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?

Quote of the Week #1

If you've been tracking my blog at all, you know that my students are Colombian and English is their second language. This means that they often make mistakes using the language. A lot of times it takes everything in me not to laugh. I would like to share these blunders though, so I've decided to start a quote for the week. Fridays will be my day to post and my hope is that you'll at least crack a smile when you read them.


This is the first period after our 25 minutes break.

Student walks up to me and taps my shoulder: Miss (mease) I need to go to the bathroom.
Me: Not right now - go take a seat. 
Student in the most whiny voice possible: Meeeeeease. Please mease.
Me: We just got off of break, you had 25 minutes to take care of it then, go take a seat.
Student more whining : But mease, I reeeeeeally need to make pee. Just let me go make pee.

...I let him go. I know I shouldn't have, but I was afraid I might lose it laughing. "I really need to make pee." Priceless.

New Teacher 101: Riding the School Bus

School has finished for the day, and yet I am sitting here on a hot school bus and will be for the next 10 minutes. This is not quite by choice, I must add, but because this lovely thing will take me home. I happen to have my laptop with me so what better way to narrate a story than as I am experiencing it. I get a headache every time anyways, so why not accelerate the process by staring at a bouncing screen. Here I give my best recollection of the bus ride that I encounter each day.

Before starting my description, I must ask you a favor: take every mental schema of a “school bus” and throw it out the window.  You won’t need it. I know if you try and fit my portrayal into your preconceived notions you won’t get the correct picture. Throughout the city I’ve never seen the standard “wheels-on-the-bus-go-round-and-round” yellow giant that we see everywhere in the states. So again, toss it.

Now that you’ve erased “school bus” from your mind, I can proceed. Let’s start with what these buses look like. First of all, they are all charter-bus style with 2-3 vinyl seats on one side of the aisle and 2-3 vinyl seats on the other side. I say “charter-bus style”  not because they are particularly nice, but rather the seating plan is the same and there are giant windows that take up each side of the bus (like you see on charter buses). They come in a variety of colors (mine happens to be green and white) with a variety of different logos on them. They lack air conditioning, but at least the windows open so when we are moving there is air flow.

 So, how in the world do we identify our school busses? They all have 3 unifying features: (1) Somewhere painted on each bus is the word “escolar” (school) and the name of our school (2) there is a bus driver and an attendant (both in uniform) and (3) There are little Colombians packed inside

I am a teacher, so you may be confused as to why I’m taking the school bus. Well, I don’t have a car and also don’t care to jog the 20 km through the mountains to and from school each day. Therefore, my option lies in taking the bus or a taxi. The bus is a free service provided by our school (which most teachers take anyways) so it is my best choice. In the morning we have a “teacher-only” bus, but then in the afternoon we join the students. 

If you take away the nausea, fumes, and headache, the morning bus ride is quite tranquil. I walk a few blocks from my house (uphill mind you) to my bus stop where several other teachers congregate to wait for the bus.  The bus arrives between 6:35 and 6:45, there is plenty of space for all teachers, and apart from the droning engine and general traffic noise it is silent. No one really talks and we’re all okay with it. I’d like to imagine the majority of the teachers are mentally preparing for the day ahead? Ha! As for me, all the dips and tucks throughout town, looking at all the shops and the constant fear of throwing up demand all of my attention. Anyways, we arrive to school around 7:15 and rush off the bus to sign in and make it to our classrooms before the first bell at 7:25. In the states I’d arrive to school 45 minutes early, this 10 minutes (on a good day) is sometimes stressful…but I’m thankful for the ride.

Now for the afternoon bus ride: The school bell rings at 3:00 and everyone rushes to the bus; students and teachers alike. Initially I participated in this, but recently I’ve stopped hurrying due to the stuffy heat that ensues upon taking a seat. Despite what time you get on the bus, it still leaves at 3:15. That means the earlier you get on, the longer you sit on a cramped bus, with no airflow and the sun beating down you on. Not exactly the most pleasant experience. Eventually the bus leaves, the air starts flowing, and before I know it we’ve dropped off a bunch of little ones, it’s 4:15 and I’m finally at my apartment.

Now all this might not sound too bad, but I must tell you first about the fumes. The windows are open and in comes exhaust, before I know it I’m high. Not only am I high, but I also get a wicked head ache. Second I must talk about the terrain. Pereira is situated in the mountains. Whoever made the roads could not escape the mountains or flatten them, so almost all streets have some sort of incline. Some are a gradual slope while others are approaching a 75 degree angle. You think I’m joking, I’m not.  So I’m high, I’ve got a headache and the bus is lurching up and down these massive inclines. Third, the bus drivers are fantastic, but the roads are tight and bumpy, there are a million stop lights/signs, we make a ton of stops to pick up/drop off people, and shifting is not always the smoothest. We thrust forward and then plunge to a stop. This motion continues throughout the entire ride. Why don’t we just add continual nausea on my list of ailments? By the end of the ride I’m ready to be done.

So there you have it: my bus ride in a nut shell. Initially it was horrible, but to be honest I’m getting used to it and I’m thankful to have transportation provided for me. Some of the other teachers who have taught at international schools around the world assure me that they’ve had it much worse! I’ll take my cards, head home, and pop some ibuprofen to get me through the night.

A Triumphal Return

I’m going to let you all in on a little secret: I typically don’t title my blog posts until after I’ve written them. It goes like this, I write until my brain stops working, I scan  over my work, and then as I’m scanning I just try and settle in on a few words to put in the title.  No big deal, it’s a pretty easy process. Today I’m doing it backwards. I’ve written a title before even deciding what to write. My hope is that it will be a foretelling of what is to come: this return is going to be triumphal! The plane will have no problems, I will make all my connecting flights, I will promptly pass out into a deep slumber on every leg of flying, I will return to Pereira without the slightest hiccup along the way, Starbucks will give me a free coffee (hey – dream big or go home…right?) and American Airlines will not succeed in making me cry this time! High hopes, yes. Worth the positive attitude, every time!

Well I’m in the airport now in Marquette. Chilling on the right side of security and waiting to start boarding. So far, things have been good. Security thinks I’m dangerous and a potential threat, but they’ve just got to understand the needs of a biology teacher in a foreign country. One of my carryon bags contains 3 teachers’ edition science books (picture the biggest, most awful/heavy, hard cover text book you can) and a 10 pound box of Borax. Then stuffed in all the crevices are random clothes articles and 3 packs of scone mix.  As it rolled through the scanner all it showed was solid black contents. I overheard the security guy saying, “um…I can see nothing…this one’s gotta be opened up and tested for hazardous chemicals.” Ha! I was on the verge of giggling as another security man opened up my bag. I wasn’t going to say a word to justify the awkward contents, but since he speaks English I wanted to take advantage of the opportunity. Once I’m Colombia-side again, the intimidation of Spanish returns and I’ll turn down the option every time, so I figured now is as good of time as ever to speak in a language I’m comfortable with. I briefly mentioned that moving to another country makes you appreciate books and simple chemicals you can only get here. His response, “well are you at least living someplace fun?”  Sure, I responded, Colombia is great. After grabbing my stuff and sitting down another lady went through and had to be checked. The security man I talked with pulled the same line, “well are you at least going someplace fun?” I smiled as I decided it’d be great  to count how many times a day he says that. I’ll admit, it’s a pretty good line.