On my last day at the school when I was saying goodbye to everyone and taking pictures with all the kids, a little boy who I had never seen before (or didn't think I had- apparently he was in one of my classes. Oops.) took my camera and was running around taking pictures with it while I was rolling around in the grass playing with a giggly little boy.

Right before their next class had to start, David, the slightly-cross eyed boy with the spiky brown hair who wants to learn French and Portuguese, asked me to go through the camera so I could see all the pictures he'd taken while I was playing a game with the class. 

I went to scroll through them and stopped dead. 

There were twenty. 
Twenty pictures. 

There had been hundreds.

Flash: the kid running around with the camera.
Flash: me pressing the down arrow to delete a picture and three options appearing-- cancel, delete, and delete all. 

The video of the bar going absolutely wild when Colombia scored a point against Chile- gone. The videos of the kids playing games in the classroom- gone. All the pictures of Alicia and I at Monserrate, of pictures in the park, all the pictures I had just taken with me and the kids, everything from the last few weeks when I had legitimately started bringing my cmaera everywhere.

So for anyone who notices the current lack of pictures and videos here - that's why.



OCT. 23 
 
Today was my last day at Hogar, my last day with my favorite class. I came prepared for the class period but not for the emotional damage it was going to cause me. 

I spent the period playing a review game and then, before class ended, I asked them if they would mind listening for a few minutes to something I had to say. I'd created chaos with the review game, so this wasn't a simple request. One boy who I always loved but I hadn't realized cared very much (Juan Esteban) picked up on what was going on and yelled out, 'Hey! Guys! Shut up, it's her last day!' 

Eventually they were all sitting quietly and looking at me attentively, and I tried not to get choked up. 

'Thank you all for giving me a little bit of your time. I just wanted to say that...I know it's not always fun to learn another language. I remember when I was thirteen and learning Spanish in school, SO bored, thinking, why would I want to learn grammar in another language? I hate grammar in my OWN.

And then when I was sixteen, I went on a trip to Mexico, and when I was there, there were people all around me speaking Spanish, and I wanted to understand what they were saying. 

That's when I realized that language isn't just something you learn in school. It's real. It's a real skill that allows you to speak with other people. It lets you understand other minds, other cultures.  And it can only help you in your life. 

I know David wants to learn French and Portuguese. That's amazing, and you should all study whatever languages you're passionate about. But I recommend English. English, these days, is everywhere. The whole world is learning it, and it is the language of business. 

If I hadn't learned Spanish, I wouldn't be here today and I wouldn't be able to talk to you all. So please continue to study English, if it interests you at all. Because it could change your life.' 

I told them all how much it had meant to me to be their teacher and I gave them chocolate bars I'd bought for each of them. 


They all screamed thank you and then they each wanted to take pictures with me, individually. 'One with just me! Kiss me on the cheek! Okay Antonio now take one of me kissing her!' 

Tatiana came up and gave me a hug and said, 'Please don't go.'




Eventually I found myself sitting on the grass by the playground, outside the classroom, just staring. Juan Esteban came outside and sat next to me. 

I had never talked to any of the students about their situation before. I asked, 'Do you live here?'

'Yeah,' he said. 

'I don't have a family.'



OCT. 18

 
Just to clarify, when I talk about my class in these posts, I am always talking about my favorite class unless I specify otherwise. 

I teach three classes: first, second, and third grades--although these grades and The kids at this school are either just in class for the first time ever or just recently started class for the first time ever. So a kid in the first grade class might be six and another might be ten. The two younger classes are taught English not just by me, but by professional English teachers who come on Tuesdays and Thursdays. 

My favorite class is third grade-- the oldest kids. I've asked for some ages and gotten ten, eleven, fourteen. They are the first class I ever taught. They are the ones who, from what I am told, have had the roughest experiences. They're the reason I'm staying in Bogota. They are my favorite because I've spent the most time with them, there are the fewest of them so I know all of their names, and because I really feel like they need me. I have no idea why this privilege is only awarded to the younger ones, but they don't get taught by professional English teachers.

The regular teacher is named Jose Manuel. He's a really sweet man who seems to genuinely respect me and what I'm doing, and often laughs happily at my ideas and tactics. 

There's Samantha, the cute little girl who doesn't have a nose. David, who's slightly cross-eyed and really intelligent. He told me he doesn't like English as much and he wants to learn French and Portuguese. Felix, who sits in the front right corner of the room and eagerly writes everything in his notebook and shoots his hand up politely to answer questions. Juan Esteban is not so much like that; he screams out answers and runs immediately to the front of the room if he wants to volunteer. Juan David and John, twins, are his partners in crime. Antonio is older than everyone else. He has some mental disabilities but he knows more English than his classmates too-- which he shouts out to show off (he likes attention). Steven is tall with freckles; he seems to be older too. A really good-looking, socially mature kid. He, too, is really smart. Natalie alternates between being morose and sad/occasionally asleep to being WAY TOO HYPER. She's the one who sometimes slams her desk on the ground and laughs incessantly. (The mood swings worry me.) Nicolas is shy. Tatiana has attitude. Johanna mostly just sleeps. Laura is quiet and attentive and always wears her long pretty hair in a ponytail. I love each and every one of them. 
 
After my time in Bogota, I am going to Cartagena, where I will continue to volunteer with Emerging Voices as en English teacher. 

I was originally supposed to leave for Cartagena this weekend. Like, tomorrow. But last weekend, I found something out that made my heart shatter. 

Angie: "You go to different projects next week, okay?"

Me: "Go to different projects? Why?"

Projects meaning volunteer projects. I always go to Hogar to teach English and to help in the daycare.

Angie: "They no have school next week. Eet is vacations."

Shot. Boom. Strike, pierce, crumble. I sat there at the breakfast table and realizing I couldn't keep it together, went to my room. I put my head in my hands and tears streamed everywhere uncontrollably.

My favorite class, the one that I love dearly and hold a special place in my heart? I only teach them on Mondays and Wednesdays. It was Thursday. That would mean that I wouldn't be able to see them Friday, they wouldn't have class the next week, and then I would leave on Saturday. Without saying goodbye. Or taking pictures with them. Or giving them back their graded tests. 

There was no way in hell I was leaving. I extended my stay an extra week.


OCT. 11
 
Helping out with the Childcare program at Hogar is not exactly as fulfilling as teaching. I try it out and realize very quickly that they don't actually need me-- me meaning volunteers in general. The facilities are good, they're well stocked with supplies and games and toys and things like that. They have TV's. The kids are all wearing little red and blue uniforms. There's a plan for the day and the teacher pretty much has things under control. 

Of course it never hurts to have an extra person around, but I know everything would run just fine if I weren't there. There's nothing for me to do and I contribute nothing other than my presence: I pretty much just hang out with the kids. I am in fact probably a distraction more than anything else, because the kids want to climb on me instead of getting into a line or whatever. 

The counterargument to the whole I'm-useless theory is that the reason I'm there is to give them some affection they don't get at home, to just generally make them feel loved and appreciated. And it's good for them to be around someone who's different. But I'm pretty sure the majority of these kids have families and only get dropped off for the day while their parents are at work. Those kids don't live at the school. I'm told it's the older kids who have generally had a much tougher time. 

But holy hell I love kids. The ones in my class are around three to four years old. They're all little Colombian children with dark hair and brown eyes and adorable faces. They're all incredibly cuddly and love you immediately. I walk in like hola, me llamo Raquel (it's easier for them to say than Rachel), and they basically rush me. The boys first. The girls are a little shyer and hang back, but the boys are on me like I'm an ice cream truck, climbing on my lap and playing with my hair and asking to be picked up. I really could hang out with kids all day.
 
The projects started today. There are several different ones that people can choose to go to, like helping prepare and serve food at a homeless shelter, teaching English at a school for blind children, working on construction at the same school, and others. I am going to Hogar San Mauricio, which is an orphanage, school and daycare. A lot of these kids don't have parents, whether those parents are dead or have abandoned them, and many have experienced violence. I came here to teach English. 

It being the first day and all, I figured I would be sitting in on a class and observing. Angelica came into my room in the morning and said, "Okay. Here is de...curricooh-lum. Eet say what you teach every day, listo? Today eeez months of de year and seasons." 

Me: Oh, cool. So I'm just watching?

Angelica: No! You teaching today!

Me: WHAT?
Slight panic attack. Or maybe not so slight. The talking really fast-highpitched voice-on the brink of tears- "I can't do this" kind. 

Angelica, being Angelica, said "Tranquilooo, mi amor. All is to be fine! You just use de creativity!"

And then: "Alsoo, the keeds, the aaree..a leetle bit difficult? A lot don't want to learn. They don't to be listening, or they make a lot of noise, but is because they have experienced bad tings."

Oh! Oh, okay! 

Keep in mind, also, that while my Spanish-speaking skills are good, my Spanish listening skills are not. So just throw me onstage in a talent show without an act, why don't you.

An hour later, I am standing in front of a class of kids. 

They are of various ages but most of them seem to be around ten and eleven years old. They all have dark hair. This is the scene:

Kids keep coming in and out of the class at random, making a lot of noise in the process. One little girl sitting in the front row doesn't have a nose. An older girl on the side is sleeping on her desk. An adorable little boy in the front right corner is sitting quietly with his notebook. Three boys on the left side by the window who are clearly partners in crime are laughing nonstop and drawing in each other's notebooks and occasionally hitting each other. One boy crumples up a piece of paper and throws it across the floor to another boy. A girl in the center of the room is slamming her desk on the ground and laughing. One boy looks much older than the rest of them-- he has slightly darker skin and bright white teeth and he's sitting in the front left corner. He's cutting the tip of his finger with scissors and watching the blood spill on the desk. I tell him he should probably go to the bathroom and clean his finger and he just stares at me. 

The regular teacher is there still and he says "Clase! Ahora empezamos la clase de ingles!" (Class! We're going to start English class!)

And then they're all staring at me. "Hola muchachos! Me llamo Rachel." I write it on the board. "Como estan hoy?" 
"Bieeeeeeen"
I have no plan whatsoever.

And then it is effortless. 

I love this, I am grooving and I could do it for forever. I write the months of the year on the board and point to the first one. "January. Repitan." "Jan-roo-ery." Some of the kids excitedly scream it as loud as they can and others don't say anything. I do this with each month and then say things like, "Christmas is in December. It sounds a lot like Diciembre, it's easy. In Colombia Valentine's Day is in this month, September. In the US it's in February." I ask them to come write answers on the board. I tell them my birthday is in June. "You better remember that, you can't leave class today unless you remember it. What is it?"
"Hoon-eh!" (In Spanish J is pronounced like H and an 'e' at the end of a word isn't silent.)

When they are not paying attention or making a lot of noise, the teacher moves to settle them down, but I don't need him. "Chicos! Prestan attencion, por favor!" Or I just stand there quietly and look at them and say "Voy a esperar." (I'll wait.) Or walk right up to the kid who's causing problems and single them out. 

The atmosphere of classes is so different than what I am used to. Maybe it's like this at all schools or maybe just this one because it's not your typical school. But when I ask them to copy the months down in their notebooks, some of them finish and then walk right up to the front to show me. When I ask a question, they all yell it out at once. When I ask for a volunteer to write an answer on the board, a bunch of them just run right up to the front. 

Some of them are so eager to learn, happy and enthusiastic and smart. Others not so much. I know that a lot of them have been through hell.

At the end of class I say, "Okay! En cual mes es mi cumple?" (In which month is my birthday?) And when some of them yell out "Hoon'eh!" my smile almost bursts out of my face.





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