We were there for 6 full days. Having never been on a service trip or a mission trip before, I have nothing to compare it to. All week I marveled at how well organized it was, in the important ways. (In unimportant ways, it was not organized at all. Things cancelled. Buses were late or broke down. Meals were whenever we were ready. Soccer commitments were only required minutes before play time.) Charlie Strong, founder of the Strong mission, and his staff, have long and deep partnerships throughout the area and so have shovel-ready work projects to direct and supervise, waiting only for the right group of laborers with the right skill set. It was clear from the start—our daytime purpose was to work. Breakfast was at 7 and the bus--or whatever transportation was functioning that day--left at 8.
Actually, the first day we worked on the Strong Mission itself. We either organized all the goods we’d brought (clothes, fabric and patterns, crafts, school supplies, and soccer balls), painted the tires that made up a large homemade playground, or cleared a steep incline and built a tire staircase heading down to the river. I did the steps, along with Micky and all boys and men. Our packing list included clothes and shoes to work in. They provided us gloves and glasses, picks, shovels, machetes, and tires. Mid-morning we ate watermelon (this would happen every day). Otherwise, we worked. The wind blew hard and by noon my eyes were watering, even with glasses, and I was coughing up dust. Jesse and Ethan (13 years old) were great at rolling down the tires and clearing the way from below. Micky and I shoveled and filled tires with dirt. The men did the heaviest lifting and pounding the earth, generally, and strategized on the structure. We didn’t do it exactly right, and in the afternoon had to re-do a bunch of our work. (Lesson no. 2: we are going to do the jobs correctly, so that this will last.)
The rest of the days meld together in memory. The main project was working on an elementary school that had come close to closing a few years before. It was just a 5-min drive away. It was a great project for us because it was endless. There was no standing around; skill levels were varied. Mixing cement became our signature project, and Charlie himself showed us how with the first batch. (Lesson no. 3: Teaching with a language barrier can be done well; it involves example, gesture, tone, a few choice words, repetition, and correction. That last was the hardest for the staff—they were so NICE, courteous, and deferential, yet they had to repeatedly interrupt our work and show us how to do it RIGHT!)
Charlie led the way with such vigor that we instantly learned that getting the proper cement ratios mixed evenly is an intensely physically demanding job. 2 parts sand, 1 part stone, 1 part cement. Five shovels working simultaneously in a circle. We mixed volcano style. I thought my back was going to break, or at least pull a muscle. “Better do it well—you bought it!” Charlie called out once, and I remembered that our fees for this trip included materials. We had, literally, paid for that cement. I was so happy about that! What a brilliant system: We provide time, labor, and materials. They take care of our living needs, provide transportation, find the projects that need doing, and supervise/make it happen.
So for several different 1/2 day sections we spackled wall cracks, mixed and poured cement, set up frames for the electricity and the ceiling inside the classrooms, and plastered on stucco walls. This was for a new special-ed building behind the main school.
We worked on this school the majority of our time. Smaller projects included sewing with a group of local women (we offered fabric, patterns, and company. And quilting demos. they paid back with enthusiasm, creative sewing projects, and great fun.) Twice we hosted crafting parties with local kids. We were prepared and had arrived with 3 different crafts. The language barrier meant little when a table of beautiful white paper (thanks Renee!!!) and watercolors awaits with fresh paintbrushes. The kids needed no explanations. The reindeer-making, which Jan headed up, was more difficult, but she’d trained in several others and many kids walked away with a bamboo reindeer. Tessa did the coffee-filter butterfly-making, which was a huge hit, especially when the kids figured out that they could use the pipe cleaners any way they wanted, including to dress the bamboo reindeer.
Meanwhile, mamas sat nearby and socialized. I held a 2-month old baby and managed to discuss breastfeeding and a post-tube-tied pregnancy with one mama. Stephanie, our bi-lingual staff, tirelessly translated. And several parents knew passable English. We were chagrined that we knew so little Spanish. (Lesson no. 4: it’s never too late to learn a language. I absolutely loved working on it, even though, inexplicably, I kept speaking in French! Very low pressure but high return, talking to kids.) We took pictures only with express purpose from the mamas, so you won't see a lot of photos here.
These were all in poor neighborhoods but the kids looked happy—a lot happier than many North American kids, to be honest. Ethan, Jesse, and Brett caught their attention early with the universal language of tag, and it went from there. The children were great at maintaining rhythms of play: running around, sitting down to craft, checking in with mama, running around. The lack of structure or overt "shoulds" for kids or mamas fit with their culture--and with my values as well. Few things gave me greater satisfaction than watching the long table of quiet absorption as kids painted for as long, or as short, as their focus lasted. With no screens in sight, their focus lasted a lot longer than I've seen at home. They appeared well-dressed and well-kept. And their mamas were beautiful too. Why, I wonder, are we compelled to wear such dull colors? We compound the colorlessness of our winter with gray, white, black, brown, clothing. Surrounded by a colorful country, brimming with flours and fruit, clothing in Costa Rica is loud and cheerful.
One morning we went to a Precario (ghetto/squatter neighborhood). Just getting there was precarious! Hugging the busy road, you could look down on three layers of shacks shoved close together leading down to the riverbed. Only the roofs were visible. Charlie had asked the families who lived there (apparently close to 400 people!) what they needed, and one thing that stood out was a safe, secure staircase, particularly for the elderly who were immobilized without a way out.
So, we built the staircase. The sand/rock was poured just inches from the busy road above. The bucket brigade brought it to the 1st level where the cement was mixed. The tires below were uprooted, the area cleared, and the wooden frame built for a cement staircase. (Lesson no. 5: You can’t be serious about projects unless you have the right tools and materials. Which they did) And, the “bathroom” was right through a shack, right through someone’s home! I wasn’t sure if we couldn’t pee in the brush because they didn’t want us to, or because they thought we needed a toilet at all costs. Peeing outside would have been much more comfortable.
One final word about serving: Much as I loved serving, being useful, doing God's work--however you want to put it--I never once felt like we were giving as much as we were receiving. The privilege of being there, and the relationships built with the people there, and the way we were so warmly cared for, was the essence of the trip--far more than some notion of labor or sacrifice. The very best of all was the Costa Ricans themselves. I never connected to Charlie himself--he was here one minute, gone the next--but his staff, oh yes. Oscar, the heart and soul of the Strong Mission, accompanied us everywhere and even slept there. (Before security cameras, he even guarded the Mission all night.) Wilbur did the carpentry work with Mark and others and was a great soccer player. Stephanie told us her life story on the last day while most people were zip-lining. Warner spoke zero English but gave me a couple thumbs-up on my spackled walls after multiple do-overs, filling my heart with pride. These people are currently able to work only when a group is at the Mission, so in a very real way, our presence was benefitting them. The kitchen staff were unfailingly good-humored and I wish we could have interacted with them more.
Stay tuned to read about the rest of What We Did!