First Tuesday Reflections

  Navigating a new culture without language skills is an interesting challenge.  Adjusting to a very hot and humid climate in addition to these adds spice to the chili.  I’m finding myself so very exhausted at the end of the day that I eat a quick supper with my host “mama” (I’m 20 years older than she is!), quickly shower (sans hot water) and take care of all the bedtime routine, and then collapse into the bed with no ability to further any communication or thinking.  If I’m able, I get up before the sun so I can walk the length of the beach and watch the sun rise.

My first Tuesday in Samara, I was soundly asleep by 8 pm.  I intended to leave the house when I awoke at 4:30.  Intentions are half the battle.  The body has to be willing.  A moment after I awoke, I heard the tap, tap, tap of my host’s tiny hand on the door.  Her voice showed concern.  “Cah lee, Cah lee, tu tiene que estar a clase en cienta minutos.”

Clearly I’d dreamed that I had already gotten up.  It was 7:45 and I had class at 8.  

I hurriedly dressed and put in my contacts, grabbed my morning meds and threw on some shoes.  My host had breakfast on the table, tea poured, my oat milk from the refrigerator, and was seated at the table waiting for me to join her.  I nearly inhaled the scrambled egg on a tortilla and fruit that awaited me.  I gulped my morning meds with the tea, found my swim suit and towel on the line and stuffed them into my back pack, and I all but ran the 1000’ to the campus.  

As soon I sat in the air conditioned classroom, I noticed it, again.  I had a new cluster of bug bites all over my legs and feet.  How does this happen, I wondered. 

Bugs are an inevitable part of life in tropical climates.  And biting bugs have always had an affinity for me — as though they seek me out.  Deet is my friend (yes, I know that it’s really not good stuff, but we’ll save that conversation for another day). There is an ant here in Costa Rica that bites and those bites can turn into welts larger than a half dollar coin in about 15 minutes on my skin.  These ants are everywhere.  Since my host family has poured concrete floors, they come up from the cracks in the concrete.  

I discovered the full extent of this reality when I got out of bed in the middle of the night and needed to refill my water bottle (even at night it is well above my comfort level for heat).  As I entered, my flashlight scanned the floor and counter of the outdoor kitchen.  Silently, the counters changed color as the areas outside of the glow of my light appeared to be moving.  I tried to make myself believe that I was somewhat dreaming things.  But when I put my large (2 quart) water bottle in the sink and it was met with the same effect, I physically jumped.  I left my bottle unfilled as I sprayed the water around the sink to rid it of its night time occupants.  

The “food truck”

In the morning, I respectfully asked my host to not prepare breakfast or dinner for me, that I would eat at the school.  She was surprised but accepted the news.  And the moment the office at the school opened, I queried the staff about the “normality” of the situation.  They were sympathetic and explained that my original host had a last minute family emergency and I was staying in a home rarely chosen for exactly these reasons.  However, because they had record numbers of students enrolled for the next two weeks, there was no place available for me to move.  They did assure me that they would move me as soon as another place was available.  

And, I made due.  I used my “jungle level bug spray for clothing” to spray the bed and the cracks in the bedroom floor.  I always filled my water bottle at the school as soon as I arrived and before I left.  I purchased a large portion of lunch from the “food truck” that sits outside the school’s gate at noon each day, and I skipped dinner.  And I stayed at the school and studied late into the night (if 9 pm is late).  On the weekend, I arranged to take excursions out of town with my classmates.

   

And then, last weekend, I left all my belongings that I would not need for the excursion in a locker at the school.  When I returned on Sunday afternoon, my new host met me and brought me to their lovely, spacious, clean, and light-filled home which they share with up to 5 students at a time.  My lovely host had made up a small room where I will stay without a roommate for the last 4 weeks of my stay.  Here, the floors are tiled, the walls are drywalled, and ceilings are high and topped with ceiling fans, the glass windows open and close, and have high quality tightly-meshed screens.  The indoor kitchen has almost all the amenities of my kitchen in the states, and the “summer” kitchen is also enclosed.  The only thing missing is, of course, hot water which is not considered necessary in most parts of Guanacaste Provence. 

And I’ve not had more than 3 ant bites since…. And all of them originated from the beach after I’d been swimming.  

It is now 3 weeks since I met my first host, and 20 days since that Tuesday morning encounter with reality.   As I think back about that experience, I have a lot of mixed feelings.  I am immensely grateful that she was open to share her home with a white-privileged anglo American.  I feel guilty — nay, ashamed — that I found her living conditions “not up to my standards” while she considers herself lucky to have a home with a roof and indoor plumbing.  And I feel great relief that I no longer am staying in that home.  

On my 15 minute walk from the school to my new hosts’ home, I saw my first host walking toward me on the dusty, pothole ridden road.  When she recognized me, she displayed a huge smile and ran (in 100 degree heat) to greet me.  She asked about my well being. She laughed as her dog expressed how much she missed me by jumping into my arms and licking my face.  And she asked if I needed anything from the store because she was on her way to buy groceries for her sister who lived in this neighborhood.  And I was humbled by her continued hospitality.  

Navigating a new culture — with or without language skills —is an interesting challenge. It is also an enlightening experience.  Things that I take for granted cannot be taken for granted by so many people of this world.  Things that I assume to be universal are indeed privileges.  And normal is only a setting on some washing machines.