Today is Sunday. I haven’t cried yet, so I think it’s going well. The high school boys have gotten really comfortable with me – like, a little too comfortable. I’ve been guiding them in the art of making cob (clay, dirt, water, hay – awesome natural building material) for the past week. We’ve had some really in depth conversations about globalization, immigration, environmental issues, rating make out sessions and why it’d be so gross to swap gum with a girl but not to make out with her. It’s challenging to take charge of someone that you brush your teeth next to in the mornings…and who is an adolescent male who would much rather discuss the merits of Boondock Saints than grind clay for 3 hours straight. I’m ragging on them a lot, but I haven’t hung out with high school boys in a long time and I am finding it to be surprisingly pleasant and certainly quite entertaining.
Many of them are finding a deeper connection with our work here - they are getting angry and overwhelmed by the problems we discuss and searching for profound ways to make changes (beyond the cliché options of flushing less and writing a congressman). Others are good at shoveling, but seem confused by the changes in their bodies and not sure how to deal with the world – these are more easily identifiable as the ones who laugh like Scooby Doo.
Each night they sit around and smoke cigars and reflect upon what they’ve learned. This is my favorite part of the job. Hands go up with comments and questions of pessimism, frustration, confusion, inspiration; and then they take the discussion back to their rooms to continue pounding into the problems that face our generation. Jay told them, “Don’t get overwhelmed. Pick one thing that inspires you. One thing that really pisses you off and focus on that.” We want them to connect and to feel. We realize that most will go back home and start flushing the toilet more often and continue buying Nike shoes and GMO corn. But perhaps they will weave some of the lessons from this adventure into their own passions and their own paths. And that’s the cool part to think about.
On Friday we had to plan for yesterday’s soccer tournament/campout. So we’re planning and planning inside Ina’s house, and all of a sudden a storm swoops in and we have 2 minutes to save 25 people from the impending squall. So we scrap the meeting and I find myself in the driver’s seat of our 15 passenger van with 19 boys in the back. They limit their harassment as I slowly drive us home to Cholula in the downpour through the small windy roads of Tecuanipan. I was more nervous to get pulled over by a corrupt cop looking for a few bucks (or more than that, with 20 white, non-Spanish-speaking tourists) than I was to get popped by a dumptruck or a pothole. While it was one of the more nerve-wracking moments of the week, we made it home and my fingers eventually uncurled from the meaty part of my hand.
Yesterday was the soccer tournament. I and I spent most of my morning running all over the house coordinating people and looking for various necessities. Did I mention that I find it much more taxing to manage a bunch of people than it is to just do the work myself? Not having to answer lots of questions but just making my own cob all day or finding the dang tents myself is a lot less draining. I’m going to bed exhausted all this week. And thank the Lord that I’m going to bed here in the house. Originally I was supposed to also camp out at the land, but wound up being asked to help guide a group around Puebla and go to dinner with them. Score. So I am writing this from the warm and quiet house in the last moments before some of the absolutely drenched boys trudge back from their abandoned and flooded campground. Listening to the guys in the back of the van play punch buggy and make women’s tennis grunts every time we went over a speed bump was by no means as annoying as sitting in the rain with seventy grumpy boys. One of the teachers pleaded with the whole van to be quiet – offered them everything in her purse from suckers and gum to even a desparate promotion of savory Rolaids – but to no avail. We finally arrived and their shouts subsided as we meandered through the markets. I took a power nap on a bench while they bought saxophone bubble blowers, tequila-filled chocolates and Mexican sweat shirts.
After dinner and a mad dash through another rainstorm and I fell into bed, only to wake up this morning and start all over again. We’re having a huge party for the camp boys and my boss’s dad got here early and plopped half of a pig on the kitchen table. He spread the entire skin out over the counter and started shaving the hairs off with a razor, while the snout rested on the open flame of the stove. The whole house smells like raw pork gut. I can’t really explain the stench, but I assure you that you don’t really want me to. I’m trying to find work to do upstairs and far from the kitchen until the meat actually smells like it’s roasting. Bleah.
I’m running on pure coffee. At least it’s delicious organic coffee, but I guess I better go back to work before my steam runs out. The boys will be back soon and I’m supposed to be doing about 487 different things (including helping translate for this couple that brought their beautiful woven artwork up from Oaxaca to sell to the groups – SO gorgeous and cool). I’m crossing my fingers that I can at least go watch the last game of my Pachamamas men’s regionals (ultimate) at one o’clock, but I’m not holding my breath.
Life is so good. Have a great day guys – thanks for reading.
Tequila filled chocolates?!
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