Happy Holidays!

Hello everyone! It seems like there is so much to tell you about our holidays here that I'm afraid this will spin into a huge novel of a blog update, so I will just tell you about the big things and you can get the rest of the details from Roman's blog (www.romanbrady.blogspot.com).

Well, let's start with Christmas Eve. As usual, Roman and I had to go our separate ways for the holiday- Roman to Buenos Aires and Myself to Faith Moravian. We were able to share a taxi with one of our favorite Taxistas, Mr.Bryan. Mr. Bryan's wife, Meshell, is very involved at Faith and he is the guy we usually call first when we need to go somewhere.

We dropped Roman off first, all the way across town from my church, and we where leaving the barrio, Mr.Bryan got a call from another client also heading to Faith. He knew that I wouldn't mind the side trip, so we set off together for Limoncito, a sweet little barrio named for the river flowing beside it. Of course, I wasn't charged for the side trip, and it was kind of fun to just ride around town with Mr. Bryan, who has a very dry sense of humor. For example, I asked him once which barrio was his favorite one to drive in, and his response was "None of them- they all have holes!" That's an understatement, by the way.

Anyways, I went to Faith, where we didn't have a Lovefeast (Can you believe it?) but instead we had a regular church service with christmas carols. Then we passed out candles for the final song, Jesus Bids Us Shine. Now, the traditional candles here are just like the ones back home except they are white paraffin wax with red and green crepe paper, and not fluffed out like the ones we see in the States. That's the traditional candle, but they should've known when they put my dear friend Latoya in charge of them this year that traditional was NOT what they'd get.

Instead, she (with a small bit of help that I was almost afraid to offer) bought many different colored candles, ranging from pink to gold, and glued beautiful flowers and ribbons to their bases. Somewhere in Salem there were the collective moans of centuries of Moravians at the sight of these candles, but here in Limon they were regarded simply as they were: GORGEOUS. I was more than happy to take a few home for decoration.

The following morning I almost cooked breakfast, but Roman wouldn't wake up, so I scratched the idea. When he did finally join me, we opened the remaining gifts from my parents and were delighted to find coffee mugs from First Greensboro's 100th anniversary, as well as a few sweaters (one of which I am wearing RIGHT NOW!) and a new Indian movie! I was excited, but once Roman realized he would have to watch it with me, his christmas spirit was somewhat dampened.

After an hour or so, Sister Sally gathered us for Christmas lunch with her family, which was MASSIVE. She and Roman and myself were the only white folks, but they treated us just like we were blood kin and we thoroughly enjoyed Salsa dancing, Christmas Caroling, a banquet of tasty treats, and a visit from the self-proclaimed "Obama Claus," straight from Kenya. Santa handed out small tokens to the children, joking that he was wearing sandals instead of boots because he was the Caribbean Santa. He even had a few surprise gifts for Roman and myself. In fact, Roman received a jar of peanut butter and I received Guayaba Jelly. I tried to explain to Roman that I thought the gift was metaphorical- that we were like Peanut Butter and Jelly, a team! His response? Nope, it's just good for eating. 

After wrapping up the Christmas celebration we had a chance to participate in the opening celebration for Kwanzaa, which was very enlightening and inspiring. Kwanzaa is the celebration of African Heritage through special activities that encourage the African community to support and strengthen itself; it has a message of self-reliance that is awesome, in the original sense of the word. It starts on the 26th of December, and we were thrilled to partake in such a special occasion.

Once home, it was business as usual. I returned to the Call Center on Friday, and was surprised to see a few more Gringos at work than usual. One guy came up to me and introduced himself as Creighton, a professional surfer. Apparently, he and his amigos just work for a few months to collect money and then they go all over the country to surf. I told him that I was a missionary, which he appreciated, but didn't prevent him from using his most colorful language in our conversation.

Speaking of the call center, word of my primary purpose in Limon has gotten around, and I am beginning to get questions from my coworkers, many of whom are interested in the school and want to take lessons. I explained that the purpose of the school was to prepare people for serving in the ministries of a church, to which the group- mostly males- replied that if they felt they could be useful, they'd eagerly serve. I think that says a lot in that one sentence, especially in a country where very few men are involved in churches.

Meanwhile, while I was discussing the school with my coworkers, Carlos- my poquito gatito- managed to escape and got into a fight with three stray dogs. He lost, the poor thing, and was nearly fatally wounded in the attack. There was no hope of taking him to a vet for 24hrs following the attack, and to be honest it didn't seem likely that he'd last that long. 

However, yesterday morning found him awake and moving (albeit slowly) around the house, still bleeding from his wounds and unwilling to eat. We bundled him up in a cardboard box and headed to town, one of our taxi friends offering to drive us. When the vet saw him, he immediately checked for broken bones. When none were discovered, he took us into his office/operating room/examining room (located in the back of a pet store, no less- and we're not talking about Petsmart, folks) and looked Carlos over. When he lifted his tail we were horrified to find a gaping hole you-know-where that was already badly infected. He sedated Carlos, shaved him down, and thoroughly cleaned the wounds, obviously shocked at their severity. When all was said and done, however, the vet was certain that 6 days of antibiotics and a little analgesic cream would do the trick and cure the little guy.

We returned to the street to wait for our taxi to shuttle us home again, and I was surprised when a woman I didn't recognized came up to me and asked if the cat in the box was the famous Carlos. I said yes, and she said that she knew about the attack and wanted to know what the vet had said. She seemed relieved as much as we were, and introduced herself as my neighbor, Ferella. How touching to think that even my neighbors had formed an attachment to my sweet kitten, and wished him well.

Carlos slept for hours, and we were a little afraid, as his breathing was uneven. However, when I returned from work last night, he was up and moving around- trying so hard to be normal despite his injuries. He was even eating tuna and milk, following us around the house. He's a little shell-shocked, but I hope that this change in activity signals imminent recovery. He is my baby here, after all. 

So that brings us to today. We're anticipating a wild New Year- if it will be anything like Christmas, it will be like being in a bombing- so many fireworks! All week we have been hearing fireworks- the real ones- exploding everywhere. In fact, one exploded so close to the call center the other night that the floors shook and the person I was talking to asked "What the heck was THAT?" We've been told to expect so many fireworks that the sky will be as bright as daylight all night. That should be something to see; I'll tell you all about it.

Look forward to pictures on the next post- there are a lot to take off the camera and upload.

Merry late Christmas, Happy New Years, and pray for Carlos!

Morgan 

A Letter to America

Dear America,

I have been working at the call center here in Limon for several weeks, and I must say that I am appalled at the way you treat the innocent folks that make their livings calling you and asking you to answer a few simple questions.

I had heard, of course, that the Americans were rude, but I didn't believe it myself. Sure, I thought, they're tired of people calling them and trying to sell them things and stuff like that, but to do a survey that takes 10 minutes? They'll be glad to help once they realize that it doesn't involve signing any contracts or purchasing anything, right?

WRONG! Since working at the call center, during which I have called to ask about preferences in fast food and awareness of new movies being released, I have heard things that would make most people blush. At times people have been so rude that I have nearly cried. You see, here's the thing- you have no idea who you're talking to. Let me enlighten you.

Limon has one university. In making the decision to go to university, most of my coworkers have already distinguished themselves from hundreds of youth who wind up selling or taking drugs and getting into crime. From university they face an even more daunting challenge- there are no jobs available for the educated. Of these diligent students, many have children and are single parents, or they have ailing parents that they are responsible for. Leaving Limon is not a real option for them, so they are left with very few alternatives: teach or work in the call center.

You're probably all thinking about how noble it is to teach, that these folks should be pursuing that course. Well, they would except that the call center is one of the highest paying jobs available in the city. Want to know how much it pays? $3 an hour, a fortune by Limon standards.

Because the job is open to anyone with excellent English skills, many dream of working in the center and look to it as a cure-all for their financial problems. Because the company is American, some modicum of benefits are extended- discounts of Doctors visits and trips to the dentist for employees and their children. However, spend a day in training and you'll learn that what appears to be a good way to make decent money is actually grueling work. You are only paid for the time that you spend actually performing a survey, and your only opportunity for receiving a raise is based on how many surveys you complete. And it's no small number- 10,000 complete before you get your first 50 cent raise. When you factor in the various refusals- the worst of these being people who pretend to be willing respondents and then cuss us out at the midpoint and slam down the receiver, we're lucky to have 4 or 5 complete surveys a day. Not very promising.

To compensate for the number of refusals received on a daily basis, most of my coworkers work whatever hours they can get- sometimes working from 8 in the morning until 10:30 at night for days in a row, just hoping to get a few extra complete surveys under their belts. They voluntarily work on Sundays, much to your chagrin, because you're usually home then, and they are just a fraction of a percent more likely to complete a survey even at the risk of those who harangue them for calling on the Lord's Day.

Why do they do this? The money is the obvious answer, but beyond that, it is what the promise of this money means for them. It is medications for their children, a singular christmas present to put under the tree (one toy costs as much as two days of pay), keeping the electricity on for one more month, having potable water for drinking, clothes on their backs, and something to eat. Living here you begin to realize that every day is a struggle for everyone. It is different from the states, where almost everyone has something. 

The bottom line is this: the decision you make when you decide that you're just too busy to answer a few questions, which you're probably not qualified to answer anyways (thereby wasting a total of 1 minute of your life on a call), has an effect greater than you can imagine. Saying no means that someone's child will go hungry for another night, that an illness will most likely go untreated, or at it's worst, that someone may not have the basic tenets that all humans are entitled too; in short, you strip someone of their human dignity.

So as Christmas comes in tomorrow, take a moment to think of something small that you can do to spread the love of Christ that so many express verbally, yet physically deny. Answer the phone and make the conscious decision to make someone's life a little better.

Your faithful teletester, 

(Insert generic American name here)

Cerro Mocho at Christmas

Our street as seen from my place of employment.

Our house. Isn't it CUTE?!?

The view of Limon from the hill across the street from my house.

Christmas excitement.

Ninfa and I are actually discussing plans for Roman's birthday party. The Bishop? Who knows...

Roman's Surprise Birthday Bash

Marjorie's homemade Dulce de Leche birthday cake. Yummmm.

The Bishop, Me, and Roman just minutes after walking through the door.

Our Limonense friends singing Happy Birthday in English and Spanish as Roman enters.

The SURPRISE!!

When I turned 25, it was momentous milestone in my life, not for the quarter century it marked, but for the things I had endured and had finally put behind me. At that point I had been living in Nashville for a year and half, and had suffered a cruel breakup and more job drama than I thought possible. It had been a year of deep depression and perilous financial situations, but on March 28^th, 2007, I was finally coming out on the brighter and better side of my ordeal.

That day had been typical at work, and I never thought twice when my friend Cristy emailed to see if I was up for a trip to the mall afterwork. Around the same time, my roommate Kendall emailed to say that netflix had mailed Borat, a movie I was dying to see. It only made sense to invite Cristy to nix our plans at the mall and come over to the house for our movie night. As we drove the 30 minutes towards my home, me in my Honda Element, and Cristy in her Mini Cooper, I was happy to daydream and enjoy my birthday with the comfort of good friends.

When I pulled up to the house, nothing seemed amiss. I just went right up to the door and opened it...and was met with the biggest chorus of “surprise” I'd ever heard. Kendall and Cristy had somehow managed to coordinate a huge surprise party that I never in a million years would've anticipated. Between Cristy, Kendall, and my friend Kate from Brentwood Benson, they had pulled together a massive group of former coworkers, current coworkers, church friends, neighbors and the like for one perfect party. Decorating the house were posters encouraging me that 25 was a milestone and a sign of great things to come. How true! I was so stunned I didn't know what I was doing. I don't remembered if I cried, but I remember telling Kendall that a plan so intensive would guarantee our friendship for life. It has been and will always be a pinnacle moment in my life.

It was with those same memories that I began to plan for Roman's birthday on December 14^th. Now, as Christians, Roman and I love each other very much. But as man and woman sharing a home, we've had our ups and downs. It was my hope that organizing a shindig for him here in Limon would be the perfect way to show him just how important he is to me. I wanted him to realize that even far from the friends and family that would normally be wishing him well, that he had new friends and family here in Limon that loved and cared for him just as much.

It began with me and Ninfa, after our Monday Night Fellowship group. She had thrown the idea of a surprise party out in passing, and so we began planning in secret, each of us calling or talking to other people we knew were important to him, and soon we had a huge group of Ticos committed to celebrating Roman's birthday in style. The only problem I anticipated came from the scheduled arrival of Bishop Sam Grey- how would I be able to pull him aside and let him know our plans? Yet, somehow things worked out, and the Bishop became a crucial part of the diversion we staged while the party took shape.

I had told Roman that I wanted to take him to dinner for his birthday at a local restaurant that overlooks the whole city. The plan was that they would meet me at the call center where I work and we'd proceed from there to dinner. The only problem with that was the fact that we can see our house from the restaurant, so we'd be able to see people coming and going as they prepared for the party. So instead the Bishop and Leo Pixley, one of our main contacts here, crafted an excellent scheme to stall while the party came together.

The idea was that Leo would not want to eat at the restaurant I had selected, and that Sam would suggest a restaurant that didn't really exist in order to get us far enough out of the way for the party to have sufficient time to prepare. So Sam drove us on an incredible drive to Moin, a port just north of town. Then, he “realized” while we were searching for the imaginary restaurant that he had forgotten his wallet at home. So homeward we went, stalling a little more as needed. When we arrive, the Bishop went upstairs and then immediately ran back down, telling Roman that our cat had caught something he wouldn't believe. Of course, Roman hit the deck running.

I don't know yet whether or not he was really surprised when the entire city of Limon jumped out to surprise him, but if he felt anything like I did that wonderful day nearly two years ago, then I know this memory will be one he treasures for many years to come.

I'm dreaming of a wet christmas...

Well, folks, it's raining here in Limon. This is normal for December here, so in alot of ways it is like being at home- cold and wet. Maybe not white, but I'm not going to argue that point.

As we get closer and closer to the end of the second trimester, I realize that we are cresting the hill of our stay here in Costa Rica and that from this point onward we will begin the rapid progression towards coming home and re-assimilating. I don't know how I feel about that- in alot of ways the real progress is just beginning here and I feel like we are finally establishing our program as a legit enterprise here in the city.

In addition, I have taken a job working at a call center around the corner from my house, wherein I work doing those surveys you all hate to receive at dinner time. I use a fake alias depending on each place I call, for instance I was Anna Brady while on the phone in Tulsa and Donna Forsyth while talking to San Diego. While I feel kind of funny working as outsourced labor, I am getting a chance to broaden my circle of friends here in the city and even find myself encountering genuine opportunities to witness in the old fashioned sense.

For example, I have a coworker we'll call Fred. Fred was interested in me as soon as he saw me because I am the rare working Gringa. Here, gringos come and go on the cruise ships and waste their money on fribbles- they don't stick around to work with the real people of the city. Yet, there I was. He is a very handsome Tico who lived in San Diego for many years before coming home. He's my age (almost all of the call center people are in their early twenties) and is a nice guy who has clearly lived a hard life up to this point. 

Fred immediately sought me out the very first day I came to the center, curious to know why I was in Limon. When I told him that I was a missionary in town, just trying to earn some extra money, he was surprised. "A Missionary, eh? So I guess you're really into God, then?" He asked, starting us off on a great conversation about the church and the many facets of Christianity that can be difficult for some people to maintain. Finally he confessed to me that he had once been a very devout churchgoer, but that he had fallen into some very bad crowds and was still "running with the devil," as he put it. We ended up with him asking if we could have dinner some night and talk about it in depth. I have no reason to doubt his sincerity, and he has been an excellent coworker thus far. I'm excited for him to come home some night and talk to Roman and myself.

Anyhow, beyond that, we are simply relishing the holiday spirit of the city. There are parties and special events to attend, and our children will be debuting the christmas songs they have been working so hard to learn. We hope to have plenty of pictures to share as we get closer and closer to the big holiday. Until then...

Pictures from Monday Night Fellowship

Rev. Perdita Cayasso's attempt at a scary face.

Guess who!!

Ninfa Cardenas and her charming daughter Keila, caught in a loving moment.

Ahh, Marjorie... She is a trip! And her best friend Cynthia is always peeking over her shoulder, doing something crazy!

Well, folks. This is it for the week. Everything is on a roll towards the end of the second semester, and we re just enjoying our friends and "family" here in the sweaty wonderland of Limon.

More to come soon; I promise!