The Half-way Point

It seems like it was just yesterday that I landed in San Jose, but today marks the end of my first month in Costa Rica.

This morning 4 of the volunteers, Mike, Jess, Josh and Chris left for the airport. It was hard to see them go, especially since Mike and Josh had been the ones to show us the ropes during our first few days in Ciudad Quesada. Now I'm where they were four weeks ago, at the half-way point, getting to know a new group of volunteers. Coincidentally, one the new volunteer's name is Mike, and he too is UGA grad from Georgia, so I guess not too much has changed.

This weekend we decided to stay in town, which was a nice change from the last 3 busy weekends of long drives, little sleep and lots of travel. Friday afternoon we went horseback riding right outside the city. We rode through sugarcane fields and rivers and had a beautiful view of Arenal Volcano. Unfortunately, my horse had a mind of his own, and while I was hoping for a leisurely stroll, he had his mind set on cantering, which quickly turned to a full-on gallop; something I wasn't quite prepared for, but still enjoyed when all was said and done and I was tying him up in the stable.

For everyone's last night in town, we met up with some ticos from Mike's and Josh's volunteer placement. They took us to a bar where people salsa'ed and meringue'ed circles around us. My friend Mollie and I ended up dancing with some of Mike's and Josh's Costa Rican friends, somewhat begrudgingly, but because we felt badly saying no. Everyone else seemed to enjoy it at our expense. I think the ticos got the worse end of the bargain though, because Mollie and I both happen to lack any sort of rhythm and can usually be found doing the typical "white girl" dance at the disco.

Dancing soon turned to some sort of karaoke night, much different from any I have ever experienced in the US. My idea of karaoke, which I'm willing to bet is pretty in step with most Americans' is, you get up there, pick some overplayed 80s song or rock ballad and proceed to sing it quite badly, adding your own poorly choreographed moves and generally making an ass of yourself. Here, I'm pretty sure ticos take it much more seriously. From the sound of it, there was serious preparation that went into not only choosing the right song, but perfecting the performance as well. I have to say, I think I'm partial to just getting up there and singing "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun," badly.

I mentioned before that once a week I've been volunteering at Hogarcito, an orphanage here in town. I have to be honest, each week I dread going, but find it just as hard to leave. The negative connotation that the word "orphanage" carries I think holds true here. Don't get me wrong, the Tias (tia is Aunt is Spanish, and it's what the children call the women who work there) do the best they can in an extremely difficult situation. They work 11 hour shifts for two weeks at a time, and then have only 4 days off before starting all over again. The children there are anywhere from days old to 7 or 8. They come from families where they are abused, neglected, or directly from the hospital if their mothers are viewed to be unfit. The Hogarcito has two swing-sets, a rusty slide and a playhouse that I don't even like to let the kids play in because of the missing floorboards and broken windows.

Two of the babies Hermanita and Karencita, should be crawling by now, but sit for most of the time I'm there in a stroller. I have an especially soft spot for Christian, a two year old, head strong little boy. You can tell from his tantrums and the way he aimlessly wanders around that he is so bored and frustrated. His mood can change in an instant and my heart breaks when the Tias have to discipline him, because I know that if he had more to do he would spend less time getting into trouble or bothering the other babies.

Last week, the Hogarcito sent one of the little boys, Jefferson, home with an Aunt. I initially thought that it was good news that they were placing him in a home with his family, but the Tias told me it was probably not the best for his well-being. They said what often happens is family members take the children and then end up giving them right back to the parents. Because there are no follow-up visits, they have no way of knowing where the children end up, and only find out if neighbors or teachers call again about abuse or neglect.

Just as Jefferson was leaving, 6 more children arrived. Three, one little girl Alejandra, who's about 5, and her two brothers Juan Carlos and Clifford, who are about 3 1/2 and 2 were taken away from an abusive home. They also have 4 other siblings all from different fathers who were taken to other orphanages. Alejandra talked to me about escaping and asked if I would take her home with me. I tried to ask her what was positive about the orphanage, and she told me it was nice to be well-fed and clean. Despite her terrible home life, she still speaks fondly of her mother, who has taught her to dislike "Gringas" like me, a barrier which I have tried hard to break down. She hates being at the orphanage because the Tias discipline her younger brothers, who probably should be disciplined, but who I nevertheless feel badly for because they've never had an adult influence to teach them right from wrong.

Three babies also arrived this week, a premature newborn who's only days old, and a 7 and 8 month old. Yesterday I held the newborn for the first time. He little fingers barely wrapped around mine and you would have thought the onezie he was in was made for a 6 month old the way it hung on him.

I have so many emotions going to the orphanage each week. It makes me mad that any child should have to live the way they do. It makes me hate the parents who bring their children into the world that way. Every time they throw a tantrum out of frustration or fight over the few toys they have I empathize with the. When they smile at me or laugh at my Spanish, when they ask me to push them on the swing or reach for my hand, I feel like I am doing something meaningful.

It's an impossible situation even in the most developed country, made worse here by the limited resources and myriad of social problems- from alcoholism to teen pregnancy, unemployment and poverty. I don't know enough about the foster care system in the US to say whether it's better or just different, but from what I've seen of the Costa Rican system I feel like there has to be an alternative.

Katelin, another one of the interns at CCS is working on a Powerpoint presentation in both English and Spanish, which the Hogarcito is going to use to fund raise in the region and abroad, and I really hope that with more funding they can improve the situation at Hogarcito.

Not exactly "pura vida," but this is what I came here for.