “ugly voice and looked bad” with who was chosen to play Romeo.

Instead of standing her ground, the acting coach took the comment to heart, and gave the girl with the “prettier voice” a second chance. Supposedly, this time around, pretty-voice-girl read better. Maggie became stripped of her part and the short period of happiness in which she thought she was going to play Juliet disappeared.

Life at NPH is brutal.

Fail at Updating. Hereby promise to never leave you for this long again.

Sorry for the lapse in updating. I got a bit out of the flow of things due to crazy kids and acute bronchitis. I'm back though in full force.

I promise blog entries for the next consecutive seven days.

Brace yourself.

Put in My Place by the Youngest

Coming home today I ran into Sami, the 3-year old son of the Women's Director. He was talking to himself, so I asked him:

"Sami, what are you playing?"

He responds: "Your Daddy."

I walk away with no words, failing to come up with a come back line. My Spanish level has not quite improved to the level where I can beat a 3-year-old. I'm sticking to witty conversations with 2-year-olds for now.

Surviving Street Tacos

Two days ago, I consumed my first street tacos. They were something I hoped I would never have to eat. It's well known that taco stands in Mexico are probably the most common cause of food poisoning for foreign travelers.

On Monday, however, the men's sub-director invited the caregivers out for tacos. I thought we were going to the restaurant down the street, but we stopped short at a taco stand run by two friendly women neighbors. I felt it would be too rude to say no.

My Digestive Process
Monday, 12:30pm: Consumption of two delicious chicken and cheese quesadillas
Monday, afternoon: Tacos sitting well, but food poisoning never seems to set in 'til the next day so I'm not counting my eggs before they hatch.
Tuesday, 5:15am: bright eyed and bushy tailed, no effects
Tuesday, 2pm: appetite normal, ready to eat lunch
Conclusion: friendly women neighborhood taco stand SAFE

I wish I had a better story for you that ended with me making friends with the porcelain throne. But I don't. Instead all I've got for you is the discovery one of the few safe street taco stands in Mexico.

My (In)Ability to Relate

This morning, several of our high schoolers skipped out on school to do their annual visit to Cerezo, the state prison, where their parents are serving their sentences. As the kids going to the prison hung back as the rest went to school I started to think. Usually after waking up at 5:15am I can fall immediately asleep at 6:45am for an hour before I have to get ready to head to the office. Today, though, I couldn’t.

Every morning as the kids leave for school, I say some variation of good morning/have a good day to each. This morning though, I couldn’t think of what to say to those leaving for the prison. I almost felt as if didn’t have a right to say anything or ask them how they were feeling because I have no experiences to relate to them. Because in a way I’m innocent coming from a two parent family anf a safe neighborhood. I’m grateful to have been raised in a stable, supportive environment free of the horrifying experiences of many of my kids. But in some backwards way, I was wishing, just for a moment, that I had some story to share with them to show them that I understand or be someone who they could come to.

I try to remember that there are many things in life through which people can relate besides painful experiences. There’s our love of music, of playing instruments, of playing football. There’s our love of hanging out and telling jokes. But it’s like I feel guilty for being so lucky.

The Efficiency of Sweeping

Saturday, September 19th

Back in dorm life, cleaning my room was a rare occurrence. When the cleaning ladies cleaned our communal showers, bathrooms, and sinks, that's all I seemed to need. Being in Mexico however has upped my standard of cleanliness. The daily chores the kids do keep this place spotless. So when my bedroom floor goes for a week un-mopped, I feel like I’m walking in dirt.

As the supervisor of my girls’ chores, I have had the opportunity to try my hand at sweeping, squeegy boarding, and washing dishes. Not successfully however. After laughing at my sweeping abilities (or lack thereof) the pequeño I’m helping takes away my broom, sgueegy, etc. and does the job herself. It’s much more efficient when they do it.

I have to say though, that after two months of observation, my sweeping abilities have improved infinitesimally. Compared to the first time I swept my patio, I noticed a definite improvement in the efficiency of my strokes and my strategy of attack today. Maybe the girls will let me give sweeping another try during their chores. Second time’s a charm, here in Mexico.

So Do You Like To Dance?

September 15th - Dia de la Indepencia of Mexico.

The house celebrates Independence Day with activities, a fancy dinner, and a dance. The kids only have a couple dances a year, so whenever we have one it's a big deal. So much so that for the entire couple days before, everyone asked me if I was going to dance at the dance.

At first I responded of course. I love to dance! Anyone who knows me knows I'm not shy at busting a move on the dance floor. But my enthusiasm dropped when my response was quickly followed by an "Oh yeah, what kind of dance?"

Wait, what?

The dance proved to be no endless disco-beat, grinding, sweaty fiesta as every high school dance in the US is. Instead, cumbia after salsa after duranguense song played from the DJ's speakers forcing me back to my middle school dance days when I stood against the wall watching everyone else who could dance better than I could.

Some generous souls invited me to dance and taught me steps. But that only lasted a full song before they got bored of me and moved onto their more experienced and graceful friends.

So I didn't have the salsa moves to bust out. But at least I could yell just as loud as any Mexican in the grito at midnight:

Viva Mexico! Viva!

Some pictures from the day's festivities:


The kids participated in the Three Armed Egg Race - Sophie's and my activity


With the two princes and king of the Independence Day Dance


Last year's queen passing off her crown

Rainy Season

Today, I saw the sun.



Never has the sun brought so much joy to my life than today. After tweleve consecutive days of thick cloud cover, pouring rain, and thunder so loud it made me want to curl up with my mommy, the sun has finally come out.

It's rainy season in Mexico. From July to October, daily rain storms are the norm. This rainy season however has been pretty dry, raining only every few days and only at night. Not anymore. I've had a healthy daily dosing of cats and dogs for almost two weeks now. It's so damp my walls are wet, my towel never dries, and the smell of mildew has become the smell of home.

Thank goodness for the sun today. I was becoming a depressed zombie around my kids who only wanted to crawl into bed and watch movies until the rain stopped and the clouds rolled away. Fully taking advantage of the sun by writing this blog post in doors. Must end, move outside, and get my Vitamin D.

First Day of School

On Tuesday, I assisted in the English classes at the high school for the first time. The high school the children attend is run by NPH and all 180 pequeños attend it. It’s supported by the other half of the student population who are Cuernavaca residents (called “externos”)who pay tuition.

Because all the pequeños attend this high school, I already knew half of the students in my classes which got me off to a great start with remembering names. I’m enjoying the chance of being able to speak a language in front of my kids without a horrible accent and grammar mistakes. They look at me with wonder when I read from the book at seemingly “lightening speed.” Or maybe they’re just realizing I’m not as stupid as I sound when speaking Spanish.

One of the thoughts that constantly crosses my mind during class is the difference in backgrounds and home environments between the externos and pequeños. Many of the externos go home to a family, where they live with their mother who cooks them dinner every night and their father who buys them things form the store. Who when they have trouble with homework, they can ask their dad. Or who when they have a problem in school, they have a mom who can come in and talk to the teacher. They always have someone to look out for them, who always has their utmost interest at heart.

Then there’s my pequeños, for which each group of 20-30 kids has a director and one caregiver to help them with their homework, to watch out that they’re doing well in school, to comfort them as a parent would with their heart breaks. It’s not fair, that when they have trouble with homework, they sometimes have to give up because there’s no one to help them or to push them. Yet, I am so amazed by how hard these kids work simply on their own initiative, their own desire to succeed.

Don’t get me wrong. The kids have a support network here. There are safety nets in place. For kids who have trouble in school, their teachers hold extra tutorial classes for them. For kids who have further trouble, they have individual tutors. And most of all and most valuable, they have each other. These kids truly are each other’s brothers and sisters regardless of blood relations. I’ve seen countless pequeños help another who is so frustrated with her work her head is on her paper or one who arrives at dinner defeated because of the last grade he received.

But there’s the thought in the back of my head that refuses to go away: with as much love and support there is at NPH, can it ever live up to the love that a mother and father could give their child? A rather rhetorical question. Of course, every child in NPH is here because their mother and/or father cannot give them the educational support needed. These children for sure receive more at NPH than back at home where they would have had little life options and the far off opportunity to succeed.

At the same time, I feel such pain and pride. Pain because they don’t have figures in their life. But so proud because they have refused to let that dictate their level of success.

Day of My Birth

Monday, September 7th


My birthday. Potential of being a lonely day spent moping around in thinking of family, friends, and the life I left behind NOT fulfilled.

Festivities ran 24-hours long. Included a breakfast out, a surprise cake at our weekly Monday meeting (which I subsequently had my head smashed into, twice), a dinner by the majestic cathedral of Cuernavaca’s city center, and tons of Facebook well wishes. Sophie had also succeeded in posting flyers of me with two pictures of when I was a kid all around the house so that all 180 high schoolers knew it was my birthday (hmmm, I wonder where she got those pictures? coughMOMcough). Every hug and shout of “felicidades” I received were very heart warming.

Overall, a reminder of the many people I have in my life, the many more I have made a part of my life here, and that I am truly loved. Thank you for making my 22nd birthday a day to remember.

La Misa

The kids are required to go to mass every weekend. Usually we go to 6:00pm Saturday mass at a church a 10 minute walk away. As volunteers, we’re required to attend mass. The kids know that. And if they don’t see you at mass one day, if you doing something wrong, or if you show up late, they will let you know you did so.

Today I was extremely tired. At 3:30 I went down for a nap. I thought I would wake up no problem to meet the kids to head over to mass for 5:30. Slight freak out when I woke up at 5:30. Sophie and I change quickly, head down at 5:33, expecting to see some late goers.

However, we found the dorms deserted. We walked quickly to mass, arrived what would be 10 minutes early, and found everyone seated and silent ready for mass to start. Sophie and I shuffled into an empty seat quietly, hoping no one would notice our late arrival.

Then I hear giggling behind me. Pilar is looking at me and laughing. “What?” I mouth to her. She makes the motion of sleeping with her hands and head and points at me. Then she points at Sophie whose lines on her face give us away without question.

Caught red handed.

beep, Beep, BEEP

Not music to my ears. Whenever the power goes out, a little black box in my house notifies me kindly with a horrible sequence of three beeps over and over and over again until the power returns.

That wonderful black box is located in my bedroom.

Usually the power returns within the half hour, but today the power outage lasted FIVE hours. This of course coincided with my one morning off of the week forcing me out of my house. No sleeping in, no wasting time on the internet, no laying around my bed in solitude.

However, I have to admit that because of the incessant beeping, I ended up doing some physical activity for once at the track (surprise) and later hanging out with the directors and other caregivers. Dare I say I thank that black box for forcing me out of my house? For finding something a little more worth my time than internet surfing and snoring away? I love life’s ironies.

But if you little black box decide to beep for that long again, I promise you I will punch you in the face.

West Coast, Check It

Sunday, August 30th

DESCANSO. After three weeks of working without a break, my weekend off finally arrived. Operation Acapulco in action. Beautiful beaches, foamy green water with trash, endless offers for a taxi ride, and nightlife central. Best of all worlds, trashy water and all.

Acapulco actually proved to be quite a mix of new experiences. They included:

A four-hour bus ride next to someone who doesn’t understand the concept of a personal bubble. Half-an-hour hot, humid, sweaty walk to the hotel with incessant offers from taxi drivers to take me there when all I wanted was directions.
Hotel elevators with security guards every time you went up or came down. Nightclubs with bungee jumps, views of the beach, and bathroom attendants who turn the water on and off at the faucet for you. Mexican police officers who love to get the most out of the tourists who stroll the beach at night. Quinceñeras on the pool dock when all I wanted to do was listen to my own music and the sound of waves. Palm tree hats. McDonalds for not only the first time in Mexico, but the first time in at least two years. Seeing the Pacific Ocean for the first time. Constant bombardment on the beach from souvenir vendors, waiters for beers, advertisers for nightclubs, and singing children to get a coin or two. Six people in one hotel room.

Great company, great times, great weekend. Just what I needed.

Dinner for Fifteen

Thursday, August 20th

Every other Thursday, all directors, volunteers, and year-of-service pequeños (about 15 of us) get together for a dinner made by two of the group. Sophie and I had the great pleasure of making dinner this past Thursday.

From the hour of 2pm until dinner at 9pm we were cooking away, using a miniature oven for two pans of brownies, three lasagnas, and three rolls of garlic bread for fifteen hungry mouths.

Throughout the day we had a number of adventures.

#1 What to Cook
We had to come up with what to cook based on the donations in the kitchen. Of our ideas, hamburgers proved too much of an extra cost, pizzas too complicated with no ovens (Mexicans don’t use ovens that much for cooking), and American Mexican food just impossible, as there is no cheddar cheese in the grocery store. We therefore went with lasagnas using Mexican sausage, tomato paste, and random spices found on the shelf in the kitchen.

#2 Adventure to Wal-Mart
My most American experience thus far in Mexico. Garrido, the men’s sub-director drove us in his minivan to Wal-Mart to get the few things we were missing. As we rode the escalator with our cart into the blinding light emanating from the Wal-Mart ceilings, I had a moment of nostalgia for my native culture. I hate that Wal-Mart is responsible for that. At least Wal-Mart had what we came for: brownie mix.

#3 Lighting a Gas Stove
My stove is the scariest part of my life in Mexico. Above cockroaches. Above the whistling men. It’s the gas stove and oven that I need to light with a one and a half inch match that gives me the willies over all else.

Today was our first attempt at using the oven. We opened it up and looked inside. No clue as to what to do. I resort to the internet. They talk about pilot lights and removing shelves and turning knobs. Say what? I ask Veckry, the women’s sub-director, and all she supplies is a story of how one volunteer attempted to light the oven and came out of it with singed eyebrows.

Solution: get Sophie to do it.

She by far has bigger balls than I do. Within a matter of seconds she successfully lights her first gas oven. Finally, in go the brownies.

#4 How to Fit It All In
We have a tight schedule. Two pans of brownies need to bake separately in the kitchen in our house. We then need to move to the main kitchen in the cafeteria to cook pasta, sauces, vegetables, and meat. We the need to return to our house with the enough time to cook three lasagnas each for 45 minutes and place in garlic bread to heat. We guess the temperature on the unmarked knobs praying not to burn the brownies or leave the pasta uncooked in the lasagnas.

#5 Rainy Season and Visitors
Dinner location. We planned to have the dinner in the visitor house. Negative, full of visitors. Move to the roof of the visitors’ house. Code yellow – it might rain. We do it anyways, gather our table for twenty underneath the plastic awning. We go up to the roof at dinner time. Pure darkness. Oops. Forgot that there were no lights up there. Volunteer Mario to the rescue and soon we have a construction light shining across the roof.

#6 Are Plates Really Necessary?
Of all the things to forget, we forgot to reserve the plates, utensils and cups with which to eat. Half an hour before dinner, I ask the Veckry where I can find some. She says don’t worry about it, she’ll bring them.

Fifteen minutes into dinner, Veckry’s still not there. It’s ok. Tiempo Mexicano

Thirty minutes – yes, I see Veckry coming up the stairs. Wait, she’s empty handed. Crap.

Haha, five minutes later a pequeño comes sprinting back with our long awaited eating materials. Dining time.

#7 The Taste Test
After a long afternoon of cooking, chopping and cleaning, it’s time for the verdict. Of course who comes to dinner to dine with us but the National Director of NPH Mexico. I’m praying it will be good. We start to serve. People ask for two slices of lasagna – really? Before you’ve even tried it??

All of a sudden there’s a sound from the far end of the table that is soon echoed from every corner:

“Mmmmmmmmm.”

Ahh. The sweet sound of success.

Why?

I’m at work researching a child story about a girl who entered NPH exactly one month ago. I just finished talking with the social worker about her story, and though I am supposed to be writing an article on this little girl’s life before and after she entered NPH, I can’t manage to bring my thoughts together enough to write anything.

For confidentiality, I cannot go into any amount of detail, besides the story I eventually write which I will share with anyone who is interested once it is published. But her story upsets me so much, I cannot concentrate.

When I interact with my kids on a daily basis, I don’t think about how I’m working with orphaned, abandoned and mistreated children. It just doesn’t cross my mind. They make me laugh like a friend would, they push my buttons as a child would, and they have many of the same heartbreaks, challenges, and joys that I once had (and still often do) in high school. I can relate to them so much.

But then I’m reminded every once in a while, when a new child enters NPH, or when I need to do research such as this for work, that these kids have faced so much more than they ever should have. That in many ways, my kids grew up a long time ago.
And now for the inevitable and unanswerable question: why is the world so unjust? Why do millions of children need to be subjected to poverty, abandonment, and abuse? What did they ever do to deserve growing up in an environment without love?

Thank God for organizations such as NPH. But though the kids are here now, I still hate how they had that experience. This little girl is just once story. There are 800 more like hers in NPH alone.

At risk of sounding corny and cliché, these kids are truly my heroes. So many have refused to let their past determine their future. They have overcome the obstacles of emotional and psychological damage placed in front of them. I have so much to learn from them.

And I ask you to pray for them and think of them. And love them without even meeting them. They cannot be loved enough.

Nails Cut & Cleaned

School starts tomorrow. One school rule: all girls must have their nails cut and nail polish free. Sophie and I were given the responsibility to check to make sure all of the senior girls had done so. Now mind you, these are the oldest girls in the house, and I expected cut and clean nails all around.

Wrong.

A few of them had hidden away their long nails all day from inspecting caregivers. Others who still had their nails painted told me they didn’t have nail polish remover (usually a lie). Others with uncut nails said they couldn’t find nail clippers (definitely a lie).

Most of the time I forget that these girls are just that: girls. When I come in to tell them to cut their nails, and they refuse to do so, I’m reminded that in high school I too didn’t always acted my age. These 16, 17, 18-year-olds refusal to clean up their nails is just like when I stalked off because I didn’t want to do something. It’s about them expressing their independence. About them showing me that they are young adults, and not kids who need to listen to a parent figure.

Being a grown-up is tough work.

The start of my backup dancing career

Thursday, August 20th

The Clausura - end of summer activities performances. Including performances by the:

Student band
Traditional dance group
Tribal dancing group
Aerobics dance group

And closing with presentation of certificates and display of ceramics.

One guess as to what activity I participated in based on this picture:



Oh my my, me dió mucha mucha pena (aka sooo embarrassing). Though, respect earned. Perhaps too much from the high school boys.

Earning the reputation of a klutz

Thursday, August 20th

Going down the stairs from my house to where all the kids live has proved to be my biggest challenge.

This morning, on the way to breakfast, I fell on my butt yet again.

On the way to the comedor (cafeteria) I run into Anai. She notices a smudge of dirt on my arm. “What happened” she asks. “I fell” I say. Her response, “again?”


After eating breakfast I run into Erika. She looks down at my leg and says “you’re really dirty and need to take a bath.” I told her I fell, she looks at me and rolls her eyes, as if to say, “of course you did.”

From this day on I make a vow to take more precaution when wearing my $3 Old Navy flip flops after it has rained.

Goodbye, Sweet Facebook, Goodbye

Monday, August 17th

We’ve had a series of major storms. The internet never fails to cut out at the first strike of lightening.

The internet has finally returned for the first time in five days. This time, however, it failed to come back with Facebook.

At a recent meeting with the directors, we were talking about the challenges of Facebook in raising/supervising 180 high schoolers. They decided to block their access. Little did I know that the entire NPH network has been blocked off from it, included the network in my house.

So long late nights of Facebook stalking.

For those of you who might be concerned with my ability to communicate through Facebook, no worries. The network at the volunteers’ house a couple of blocks away remains unrestricted. I will still engage in my Facebook postings/responses/stalking, etc, just in a delayed fashion.



No, Mr. Facebook man, sadly I do not.

First (and last) submersion in green water

Thursday, August 13th


Last of the summer excursion to the third water park of the summer: Iztapan. Water supplied by hot water through the ground providing a pleasant experience compared to the freezing cold water of other parks.

For some reason, the lazy river had green water. Not that anyone hesitated to go in.

Day ended with a complete fail. I succeeded in breaking off the door to the storage space under the bus and saying really loud f*** in Spanish because I just wasn’t thinking. When you say curse words in another language, it just doesn’t really seem that bad in your head before you say it. Then you say it and see the expressions on the kids’ faces. Then you proceed to die.

Why does Team USA blow at soccer?

Wednesday, August 12th

USA vs. Mexico

I had been looking forward to this day for two weeks. The day when the US would redeem itself from its shameful loss of 0-5 in the Gold Cup. This time, Team USA would have its secret weapon. This time, I would have something to brag about.

We all gathered in the entertainment room. All the kids wore their Mexican jerseys. I wore my red, white & blue. (The weekend before I had tried to find an American jersey, but NO ONE carried them, no t even on the black market. Mexicans, understandably, are not fans of their neighbors in soccer).

Early in the game, the US scores one. YES, we’re gonna have this. Then the US began to fail, fail, fail. And from half on, I received relentless taunts. Rightfully so, America did not play its best game. Thanks to their 2-0 loss, I get a complimentary month of:

“Hey Naomi, what was the score last week?”
“Hey Naomi, wait, who did Mexico win to?”
“Hey Naomi, I forget, is it Donavan that’s supposed to be good?”

Whatever, I can deal. I’m rubber and you’re glue. Whatever you say bounces off me and sticks to you.

I survived a Mexican Amusement Park

Monday, August 10th



Summer excursion to Six Flags. I’m not gonna lie, I was a little scared for my life. With all the reputation about safety standards in Mexico not being as high as American ones, I didn’t exactly know what to expect. The American company name though definitely comforted me.

All in all a fun day. Another opportunity to get to know the kids and to goof around. I earned respect by going on all the big “juegos.” A lot of the kids didn’t even want to go to Six Flags because the rides “me dan miedo” (make me scared). How weird that none of the boys were afraid to admit it. Though it’s a very machismo culture here, the men aren’t afraid to be expressive/emotional. One of the many cultural differences.

You can never see Harry Potter too many times

Wednesday, August 5th

Another summer excursion - this time to Cinemex Movie Theaters. 300 kids unleashed in the movie theater at 9:30 in the morning. Everyone receives a large popcorn and drink. The true backup in the line: at the lemon juice and hot sauce stand (the ever so popular condiments for every kind of junk food).

Options: Fuerza G, Harry Potter, or Terminator

I've come to the conclusion that movies dubbed over in Spanish are impossible to understand. When the words coming out of an actor's mouth are not the words I'm hearing, it just messes with my brain. Therefore, I decided to return to see Harry Potter once more. And with seeing it once in Spanish and a second time in English, my third experience of Harry Potter (second time in Spanish) was really a much pleasant and understanding experience.

Now, though, the kids think I'm a Harry Potter freak. So I've seen it three times in less than two weeks - so what? What a grip dude.

$5.50 pesos please

Saturday, August 8th

I’m a gabacha. That’s the Mexican word for “white girl.” With that title comes many “benefits,” including usually being overcharged for the bus. The fare for the buss is $4.50 pesos, but I soon learned that bus drivers would try to take advantage of my foreignness and charge me $5 or $5.50. I didn’t catch on at first, because the bus drivers would feign a higher price by asking us “A donde va?,” or “where are you going?” as if it mattered where (no – it’s a flat rate). I started to catch on when no matter what my answer was, they seemed to always charge me more than that $4.50.

So I started to take action. I either gave the bus driver exact change, or if I gave him more, I held out my hand expectedly, waiting. It worked for the most part until this past weekend. Sophie and I got on a bus, and the bus driver told us $5.50 each. We proceeded to argue with him, but he refused to charge us the normal $4.50. We walked off the bus to wait for the next one.

Second bus, same thing. $5.50 please. Really wanting to hold up our principle, but wanting to go the center even more, we just paid. I spied on all the Mexicans coming on the bus as they paid, and none of them paid $5.50. Once again, we were jacked. All the meanwhile we’re trying to figure out a strategy to look more “Mexicana.” That includes not wearing sunglasses, wearing tighter jeans, and oh yeah, having a skin tanning treatment. Well the last is impossible for me. Shoutout to pale skin.

The bus ride back, again we’re charged $5.50. Ok, now we think something’s up. Could the fare have been raised??

At dinner that night, I made the conversation center around bus fares (riveting), and what do I find out that this weekend bus fares have been RAISED TO $5.50. Of course. Now instead of someone who stands up for her principles, I’m an American gabacha a-hole. Figures.

Catch-Up Entries

I have failed to update as frequently as I intended. I'll catch up by posting about the last three weeks in a few groupings.

Happy Birthday NPH

Yesterday was the 55th anniversary for NPH. Celebrated with ex-pequenos and all-day long sports tournaments. Played on the basketball and volleyball women's teams.

Basketball: 0-4
Volleyball: 2-1

Slightly more success in volleyball. In fact, our worst lost in basketball was 26-6. I think my basketball career as of yesterday is over.

Men's team from the high school won in the finals!

me? play basketball?

Word of the Day: tirar
Meaning: to shoot (as in basketball)

You're pointing to me? Somehow, I've been recruited for the Casa Buen Senor women's basketball team for the tournaments this weekend to celebrate NPH's 55th anniversary. Yesterday I participated in my first ever official basketball training session.

Lesson: how to shoot a ball.
Success? I'm 1 for 20 on my shots.
I knew there was a reason I stuck with soccer all those years.

At least I've got the American thing going for me:
1) People think I'm good because basketball is from my home land, and
2) I'm taller than all the girls and can jump higher than some of the guys.

FYI: baloncesto is NOT how you say basketball here. It's basquetbol. Duh

Concert + Beer = FIGHT

Word: Motel
Meaning: my favorite new band

Corona Extra MusicFest. 25 ticket donation for the kids. 5 chaperons and 20 screaming primeros ready to rock to Motel, Alex Sintec, and Fobia. Unknown to me before, my new favorite bands now.

Five hours of standing. Worth it? Yes. Almost died when a fight broke out right next to us at the end. One of the most bizarre things I've ever seen when a perfect huge circle formed somehow within the dense crowd around these guys. No punches thrown, thank the lord.

Have now experienced a concert in Mexico. Check.

P.S. Happy Birthday (yesterday) bro.

Wait, the bus already left?!

Word of the Day: brincar - to jump on

Ohhhhh tiempo mexicano (Mexican Time). Friday was the excursion to Las Estacas, another water park. The night before all the kids were told that the buses would leave at 7am. In tiempo mexicano, that means anywhere from 7:15-8. Not yesterday. When Sophie and I arrived 10 minutes to 7 to catch the bus, we found the dorms deserted, the patio silent, and the lone portero (doorman) who told us the buses had left at 6:30am.

Of course we didn't get the memo.

Luckily we were able to catch a bus that returned at 9am (which had the breakfast anyways) and enjoyed the day as nothing had passed.

Conclusion of the day: no swimming stroke I do will ever be as efficient as my 15 years of experience doing doggy paddling.

The Balancing Act

It's been a balancing game. The pequenos I work with are all 16 or older. Just like any teenagers, they don't need someone to constantly watch over them. They don't necessarily want non-stop activities to do, but are content with just sitting on the patio with their friends or watching TV. They don't need someone to tell them to do their chores, or to help them eat, or tell them where to go. They're too cool to go on field trips, to participate in group activities, to pray before the daily dinner prayer.

I feel like a mom who's not sure how to deal with her daughter or son's growing independence. Too afraid to push too hard so they end up pushing away from me. Too afraid to do something that will make me "uncool" in their eyes. Unsure of how to be there for them, if they need me at all.

But I can also relate to them so much. Many of these kids are right around my age. It really wasn't too long ago when I was caught up in the gossip of high school (or even college), when I was unsure of who I was or what I wanted to be and what that meant. Or when my mood was affected by whether Sally was hanging out with me or preferred her other friend Jane.

I find it hard to separate myself from them. When the pequenos are being reprimanded, I sometimes find myself bowing my head down in shame. When the kids are given instructions, or a director starts to lead a group, I follow along like one of them, forgetting that I have been given the position of their mentor, their leader, their activities organizer.

I'm having to "grow up" here in a whole new way that I didn't know. I thought I had matured, that I could place myself in the "adult" generation. But I find myself getting caught up in that high school mentality. The one where it matters about being cool, about being good at what you do, and looking good. For the first time, I need to be aware of all of my actions, because the kids pick up on it. If I look bored, they ask me why I find whatever activity boring. If I yawn, the kids ask me why I didn't get enough sleep. I need to be enthused, involved, and aware at all times. I'm not used to be an example. I'm not used to being responsible for how my actions affect others.

Now I'm the adult.

Whether I'm ready or not, I'm going to have to grow up a little. I'm here to be their friend, but not in that buddy buddy kind of way. It's like, as a mother, balancing a disciplinary role and listening ear role.

How long will it take to learn to balance the scale?

Oops, I forgot to bring my chihuahua

Field trip with the primeros (those just entering high school) to the town of Tepoztlan to hike up the Tepozteco mountain. None of us new what we were getting into. The girls wore flip flops and flats and the boys, jeans. When we arrived to the town and saw the hike waiting for us, despite being dressed in unflexible clothes, the primeros tackled a 45 minutes intense hike up the mountain. The steep ascent (1200 ft in less than a mile) combined with the altitude (6700 ft) made the hike the most intensive cardio workout I've had in a while. The view waiting for us, as well as the Aztec pyramid on top, was well worth the hike.

As for the title of this post -- apparently looking your best and bringing along all your possessions is the way of the hike in Mexico. On the way up we passed people carrying small dogs, months-old children, and guitars. I felt rather underdressed in my soccer shorts and t-shirt compared to those decked out in dresses, designer jeans and expensive shoes.

Next time I'm wearing Michael Khors and bringing my Chihuahua.

Arry Puter

HARRY POTTER!!!!!! Today (Saturday, 7/18) I had my first day off, and where do the volunteers decide to go but to see one of teh best blockbusters of all time. The group and I wanted to make sure that we could catch Harry Potter VI in English, so we asked around. "Oh, yeah yeah," people said, "of course it's in English in all the movie theaters." We arrived for the 8pm showing only to find out that only "Harry Potter and the Misterio del Principe" was showing. But hey, when in Mexico do as the Mexicans do. And despite only understanding half, having to whispter to my friend the whole time as we recalled the book together, and missing Daniel Radcliff's British accent, the experience was amazing. Props to Warner Brothers. Arry Puter (as I have to say Harry Potter here for the kids to understand me) was worth it.

And who cares - I've got a pirated copy of the English version waiting for me on every street corner in the center of town.

El Rollo Aquatic Park

When Sophie told a co-worker in the office who had made many visits to the United States that we were going to El Rollo water park today (7/17) he said we would experience a water park like we had never before. Why? Because"Mexican water parks don't have rules like American ones do." Running across wet sidewalks? No problem. Twenty people at a time sliding down a ramp into a rushing river? Sound like fun! And it sure was fun, though my heart definitely raced a few times for fear of my own life.

El Rollo is kind enough every year to give free passes to all 800 kids at NPH. It really is a wonderful day for the kids to experience. Even as high schoolers, the kids were so excited to show me around and explain the rides such as:

1. The Pendulum: a giant U-shaped slide that you slide up and down on endlessly, much like the Ram ride a amusement parks.
2. The Mammoth: a huge, winding slide for 6-person rafts
3. The Snake: a skinny dark tube slide that send you into darkness until you splash into the light.
4. The Lazy River: puts American water park lazy rivers to shame. The river carries you through rapids, waves, and turbulent currents.

And the best part of the day was the amazing opportunity to meet more of the pequenos.

Moving In

Sophie and I were supposed to move into our permanent housing last Friday, but the place had not yet been cleaned. We took the initiative ourselves and tackled the 3 bedroom, 2 bathroom and kitchen apartment. Over the week we came cleaned in our free time dusting, mopping and scrubbing until our biceps became bigger than the world's strongest man. The kitchen proved to be the toughest challenge. Imagie: a fridge never defrosted, but just unplegged and left for 3 montsh closed off to the world. Let's just say I saw colors in that fridge that I never thought were naturally possible.

But it's done and we've moved in (as of 7/16).

The one obtstable thought that will likely never be conquered: COCKROACHES. They have an entire colony under our patio. We've presented them with the gift of bleach many times, but that doesn't do a thing. FUMUGATION OPERATION hopefully sometime this week. As much as Sophi and I appreciate company here, we prefer guests with slightly fewer legs.

Documentary Filming

As part of my office job, I visit Miacatlan (the other home location for the younger kids) once a week. Today (7/16) was a special week, as two film students from California arrived to make a documentary about the Tae Kwon Do program at NPH. The Tae Kwon Do program was started 5 years ago by a volunteer from Iceland. He built up the program so much that now he brings students every year for an international competitio in Chicago. Awesome to see the filming live and great to meet the two film students (who are actually friends of a current volunteer) Maybe you'll see me in the background ;)

Picture on top left: the kids being filmed for a 25th anniversary present for Father Phil

Picture to the right: the captivated kids

Karaoke

The kids are on summer vacation until mid August, so the days are filled with activities. Tonight was karaoke, and Sophie and I as the only Americans were requested to sing "Stayin' Alive." We did so to an enthusiastic audience. As far as the Spanish songs though - complete fail. For even the ones I did know, I can't produce the words fast enough for them to make any sense.

In other news, Sophie got sick! She's the first of our group to do so. When she continued to feel sick yesterday, we found a thermometer to check her temperature. In Celcius her temperature came out to 39.5 degrees. No big deal right, until I find the Celsius to Farenheit converter scale online and saw that 39.5 degrees C = 103.5 Farenheit. Well at that point we looked for options for doctors and luckily the maternity doctor next door to NPH agreed to see her. After much rest and a dose of anti-bacerial drugs, Sophie is almost back to 100%. Thank the Lord.

And So It Begins

First full day "on the job." Sophie and I went on a field trip with the "primeros," the pequeños who have just moved into the house here in Cuernavaca to start high school. Since they've just moved to a new city, they had a kind of orientation. It was just as much an orientation for me, as I know far less than the kids do about Cuernavaca. Now, through an activity that I supposidly was supposed to lead, I have learned where to get the bus to go to other cities, where the market is, where to get the cheapest bread, etc.

Spanish will continue to be a challenge. It's a little frustrating that I can't completely understand the stories some of the kids tell me. Sometimes I miss the entire point. But I'm running on the picture I have of myself a few months from now when I'll be at a far higher level of comprehension than I ever have been. And I have an awesome group of pequeños to help me along. The pequeños as well who are in their year of service (as each child, once they complete high school, needs to give back to NPH by serving for a year as a caregiver, cook, driver, etc.) are very hospitable.

Played a little "futbolita" (foosball) and watched a little Harry Potter. Thankful for the English movies with Spanish subtitles. But somehow I found myself reading the Spanish subtitles instead of listening to the English. All in the Spanish mindset :)

No More School

Friday - end of language school. Much needed review but man was it hard to be in school again and focus. I thought I was done with that back in May. Today was officially our last day of orientation. The six other volunteers who will be staying in Miacatlan with the younger children moved out and onwards. Sophie and I are on our own now, ready, or in my case not so ready when it comes to my language ability, to face the world.

Visit to Faux Ruins

Sunday had a free afternoon so we decided to take advantage of the nearby archeological ruins at Xochicalco, a pre-Mayan community from 300-700 A.D. Xochicalco was declared an UNESCO World Heritage Site. Fun to climb up the stairts of the temples and see the spectacualr views of the surrounding towns. Little of the original stone work was left, but the 20th century restorations gave us somewhat of an idea and something more to look at than a pile of rocks.

Here's about half of the volunteer group for the year atop the pyramid: