Carlos will say that every experience for visitors to Santo Domingo de Onzole is different, and every “re-entry” experience is different. By re-entry, he (and I) refer to re-entry into our daily lives, which are so different from our time in Santo Domingo de Onzole. For me, this re-entry has made first think about the kids.
To set some context of why it feels like re-entry: this week, the power went out three times, stretching twice from evening until the next afternoon, and one time until the next evening. We ate and played and read and talked by candlelight. There’s no running water. These aren’t really enormous hardships, honestly, but to have no access to phone or internet is somewhat jarring, at least to me. I’m so accustomed to communicating with people in personal and work relationships, interacting with information, and fooling around on social media, that my life is very different when I’m “off the grid”.
I do different things when I’m #upthonzole. I spent my afternoons and evenings this year playing with kids, looking through microscopes, dancing, taking goofy pictures, drawing, doing physics, chemistry, and biology, talking about teaching and professional development, and reading books.
From that starting point, this blog can go in many different directions. My personal re-entry has come in through my experience with the kids. I’m going to try to write shorter blogs this time, and more. I want to talk about the kids in general, and then look at some of them more deeply over time. I’ll start with some of the younger kids I played with–the children. But over time I’d like to talk about some of the older kids, like Alex, who seems to have become even smarter and more charismatic then when I wrote about him last year. Or Tori, who never had time to ask enough questions in class and finally took me up on the offer to come and ask any question he liked outside of class. (All names except Alex are pseudonyms).
With the exception of Alex and a few other kids, last summer seemed like just a fog of cute and fun kids. Reflecting on the trip tonight, I realize that fog cleared into individuals this year–kids as diverse as kids here–kids with assets and needs. Jaile, who I remembered last year as a friendly kid who liked to ride on my shoulders, became more complex this year, as I learned about his learning struggles. Bayan, who I had only remembered as Alex’s younger brother, was around a lot this year, and I became aware of his quiet resolve and steely concentration. Joseph, I learned, has incredible rhythm and can basically drum on anything and dance to anything.
The girls too, like Saira and Mainne, became more unique and I recognized them as people who I knew last year, but hadn’t seen as clearly. And especially Suzana. Since I visited her father’s farm and ate lunch and dinner at her house, I got to interact with Suzana in different settings than other kids. Suzana has a mild physical disability, one that I barely noticed last year because of her skill in working around it. This year, I think I noticed it less, as I saw how much more there was to her.
So this is just the start. The fog of cuteness is lifting to reveal individuals who are growing and developing like kids do everywhere, in a context that shapes them and that they are shaping. I’m going to try to write about some of them. I’ll start with Jaile.
If you’re interested in learning more about the Santo Domingo de Onzole community, visit the Onzole River Project homepage. To learn more about the group I went with, visit the homepage of Teachers2Teachers-Global
Darwin's Apostle 