Teaching Alone in Colombia

Class at Valparaiso

Heading to class

      The women chose to have the class at the schoolhouse in the afternoons, during the students' 3-hour lunch break. That sounds like a long lunch “hour” but I had watched some kids walk to school from the facing mountainside and it took some as long as 40 minutes. The school was about half a mile downhill from the house where I was staying – a gorgeous walk. It, like most rural schools, had been built by the Colombian Coffee Growers Federation – Federación Nacional de Cafeteros. Most families in rural areas grew coffee and/or cacao. The school was also whitewashed cement and had a large classroom, plus a kitchen.

       Despite preparing well for teaching alone, it was intimidating at first to have a room full of women seeming to expect all the wisdom of mankind to flow from my lips. Those who could write took notes and sometimes those who couldn't write would borrow the notes of others to have their children copy and read them aloud. We used a lot of pictures too. Early on I asked them to write down everything they had eaten the previous day. All had 5 to 8 servings of carbohydrates (rice, yucca, plantain, potatoes, pasta, bread), less than half had any meat, less than a third had milk or cheese and none had eaten fruits or vegetables. We talked every day about the nutrients in foods they ate (or didn't), what they do for the body and what happens if you don't get them. As we analyzed their diets or theoretical meals, I was impressed with how quickly they learned to do it themselves. Of course, given their situations, they couldn't always do a lot about it, but a few vegetables and fruits started to appear during the course. At least they now knew what to choose when opportunities arose.

      The second week, one of the women brought in a poster she had made for her kitchen with drawings of the five food groups and a list of nutrients necessary for all ages. It was the first hint that every community has its leaders. Later, I would meet a woman from the Cafeteros who would show me how to encourage such born leaders. It would change me and my work.

Home Work

      At the house one morning, I heard a loud thumping noise, accompanied by gentle grunting. It turned out to be Aricela, the 16-year-old niece, pounding dried corn into meal. She would lift, head-high, what looked like a long, heavy wooden barbell on end and pound the corn in a large wooden bowl. Soon, the Señora came with another “barbell” and they worked together, like a synchronized machine. It was impressive to watch. The younger girls took it all in, knowing it would be their job soon. The women asked if I wanted to try it – alone, since it was dangerous to try it with someone else if you didn't know what you were doing. I did it for a few minutes, which left me all the more impressed with their skill and strength. Today, when I use an electric grinder do the job in minutes, I think of them.

The Staff of Life – and Class

     As Peace Corps volunteers we had access to foods through the World Food Program for educational and hunger projects. I usually got a 50-lb sack of flour, a can of cooking oil, and box of  raisins, for each teaching site and the class would make rolls. The women would bring yeast, sugar, salt, eggs and wood for the cob oven in which we baked the rolls.
     Though I knew how to bake bread, the women had to teach me how to use a cob oven. They'd get a good fire going in it, then, as it died down, brush the coals to the edges, They knew just how to position the rolls and how long each batch took without wasting heat by opening the door frequently.
     Once baked, rather than distribute the bread all at once, we saved some for the following days to have at class. Then, they took the rest home or we gave it to the school to distribute. Keeping it a few days worked better at some sites than others, because of the climate. I had grown up in a very dry climate and knew little about mold. While mold appeared on bread surprisingly quickly (to me) in some of the muggier sites, it was usually just a bit that had to be cut off. I learned lessons about food storage in different climates. If mold wasn't the challenge, mice always were.

"Mr. Clean"

Kitchen at another site

     Another American myth I had to learn to shake was the spotless kitchen. When you cook with wood indoors, your walls are going to be black. When I first saw such a kitchen, I longed to attack it with a scrub brush and some Ajax. When the opportunity finally arose at the school here, I learned that the stuff just doesn't come off. Besides, the kids and teacher were responsible for keeping the school and kitchen clean, and they did a good job. I did manage to get the women (in our class, at least, when we cooked something) to wash the dishes in hot water with soap. Most were used to just rinsing them off with cold water. Having to heat water with wood was surely a deterrent, given that gathering wood was one more chore.

Exercise
     You'd think in a place where people walked long distances every day to school or neighbors houses, did farm work by hand, chopped and hauled wood, carried buckets of water and milk, and  had no t.v., or computer to lure them to a seat, exercise was the last thing they'd need or want. Surprisingly, though, the women expressed an interest so we did some stretches and jumping jacks part way through the class. They loved it. It produced as much laughter as it did endorphins and soon the kids were doing jumping jacks too. I wonder what the Señor would say if he knew people pay good money to use machines to get exercise. I'd get the same "you're crazy" look the pictures of the moon produced.