Victor and I, and the canasto he taught me how to make
“It was in this last month that I really began to get pleasure from things I hadn’t yet fully appreciated. The trocha ceased to be a chore and a literal pain, and instead became exercise that my body craved, a time for reflection, and an opportunity to see a beautiful view every morning, the kind of view that takes me an hour or more to drive to where I live in the States. Pelo de gato became a way to make the world more beautiful, more shimmering, more reflective in the literal and figurative sense. The sunsets only got more and more incredible (as they apparently do when December comes around), with more intense and brilliant colors, enhanced by the reflection of the colors against the clouds in the sky. The bird’s calls became my morning song, that I probably won’t realize I enjoyed unless they’re absent from my mornings in the States. My Spanish ability considerably improved, and so my conversations with my family, especially my mom (Edith), became more meaningful and more frequent. My host-dad (Milton) told me my Spanish was fantastic in comparison to the beginning when I came and could only speak “un poquito.” I felt thankful when Elsie (Oldemar’s wife – Oldemar was the coffee farmer I did my service learning project with) told me I was always welcome in the house, to visit or use internet or whatever, and the times she fed me without asking or having to. Every time I walked into my room and my clothes were folded or my bed was made, I was so deeply appreciative of the small things Edith did for me my entire time here. I felt a pang of sadness of leaving every time my host-parents did something very parental: when I said I felt tired on a ride up the trocha and Milton rubbed my forehead like I was his child and said, “Ohhh lo siento!” or when my mom served me a plate of food and for the first time said, “Kendall, tome!” from the kitchen just like she does with her kids, instead of just placing my plate on the table. Or just now when I said goodbye to Milton for the last time, and he said, “Cuando usted viene a Costa Rica, es su casa,” pointing to the floor and an extending an invitation to me (that he may or may not extend to everyone else, but it felt good all the same). I felt an odd sense of perfection and everything falling into place when I was making the canasto with Victor (Edith’s dad) and he was saying how it’s going to be difficult for me to continue weaving after him because I would need to weave to the right, because he is left-handed and was weaving to the left (this was all spoken in tico super-fast Spanish to Edith, so I didn’t understand). Then Edith asked me what hand I use, and I said my left, and I realized what they had been saying and we all started laughing at the coincidence because most people are not left-handed, and Edith said, “Que suerte!” and I was thinking to myself really how lucky I was. I was learning a skill from someone in his 70s who does not speak my language, and we were able to go beyond our differences and bond with this canasto he taught me to make (he told me none of his kids had wanted to learn). Working with Victor was one of the most real experiences that I have had in this entire larger experience. I understood most of the conversation we had and his instructions. I got to see old photos of my host-family all around the house, which I really enjoyed. Kevin and Daniela (my host-siblings) came over a little bit later and Kevin took out a game in the separate room and for the first time I heard him say, “Donde esta Kendall?” because he wanted me to play with him. I was so content and so happy. And that’s just it: I am so lucky, even if I wasn’t left-handed. I am so lucky to have been able to spend three months in this astonishing place completely different from my home.”
