Some people ask me what I do here. It’s a good question. What do I do here? I guess the answer is nothing and just about everything.
I wake up with the sun at 6 a.m and make coffee, pick out my CDs for the day and throw on my head phones. I try leave about 15 minutes earlier than I need to so I can walk around the empty cobblestone streets, sip my coffee, marvel at the volcano in the early morning light and listen to music...15 minutes just for me, just to simply live. At seven we all board the Chicken Bus.
Chicken Buses are the colorful, party-version re-incarnation of our elementary school buses. They are all Blue Bird brand...which, incidentally, come from Buena Vista, Virginia; “Buena Vista” means “good view” in Spanish—not really sure if that’s significant, but I thought it was interesting. The Blue Bird is no longer black on yellow but bright Royal Blue, diving through a dizzying red and white sky, blue streak streaming behind. I know yellow and black buses will always have a place in my heart, but –HONESTLY!—THIS is what a bus was meant to look like. All shocks and emission controls have been ripped out, which means that when we drive over the uneven cobblestones in Antigua, our heads bounce like those dashboard Hawaiian hula dancers and the bus leaves a trail of black smoke wherever we go...kind of like an airplane streak in the sky. The small seats on the passenger side of the bus have been all been replaced by big ones, so that no matter how skinny you are, you have turn side ways and sort of shimmy down the aisle. And remember how when we hit high school we decided that only two people could fit in the big seats? Well, we were wrong. It is possible to fit exactly five adult butt cheeks on one big seat. Which means that one person is plastered to the window, one person has one cheek on the seat and one cheek in the aisle and the very lucky third person is squished in between. If you have issues with personal space, chicken bus rides are not for you.
We drive up and down a windy mountain road to get from Antigua to the city. Don’t make the mistake of thinking a windy mountain road means the bus driver will take his time. Rather he drives the bus like a kid on one of those race car video games you sit in—hunching over the steering wheel and turning it with his entire body, putting all of his weight into every single turn. It’s great fun—like an enormous game of jello between fifty strangers. It sort of feels like we’re on two wheels around the bends, but, so far, no bus I’ve been on has tipped over.
We arrive to school around 8:45 and mill around before the kids come at 9. Every day is different. Our activities are different. Our moods are different. Sometimes we read. Sometimes we play games. Sometimes we sing and others we dance. Sometimes I am tired and sometimes I am awake; the kids are always awake. Sometimes they need a partner to play their weird version of Clue that makes no sense but is fun any way. There are a few kids who need someone to let them win at Chess, which I’m good at since I can’t really play. Other kids need someone to let them win at Connect Four, which is hard for me because I hate losing at that game. Sometimes they need a hug, sometimes they need a hand and sometimes they need someone to notice that they’re crying-- which, for 4th-6th grade boys, can be a big thing to ask for.
I like to help serve lunch. I like the kitchen because a little kid with a few missing teeth named Kevin always works in there with me and we break some of the rules and make each other laugh. Lunch is generally rice and beans or chicken feet soup. That’s right--chicken feet. Someone kindly donates them to the program. And the kids suck on the toes and spit out the bones. I don’t eat much on those days. And I seriously want to pummel myself for every time I rummaged past boxes of pasta and cans of beans in the cupboard...and then through cartons of milk and bags of apples and god knows what other food in the refridgerator, only to groan, “There’s NOTHING to eat!!”
An afternoon group comes at 1:15 and we go through all the motions again. The kids never cease to amaze me. There are a few mornings where six seems impossibly early and I wonder what I am doing...and then I get to the project and without fail, there is at least one moment where I share a smile with a kid and feel like the luckiest lady alive. I am entirely overwhelmed by how much I care about these kids each and every day...by how badly I want them to succeed...how thankful I am that someone gave them a chance for an education...and my heart breaks that they may have had to spend their childhood in a garbage dump, and that many children just like them did.
At 4:20 we get back on the chicken bus. I get out my book and giggle to myself as I load my “Mellow Mood” mix for the ride home...there’s simply nothing Mellow about any of it.
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