Costa Rica Early Years (Retro-Journal)
Emboldened by what had happened onboard the Daniel Webster, what was left to transform but the ends of the earth? Elizabeth and Thomas Brewster had written a number of articles, and, "Bonding and the Christian M Task" stands out. They make a birth analogy - after child birth the infant is very responsive and alert for a few hours. But after that first nap, they do not gain the same level of awareness for months. Bonding to parents (or to surrogates) happens during that time period. Likewise, the person entering a new culture is ready to bond with people from the new culture - at the time of arrival excitement level peaks. The problem is that other expatriots often are there at the airport to start an "orientation" period, during which time the potential new community member is bonded to the expatriot community. Possibilities of adopting the world view and problem solving techniques of the native land are lost during the first two weeks.
On a short term mission trip to Mexico the year before my second enlistment was up - the three weeks were spent with people who could not speak English (on purpose). I had gotten a "C" in College Spanish - and that, together with an attitude of flexibility, was enough! Since the Navigators in Latin America function by building one on one relationships into cell groups, this was a great introduction into that style of ministry.
So, the plan was to go to "The Instituto" - a language school in Costa Rica for a year to learn Spanish, then maybe return to the USA to use my military educational benefits to finish off a degree while doing Nav-style ministry with US Hispanics. I found ways to politely avoid much contact with English speakers. That left me lonely at first. About two weeks in I found, three long blocks away, a semi-secret ping pong table where young men gathered to play, chat, eat and watch soap operas. Jehova Jireh. The Costa Rican family that the Intstituto had arranged for me to live with seemed comfortable but unreal and insincere. Luis, one of my ping pong buddies, said that I could board in the home of his parents.
Now you've got to understand Costa Rican construction. It is very well done. There where three earthquakes 6 or greater on the Richter scale while I was there and not one building fell. But they put a lot more wood and paint into the front - the facade - than into anything else. The warm temperatures year round mean that the roof and walls do not have to serve as temperature insulators. They only need to keep the tropical rain off (outdoors, umbrellas do not keep you dry - they are essential to give you a space to breathe). Walls and ceilings are not necessarily designed to meet -open spaces are not a problem. The most common construction material is thin sheets of zinc. As you look out over into other neighborhoods, you see pathetic rusted zinc squalors all over. But as you walk into the next neighborhood they disappear. Rusted zinc is only visible when you can see a house from the back or sides. From the street (facade) side everything appears very middle class.
For two years I lived in Luis' parents house. They had the last house down a steep hill that ended in a calm, tranquil little river. Calm in December when the rain had stopped. Roaring, dangerous, carrying whole trees, each year the cause of several deaths in July when the heavy rains returned. I moved in in December. For the first few months, I lived in a room with wood floors and zinc walls and roof that had a door that lead into the kitchen area. The family rooms were on the other side of the kitchen. Unbeknownst to me, the room had been built after I had agreed to live there. They used my presence as an opportunity to add a second floor on the house. As they were building without plans or approval, as soon as the municipal inspector showed up they would be required to stop, the condition of the house would be documented and they would be heavily fined only if they continued on from that point. So construction started on Holy Thursday, when all of the inspectors had a long weekend off. When he showed up (first thing Monday morning after Easter) all that was missing was the stairway. For the next year and a half, to access my luxuriously large room, you had to stand on the porch, grab the branch of a mango tree, swing up onto the roof (river swirling at the base of the tree) and open a hatch on the river side of the house. I would wear sweatpants down to the shower. When I get nostalgic for Costa Rican living, it is for this living accommodation that I get nostalgic for. It's in the same neighborhood, yet on the other side of the world from the place where the Instituto had placed me.
For one year, studying the Spanish language was my, “day job”. I was using my own savings. But classes ended early - gave the others a chance to suffer through cultural adjustments. I would make the rounds in the neighborhood and downtown, talking with people, playing ping pong, trying to understand that stupid soap opera. I got myself into the most advanced class at the Instituto and was struggling. One classmate had been a bilingual secretary in the Dominican Republic for six years, another was already teaching at a seminary – in Spanish- and I was far behind, but responding to the challenge. Until December. There was a long 5 week Christmas break that year. Most of my classmates neglected to speak Spanish during the break. I had neglected to speak English. Really – I had slight trouble with my pronunciation/finding the right words in English when classes started in January. The fellow students at the Spanish classes were the only people I knew who spoke English. January found me more in the middle of the pack of the advanced class – still responding to the challenge.
And so I became useful to the local Navigators. Years before I had arrived, a thriving Navigator ministry had existed in the Universities of the capitol. As time passed, that had become a community ministry that spread across all four major areas of the Central Valley and into some of the outlying villages. But nothing much was happening at the Universities, which had been the starting point. When the new school year started in March, I abandoned the rounds that I had been doing and started going to the Universidad Nacional in Heredia. I got permission to sit in on some classes for free, made friendships and established several seekers bible studies.
On a short term mission trip to Mexico the year before my second enlistment was up - the three weeks were spent with people who could not speak English (on purpose). I had gotten a "C" in College Spanish - and that, together with an attitude of flexibility, was enough! Since the Navigators in Latin America function by building one on one relationships into cell groups, this was a great introduction into that style of ministry.
So, the plan was to go to "The Instituto" - a language school in Costa Rica for a year to learn Spanish, then maybe return to the USA to use my military educational benefits to finish off a degree while doing Nav-style ministry with US Hispanics. I found ways to politely avoid much contact with English speakers. That left me lonely at first. About two weeks in I found, three long blocks away, a semi-secret ping pong table where young men gathered to play, chat, eat and watch soap operas. Jehova Jireh. The Costa Rican family that the Intstituto had arranged for me to live with seemed comfortable but unreal and insincere. Luis, one of my ping pong buddies, said that I could board in the home of his parents.
Now you've got to understand Costa Rican construction. It is very well done. There where three earthquakes 6 or greater on the Richter scale while I was there and not one building fell. But they put a lot more wood and paint into the front - the facade - than into anything else. The warm temperatures year round mean that the roof and walls do not have to serve as temperature insulators. They only need to keep the tropical rain off (outdoors, umbrellas do not keep you dry - they are essential to give you a space to breathe). Walls and ceilings are not necessarily designed to meet -open spaces are not a problem. The most common construction material is thin sheets of zinc. As you look out over into other neighborhoods, you see pathetic rusted zinc squalors all over. But as you walk into the next neighborhood they disappear. Rusted zinc is only visible when you can see a house from the back or sides. From the street (facade) side everything appears very middle class.
For two years I lived in Luis' parents house. They had the last house down a steep hill that ended in a calm, tranquil little river. Calm in December when the rain had stopped. Roaring, dangerous, carrying whole trees, each year the cause of several deaths in July when the heavy rains returned. I moved in in December. For the first few months, I lived in a room with wood floors and zinc walls and roof that had a door that lead into the kitchen area. The family rooms were on the other side of the kitchen. Unbeknownst to me, the room had been built after I had agreed to live there. They used my presence as an opportunity to add a second floor on the house. As they were building without plans or approval, as soon as the municipal inspector showed up they would be required to stop, the condition of the house would be documented and they would be heavily fined only if they continued on from that point. So construction started on Holy Thursday, when all of the inspectors had a long weekend off. When he showed up (first thing Monday morning after Easter) all that was missing was the stairway. For the next year and a half, to access my luxuriously large room, you had to stand on the porch, grab the branch of a mango tree, swing up onto the roof (river swirling at the base of the tree) and open a hatch on the river side of the house. I would wear sweatpants down to the shower. When I get nostalgic for Costa Rican living, it is for this living accommodation that I get nostalgic for. It's in the same neighborhood, yet on the other side of the world from the place where the Instituto had placed me.
For one year, studying the Spanish language was my, “day job”. I was using my own savings. But classes ended early - gave the others a chance to suffer through cultural adjustments. I would make the rounds in the neighborhood and downtown, talking with people, playing ping pong, trying to understand that stupid soap opera. I got myself into the most advanced class at the Instituto and was struggling. One classmate had been a bilingual secretary in the Dominican Republic for six years, another was already teaching at a seminary – in Spanish- and I was far behind, but responding to the challenge. Until December. There was a long 5 week Christmas break that year. Most of my classmates neglected to speak Spanish during the break. I had neglected to speak English. Really – I had slight trouble with my pronunciation/finding the right words in English when classes started in January. The fellow students at the Spanish classes were the only people I knew who spoke English. January found me more in the middle of the pack of the advanced class – still responding to the challenge.
And so I became useful to the local Navigators. Years before I had arrived, a thriving Navigator ministry had existed in the Universities of the capitol. As time passed, that had become a community ministry that spread across all four major areas of the Central Valley and into some of the outlying villages. But nothing much was happening at the Universities, which had been the starting point. When the new school year started in March, I abandoned the rounds that I had been doing and started going to the Universidad Nacional in Heredia. I got permission to sit in on some classes for free, made friendships and established several seekers bible studies.
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