June 24th, 2009: Waking up, I felt as if it was my first day of school as I was about to be a guest speaker for a rural high school’s English classes. I pulled out my best semi-clean clothes that passed the sniff test and took my second shower in the past 5 hours - it’s not that I had an accident in bed last night, got lucky with the neighborhood bicycle or because I needed to wake up - it was due to a much less exciting reason…my skin contained the odor of rotten eggs from the sulfur pools I marinated myself in the day before. I scrubbed and scrubbed, successfully removing several ounces of healthy skin, but the remnants of the odor rested much deeper than what soap could remove. To partially resolve this slight dilemma, I was forced to switch my short sleeved shirt to a long sleeve shirt…minimizing my exposed skin, hoping I will not leave the school today with the nickname, “Stinky Americano.”
Meeting up with Estella, the teacher that invited me, we carpooled with some other teachers taking us 20 minutes outside Popayan to the small town, Timbio. When entering the town, it seemed as if it was run by students as they filled the streets swarming the dealers outside the school door who specialized in sweets. Pulling into the grassy field along the school, my heart began to race. As we exited the car the students piled up at the huge row of windows that stretched across the two story building as they stared down at me.
Making it inside the courtyard, I found it somewhat difficult to blend into the crowd. Following Estella into the teacher lounge…the first one I have ever been to, I felt as if I was just granted access to the infamous Area 51. When growing up, I would never, ever, ever, ever think about going into, let alone looking directly inside the inner sanctum. Miniature desks lined the room as the teachers prepared for the upcoming classes. “Where are the couches, flat screen T.V.’s and attractive teachers?” I thought. The teacher lounges in the U.S. must be different…they just have to be. Am I suffering from an overly stimulated imagination or is this just the reality that it is sometimes better to just keep dreaming?
Estella and I entered our first class and she kindly introduced me as Anthony from the United States. Standing there…the class went silent, with no podium to hide behind to save me. The first three noises that exited my mouth was, “umm….ahhh….umm.” Five or six words of rust slowly fell out of my mouth as my jaw quickly broke free. Going to about 5 classes, I was asked a multitude of questions: How do I like their town Timbio, would I like to live here, is Colombia what I expected, do I like their president, do I like Mr. Obama, do I like Colombian women, what type of alcohol do I like to drink, do I like football (soccer), what is my favorite football team, do I salsa, do I have a girlfriend, do I have kids, and how old I am – gasping when they found out I am as old as their parents…telling me I look 24 or 25 years old – what good students. Am I at that point in my life it feels that good when they are that far off? Mental note: when guessing someone’s age…guess ridiculously low. There were some good questions, but the hardest and perhaps the best one was, “how do you feel about love.” This one floored me…not able to locate the hall pass, I had to do an extended pause, until I was…saved by bell.
The Colombians are obsessed with soccer. This was obvious when I was on the balcony watching the student/teacher soccer game on the basketball court with the other teachers. Here I listened to the smart nonparticipating teachers laughing as their colleagues were massacred, tasting pavement throughout most of the game losing 1-6 to the 9th graders.
After a day of representing the American people, I was exhausted. How do politicians do it? When leaving school, the elementary school children were flowing into the building for the afternoon session. The children surrounded me, wanting to see the White American Big-Foot up close. Looking up, trying not to break their necks, I heard “Hello” coming from the groups as they giggled grabbing my pant legs, as they followed me. I really enjoyed being at the school today and it just strengthens the thought of me needing to do something more internally rewarding with my life whether it is my career or what I do with my time after work. Today was simply…wonderful.
June 8th, 2010: Every time I go through Popayan I seem to find some time in my extremely – extremely – extremely busy schedule to make it to my friend’s school in the tiny little town of Timbio which rests outside of Popayan, Colombia. Today’s visit was as wonderful as my others seeing some of the familiar faces who I haven’t seen for around 7 months.
