Football fever!

It's here... the World Cup, el Mundial, die Weltmeisterschaft and I am excited.

Excited as in, planning my social life around the world cup games, checking the scores every morning, visiting the FIFA website to read up on the players, and reverting to talking about the World Cup in almost any conversational setting.

When did this happen? Last World Cup I only watched the games because it was either that or sit home alone.  This World Cup I'm messaging my friends to plan seeing the game together. I suppose it started happening when I was still in Colombia, and bought my jersey in faith that Colombia would make it into the World Cup since they were doing so well in the qualifying matches.

With Colombian friends after the Colombian victory over Greece  

And I'm even more excited now, since my team (Colombia.... in case you weren't sure) made it to the round of 16!  (And that other team I'm supposed to cheer for, you know, the US, they're not doing so bad either.  I'm hoping I can beg off of rehearsal for this play I'm an extra in so I can see the public viewing of the Germany-US game here on campus.  After all, it isn't every day you get a chance to cheer for your country while living in the country of the opposing team.  That could be an adventure.)

Just to even things out, I did cheer for Germany last Saturday.  I was in Berlin and we joined thousands of others at a triple screen outside public viewing area set up behind the Brandenburg gate.  I even had the German flag painted on my face, compliments of the random German guy behind me and his flag face paint crayon thing.  Despite the fact that Germany surprised us all, and didn't easily beat Ghana, it was still fun to be surrounded by thousands of fans in the heart of Germany, cheering on the German team.

A time to mourn

Exactly one year and 5 days ago, I left Colombia.  Not that I'm counting or anything.

When I first left, I cried every single day.  It felt like breaking up.  Except with like 15 people at once.  My life as I knew it was over, and I didn't really have much to take it's place.

But, color comes back to grey days.  I lived new adventures, made new friends, saw God at work in my life in new ways.

Grief has a way of circling back though, and catching you when you're least aware.  Suddenly, I find myself in tears all over again.

Maybe, somewhere subconsciously, I felt like I'd just pressed "pause" on my life in Colombia.  Everyone and everything was waiting just how I left it, and when I was done here, if I wanted, I could slip back into that old life.

But, changes are happening a world away, and they're knocking that comforting little fantasy to pieces. One of my former housemates is moving back to the States.  Anticipating her transition, remembering my own just a year ago, stirs up all those emotions of my own.

Another housemate is getting married.  I'm so excited for her.  And so far away.

But both of those changes are a firmly closing door.  Those girls who I laughed, and cried, and stayed up way too late with trying to solve the worlds' problems, and consumed more pizza with than any of us probably care to admit, they won't be there for me to be housemates with anymore.

And, Luz y Vida isn't opening this year.  The school I taught at, and then directed, that I poured my heart into, that I worked on a curriculum for, hoping for a future, it isn't even open this year.  In some ways it's heartbreakingly sad.  In other ways, it's just confusing.  And in amongst that sorrow and confusion, there's a little tiny bit of relief.  A relief that says, "see, leaving was the right decision, even if there were moments you wished you were back, what would you be doing now?"

So, I mourn again.  I mourn for doors that are firmly closed.  I mourn because you can't step into the same river twice.  And I cry for something beautiful that is gone now.

Colombia in my kitchen

One beautiful warm and sunny day, my friend Doris and I were out running errands.  We stopped for a snack and ordered buñuelos (fried dough balls made of cornstarch and cheese.  They're way better than they sound, take my word for it).  Doris ordered "avena" to go with hers.  Seeing as avena is a direct translation for oatmeal, I shied away from that and ordered a soda.  But then, Doris' avena came.  I tasted it.  It was cold, creamy, sweet, almost milkshake like.  I changed my order- who would drink soda when they could have avena?

You can find it made in giant vats on the street in Bogotá, served from peddled carts, or sold at the grocery store prepackaged in yogurt-like containers or single serving bags. Avena isn't always served cold,  it's also a common enough breakfast drink served hot.

Now, unfortunately, my avena doesn't turn out quite as delicious as the avena I tried with Doris.  But it is a tasty treat.  So, if you're looking for something different here's my "recipe"

Start with some pre-cooked oatmeal

In a blender mix about 1/2 cup cooked oatmeal, 2 cups milk, 2 TB sugar and 1/4 tsp vanilla (I'm really guessing on the measurements. . . I just eye balled it and tasted to see if it seemed right).  Add some ice and blend until smooth and creamy.  Stick it in a fun cup and enjoy!  You can also add cinnamon instead of or in addition to vanilla.  Skip the ice, and just stick it back on the stove to heat through after blending if you want to try it hot.

Let me know if you try and make it!

San Gil, a photo-journal: Wednesday April 4

Wed. 4am

It's dark and cold when my alarm goes off, so early I'm disoriented. I drag myself out of bed, getting ready quickly, and by 4:30 all of us are waiting by the door, suitcases in hand, ready for the taxi to beep.

The city is quiet at this hour and there's barely any traffic. We get to the transport terminal quickly, it's not quite 5am. I buy 5 tickets to San Gil, leaving at 6am. The bus ride should take 6 hours.

6 am- waiting for our bus to leave and already burnt from Monday at the park.

Wed. 10:30 am

Our first sign that this trip might take a bit over 6 hours is when we end up in completely stopped traffic. Everyone is out of their cars milling around. We get off the bus to stretch and see what's going on. As far as we can see down the mountain, cars are stopped. There's road work below and they have one lane of the 2 lane road closed. Eventually, they stop traffic coming up the mountain and we race to get back on the bus as the traffic ahead of us starts moving. As Jen steps on the bus, we're already in motion before she even makes it back to her seat.

The stopped traffic went around the curve and down the hill

Wed. 12:00 pm

I'm drifting off to sleep when I hear a sudden startling bang. For a moment I'm startled thinking a shot was fired outside my house. Then I realize I'm on a bus and I look out the window in time to see something flying off across the road. We stop, pull over and pick up whatever the missing piece is. The driver and several helpful, or maybe just curious, passengers try to put it back together. Whatever they've done doesn't seem to be too successful since when we pull onto the road again there is a dangerous rattling sound and we're only traveling around 20 kilometers an hour. At this point we'll never get there, I think.

Our driver with the missing part

Wed. 1:00 pm

We rattle along for a few minutes until we pull to a stop again at the entrance to a little town, "Socorro", it's optimistically called, a word meaning help, aid, relief. We're stopped outside a mechanics, and pretty soon they're tinkering with the broken part and the wheels again. The bus becomes sweltering and we get off. We chat with the little girl who's sitting next to Rae Ann, "this is the best day of my life!" she tells me. "why?" I ask, thinking how I definitely wouldn't count it as the best day of my life. "I made American friends!" she answers, enthusiastically. I smile at her enthusiasm, glad that at least someone is enjoying the inconvenience.

The cathedral of Socorro in the distance

The bus driver wanders off, the mechanic disappears under the bus, and then reappears muttering something that doesn't sound hopeful. We're getting hotter by the minute, still in jeans and sneakers for the Bogotá cole, but it's HOT here. We walk across the street to a snack shop with the name written in English, "The Beer Store". We order cold sodas and sit on the pavement, wondering if we'll even make it to San Gil tonight.

Still waiting in Socorro

Wed. 2:30 pm

Finally, Ingrid has the brilliant idea to ask someone how far to San Gil. Turns out it's just a 1/2 hour away by bus. We flag down a taxi and, for $2.50, convince him to load the 5 of us and our suitcases in to take us to the bus terminal downtown. Once we're there we find a bus to San Gil and 5 minutes and $1.50 each later, we're headed off just as it begins to rain.

Wed. 4:00

After nearly 12 hours of traveling, and a bit of wandering through some (thankfully warm) drizzle, we finally arrive at our hostel. First order of business- changing into shorts and flip flops. We flop down on the beds, exhausted for a bit, as we plan our next move.

Wed. 6:00 pm

We head off downtown, looking for the plaza. It isn't difficult to find. I get a call on the way there from a tour guide they recommended at our hotel. She meets us in front of the cathedral to tell us our options. "How about rafting tomorrow at 9?" she asks, "they'll pick you up outside the hotel." It sounds good to us, so with plans to talk tomorrow about other adventures, we wander a bit more, looking for a good place to eat. We finally find what seems to be the most popular spot for female police officers in San Gil as there's a whole table of them when we sit down. The restaurant has seating in a courtyard with hammocks hung around the edges. We relax, enjoying the warmth after too many days in cold, rainy Bogotá. We can hear fireworks in the distance. Eventually our food comes and once we're done eating, we go back to the hotel, tired from a long day of travel. Exploring can wait until tomorrow.

-

Christmas in Colombia

I love Christmas. Every year, the mystery of God come to earth as a helpless baby astounds me. What unimaginable love and creativity. ". . .Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but made himself nothing, taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men." Philippians 2:5-7

Not only do I love the mystery though. I love the traditions of Christmas. And this year, for the first time, I'm celebrating them, and making new traditions here in Colombia.

Our whole "family" met up one Sunday after church, went out for lunch, and then went Christmas tree shopping. I love real Christmas trees, but, despite the prevalence of pine trees here, they're a different kind of pine, and Christmas tree farms are non-existent. So, we had to satisfy ourselves with an artificial tree. I wish I'd brought my camera with me on our shopping expedition, but petty theft rises around Christmas time and I didn't want to risk it. But, imagine if you will, 4 straight blocks of Christmas stores, every one selling trees, ornaments, decorations, nativity sets. . . In the street, vendors sell Christmas tree skirts and Christmas doormats. People swarm everywhere, looking for the best deals on Christmas decorations. After looking at our options in 4 or 5 stores, we finally settled on a 2 meter high Christmas tree, brought it home, and then left for a week long retreat.

The next Saturday, we decided to decorate. Cookies were baked, hot chocolate was made, friends called last minute to see if they could come and cook dinner with us, and before we knew it, we had a tree decorating party on hand. The extra ornaments we picked up at 70% off when we ran to the store for more ingredients for dinner made the tree just about perfect.

Thursday was a national holiday (Las Velitas, it's called here, celebrating the immaculate conception of Mary). Rae Ann and I headed over to Luz y Vida around 11 to get a head start on mixing cookie dough. By 1:30, 7 of the Luz y Vida girls, Rae Ann, and Ingrid had showed up to help. We made peanut butter, gingerbread, chocolate chip and empire cookies. By 5 o'clock, we sent some happy girls off each with a plate of cookies, and collapsed exhausted on the couches. Later, we set aside cookies for 2 parties and 5 businesses in the neighborhood that we frequent to say thanks for being good neighbors.

On Saturday, a group of people assembled again for what will hopefully be the first annual Torre Fuerte Christmas party. After a tiring afternoon at the Jungle, swinging kids in hammocks, corralling rowdy teenagers, and making dozens of angel crafts, we were all ready to crash when we got back to the house. The good thing is, Sara and I cooked before we left- Mashed potatoes were warming in the oven, the roast was ready in the slow cooker, and glazed carrots waited to be heated on the stove. After a relaxing dinner and a comical time of multi-lingual sing-along karaoke Christmas carols, we started in on our gift exchange. Gifts changed hands over and over, everyone got a good laugh, and in true Colombian fashion, most of the edible gifts were shared and almost gone before the guests left.

Sunday Rae Ann, Ingrid and I headed up to the farm to help Bibiana celebrate Christmas Venezuelan style. Hallacas are a traditional Venezuelan Christmas food, and we spent the day helping to prepare them. Corn dough is spread on banana leaves, topped with a spiced meat filling, tied into pretty little packages, then boiled for an hour over a wood fire. I became an expert at tying the hallacas.

We spent the night so we would be there bright and early the next morning for the staff Christmas party. After a time of Christmas carols and games, we celebrated true Colombian style with asado (a cook-out) followed by an overwhelming variety of desserts. Stuffed and tired, we headed back down to Bogotá, getting stuck in lovely traffic for over 2 hours.

Last night was Rae Ann's last night here before she headed home for the holidays, so we had one last "family" dinner together. Afterwards, we decided we really needed a family Christmas picture too, so we posed in front of the Christmas tree. Here we are, in our Christmas best.

And that, I believe is the end of the Christmas festivities, at least for me, here in Colombia.

culture quandaries

I point with my lips, chop my vegetables super small, waggle my finger back and forth when I don't want something, raise my index finger instead of my hand, motion people to come with a downward motion of my hand, express surprise by saying "ush", pleasure by saying "uhy" and doubt by saying "hm". And I whine.

They weren't, mostly, intentional adaptations to the culture. I've just come to realize they are things I've come to do at some point over the last few years, ways I blend in with those around me.

The whining is what most caught me by surprise. It isn't even something I've really been consciously aware of, until I realized that the way I ask people to do things is completely different in English and Spanish. I was sitting with English speaking friends, chatting over milkshakes about the Hillsong concert we'd been given free tickets to and who all was going. "Peter's going too", I said, "though I had to convince him. I really am whinier in Spanish", I said as the realization hit me. "Say what you said to him, but say it in English" one of the girls suggested. So I did- "Peter, you should really come. Your dad wants you to, and I do too, and the kids will be really happy you're there". Not the words so much, but the tone of voice, had us all laughing. I sounded ridiculous in English. In Spanish though, it sounded normal. And I'm still trying to figure out what I should do with that. . . Is whining culturally appropriate, and therefore expected (and by extension ok), or is whining always obnoxious?

Cook-out, Colombian style

The day started out gorgeous and sunny, but by midmorning it was chilly and overcast. That didn't stop our plans though. In the kitchen we chopped onions and tomato, marinated meat, scrubbed potatoes and peeled yuca. Outside, they worked hard at getting the fire lighted.

the view from the grill

Once the grill was lit, Edwin, Alex, and the teens took over grilling while Bibiana and I made arepas (a corn-based flat bread)

the grill masters

me, making arepas

Despite the fact that we started before 11, lunch wasn't ready until 4. It was worth the wait though: grilled meat, ripe plantain, guacamole, arepas, salted potatoes with hot sauce, yuca, salad. Enough for 26 people with leftovers. And believe me, we ate.

the finished product (not pictured- grilled ripe plantain or my plate of seconds)

Stories from a different world

We picked her up along the side of the road of a picturesque village nestled in the Andes. Ana María* was headed into town for a dentist appointment and buses don't pass through very frequently. Almost as soon as she got in the car she shared started to share her story, "I got married when I was 15 years old". "Wait a minute", says Claudia, "you got married, or they married you off?" She was married off- she was caught holding hands with a boy, and her mother basically told her her reputation was ruined. "I cried, I asked them not to make me, I didn't love that boy", she told us. "when I got married, I didn't know anything about sex".

It wasn't a happy marriage either. He abused her. They had 6 children- 4 girls and 2 boys. "he wanted sons" she said, "so we kept having babies".

They're not together anymore. She moved with her kids to Bogotá, looking for a better life, for awhile, but has moved back to her quiet country town. Her kids all sound like they are doing well- studying, working as professionals. The youngest is in 7th grade. And Ana María- she's full of life, ideas for the future. "I want to run for the town coucil. I want to encourage tourism here". She tells us all about the paramo, a local high-altitude treeless habitat, about a waterfall and local legends. She has the knowledge and personality to reach her goals, I think.

*******

Don Felipe sits eating lunch with us. The talk has drifted back to improving tourism in the area, a recurring theme for the week. "And it's so much safer now, there are no guerillas in the area. 5 years ago it was different" He tells of a relative who was kidnapped by the guerilla, than it turns out he has his own story, "they didn't kidnap me. But they sent me a message once that I had to appear before them. I prayed about it, should I go, or not go? In the end, I decided to go. My whole church was praying for me. When I got there, no one was there. I waited over an hour, and then they finally showed up. They told me I had to pay them 40,000,000 pesos (about $20,000). I talked to them- told them what I owned, how my kids were in school. It jsut wasn't possible. They know, they have it all there in a computer. I told them how I agreed the government wasn't doing it's job, raising taxes and not changing the situation in the country**. In the end, they dropped the price down to 2,500,000 (about $1,250). That was really God's grace, they don't do that for everybody."

* Names have been changed in these stories to protect privacy.

**while guerilla groups use unethical means, some of the reasons behind what they're doing are supposedly to help the poor, which partially explains participation. For a great child's eye view of how people get swept into involvement with guerillas and para-military despite their desires, watch the movie Los Colores de La Montaña- The colors of the Mountain. Another good resource for understanding the complications of living in an area with active guerrilla and/or paramilitary and understanding what causes Colmbia's large number of internally displaced refugees is The Dispossesed by Alfredo Molano.

West Shore SixTen team visit

A group of 7 from my fellowship group at church came down this past week. We had a lot of fun together. They put together an amazing program for the kids at Luz y Vida- from gak and tie-dying, to minute-to-win-it games, Bible teaching centered around Noah's ark, "compliment" books for everyone, and balloon games, the kids enjoyed every minute. I think the team did too.

Outside of Luz y Vida we had a lot of fun too. Tuesday was my birthday and we celebrated Colombian style- food, conversation and dancing! Despite the fact that most of the team hadn't danced salsa and merengue before, they gave it a try and we all had a lot of tun. Having friends who love to cook and are studying at cooking school guarantees amazing birthday dinners, as the pictures prove.

Wednesday the team came to my house. I was so blessed by their willingness to help out. The girls painted the second coat of paint in my garage area, and then did some deep cleaning in my kitchen and bathrooms. Things got a bit complicated for the guys when we lost all of the pieces needed to assemble the medicine cabinet I bought, but even so, they managed to hang curtain rods, fix the overhead lighting in one room, assemble and install a medicine cabinet, put a toilet seat and a towel rod in my downstairs bathroom and spend a lot of time at Home Center, learning the word for drill bit and saw in Spanish, and tracking down missing pieces. I made dinner for the team with the help from the girls. It wasn't quite the masterpiece we had on my birthday, but it was pretty tasty too.

Yesterday I think I wore the team out. We went to the jungle in the morning and enjoyed playing with over a hundred kids, helping them with crafts, and keeping them safe. As soon as we finished there, we took a driving tour through the tolerance zone and the Bronx to see some of the conditions the children we work with come from and live in. From there, we drove up to the farm, where I led the whole team up hill through the rain, bushwhacking through bushes and brambles, and up a very steep incline for the awesome view of the Andes mountains. We got back, soaking wet, freezing, and ready to enjoy the aromatica (fresh herbal tea) that Bibi and Emily made for us.

The team left this morning. They'll be missed, and remembered. They also blessed us greatly with a donation of a k-3 guided reading curriculum. I'm so excited to train teachers how to use it and see kids reading books they'll be excited about!

Real men paint their fingernails

We’re sitting around the living room, Jessica painting Edwin’s nails with clear nail varnish, as he talks to us about something serious. A few minutes go by before I realize how absurd this would look at home. But here, even my friend Peter who likes hip-hop and rap, and dresses the part, lets his little sisters paint his nails.

I get my hair cut, nothing dramatic, my Mom doesn’t even notice in our skype chat. I walk in the door to our weekly meeting and run into Alex who’s been visiting family for over a month. Greetings out of the way, the first thing he says after not seeing me for 6 weeks is ‘you got your hair cut”. Bored of always wearing my hair the same way, one day I put half of it up in a ponytail. Fabian’s first words on seeing me are “new look?”. Whoever said men aren’t detail oriented hasn’t met these men.

I’m leaving the 127 house, headed across the road to catch a bus home. Someone whistles at me from the sidewalk. I ignore it, and keep walking. There’s usually a group of students at the store and looking just encourages them. And then I pause. It could be Edwin. I risk a glance behind me, and there he is, standing at the door and smiling. Whistles, winks, flirtatious comments that aren’t meant to be taken seriously, I’m still trying to work out how to know when someone is serious.

They open the door and let me walk through first, walk on the street side of the sidewalk, (sometimes) carry heavy things without me even asking, walk me to the bus stop and wait with me when it’s dark, worry about how I’m getting home if it’s late. But they also get up and walk away from the table when they’re done eating, leaving the rest of us to hurry up and catch up. They tell lies when they don’t think it matters. They hunt me down, hold me still and dump water on me in a birthday party gone just a bit wild. Not quite knights in shining armor, or perfect gentleman, but definitely guys I’m glad to have as friends.

The road to hell

I looked at the map doubtfully. It was the same free map they had given me the day before in the tourism office, and outside the city limits I had no idea which road was which. "Are you sure we won't get lost?", I asked Yesenia, the woman who was convincing us to take the tour. She assured me it was straight forward. "And are there a lot of hills? I'm horrible at biking up hill" The logical side of my mind told me that her answer, "it's almost all downhill and flat" couldn't quite be true since we were in the Andes mountains and we were biking a loop. But, despite my hesitation, the lovely weather and mountains called to me, so my sister Rebecca and I mounted our bikes and headed out of Villa de Leyva.

Four blocks and then left, I recited to myself, but then, avoiding potholes, I lost track. Not sure if I'd missed the turn or not, I stopped and asked some young guys working on a 4x4. "You can get there either way", they told me. "But take the unpaved road. It's nicer, there's not as much traffic, and you can't get lost."

Seeing as I'd managed to get lost within 5 blocks of setting off, I still wasn't convinced, but I figured even if we didn't find "infiernito" (little hell), the ancient Muisca obervatory we were looking for, we would still enjoy a bike through the countryside.

It was beautiful. I resisted calling out "are we on the road to hell?" to the locals we passed, but some helpful signs soon assured me that we were.

Infiernito was idyllic. The name was apparently given by the Muisca to the area to scare the Spanish conquerors away from their sacred ground. A stone observation calendar, phallic statues, and an underground tomb looked out on this scene.

Leaving infiernito, we continued down the road to the next stops on our map, hoping we were where we thought we were and turned the right direction when we got to the main road. The day was pleasantly warm, and the hill to the fossil museum was steep, so we stopped for sodas at a roadside stand.

A giant kronosaurus fossil, a tiny museum with hand lettered signs, and vendors without change waited for us at the top of the hill. We left our bikes against the wall and went inside.

It was drizzling when we left, in search of our last destination, "pozos azules". Something in the water makes this series of lakes a beautiful turquoise blue.

Tired, mud-splattered, and very content, we worked our way back up the hill to the road and down the road into Villa de Leyva. On an ever-so-slightly-uphill-you-could-almost-call-it-flat stretch of road, I biked slowly along, worn out by the day and wishing I could blame my lack of stamina on not being adjusted to the altitude. A little girl, probably about 9, zipped past me on her bike. She casually took her hands of the handle bars and then stuck them in her pockets. "show-off" I thought to myself, then realized that it didn't really matter.

We left our bikes back where we'd rented them from, headed back to our hostel for our things, and boarded the bus back to Bogota.

A taste of Colombia

Patacones with tuna salad

This is not an authentic Colombian recipe, but it does incorporate a lot of very traditional Colombian ingredients, and everything in it is readily available in the States. Patacones are popular here (and in a lot of Latin America, though they are known as tostones in Puerto Rico and the Dominican). I got the idea of eating them with tuna when some Venezuelan friends showed up one day when I was making patacones for dinner and they suggested it. Cilantro and lime are 2 very popular seasonings.

Slice a green plantain on the diagonal and fry in oil, turning over once. (Use one plaintain for every 1-2 people) Remove from frying pan when both sides are golden. (A friend told me the trick to this is to cook them over low heat so that the inside starts to get soft too, and it isn't just the edges that touch the pan that turn start to burn)

Place your fried plantains between 2 pieces of plastic. Using a flat oject (a cutting board works well), smash the plantain flat. Stick it back in the frying pan to cook until it is golden brown and crunchy. Set the patacones in a colander or on a papertowel to drain of some of the oil.

In a bowl, mix one can of tuna in water (drained), mayonaise, juice from 1/2 of a lime, cilantro, chopped tomato (I used 3 small tomatoes), canned corn (I used maybe 1/3 of the can), and chopped cucumber (I only used 1/2, but it would have been better with more). Onion would be good to add too, but I'm not a big fan of raw onion, so since I was just cooking for me, I didn't add any.

Top the patacones with the tuna salad. Enjoy!