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A New Name Brings New Challenges
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I changed my name recently. Actually, they changed it; they have changed quite a few aspects of my life lately. When I came to San Martín, Costa Rica in February to give English classes to elementary school students, the name "Lindsay Burcham" just didn't quite roll off their tongues properly. My new name is "Teacher," or when pronounced with a Tico accent, "Ticher." Students, fellow teachers, men who frequent the cantina, the group of women who walk in the morning, and parents of my students all call me Teacher. It has become my new name. Wherever I am, my head still spins around when I hear anyone say the T-word. However, there are some people here who call me Lindsay. I live with the Jiménez Salazar family in the bright blue house near the top of the hill. I am the newest addition to their already large family of nine people. In our vibrantly colored house, there is always music playing, someone laughing, or freshly cooked food sizzling on the wood-burning stove. Every morning I wake up to the sound of my host brothers and sisters chatting at dawn before they go to work, while my host mother's strong hands flatten masa into perfect corn tortillas. The family is quite large, and the money is kneaded and spread out thinly just like tortilla masa amongst the nine family members. The three oldest siblings have already attended college and are currently supporting the rest of the family with their wages. They also pay their younger brother's college tuition, in hopes that he will be able to support himself and his family without enduring the backbreaking work that his father does. I am lucky enough to receive the same support that they give each other. Whenever I need anything, whether it be a ride into town, something to snack on, or emotional support after a trying day, they are always there. Their kindness and eagerness to help me, a person who they barely knew a few months ago, is one of the most extraordinary displays of friendliness I have ever witnessed. My experience in San Martín would be very different without their encouragement. My
life has never been more unpredictable. Will the
bus be on time? Is it going to rain in the morning
or in the afternoon? If it rains, will my clothes
dry? Will classes be canceled? Will anyone tell me
that classes are canceled? But in the midst of this
unpredictability, there are still things I can
always depend on. My students always come to class
with a smile and a positive attitude. My milk
always comes fresh from the neighbor's cow, and our
vegetables and herbs come from the ground in our
garden. The people of San Martín are always
friendly and welcome me into their homes, offering
me freshly brewed coffee and baked goods straight
from their own ovens. These are the dependable
aspects of my life, the important aspects of my
life. I've realized that being greeting with kisses
and hugs from my students every morning is
monumentally more important than whether or not my
socks will dry on a rainy day. There has never been a day that I have woken up and not wanted to go to work. As I carefully walk down the slippery, muddy hill each morning to San Martín School, I am greeted with gleeful shouts and hugs. My students run up the hill, dirtying their polished shoes, with toothy grins and arms outstretched to greet me. Inside the classroom, challenges are exchanged. I challenge my students by speaking a strange language, and they challenge me with their energetic, curious, and outspoken ways. We sing songs, draw, write and read stories, and play games. They always impress me with their willingness to learn. One of my particularly ambitious first graders is convinced that he already knows English. When asked how to say "vaca," or cow, in English, he furrowed his brow and thought for a minute as the little wheels in his six-year-old head began to turn. Although we have not yet learned animals in first grade, he was certain he knew the word. "Vak!" he exclaimed. I chuckled and told him the word was "cow." He smiled and repeated the word to himself as he ran off to play. My old life and identity, back in California, seem very far behind me. Every day I wake up speaking a different language, responding to a new name, trying new kinds of food, and seeking new ways to develop the minds of my students. I am never rushed, never stressed, and never disappointed. As I walk down the muddy road, my head turns as a smiling woman calls out "Teacher!" offering me coffee and fresh baked bread. Article contributed by Lindsay Burcham WorldTeach •
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