Exactly

When I first came here in March, Dagner stole my heart. Oh my goodness that boy. Every single time I looked at him he would burst into this adorable smile. I still remember how I begged him to take a picture with me and he didn’t want to. But then, on our last Saturday here, he came up to me and said he would take a picture. I was so excited.

I was so sad to say good-bye to him, and he was one of the first faces I looked for when I came back in July. But let me tell you.

I thought I loved him then.

The other day I was giving my English students a test of counting from one to fifteen. For each student, I would take them into the room next door and have them count to me. I called out Dagner. Of course he got 100%, first try. He is a genius and a half.

After he took his test, I said

Dagner can I tell you something? I remember when I came in March every time I looked at you you burst into this huge smile.

Of course, right then, he did just that.

And I just remember thinking, Dagner is the sweetest kid! And I love him! But Dagner, oh my goodness! Now that I really know you, I just love you so so much more.

He gave me a huge hug.

I am going to miss you so much when I leave. How am I going to live without my Dagner?

Oh me too, Teacher. I am going to miss you so much.

So that’s Dagner. Precious as can be. His little brother, Reuben, lives with me and if you look cute and adorable up in the dictionary I guarantee you will find a picture of his face.

THAT CHILD.

He swims like a fish. And he is as sweet as ice cream. So I call him my “pescado helado.” He giggles every time. Also his first night here he didn’t have a blanket, so I let him borrow my pink and orange fuzzy one. Needless to say, he still sleeps with it. Because nothing is cuter than little Reuben in a pink and orange fuzzy blanket.

And then there’s Fabiola, their cousin. She’s my girl. She’s the one who always calls me “Mami Darian” and comes to visit me and happens to hold my heart.

My word I love that girl.

And then….there is Yucet, who is cousins with all three of them.

Yucet (along with Reuben) is new this semester.

He’s fourteen years old.

When he first came, Yucet was incredibly homesick. He was always walking around by himself, head down, hands in his pockets. Or he would be at the road, thinking about running away.

He really wanted to. He missed his home. And he was not happy here.

I guess that because I know his cousins and how incredibly precious they are, I was really drawn to Yucet from the beginning.

I would try to talk to him at meals. Or if I saw him around I would ask him how he was doing.

But I can  tell you exactly what our conversation went like. Every time.

Hi Yucet, how are you?

Bad.

Why?

Silence.

I know. Really getting somewhere.

I found out he was incredibly ticklish. So I’m pretty sure I made him laugh a time or two. But I pretty much knew nothing about him except he didn’t want to be here.

Also that he either skipped my math class or showed up late.

So one Saturday, a few weeks after school started, I was sitting in the church playing piano. I looked outside to see Yucet sitting on the ground outside one of the classrooms.

I waved him over, but he didn’t want to come.

I kept playing the piano, but a few minutes later I saw that he had made his way near the road.

I decided to get up to see what was going on.

When I walked outside, he was sitting on the ground, head down, crying.

I didn’t know what to do. Every other time I had tried to figure out what was wrong, he had totally ignored me. Acted like the last thing he wanted was to listen to what I had to say.

But at the same time, I just couldn’t get myself to leave this poor boy crying by the road. It just didn’t seem right.

And so? I sat myself down next to Yucet, and I rubbed his back, and I asked him what was wrong.

Of course there was silence.

So I did my best to tell him that it’s easy to miss home in the beginning. I told him that I was really homesick when I got here, too, but now that I know the people I really like it and I’m so glad I’m here. And the same will happen to him.

He didn’t do much more than completely ignore what I was saying, at least so I thought. No response. No eye contact.

Just Yucet and I sitting together on the ground and me constantly debating whether or not to leave.

But I’m telling you. I couldn’t get myself to go.

We sat there for twenty to thirty minutes.

Finally I decided to go back to my house. I stood up and picked him up by his arms.

I’m not leaving you here alone I said.

And so he walked with me.

When we got to my house, I said, you can come in if you want!

But he didn’t. He just kept walking.

And I figured he probably was thinking who is this annoying American and why won’t she leave me alone?

I am happy to announce that ever since then, Yucet and I have become the best of friends.

He comes to visit me at my house. All. The. Time.

In fact, the other morning he came so early I hadn’t even gotten out of bed.

He’s always at class. In fact, he stays afterward quite often and I help him with his homework. And might I just say he scored wonderfully on his test.

Our conversations have definitely gotten deeper and whenever I ask him how he’s doing and he says bad? He has a giant smile on his face and I don’t believe a word of it.

The other day I saw him walking around aimlessly.

Yucet what are you doing?

I’m looking for you!

I was at his house the other night and he said something to me in his native language. I looked at Dagner, who understands.

He said he loves you, Teacher.

And my goodness. I love Yucet. So much. Whenever I left for our mini-vacation in La Paz, I hugged him good-bye at least five times. Right before I left I went up to him and said You better be here when I get back. No running away. I’m not coming back here without my Yucet.

He laughed. I’ll be here, Teacher.

And all this started the day I sat with him outside by the road, not wanting to leave him alone but thinking the whole entire time

I should leave. He doesn’t want me here.

And it makes me wonder how many times we don’t do something for someone else because we are scared they will reject it when

It’s exactly what they want.

It’s exactly what they need.

And who knows, maybe that person will be the one who gets up early to visit you, who walks around looking for you, and who throws his little arms around you and kisses you on the cheek and says

I love you, Teacher.

The Most Precious Place

March 24

Two days ago marked eight months that I have been in Bolivia.

Today marks two months until I will be heading home.

Home as in my family in America, because I will be leaving this home far behind. Well, physically speaking. I’ll be taking all these little humans back with me in my heart. I promise you that.

It seems like both yesterday and a lifetime ago that I was lying in my tent those first couple weeks. I had the screen tightly zipped shut as to prevent any creepy, unknown creatures from entering. And I would stare up at my ceiling, which is actually just the green material of my tent, counting down the months until I would be back home. I dreaded my cold showers. I refused to walk anywhere barefoot. More than anything I just wanted a nice big plate of lasagna and doughnuts and yellow curry from Thai Rain. And I understood a whole lot of nothing when it came to Spanish.

I didn’t know how I would make it here so long. There was a big part of me that just wanted to call it quits and get on that plane ride home. It seemed surreal that almost an entire year of jungle living and foreign language and separation from my family lay ahead.

And now, well, here I am. Counting down the days.

That’s about how fast it flew by.

And I think back on my self and laugh at the things I thought were oh so big and oh so important.

I have a gaping hole in my tent that gets bigger every day. I throw a skirt over it at night because a tarantula could probably creep in. But it probably falls off some nights and you know. It’s literally whatever.

I walk around barefoot all the time. Well, except for in the bathroom. That, my friends, shall never happen.

Um I love rice. Rice is seriously so yummy. And this morning I ate plain tomatoes just because I wanted to.

Also cold showers are probably the most refreshing things in the world.

And, well, when it comes to the language? I’ve come pretty far actually. Yeah I am far from fluent. But I can communicate and understand and I’m so thankful for that because

the things these kids say.

My goodness. They are the most clever, hysterical, precious little beings in the world and

my word how I love them.

This week Candace, Ashley, Kevin and I are in La Paz for a mini-vacation. Familia Feliz is on a one and a half week break and so we headed out for six days of traveling and relaxing and, well, just taking care of ourselves for a little while.

It was a really spare of the moment decision. We decided to do it for real Monday, and Tuesday night we headed out.

Jahel is staying at Familia Feliz all of vacation. I had promised him I would take him to town, which I still will but later than expected. Also he’s just my boy and comes over to visit all the time. When I told him I was leaving he grabbed me and said, No. No. No. I’m never letting you go. You’re not going to La Paz. He sat with me, holding my hand, for at least twenty minutes afterward.

Amy came up to me, Teacher Darian? Will you take me with you in your backpack?

My little Josue cried when I told him I was leaving. Josue, I’ll be back in six days. I promise.

Eliseo came running over to me, asking me for my phone number so we could message over break.

Fabiola looked up at me when I told her I was leaving in complete silence. For the longest time. And then she hugged me. And my word that girl. If someone in this world has a heart of gold, it’s Fabiola.

I was running super late. I wasn’t even all the way packed but everywhere any of the four of us went, we were swarmed by kids hugging us and begging us not to go.

Begging us not to leave.

I finally made it to my house, Alan tagging along. He sat with me while I threw my last things together and helped me carry my bag to the road because that’s just who he is.

And when I made it to the road, there waited so many of the kids.

So many.

And they stood out there with the four of us as we waited for the taxi.

Hugging us goodbye again and again and again.

All I did for that thirty minutes was hug children and tell them goodbye just one more time and tell them I love them and take pictures with them and hear them tell me they love me and think

oh my goodness. How in the world. How, of all the places, am I here right now? With you? And I don’t even speak your language perfectly and you know I’m only here for a short time and I come from such a different background than you and

sweet children why in the world do you love me so much?

Finally the taxi came. Well, more like a little motor trailer thing. But you know, it works.

We hopped on and, as we drove away, I saw all those kids standing there next to the Familia Feliz sign, waving goodbye.

And I’m telling you, I don’t know how I’m going to do it in May.

Because I love being here in La Paz. I love the hot showers and the nice hotel room and the relaxing and the good food.

But oh my goodness I cannot wait to be back with those kids again.

So tell me how I am going to be able to say good-bye in May, when the separation ahead is far more than six days.

I picture those last goodbyes. I picture Jahel throwing his arms around me and looking up at me with his big brown eyes that one last time and I think of something else because I can’t go there.

Oh and then I think of my little boys. Little Rodrigo or Fermin or Hugo or any of them and their little bodies and picking them up and hugging them and thinking

Who’s gonna tuck you in tonight?

Who’s gonna give you bandaids even though you don’t really need them?

Who’s gonna laugh at the silly things you do and say?

And I think of something else.

I think of Fabiola, who calls me Mami Darian every time she talks to me, and what it will be like to leave my daughter so far behind

And I think of something else.

But I would not give this up for a thing in the world. Nothing could compare.

And I think back to eight months ago. I think to myself lying in my tent counting down the months till I would be out of here.

And now I find myself dreading the goodbye. Unable to bear the thought of it.

But my goodness I have two months ahead. Two more months with the most precious children in the world.

And so I’ll do my best not to think of the good-bye.

Instead I will treasure every day, every moment

because I swear

this place I used to want to leave

has become the most precious place in the world to me.

At the road waiting for a taxi.

Mami

March 4

Few things touch my heart as much here as when a kid calls me mommy.

Benjo is fifteen or sixteen years old. Oh my goodness everyone in the world needs to know someone like Benjo. He is who he is. He is funny and clever and intelligent and kind. I love teaching him. We joked around with each other last semester, but ever since I’ve had him in class we have really become buds.

We have this ongoing joke because he jokingly took one of my gel pens (which I let him keep) and last semester I gave him my baseball cap as he really liked it and so every time he asks me for anything at all I say Really Benjo? You want that, too? You just want all my things? Do you want my clothes? Do you want my house?

Might sound not so funny but hey it makes him laugh and for joking around in Spanish I’d give myself an A+.

The other day I was sitting in the library by myself doing paperwork for hours. I was going through to see if all the students had the files they needed. There are 68 students, so it was taking a while. Benjo walked by. I yelled his name through the door to get his attention.

Si, Teacher? he asked, thinking I needed something.

How are you? I asked.

He smiled, walked over, and asked me what I was up to.

We talked for a little while. He tried to teach me the difference between two words in Spanish and I pretended really well that I understood what he was saying. He tipped my chin, smiled at me, and started walking out of the room.

Hey, Benjo! Your mom is really on top of it. She has all your paperwork in.

He looked at me. That’s you, is it not?

What? I asked, thinking he had misunderstood me. Your mom. She has all your paperwork in.

That’s you, is it not?

Ahhhhh I said smiling ear to ear. My son Benjo.

He left the room, that happy Benjo walk, that giant smile covering his face.

Yesterday little Josue was sitting next to me at the table. Bismar, a kid from last semester who holds the hearts of so many, was being ridiculous. Josue looked at me.

Your son is crazy, Teacher.

I laughed. Josue, what am I going to do with my son?

He sat a little closer to me and put his little arms around my neck.

I’m your son too, right Teacher?

Yes, Josue. You’re my son too.

Tonight during worship he gave me a giant hug and said I’m never letting go. I’m staying right here with my mom.

Since I live with the little boys, I pretty much spend most of my time with boys. Almost everything is segregated here. We sit separately for meals, for worships. We swim in different parts of the river.

But somehow I have managed to get really close to Fabiola. She was one of my students last semester. Every morning she would walk into class, throw her arms around me and say I love you so much, Teacher.

She wouldn’t go to recess without a hug and telling me how much she loved me.

Before I knew it she called me mom.

But this semester, I haven’t seen her as much as I haven’t had class with her. I can truly say I miss her. She is so joyful.

Thankfully she has come to visit me a few times at my house. And as a result, we are still close. And she still calls me mom.

Oh, Mami Darian. Te quiero mucho, Teacher. Te quiero mucho.

Tonight after supper I was walking out of the Big House when I saw her walking in. I held out my arms for a hug, but the normal smile didn’t stretch across her sweet face.

How are you? I asked. She didn’t respond.

Fabiola is always a bundle of laughter and joy, so I knew something was really wrong.

I took her outside and sat beside her on the step. She wouldn’t talk. Before I knew it kids were gathered all around, screaming and shouting and asking me questions and Fabiola just leaned her arm against my leg and her head on her hand and cried. After a little bit I took her over to another place, far away from everyone else.

She laid her head in my lap and lost control. She was really crying.

Fabiola, what’s wrong? I want to help you but I can’t when I don’t know what’s going on.

She was silent for a long time. Finally I heard her little voice speak through the tears.

Teacher?

Yes?

I am not happy here.

Silence.

Is it because there are so many new kids? I know it is a huge change. But Fabiola change takes time. It’s only been three weeks. And you are so sweet and kind. You are going to make friends. You just need to have patience.

Teacher I don’t have any friends.

But Fabiola you will. You will make friends. It will be okay. Just have patience.

Silence. And so, so many tears.

Teacher?

Yes?

I love you.

Oh, Fabiola I love you too.

Teacher?

Yes?

Can I go home with you tonight?

We walked together to her house so I could tell Courtney and Candace where she would be.

On our way over she wrapped her arms around me and said through her tears

I love you so much. I love you so much. You’re my mom. You’re my mom. I have a mom.

She waited outside as I went and told Courtney I had her. By the time I came back out she was a pile of tears. I walked her a little ways away from the house. She was gasping. She was crying so hard.

Fabiola, what’s wrong? Is it the same thing as before?

Teacher, I miss my mom.

Is your mom at your house?

Teacher, my mom is dead.

Please tell me what I am supposed to say.

Tell me what I am supposed to do.

Tell me how I am supposed to comfort this precious, beautiful, broken child.

Tell me how I am supposed to hear her call me mom for three more months and tell her I love her back and then walk away.

Please. Tell me.

Because I don’t know how.

I held her there for a while. Then we walked together to my room. By the time we got to my house she was singing and we lit a candle in my room and laid in my bed and talked and laughed and laughed.

And then I walked her home.

But I can’t stop thinking about her.

Before I left the house, I looked at her asleep in her bed, her little body curled up under her mosquito net, wearing the exact same clothes she wore to worship. I wondered if any of the girls told her goodnight and thought

Oh Fabiola how I really want to be your momma.

The Words I Couldn't Say

March 3

Words are my thing. It’s my love language. A kind letter means so much more to me than an expensive gift ever could.

My career goal is to be a school counselor. I want to have an office in a school where kids can feel welcome to come and talk to me about the good or bad day they might be having and I can be there for them and support them and talk to them.

I love conversation. I love telling people what they mean to me.

So being here and living with these kids who I love

            oh how I love them

so much and having the language barrier between us feels so impairing to me.

It is so frustrating.

It’s funny because I feel like I really know some of these kids. I’ll spend hours with them. And I never really consciously think to myself “Everything we are saying right now is in Spanish.” I guess I am just so used to it that it goes unnoticed now.

But sometimes I just stop and think if I could only talk to you in English. If I could only ask you where you’re from, what you like, what your past is. If I could only listen to your story.

I’ve really realized these past couple weeks that my Spanish has gotten a lot better. For one, the kids make me laugh so much. They say the funniest things. And I know they’ve always been funny, I just didn’t use to get their jokes.

I’m also starting to understand a lot more. Miguel has started doing the announcements every morning for staff in Spanish, and I almost always understand everything he is saying. Teaching math in Spanish really hasn’t been that difficult. And whenever I give my little boys a good talkin’ to? I can pretty much say exactly what I want to.

Which usually consists of please stop tattling Elvis or stop everything you’re doing right now Byron or Rodrigo please just one kiss goodnight. I don’t want your slobber all over my face. Oh you’re so cute I love you.

There is a kid here named Armando. I know I have mentioned him before. He’s definitely one of the kids here who really sticks out to me. He is eleven years old but acts and looks at least fourteen. I kid you not. When I think about how he is only one year older than some of my boys, it stops me in my tracks every time.

He is intelligent. Incredibly intelligent. At only eleven he is already in ninth grade. Four years ahead. He is sweet and funny and an incredible leader and, might I just say, quite a little stud muffin.

Armando is a tough kid. I remember when I met him in March and we were going around in a circle hugging all the kids Friday night and Victoria, the sm who was here last year, gave him a kiss on the cheek.

He loves it she said to me, smiling, as he made a disgusted face.

Oh my. I thought. I’ll never be able to do that. He’s not that kind of kid.

I never let Armando walk by without a giant hug. Oh, but Teacher he’ll say, and I’ll kiss him on the cheek like Victoria did. Because he loves it.

The other day I was playing the piano (YES WE HAVE A BRAND NEW KEYBOARD) after church and everyone had left but Miguel and Armando. Miguel sat down and started talking to Armando. I heard him start to cry. I kept playing, thinking it was okay for me to stay when soon enough he broke into sobs. He was out of control. He was heaving.

I quietly turned off the piano and walked out of the church, not wanting to embarrass him.

It was all I could think about. What was wrong with sweet, tough Armando? I had never seen him cry.

The next day I asked Miguel what was upsetting Armando. He told me he had asked Armando what was wrong and he said he was too upset to talk. So he wrote it down. On the top of the paper he wrote, “My life story” and then wrote about all these things he has gone through. He wrote about how he has a handicapped sister and is worried about her. He doesn’t know where she is or if she’s getting care. He wrote about several other things. And then, at the very end, he wrote “I just want a mom.”

Armando has never had a mom. He feels abandoned and unloved and rejected.

I can’t. I don’t know how to explain how much I do not understand why anyone would not want these children who are abandoned.

Who could ever not want Armando?

And then, to know that this incredible, beautiful, talented child feels insecure because of it? It breaks my heart. A thousand times over.

Wednesday, a few days later, I gave my ninth grade class a test. We were one short seat in class, and it happened to be Armando who didn’t have one. He sat down in the back of the classroom and said he wouldn’t take his test because he didn’t have a seat.

I walked over to him after everyone else had started and told him he needed to either take the test or look for a chair.

He said he had looked and there wasn’t one.

 I told him he needed to take the test or he would get a zero.

He said he would take the zero.

After a few minutes I walked over, grabbed him by the arm, and told him I’d look for a seat with him. We couldn’t find one. When we got back to the classroom I realized he could use the one under my marker board, and so he did.

But it was already twenty minutes into the forty minute class period.

He started his test. He didn’t understand the first few problems, so he crumpled up his paper and said he wouldn’t take it.

He laid his head on the desk and by the end of the class period he was crying.

Ah I don’t even know how to explain how I feel in these kind of situations. I just want to shake these kids and scream in their ears how intelligent they are and how much they are capable of and how I just want to help you help you help you. That’s literally all I want to do.

I left, feeling discouraged about Armando.

Later that night I was in my room and heard Is Teacher Darian here? I need to talk to her outside my door.

It was Armando.

I walked outside.

Teacher I want to take my test.

Okay Armando. Here’s the thing. Tuesday during the review you weren’t paying attention. Even after that I told you if you came by my house that night I would review with you. You didn’t come. Then today you refused to take your test. And now you are asking me to give up my free time to give you your test after all of that. Do you see the problem with this?

He smiled awkwardly and said he did.

I told him I would think about it.

You know, that thing you say when you know you’re gonna let the kid retake the test.

Here’s the thing. I know that according to rules and stuff I shouldn’t let him retake it. But he is eleven. He is a freshman in highschool at eleven years old. And on top of that he has been really upset and I know why. It’s because he wants a mom. Something no eleven year old should have to live without.

And if my options are not letting him retake the test and making him feel like his grade is bad and getting even more discouraged or letting him retake the test and score high like I know he will and feel enabled and motivated?

Well, I’m going to let him retake the test.

I went to study hall that night to help some kids with their homework. While I was there Armando came over and asked me if he could retake his test. Again.

I took him outside. I put my arms on his shoulders.

Armando listen to me. Here’s the thing. I don’t really care about your test. It’s not that important. You know what is important to me? You. You are important to me. You were crying in class today. That’s what makes me worried. Not your test. What’s wrong?

He looked at me. So much sadness in his eyes.

Armando I only want to help. Do you think I like cold showers and rice soup? I don’t like Bolivia. I like you kids. All us volunteers aren’t here for Bolivia. We are here for you kids. That is the only reason. I only want to help you. That is all I want to do.

You can’t help me with my problem. Noone can.

What’s wrong Armando?

It’s something personal in my life.

Well, God can help you.

No. God can’t help me. Noone can.

Armando, God can help you.

No. Noone can.

Well Armando I want to help you. That’s all I want to do. Because you are an incredible kid. You are smart and kind. And all I want to do is help you. I love you so so much.

He had tears in his eyes. He gave me a hug. And he went back to study hall.

And today he came into class determined as ever and he did wonderfully on his test. I knew he would.

He even brought a baby bird to class that serenaded us all the way through the forty minutes.

Every time I see him I think about how he wants a mom. And I hope that I can be a small fraction of the mom he needs. Make his life a little brighter, his load a little lighter.

I hope that maybe some of what I say and do will get through to him and show him that even though I may not be exactly what he wants, I care. More than he could ever know.

And I think back to our conversation, and realize I had words.

I had so much to say to him, and I was able to say some of it.

But not all.

There were words I couldn’t say.

You deserve so much more than what you were given. You don’t deserve to feel rejected. And you don’t know how much it is going to break my heart to be here with you and love you as much as I do and then leave you, too. I never want to leave you. Oh I never want to leave you. But you, sweet boy? You will be in my heart forever, Armando. Forever and ever and ever.