Adventure in
Nicaragua
My painters for this project were
American volunteers mostly from Kentucky and my Tico (Costa Rican)
friends. I had lots of volunteers, more than I really
needed. In fact, I had so many volunteers that people in other
projects mumbled that they couldn't get their work done as
efficiently. Of course, part of that was because all of the other
projects involved cement and tropical sunshine. Now seriously,
what would you rather do? Paint with a fan blowing on you (really
it was meant to help dry the paint) or swelter with the heat, sun, and
insects. Did I say insects? Yes, there were unusual numbers
of gnat-like creatures. They didn't wander solo either. They
festered and swarmed in packs, usually around my face. And, there
were mosquitoes in the mix, too. All too often, the volunteers (me
included) received souvenirs from the mosquitoes in order to remember
the Nicaraguan experience. So, I repeat, I had lots of volunteers.
I felt some guilt that there were no Nicaraguans involved in the project. Gathering volunteers was out of my hands. I refuse to do a mural by myself, but I don't often have control over who my helpers are. The school getting the murals was run by the orphanage, Cicrin, but most of those attending the school were from the local community. This school was an elementary school with a host of kids ten and under while most of the orphans were teenagers.
However and fortunately, many of the students at the school were not going to be denied. And, I was so pleased to welcome them. There was a reason for that, but it happened much earlier and in Europe. I thoroughly enjoyed painting with orphans in Romania. It was a wonderful couple of days for me and I knew it. But, a Romanian man told me something I'd never forget. The mural was a special time for me, but it was one of so many special times for me. My murals provided me opportunities around the world that I never imagined. However, for these orphans, these few days were a highlight of their lives that they would always remember. When you are someone's highlight, it's a very humbling experience. So, I guess it's easy to understand why I made sure these little kids got to paint when they were so anxious to help.
I've mentioned several times that I don't have the necessary cooking gene for success in the kitchen. Well, it's not the only gene I lack. There is also the foreign language gene. In varying degrees, I've studied French, German, Spanish, Tagalog, Arabic, and Dutch. They don't work for me. None of them. If I had that gene, perhaps the lessons would stick. Perhaps people wouldn't make fun of me when I tried to communicate in something other than English. Perhaps I wouldn't feel "gene deprived". But, I am and so I can't habla, parlez, spreken, or speak those languages with any sense of mastery.
Of all the languages I've studied, I think I have the most success with Spanish. And, little kids don't seem to mind Spanish mistakes as long as they are able to communicate, so I had a magnificent time with my little painters. I was so pleased that I was able to speak -- and joke -- with kids in a second language. First, I asked if they were intelligent. Who says no to that? Then I showed then a three step process for carefully applying paint to the mural. Of course, I highly praised those who proved their intelligence.
I asked one boy how old he was, ten, and then I told him that he was so very old. His friend smiled and said, "I'm eight and I'm young." I agreed with him, instantly, but then I reminded him what would happen in two years. Everyone laughed. And so, that's how my painting session went. Everyone who wanted a turn got one, and everyone left with a smile. Me included.
I felt some guilt that there were no Nicaraguans involved in the project. Gathering volunteers was out of my hands. I refuse to do a mural by myself, but I don't often have control over who my helpers are. The school getting the murals was run by the orphanage, Cicrin, but most of those attending the school were from the local community. This school was an elementary school with a host of kids ten and under while most of the orphans were teenagers.
However and fortunately, many of the students at the school were not going to be denied. And, I was so pleased to welcome them. There was a reason for that, but it happened much earlier and in Europe. I thoroughly enjoyed painting with orphans in Romania. It was a wonderful couple of days for me and I knew it. But, a Romanian man told me something I'd never forget. The mural was a special time for me, but it was one of so many special times for me. My murals provided me opportunities around the world that I never imagined. However, for these orphans, these few days were a highlight of their lives that they would always remember. When you are someone's highlight, it's a very humbling experience. So, I guess it's easy to understand why I made sure these little kids got to paint when they were so anxious to help.
I've mentioned several times that I don't have the necessary cooking gene for success in the kitchen. Well, it's not the only gene I lack. There is also the foreign language gene. In varying degrees, I've studied French, German, Spanish, Tagalog, Arabic, and Dutch. They don't work for me. None of them. If I had that gene, perhaps the lessons would stick. Perhaps people wouldn't make fun of me when I tried to communicate in something other than English. Perhaps I wouldn't feel "gene deprived". But, I am and so I can't habla, parlez, spreken, or speak those languages with any sense of mastery.
Of all the languages I've studied, I think I have the most success with Spanish. And, little kids don't seem to mind Spanish mistakes as long as they are able to communicate, so I had a magnificent time with my little painters. I was so pleased that I was able to speak -- and joke -- with kids in a second language. First, I asked if they were intelligent. Who says no to that? Then I showed then a three step process for carefully applying paint to the mural. Of course, I highly praised those who proved their intelligence.
I asked one boy how old he was, ten, and then I told him that he was so very old. His friend smiled and said, "I'm eight and I'm young." I agreed with him, instantly, but then I reminded him what would happen in two years. Everyone laughed. And so, that's how my painting session went. Everyone who wanted a turn got one, and everyone left with a smile. Me included.