The End of Part 1

With a little over a week to go before I leave Benque for home for the holidays, I couldn’t be more of a mix of emotions. I’m excited to see my family and friends. I am excited to see the Christmas Season, for to admit it, it’s really difficult to get into the Christmas season when the temperature is still about 70 degrees and the flowers are still in bloom. And I am so proud of my progress here. My students have made real progress in their English. They know what a sentence fragment is; know the meaning of the word ‘crumple’ and can even write poetry. We discovered a joy for reading, creativity in writing, and confidence in speaking that I can only hope to foster in the next 5 months when I make my return. And to top it all off, I feel a tinge of sadness that I am leaving.

I am making my return in just 3 short weeks, and thus it seems silly to be having this feeling, I mean, am I not going to my real home? With my family, friends, hot showers, cheese, and Christmas cheer all waiting for me? It seems almost irrational to have this feeling. But I have it, and as I was walking home from school at the end of a long day of students, papers, and chalk dust, I began to understand why.

The town of Benque is a relatively small town, in comparison to my hometown of Louisville, KY, and I make the same paths everyday—from home to school, school to church, church to home. The streets have become familiar to me now, as have the people. We exchange greetings and smiles as we pass each other in the streets, and, when running into the occasional student, we exchange hugs. The students at school, the other teachers and volunteers, the SOLT community, and the many varied people in the town that I see, talk to, or play “trompos” with, have become a part of me, and I a part of them. I am no longer just a small gringo here to lap up a little culture and humility, but a teacher, a friend, and to some, a sister. Even when taking the public transit I will run into people that I know, whether it is through the school or through the Church. Belize is not my long term home, and probably will never be, but at this moment, it is home. For it is here that I truly feel a part of something, and in a very special way a part of the community. The people have accepted me as the norm in their lives and their hearts, and it is such a blessing to know that there will always be a place for me here.

As far as my own personal successes, there are so many that it would be difficult to recount them all here. I have done things that I never thought that I would be brave enough, or ever have the opportunity to do in my life. I held a shark, bathed in a river, exterminated a rat, and rode a motorcycle. I spoke in public about myself and about my faith (something I would have never done before), danced in front of an audience of screaming students, played street basketball, and ran a 5K. These might seem inconsequential to some, but to me, they are moments that I may never forget. I came here feeling as if Benque was the last place I would ever want to be in the world, but now that I have spent time here, and had so many varied experiences, it would be difficult for me to imagine my life without this opportunity.

But among all these things, the thing that has meant the most to me have been the people I have met. Nothing can bring my heart more pleasure than to hear a student come up to me and say, “Miss, I’m going to miss you when you are gone.” Or, “Miss, you are like a sister to me!” Just to get a hint that my presence here, with all of the struggles and speed bumps, has had an inkling of an impact, means that I have done something right.

I wanted to immerse myself. I wanted to form relationships. I wanted to make a difference. But most of all I wanted to lose myself to find myself. I must admit, these are not accomplished in full, but I’m not disappointed—its only the end of the first half, and there’s still so much more to be done.

Letter's Home

Often plans are made to be changed, and my plans for Belize were enhanced in a great way when I was invited back to the states for an interview for graduate school. The school’s reluctance to reschedule due to my circumstances gave me an excuse to make it home for one of the happiest and most amazing experiences of my life—the birth of my first nephew, Noah. It was a whirlwind of a weekend, and when I returned to Benque, it all seemed like I had lived a very vivid dream of baby’s being born and hot-water showers.

One of the most difficult things for me to do before I was able to make this short journey was to tell my students that I was leaving. It would be the first time I was to be gone, and I wanted to make certain that they would not think that I was simply abandoning them. I told them the whole story—the interview, the dreams of being a doctor, the very pregnant sister and my yearning to be with her. They were nothing but understanding and encouraging, but mostly they were excited about the possibility of free class periods.

The days before my departure quickly approached, and my anticipation and nerves were building exponentially, but at the same time I felt bothered at the thought of it. It felt like I was leaving right in the middle of some important business. I had Bible history to teach, Marian doctrine, Verb tenses, and reading comprehension. And I was just going to bolt for 2 days of class and miss out on all that opportunity. But alas, the trip was set, and I had to postpone my class projects for another week. I entrusted my class to capable substitutes with ample instructions, and bid my hasty farewells.

As I was about to leave my English class for the last time before my trip, two students approached me with letters.

“What are these?” I asked

“Just letters for your family, to tell them how you are doing here”

And of course I took them. By the end of the day there were three letters (and ample requests for “sweets” and “skinny jeans,” but those were just ignored), just waiting to be carted through planes and customs and eventually to the hands of my parents. They had been sealed by their authors, and I glanced at the home-made and decorated envelopes many times during my long day of travel, burning with curiousity about what the contents might be.

As soon as I was leaving the airport in Cincinnati, having been reunited with my family, I was asking them to open and read them, for I couldn’t contain it any longer. The letters were written to thank my family for having “shared your daughter with us.” “I like the way she explains things” they said about my teaching, as well as “She is very playful.” They talked about their own lives, their aspirations, and their own struggles. They opened themselves up to people they didn’t know in order to show their gratitude that was in no way asked for, and to share themselves with others to make this world one step smaller. To state the obvious, I was moved beyond description.

This was such a small act, but it is such a huge demonstration of the generosity of my students. I did not ask them to do this, and I hope that I would never make them feel required to feel gratitude for my being there. They simply did it as a gift for me, and it did nothing but encourage me that I must be doing something right in my teaching, and to give me every reason to make my hasty goodbyes to my family and warm showers and return to Benque before Monday classes began again.

The first day back was met with jetlag and many papers to grade; but the moment I stepped into that classroom and heard the excited chatter of students who were all a twitter to tell me about the days without me washed all worries away. I was home again, and where I am meant to be.