That Beatles song is always running through my head here. People say ¨Adios¨ (¨bye¨) when they pass you in the street. Sometimes I´ll say Hola and the response I get is Adios...
Every place that I have gone in Costa Rica there are roosters that begin crowing before the sun rises and little dogs that bark aggressively and right when you think that you might get bitten a woman appears and yells calmly - as if all is normal and your life was never in danger. I´m going to miss this place.
This place has been a really important life experience for me, where I have learned mostly about myself. Here, I often feel that people are too kind, that I could be doing more or working harder, but any effort that I make or work that I do, the people seem so impressed with me. ¨Que valiente¨ they always say. So valiant. I don´t feel so valiant, but soon I will return to my country and the men will no longer constantly be telling me how beautiful I am and the woman will no longer be so incredibly impressed with my will to work outside and my ability to cook and life will be more how I expect it I suppose. I will be normal, not an anomaly.
I´m going to miss the people so much and the simple lifestyle. They buy milk from their neighbors and slaughter their own chickens and walk more than they ride, the showers are never hot, there isn´t glass covering the windows, people very very rarely eat out of the house, clothes are dried by the sun,... This life is rich. Everybody knows one another and greetings are hugs and kisses on the cheek. There is a lot of love in this community.
On my last day my mind is filled with preparations for leaving, loose ends here that need tying, excitement for something new, anticipation for the unknown, and the difficulty of leaving the people that I´ve met here knowing that I will likely never see most of them again, which comes with the desire to make evident how much I really really love them and the seeming inability to convey how strong my feelings are...
Pura vida, twenties, buenísimo, adios Costa Rica
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Buenicimo! ¿Twanies o Twanies? Pura Vida!
Buenicimo! ¿Twanies o twanies? Pura Vida! (all equal in meaning)
Its usually all three of these things that Jimmy greets you with. Its damn hard being happpy all of the time but when I see Jimmy`s ear to ear smile its like Chirstmas morning. Jimmy pronounced "Yimmy" designed and runs the coffee processing facility called "The Beneficio." He always seems to be busy but has volunteered many hours of his time helping me and my supervisor, Merlin, with the worm compost bins next to beneficio. Lining the bin with plastic and designing a wall to keep rain water out; I can tell that he just loves helping his community. He just loves people. The other spark of life to my daily odd job routine is Merlin. Always helping me out with all of my projects while dealing with a mountain of other work that she has including raising her child Eliot and finishing up college. Amidts the chaos of work she still manages to take us to amazing places around Costa Rica. I really don`t know where she finds the time. When I say "us" I am refering to the other intern Kerry. If not for Kerry I would be going crazy speaking Spanish all day. It is to Kerry that I can let loose with and express my deepest feelings about my experiences here in Copa Buena. All three of these people are keeping my spirits high while we all attempt to solve the days problems. Problems that would be incredibly easy to solve in the states with my dads tool shed are incredibly difficult here. For example, we need to drill a hole in the bottom of the worm bin to set up a PVC pipe drainage system but no one has an extension cord long enough that can reach between the beneficio and the worm bins. Neither does anyone, at least anyone I know, own a cordless drill. Now we are looking into finding a hand powered drill but maybe Merlin or Jimmy will find someone with the proper tools. I just wanted to mention the three people in Copa Buena that help me solve problems, that keep me happy and in the end keep me sane. For them I have an incredible admiration and love for which makes me want to reciprocate, which makes me want to be that much better. Right now my younger brother Justin is pearing over my shoulder but he cant read what I am saying. He just gave me a confused look because he saw me typing his name. Dont worry Justin, I am almost done and then we can go roller skating. Well you heard it, I must be off rolller skating. Con Mucho Amor - Mike
Its usually all three of these things that Jimmy greets you with. Its damn hard being happpy all of the time but when I see Jimmy`s ear to ear smile its like Chirstmas morning. Jimmy pronounced "Yimmy" designed and runs the coffee processing facility called "The Beneficio." He always seems to be busy but has volunteered many hours of his time helping me and my supervisor, Merlin, with the worm compost bins next to beneficio. Lining the bin with plastic and designing a wall to keep rain water out; I can tell that he just loves helping his community. He just loves people. The other spark of life to my daily odd job routine is Merlin. Always helping me out with all of my projects while dealing with a mountain of other work that she has including raising her child Eliot and finishing up college. Amidts the chaos of work she still manages to take us to amazing places around Costa Rica. I really don`t know where she finds the time. When I say "us" I am refering to the other intern Kerry. If not for Kerry I would be going crazy speaking Spanish all day. It is to Kerry that I can let loose with and express my deepest feelings about my experiences here in Copa Buena. All three of these people are keeping my spirits high while we all attempt to solve the days problems. Problems that would be incredibly easy to solve in the states with my dads tool shed are incredibly difficult here. For example, we need to drill a hole in the bottom of the worm bin to set up a PVC pipe drainage system but no one has an extension cord long enough that can reach between the beneficio and the worm bins. Neither does anyone, at least anyone I know, own a cordless drill. Now we are looking into finding a hand powered drill but maybe Merlin or Jimmy will find someone with the proper tools. I just wanted to mention the three people in Copa Buena that help me solve problems, that keep me happy and in the end keep me sane. For them I have an incredible admiration and love for which makes me want to reciprocate, which makes me want to be that much better. Right now my younger brother Justin is pearing over my shoulder but he cant read what I am saying. He just gave me a confused look because he saw me typing his name. Dont worry Justin, I am almost done and then we can go roller skating. Well you heard it, I must be off rolller skating. Con Mucho Amor - Mike
Friday, October 23, 2009
Tierra
"This coffee is going to the Un
ited States!¨ Francisco was glowing with pride. I spent the better part of five hours that morning picking coffee with Francisco on his farm. His entire family participated, which included his wife, Maritza, and his children: Jose 17, Jalitza 15, David 12, and Estefanie 4 - she wasn´t quite as helpful, but she was eager. The process was really beautiful especially when I was able to push aside the coffee-picking stories of spiders that give you huge welts or make you temporarily go blind or the snake bites that send you to the hospital or the catapillars that give you a mean sting. Such tales found little opportunity in my thoughts that morning, as my head filled with the constant Spanish conversation of the entire family and my hands raced to pick as fast as I could - I definately only had Estafanie beat in speed. The job seemed somewhat daunting as we raced through maybe one third of a hectare and the plants stretched across 5 hectares in total. Red is the color of ripe, but the season was early yet, so, like in most agriculture, we picked yellow to red. Some plants had to be thoroughly searched to find a few ripe beans, while others were dripping in red. When the rain began to fall at 11:30 I realized that we would never ´finish´this task. We walked to the house in a steady shower at 12; it was difficult to pass the large clusters of red. The family would return after lunch, but with the rains many of the ripe beans would fall, especially if not picked today - how could they pick everything?
A lot of things poured through my mind that morning with Francisco´s family. His son, Jose, loved working on the farm and was Francisco´s right hand man in every project. He went to school on the weekends and at night so that he could work in the field during the day. He would graduate in December and was planning on going to a university to study criminal justice. Although he hoped to find a job close to home afterwards and have a farm of his own, I wondered how altered Francisco´s life would be without him. I suppose David would step up to fill the gap, and then after that? Was it so different from American farm faimlies? Maritza worked in the field as well, which was different for Costa Rican households. I admired her for having such a large family and taking care of them and working hard outdoors. I wanted every person who says that women belong in the house taking care of their children and home to see her example. This ´house-bound´role for women is accepted here by men and women.
For large amounts of time Francisco talked to me about organic verse sustainable agriculture and how he produced very high quality products that on a rare occassion needed chemicals to prevent disease. He told me that there is no such thing as bad soil, only bad farmers. As he said that to me, I was struggling to keep my balance on the steep graded hill that his coffee was planted on. The ground was wet and incredibly slippery, since the soil here was mostly fine clay that had poor nutrient retaining qualities. His coffee plants did look healthy though and the row crops that he grew rested in rich, black soil that he had built up with compost over the years. He was a good farmer.
Markets drove the workers here like in the rest of the world. Fa
rmers learned to diversify their crops after the coffee crisis that devastated a lot families. Francisco grows over 30 different crops on his land other than coffee and all of them can be sold at different times as the market changes, but they always provide his family with food. Currently, coffee sold to America is his largest income. The other farmer that I work with, William, is glad to be out of the coffee business and only grows and sells row crops. My project with him is helping him start hydroponic lettuce, which Francisco says is for people without soil.
The people in this place are hard workers and take pride in their work, but simultaneously work in a more relaxed state. The ´pura vida´attitude is engaging and I´m glad to get a taste of it. I wish that more people in America could put these faces behind the products they purchase. Every piece of food that is consumed was grown sustainably or insustainably by a farmer or a corporation. Coffee is the second largest commodity that is traded in the world and most people choose cheap coffee that is destroying the land and lining the pockets of incredibly wealthy corporate individuals, as the farmers that produce it can barely feed their families and do not have the diverse crops to supplement their needs. Every choice we make is supporting something and in America we have the choice thanks to consumerism to support something good. Products that are certified Fair Trade mean that the farmers who grew them receive a fair price, that´s how Francisco is able to make money off of his small sustainable farm and not be another victum of NAFTA´s ¨free¨ entirely injust trade.
ited States!¨ Francisco was glowing with pride. I spent the better part of five hours that morning picking coffee with Francisco on his farm. His entire family participated, which included his wife, Maritza, and his children: Jose 17, Jalitza 15, David 12, and Estefanie 4 - she wasn´t quite as helpful, but she was eager. The process was really beautiful especially when I was able to push aside the coffee-picking stories of spiders that give you huge welts or make you temporarily go blind or the snake bites that send you to the hospital or the catapillars that give you a mean sting. Such tales found little opportunity in my thoughts that morning, as my head filled with the constant Spanish conversation of the entire family and my hands raced to pick as fast as I could - I definately only had Estafanie beat in speed. The job seemed somewhat daunting as we raced through maybe one third of a hectare and the plants stretched across 5 hectares in total. Red is the color of ripe, but the season was early yet, so, like in most agriculture, we picked yellow to red. Some plants had to be thoroughly searched to find a few ripe beans, while others were dripping in red. When the rain began to fall at 11:30 I realized that we would never ´finish´this task. We walked to the house in a steady shower at 12; it was difficult to pass the large clusters of red. The family would return after lunch, but with the rains many of the ripe beans would fall, especially if not picked today - how could they pick everything?A lot of things poured through my mind that morning with Francisco´s family. His son, Jose, loved working on the farm and was Francisco´s right hand man in every project. He went to school on the weekends and at night so that he could work in the field during the day. He would graduate in December and was planning on going to a university to study criminal justice. Although he hoped to find a job close to home afterwards and have a farm of his own, I wondered how altered Francisco´s life would be without him. I suppose David would step up to fill the gap, and then after that? Was it so different from American farm faimlies? Maritza worked in the field as well, which was different for Costa Rican households. I admired her for having such a large family and taking care of them and working hard outdoors. I wanted every person who says that women belong in the house taking care of their children and home to see her example. This ´house-bound´role for women is accepted here by men and women.
For large amounts of time Francisco talked to me about organic verse sustainable agriculture and how he produced very high quality products that on a rare occassion needed chemicals to prevent disease. He told me that there is no such thing as bad soil, only bad farmers. As he said that to me, I was struggling to keep my balance on the steep graded hill that his coffee was planted on. The ground was wet and incredibly slippery, since the soil here was mostly fine clay that had poor nutrient retaining qualities. His coffee plants did look healthy though and the row crops that he grew rested in rich, black soil that he had built up with compost over the years. He was a good farmer.
Markets drove the workers here like in the rest of the world. Fa
rmers learned to diversify their crops after the coffee crisis that devastated a lot families. Francisco grows over 30 different crops on his land other than coffee and all of them can be sold at different times as the market changes, but they always provide his family with food. Currently, coffee sold to America is his largest income. The other farmer that I work with, William, is glad to be out of the coffee business and only grows and sells row crops. My project with him is helping him start hydroponic lettuce, which Francisco says is for people without soil.The people in this place are hard workers and take pride in their work, but simultaneously work in a more relaxed state. The ´pura vida´attitude is engaging and I´m glad to get a taste of it. I wish that more people in America could put these faces behind the products they purchase. Every piece of food that is consumed was grown sustainably or insustainably by a farmer or a corporation. Coffee is the second largest commodity that is traded in the world and most people choose cheap coffee that is destroying the land and lining the pockets of incredibly wealthy corporate individuals, as the farmers that produce it can barely feed their families and do not have the diverse crops to supplement their needs. Every choice we make is supporting something and in America we have the choice thanks to consumerism to support something good. Products that are certified Fair Trade mean that the farmers who grew them receive a fair price, that´s how Francisco is able to make money off of his small sustainable farm and not be another victum of NAFTA´s ¨free¨ entirely injust trade.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Teen in kal Na lúum yetal tulak´ Puuk´siikal...
I love you with all my heart mother earth in maya, words I have been singing as I bike or run allone through the wonderfuly beatiful jungle the people here call the Monte. These last few weeks have been incredible with many adventures and heartfelt moments that words from this deeply rooted culture better express my heart, for life has been HACH Málo (How wondefully good!). I have rooted myself in this small community full of good folk, and like a tree that has been rooted in time it bears fruit, and for me the fruits of this experience are only becoming sweeter. For the last weeks I live my days sharing life with the cute and joyful youth at the local school, helping and sharing life about my mountian town in the Sierra Nevadas and the Peace and wonderful people and place of santa cruz. The children are soo egar to speak with me, to play games, and to learn and share life that I often leave school exaugsted for the amount of energy they have. All of which giving me strength and joy to see how powerful and concious this next generation is. Sitting in class and hearing students reading about thier relationship with the enviornment and how humans can better live with our earth toches my heart greatly. I spent a wonderful night reading essays from a class that has formed thier own club to protect the environment and one students essay was titled "I am a hero of the Environment" and gave wonderful insight in how we humans can live as stweards with the animals and plants. Egar to learn english the students have made a deal with me to teach me maya and I teach them english for I tell them how beatiful maya is and how I can better express my heart in spanish than in english and the more maya I learn I realize how deeply rooted the words and the thoughts that the words create. For example how are you in english in spanish is como estas (how are you ) but more of the feeling you hold, and in maya Biix abeel is how are you doing but means how is the road of life you are walking? Wow a expression that is more close to heart how are you doing in life! Helping in different agricultural classes were the kids learn to plant black beans all laughing and just getting to know the earth has made me very content and happy, to know the power of education. I have been sooo foruntate to meet really good folk that are happy and egar to bestow all their magical secrets about amazing plants! I wrote to a friend early to day that I have learned more about plants that my mind can hold so I have been making a ethnobotanical (Human and plant relationship) book to better remeber these plants. I have record over 60 plants and have learn a ton more, but with all these plants we can heal all the diesease of the human body, which is sooo absolutly incredible. I have befriend a handful of herbiteros (maya traditional plant healers) that have taught me much about life and more about plants that are truly magical! They are teaching me how to prepare them, how to use them, and with great respect and gratitude heal. Monday I return to the sweetest woman´s house were I have lived many amazing days playing with her sweet grandchildren, adventruing with here to the Monte and her Solar (home garden system; basically a garden that surrounds the house that is more like a forest that flows like a river into the surrounding forest jungle of the Monte) There we will share more laughter and I will learn more about plants and keep writing in my plant book and colllectin plants for the garden soon to live at the school. I am in the process of healing the land to prepare a future enthnobotancial garden full of magical plants. Because many elders here know the traditional plants and how to heal with them but many of the youth do not know, so working with the community and the school I am soon to plant with the help of the students this garden that will hopefuly help the children to develop more relationships with amazing plants that heal. I am full of my deepest gratitudes to this life, and my heart is full of the love of wonderful people that have really opened up to me. Last night I was invited to dinner my a wonderful family and we laughed and shared srories, ate Chia (my favorite food) drank lemonade. And my friend taught me the begining of a new passion of mine, the Jarrana, the traditional dance, that is sooo fun. I was dressed in my fancyist clothes, a nice street that was gifted to me by the woman I love, a fly sombrero that was loaned to me by a friend for after this dinner celibration I traveld to the Aniversary Celibration of the local School and enjoy the celibration. With a friend dressed in similiar fancy attire we danced infront of the school and large part of the community to the music of Darrengueza, a dance that we have been practicing. I was quite tired that night from my day filled with running and bike, but was reguvinated after all the wonder was shared last night. Wow I feel glad that I have been keeping a journal and remember all my wonderful memories recorded in my heart to share later in this life, so I will share one more story before I go to the Carne Asado (The cooking of meat celibration) in a nearby town that I have been so kindly invited to. One of my favorite days of this life was.... Riding my bike to my friends house in a nearby little town traveling by a road that is cut through the jungle I befriend a man as well biking and we talked about life. We talked about how good life is and how important it is to have possitive thoughts and feelings of gratitude to help navigate through this life. Biking to the town of Acu we talked about the beauty that is the Yucatan, the pure life, great food, great music. We also talked about the life with money and how money and technology offten create distractions with the goodness of life, and create a disconnection with the earth. I offered how buying a apple is very different than grabbing the apple with your hand from the tree that you know and is your friend. We laughed and shared other great stories, and when I arrived to Acu I was introduced to my friend´s brother in law and shared the day with him learning all about plants in his home garden system and we were sharing a glow of giddieness and glee. Biking along side him later in the day on a small dirt road that pierced into the jungle and the sun was creating such a soft light on us that everything was made soo clear, and I was gigling to myself soo happy and full of gratitude. We would stop and he would teach me about plants that heal everything, and he remarked at how luck I was to learn all of his secrets about magical plants he doesnt tell most people. I told him that I was honored, and laughed saying Dios Bootix, which is Gracias (Thank you) in maya and I believe it directly translates as God gives, and much of my life has been filled with too many connotations of what God means, but seeing many words painted on walls and cars saying "Dios es Amor" "God is love", I am indeed happy to shout this gratitude that love gives, for love is truly the most powerful thing in my life and so with these last words of this blog I leave for my next adventure,
I love you all very much,
David
I love you all very much,
David
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Hammer meets Body
I have been working on this giant worm box for the past couple of days and it was a lot more work than expected. Lining plastic in the bottom of the wooden box and then figuring out a method to secure it took us a solid three hours. And we still have to install a drainage system so that the worms dont drown. During this time we came across a scorpions exo-skeleton which can be viewed below and an actual scorpion which we fed to some Hormigas Locas. "Us" includes Merlin my surpervisor and her good friend Jimmy who runs the Beneficio (Coffee Processing Facility) next door. Jimmy has been the only handyman willing to lend his time to our endevour. All other help seems to think worm composting is a waste of time and resources. It is a waste of time when thinking about the immediate costs/benefit, but over the long haul the goal of the worm composting is to provide a teaching aid to school groups and provide farmers with a cheaper and richer source of fertilizer. Once the worms have multiplied to a desirable number the wooden composting box we have now will be torn down and a much
larger cement 
box compost will take its place. After lining the box we had to create a rain sheild around the box. We already had a plastic roof so walls were all we needed. All around the 
Beneficio grows these Canye Indio plants which could be described as really skinny palm trees. When the majority of the area in Copa Buena was clear cut for coffee farms, these Canye Indio plants took root quickly and now provide living fence lines for the farmers. Since their is such an abundance of this plant we could chop it down and use it to create our rain shield. We dug six holes, jammed the six support beams into the holes, filled the holes and then attached the support beams to the roof with two clavos (nails). Upon installing one of these beams I had to climb a ladder to short for the job and then drive the clavos throught the roof and into the support beam. Akward as hell and with a shakey balance I managed to drive the first clavo in, but not as staight as I would have liked. The second one I tried nail in with baby taps but there must have been a knot in the Kanye Indio because it wasnt going anywhere. Slightly frustrated I decided to wind up and drive the sucker in but as the hammer came down my footing slipped and I nailed my thumb instead. My thumb began to turn black and blue and I felt like an idiot but as I have learned very well that shit always happens and you just got get back up and try again, which I did. We finished installing the support beams and called it a day.Later that evening I was stoked to see the US and Costa Rica duke it out for World Cup standing. Costa Rica had previously lost to Honderous and beat the US in Costa Rica. In order to get World standing they would have to defeat the US. I´m not a huge fan of watching sports but I could not pass up the opportunity to shit talk (but in a nice way) with my host family becuase I knew they were dedicated fans. In the first half of the game Costa Rica was up 2 to 0 and the United States was playing horendous. For the moment I switched sides and told my family that I was rooting for Costa Rica all along until US scored their first goal with about 15 minutes to go in the game. At this point the US had stepped up their game and the ball was constantly on Costa Ricas side. In the remaining minute of the game the US brought the ball backl from their side and managed to get a corner kick. Now only 20 seconds remained in the game. The kick looked good was sent right into the quagmire of people in front of the cage. And it was Jonathan Bornstein, lucky number 13 who lended his head and a couple of brain cells to help tie the game, 2 - 2.
GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I screamed and jumped around the house. The shocked faces of my family were priceless and even my little sister Maria Jose began to cry and I´m not sure if it was due to my parading around or the loss in general. For the moment I was a little resentful of shananagins but the family realized that it was just a game in the end.
Hormigas Locas
Large callused hands with flat split thumb nails. I notice dirt from the mornings work packed tightly in the gaps between nail and skin as he reaches to shake my hand in greeting. My hand disapears in the mass that is his, but I find comfort in its gentle yet confident grasp. "Buenos días William, puedo ayudar hoy en la finca?" I returned. The past week I had been on the move with my supervisor Merlin, getting the lay of the land so I had not gotten the chance to help out my host family with their farm. My host father seemed uncertain about my ability to wield a machete but handed it to me anyway along with a guaba tree branch about the length of my arm. At the branchs end it naturally hooked. I guessed that I would be needing this tool in conjunction with the machete. Arriving to the place where many plants would surely meet the blade of my machete I noticed many large ant hills. Getting a closer look I found many red ants carrying small cuttings of leaves into their home. William pointed out another gi-mungus ant hill next to a small bush that had been completly stripped of its leaves. The red ants seemed to be some sort of carpenter ant that would set up shop right next to its food source, exploit it, and then move on to the next. "Muy muy mala para café," William said refering to the carpenter ants.
The hillside we had to clear was full of tall ones, short ones, wide ones and skinny ones. Plants of all colors and origins would soon be hooked by my guaba branch, slashed and then tossed downhill. I don´t know why but I felt like a kid again; like when I first came across my dads various knives he kept hidden from me. Maybe it was a mistake for William to give me that machete, we would soon find out. Spliting up, I began on one side of the hill and William the other. We worked the hillside systematically, meeting in the middle every twenty minutes and then moved farther up the hill to repeat the process. We hooked, slashed and tossed until we reached the top of the hill that was lined with a living fencline of trees. These were beneficial trees and could not be chopped. Before I could move quickly and hack without much percision and the job would get done. Here I had to manuver my machete in between trees which slowed me down. This one bush was giving me a lot of trouble, keeping my feet in the same spot for about thirty seconds... thirty seconds toooo long becuase when I looked down at my foot it was covered in thousands of pissed off black ants. I had been careful and looked for ant hills everywhere I stepped but these ants seemed to be living in an unmarked location. Their home was of finely cultivated soil with pinholes for entry/exit points. I called to William for help but he was too far to hear and what was he going to do anyway. It was up to me. I ran in circles and scraped my machete against my boot with no results. I had to drop my machete and use my hands since the ants had begun to travel up my sock. Luckily the ants didnt bite my hands but later that day I found one of them near my upper thigh that got a couple of good stings in before I crushed it.
Later that evening when I returned home I opened my door and flipped on the light switch to find 5 cookarochas perched upon the various items of my desk. My notebook, jar of peanut butter, the plastic spoon I use to eat my peanutbutter, reading material, etc. Their antenni were going haywire trying to gather information about the new presence in the room. Taking a step towards them all movement halted and that scene from Jurrasic Park began to play out in my head, but with cocaroaches in place of people and me in place of the T-Rex. Each cocaroach was speaking in distressed rico suave accents, similaiar to that of Antonio Banderes.
"I don´t know... what should we do man, that thing is huge!"
"Wait! Don´t move! It can´t see us if we don´t move."
"... its walking towards us... "
"Shit Run! It can see use!"
They had scattered before I could squash them with my book in hand. But at that moment I could really only laugh thinking about life from their perspective. When I turned off my light for bed I could hear them moving about like little plastic wind up toys, clicking a clacking across the floor and my desk. Thinking back to later that day I had remembered my host brother telling me that cocaroaches like to eat the dead skin and eyebrows off your face. Broma(Joke) or truth, I was not about to let my eye brows become some rare delicacy for those bastards. I grabbed my headlamp and ran into the kitchen to where a spray bottle of venino (posion) lay. Returning to my door I could hear them scampering around from outside. Flinging my door open like a drunk Clint Eastwood in Unforgiven I began shooting madley like they had just killed my best friend. I dont know why, but that day I was living vicariously through many different characters of my movie viewing past. There was no mercy. I tracked down every last cocaroach and sprayed them dead. Needless to say I slept well that night.
The hillside we had to clear was full of tall ones, short ones, wide ones and skinny ones. Plants of all colors and origins would soon be hooked by my guaba branch, slashed and then tossed downhill. I don´t know why but I felt like a kid again; like when I first came across my dads various knives he kept hidden from me. Maybe it was a mistake for William to give me that machete, we would soon find out. Spliting up, I began on one side of the hill and William the other. We worked the hillside systematically, meeting in the middle every twenty minutes and then moved farther up the hill to repeat the process. We hooked, slashed and tossed until we reached the top of the hill that was lined with a living fencline of trees. These were beneficial trees and could not be chopped. Before I could move quickly and hack without much percision and the job would get done. Here I had to manuver my machete in between trees which slowed me down. This one bush was giving me a lot of trouble, keeping my feet in the same spot for about thirty seconds... thirty seconds toooo long becuase when I looked down at my foot it was covered in thousands of pissed off black ants. I had been careful and looked for ant hills everywhere I stepped but these ants seemed to be living in an unmarked location. Their home was of finely cultivated soil with pinholes for entry/exit points. I called to William for help but he was too far to hear and what was he going to do anyway. It was up to me. I ran in circles and scraped my machete against my boot with no results. I had to drop my machete and use my hands since the ants had begun to travel up my sock. Luckily the ants didnt bite my hands but later that day I found one of them near my upper thigh that got a couple of good stings in before I crushed it.
Later that evening when I returned home I opened my door and flipped on the light switch to find 5 cookarochas perched upon the various items of my desk. My notebook, jar of peanut butter, the plastic spoon I use to eat my peanutbutter, reading material, etc. Their antenni were going haywire trying to gather information about the new presence in the room. Taking a step towards them all movement halted and that scene from Jurrasic Park began to play out in my head, but with cocaroaches in place of people and me in place of the T-Rex. Each cocaroach was speaking in distressed rico suave accents, similaiar to that of Antonio Banderes.
"I don´t know... what should we do man, that thing is huge!"
"Wait! Don´t move! It can´t see us if we don´t move."
"... its walking towards us... "
"Shit Run! It can see use!"
They had scattered before I could squash them with my book in hand. But at that moment I could really only laugh thinking about life from their perspective. When I turned off my light for bed I could hear them moving about like little plastic wind up toys, clicking a clacking across the floor and my desk. Thinking back to later that day I had remembered my host brother telling me that cocaroaches like to eat the dead skin and eyebrows off your face. Broma(Joke) or truth, I was not about to let my eye brows become some rare delicacy for those bastards. I grabbed my headlamp and ran into the kitchen to where a spray bottle of venino (posion) lay. Returning to my door I could hear them scampering around from outside. Flinging my door open like a drunk Clint Eastwood in Unforgiven I began shooting madley like they had just killed my best friend. I dont know why, but that day I was living vicariously through many different characters of my movie viewing past. There was no mercy. I tracked down every last cocaroach and sprayed them dead. Needless to say I slept well that night.
Friday, October 9, 2009
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
