Heed your mother's advice

Electricity is an incredible thing. I don't think about it often, but when I do I am always amazed. Then I get to thinking about what would happen if electricity were to suddenly stop working. Man, would we be in for some problems. Anyways, electricity isn't the topic for tonight's narrative but rather those little things we plug stuff into: outlets.

This is weird, I know, but whenever I was in the states and I went to pull a plug out of an outlet I could here my mom's voice in my head telling me to go pull the plug directly out of the socket instead of reaming on the cord half way across the room until it came out. How lazy was I that I would rather struggle yanking chord than walk 10 steps to pull it out (but I know you've all at last contemplated it before). Growing up, my mom always insisted, with good reason, that we gently pull it out. Her reasoning was that jerking it out could bend the prongs and it would ruin the plug. Now that I'm an adult (or at least pretend to be sometimes)  I still feel guilty if I don't walk over and gently tug it out. Mom, I blame you.

So, you're probably wondering how this relates to Colombia. Well here goes: you can't yank cords out of plugs in Pereira either. I know because I tried. It was the end of class and I was rushing to get everything put away (this is starting to be a common thread in my stories). My laptop was plugged in and the chord was a whole 4 steps away. I grabbed the chord to pull and then paused. I swear I heard my mom from half way around the world, "Leeee - Aaanne." Then I sat there deliberating if I should heed her advice or just go for it. When I was young I acted on impulse. A lot. I made my parents nervous. Now that I'm old, I have this really cool ability to think things through a little more (don't ask my parents, they may not agree - but I assure you I DO have this skill). Too bad I don't always listen to the voice of reason.

WHAM!!! I jerked the chord in a swift motion. Out it came, drawing the entire outlet out of the wall with it. Drywall went flying and low-and-behold my chord was still plugged into the socket. Fail. Oh no, oh no, oh no. I jumped up, ran to the wall and shoved the outlet back into the gaping hole. My head swiveled in all directions as I anticipated a swarm of Colombian maintenance men to attack. 10 seconds passed and then I focused my attention back on the outlet. Luckily I ripped it out of the wall in a relatively clean manner and you could barely tell what had happened. Let's just say that won't be happening again.

Next time I know to heed my mother's advice and take care in unplugging chords from Colombian outlets.

Ramblings of an Insomniac

I'm usually not a quitter (for example, one time I spend 45 minutes trying to make a stupid TV remote function so I could watch a DVD - my sister and Annie can attest to this) but tonight I'm throwing in the towel. I'm done! What am I quitting? Trying to sleep. Here has been my night since laying down to bed at 9:15: roll to one side of the bed...take off the covers...flip to my left side...put the covers back on....flip over to my right side...sprawl on my back....hear a bug by my ear...SMASH, maybe if I swing at my ear hard/fast enough I can kill it...roll back to the other side of the bed...one leg up...roll to my stomach...ah, stupid mosquito at my ear again...SMASH - missed him again...SMASH. Stupid bug...covers over my head to hide...to hot...covers off...bug in ear...SMASH SMASH SMASH...man my head is starting to hurt....

Donzo. It is pointless for me to keep trying to sleep when it's obviously not going to happen.  So here I am, laying in bed writing instead of getting my much needed beauty rest. I'm thinking about my alarm that will go off at 5:20 and realize this might not be the best decision, but come on people what's a girl to do? Tossing and turning all night won't do me any better.

Let's talk about my bed. Maybe this will subconsciously trigger something to make me sleepy. I'll give it a go. So, my bed is a double sized bed.Woo hoo! The biggest bed I've had in my life!  In theory this is great, but I have a slight problem. For my entire existence I've been sleeping on a twin size mattress and it is ingrained in me to take up about a 3 foot chunk of bed. Now that I have a "big bed", I still cling to the side and remain in that area until morning. Some nights I feel rebellious and make myself sprawl across the bed, but it feels unnatural. I always find myself back in my comfort zone on the outskirts of the mattress. What a waste.

Speaking of waste, I realized I've never explained my garbage. Well, I use plastic grocery bags for garbage can liners (I have a plethora of them from the supermarket) and take my trash out about once a day. I know that sounds like a lot, but considering what I throw in the garbage, it's completely understandable (I'll get to that in a few). To take my garbage out, I just tie my bag, walk down the hall of my apartment and drop it down this shoot. Clink, clank, bam,booom! I'm not certain where this leads, but it's really not that important - I just know where I need to throw it. Today, as I left for work I grabbed my garbage and when I opened the little shoot there was a feather clinging to the metal. A legit bird feather. Maybe someone got angry at their bird and threw it down the shoot? Maybe someone's pet died and they disposed it? Maybe a bird spontaneously generated from someone's trash? At least it gave me a springboard for making up some interesting stories on my walk to the bus stop!

Now for the reason I take out my garbage so frequently. It's kind of gross, but it is what it is. Colombia doesn't have incredible city sewage systems or waste water treatments plants like the United States. The pipes are smaller and they just don't have the capacity to deal with extra material in the sewage. Therefore, we cannot flush toilet paper down the toilet - it must go in the trash. Beside every toilet in Colombia you will find a garbage can, and that's where the used paper must go. I'll tell you what, at first it was awfully hard to remember. It takes a while getting used to it, but now I very rarely have "accidents" with the paper. What happens if you throw paper down you may be asking? Well, a few times isn't a big deal but our director told us a story of a gringa friend of hers who always flushed toilet paper. Eventually it clogged up the ENTIRE sewage system of her apartment building. They traced it back to her and she was a wee bit embarrassed...pun intended!

By now sleep feels much closer than beginning so off I go. I'm hoping the little mosquito monster that was driving me crazy early has found the land of sleep as well. It's not likely, but a girl has got to hope. It he's still awake it will be back to the SMASH. Maybe this time I'll get him. Worth it every time.

And yet they still praise...

Jeremiah 1:8 “Do not be afraid of them, for I am with you and will rescue you,” declares the Lord.”

Another Sunday has passed and Debbie and I visited a new church today. It was a Baptist church downtown that she had dropped in on before and wanted to check it out again. I’m always game for new adventures, so we jumped in a taxi and the driver whisked us off. The congregation meets in a school building that the taxi driver was unfamiliar with and we didn’t have the exact address, so we were dropped off in the right vicinity and wandered the streets a little until Debbie recognized the place. It was a lovely morning and the walk was nice.

After a little bit of meandering we found the school where church was held each week. We were greeted at the door, shown to some open seats and then we waited for the service to start. Within 10 minutes the pastor walked on stage. He explained that there had been a tragedy this week and today’s service was to cry out to our God on behalf of a 21 year old girl name Daniela.

During the service the story was pieced together: Monday, September 3, at 7:00 PM Daniela left work and got in a taxi. She was headed to meet a friend in another city but never got there. From the moment she got in the taxi there has been no communication with her.  No one knows if she’s been kidnapped or killed. She has disappeared.

Throughout the service the entire congregation was called to pray; called to cry out to God; called to praise.  Yes – you read that correctly: called to praise. What kind of pastor would ask his congregation to praise a God who permitted such an atrocity? What kind of people would praise a God who allowed a beautiful young lady to be abducted? What kind of people would praise a God as a family grieves a missing child? Let me tell you: the kind of people know their God is in control despite the pain in this life. The kind of people that understand His plan is not dependant on our joy or grief but something greater. The kind of people that understand that our God sacrificed His son for us and therefore His grace is sufficient.

I was brought to tears as I joined in the singing of praise, the laying on of hands and the crying out for Daniela. It felt surreal to be a part of something that “happens on the news”. It hits much closer to the heart when you can watch the mom kneel before God and beg for protection and deliverance of her child.

The focus verse for the entire service was the verse above: Jeremiah 1:8…how do we even comprehend this when hope seems so far away. The pastor said we must look towards the light as we walk through this darkness.  Weeping may remain for the night or while we are here, but we have an assurance that one day we will meet with Daniela in paradise.

And so passed a somber Sunday…with a sober reminder to me of the dangers in the world.

Quote of the Week #2

This quote of the week is not dependent on a Spanglish blunder, but rather a cultural thing....or at least I hope.

After class everyday my students slowly trickle out and most of them tell me thank you and have a nice day. It's really nice saying goodbye to each of them and wishing them a good day in return.

Wednesday came along and in one of my classes there were only 5 students (due to some testing). We took notes for while and then I gave them the latter part of the class to have to themselves (yes, I know, I just got pegged as the worst teacher ever. lol). Anyways, so as my kids were leaving, one of my boys (Alejandro) looks straight at me and says, "Mease, I love you." and continues out the door.

What can I even respond to that? They don't teach you these things in teacher training. Luckily he was out the door before I could make anything out. I'm thinking he told me that because I gave them free time?

It get's worse though. At least on my part. Today, as Alejandro was leaving he again told me, "Mease, I love you."  I was caught up in pulling everything together after a rambunctious class and without thinking naturally responded back, "I love you too."  Ah!!! I was grasping at my words as they floated away. It's kinda like those moments back in grade school when you'd call your teacher "mom" accidentally.  Woops. There it went and out the door he was.

I'll have to ask around and see if it's okay here for students to tell you they love you. Oh goodness, what have I got myself into.

Mease. I love you.

Rain or shine it's umbrella time

Over the past 3 days I've been caught twice in rain without my umbrella. It's not fun. Unless there is (1) a coffee shop near by I can slip into and (2) I have an adequate amount of work in my backpack or a good book so I can at least be productive.

Hopefully sooner than later I will understand that when I leave for work in the morning, no matter how sunny and lovely it is outside, I must grab my umbrella. MUST.

Now if I were a Colombian, it wouldn't matter if it were raining or not. Often when I'm walking through town in the middle of the day, minding my own business, whistling away at the sunshine streaming down, I will look up and see and a woman walking under her umbrella. Lady, hello, there is no rain. It is safe to put it down. In Spanish they are called "paraguas" (literally "stop water"). What are you stopping if there's no water. Oh yeah, the sunshine! Brilliant. I have encountered this several times. It's like those rain clouds that follow you...except this isn't bad, it's like a magical fairy that gives you shade. Umbrella turned into multi-purpose-sun-blocking tool.

Another good thing about walking with an umbrella in the sunshine is that frequently the sky will darken up and just begin raining without warning. Bam. Rain storm. The Colombian women are all ready, while this gringa is staring from under a ledge unable to walk home. Yes I just got one-upped. And you know what, I'm okay with it. I just can't bring myself to hide from the wonders of a sunny day! Tomorrow morning when I leave for work and it's nice out, I will not walk under my paragua. Hopefully I'll remember to stick it in my backpack though, and if not, I'll get wet, walk home, lick my wounds, and most likely make the same choice day after day!

Café Cat

Yesterday I found my new favorite café: Café Cat. It has nothing to do with the location. It has nothing to do with the atmosphere. It has nothing to do with the coffee quality. It has everything to do with the experience and with the lady who helped me.

 I started the day off going to church. It was the first time going by myself. I stepped out of my apartment building and was blasted with heat. I’m not certain if it was actually hotter than normal outside or if I was just super sensitive.  I was smoking, not like good looking, but like really warm. Anyways, whatever the reason, I still walked to church.  It was great. They asked who was a first time visitor and I raised my hand. Then they rattled some things off in Spanish and said something about the corner. I looked and there was a woman waving me to her. Now, I didn’t really know if they were telling me to go over there, and I had no strong desire to stand up in front of everyone and walk over there, but there she was, waving away prompting me to come. I had no choice. Up I went and into the corner. Then she let me down some stairs into a secluded room.

Oh boy. I’m really sorry, señora but I don’t speak Spanish very well, I’m from the United States and I just recently arrived. No problem. She proceeded to explain to me all about the church, shard the gospel with me, and asked me to pray with her to accept Jesus. I told her I already had done that in the United States and she was pleased. Then she took down some contact information, invited me to prayer meetings in the morning, told me about a women’s retreat in October and before I knew it I was back in the main auditorium and safe in my seat.  It really wasn’t as painful as I had anticipated and I’m hoping to hear from them so that I can get more connected. Maybe I’ll make some Spanish friends that aren’t connected with the school. Sweet.

So how does this café fit in? Well as soon as church got done I began walking. And sweating. And still walking. It was quite hot and I had a long way to go. I attempted to find this mall, but somehow walked passed it without even knowing. There’s always tomorrow to go exploring again. After that turned into a fail I decided I wanted to find a café where I could do some work. Not just any café, one that is in the mall by my house. Not because the mall is awesome, but because the mall has something that resembles air conditioning and I would cool off. Into the mall I went and up the escalators. To be honest I haven’t explore this mall; I’ve only gone to 2 stores in there (one of them happens to be my grocery store). Therefore, today was the day to explore and find myself a café.

I initially found Café Cat but wasn’t really impressed so I kept meandering. I made it to the top floor where the food court is, but nothing there caught my eye either. Back to Café Cat I went. At least there were nice little tables and it wasn’t too busy. So I walked up to the counter and asked the lady for a café con leche (coffee with milk) and a bread thing. I don’t remember the name of it, but that’s unimportant. The nice lady asked me if I wanted a latte instead (because it was stronger) and I agreed. She told me how much and I began to struggle (as usual) with picking out the bills to pay. In broken English she asked if she could help me. Yes please. She helped me get all my bills figured out and I paid. Then she switched back to Spanish and asked if I had any coins. Yes, I told her, I have a few but I never use them because I don’t really know them. She told me she would help. Opening up my coin purse revealed “a few coins” to be close to 50. Ha! Her eyes got big. I’m serious, I never use coins because I don’t know them. She laughed (and so did the lady sitting at the bar) and told me to dump them out. Here is the gringa standing at the counter with a handful of coins, 1 Colombian woman wanting to help, and 1 Colombian woman joyfully watching the entire thing unfold.  It was phenomenal. The lady exchanged some of my coins for bills and told me I could take a seat and wait for my latte. Grinning, I turned and walked away.

When the barista brought me my drink we started talking a little bit in English. I spoke very slowly and we were able to have a conversation. Turns out she studied in Chicago for 6 months and hated the cold.  I told her I lived "relatively close" to Chicago.  Considering the distance from Michigan to Colombia, yes - Chicago is close to home. So we had some bonding time.

Well, the lesson of this adventure? I think I’ve found my new Sunday hangout spot. There is nothing about the Café Cat itself that would have me desire it, but the lovely Colombian lady with the gentle, helping spirit has me sold. I’ve made my first Colombian friend and she doesn’t even know it!...at least not yet :)

The Journey of the Scone

I recently went on a mini-vacation (I mean like a 3-day mini vacation) to the United States and returned to Colombia with 3 bags of gold. By gold, I’m referring to the scone mix my mom made for me – basically equivalent. All I had to do was add butter and water; perfect foreign country comfort food. I hadn’t used my oven yet, so this would be the best initiation ever into the world of baking in Colombia. I couldn’t wait. Imagine eating scones with some of the best coffee in the world. Yes! I couldn’t just enjoy this on my own however, so I invited Debbie (an American friend) over to celebrate with me.

The plan was to meet at my apartment at 4:00. At 1:30 I went to watch this giant parade of horses through one of the main streets in the city. It was a grand ‘ol time, but my mind was set on scones. At 3:30 I graciously took leave from the other teachers and headed home. Unfortunately, my apartment was on the opposite side of the street. In order to make it home I would have had to literally jump the barricade, run across 100,000 horses, dodge Colombian police and jump the barricade on the other side. Not happening. Can’t go over it, can’t go under it, can’t go through it, gotta go around it. I walked as quickly as I could about 16 blocks through a crowded street party trying to figure out how to bypass this now stupid parade that was keeping me from my apartment and scones. I took about 7 side streets that I didn’t know existed, but finally as 4:03 hit I rushed into my apartment building. Debbie was in the lobby waiting for me.

We made it upstairs and I showed her around. Then I broke the news to Debbie: I have never used my oven and quite frankly was messing around with it in the morning but couldn’t figure it out. I think it’s fair to say I’ve had my share of struggles with Colombian appliances.  Luckily she had in mind what to do. We turned on the gas, tinkered around inside, lit a match and eventually got it to light. Whew. Good thing she’s well versed in Latin American appliances. Well Debbie sat down and I went to work. I cut in the butter and then added the water. The recipe said “2/3 cup: trust me”. So I added the 2/3 cup. Oh boy was that some mushy scone mix. Luckily I had some flour on hand. I just kept adding it until I ran out. Unfortunately I couldn’t get it to the right consistency to make a circle and cut the pieces. Blobs it would have to be. Yes, I plopped scone blobs all over my new cookie sheet. Who cares if the scones weren’t perfect triangles like I make in the USA. No big deal, we’re talking scones here folks. It’s the texture and flavor that count!

So my little blobs of joy/bliss went into the oven without a hitch and Debbie and I sat and chatted for a while. About 13.55 minutes in I went to check them. I opened the door and felt the top of one. It wasn’t even slightly cooked. Not even warm.  The oven had thrown a tantrum and turned itself off. Maybe it doesn’t know the joys of baking a good scone. Debbie came over again and we got it lit with the little box of matches I found in a random drawer. Back into the oven they went. After a few minutes I started to smell burning. It turns out the bottom shelf is a little too close to the flame. Up they went to the top shelf and I closed the door. Come on, you can do it!

Sitting down, I decided I should have checked the flame. Up I went around the corner and to my dismay, it had turned off again. Maybe these scones weren’t so delightful and they were scheming with the oven so that they didn’t have to be cooked. By this time they were about 1/3 of the way done though so we lit it again and decided to just keep an eye on them.  Time passed quickly as we chatted and before we knew it the smell of fresh scones saturated the air. I knew at this point they must be done. I opened to door, poked them, and decided it was time to give them a try.

The first bite was incredible. There is where my description ends. Incredible.

 Maybe it took 35 minutes longer and was a lot more effort, but in the end it was totally worth it. I’m not certain I’ll attempt baking anything else in my oven. Well that is except the 2 remaining packs of scone mix. Oh Colombia, why do your appliances hate me?