The Estrellas warming up for the big game!
The ways in which I learn from these girls on a daily basis are infinite, and it is no surprise to me how quickly they have entered my heart and are constantly on my mind. What is slightly surprising to me is how quickly I developed what I like to call my "boy shell". Reflecting on the past few weeks, I can easily pick out at least four separate occasions of which I deliberately and sometimes angrily excluded boys from activities in order to keep the attention and energy focused solely on the girls. Sometimes, it has been necessary: during gym classes at the schools, if we let the boys play games with us it would greatly decrease the number of girls who were willing to participate and get involved because they let their embarrassment and self-consciousness get the best of them. However, other times the exclusion of boys has been unnecessary and for inexplicable reasons. Maybe I am mad that the culture here fosters such low self-confidence in girls in all aspects of life, but if that is the case I think I am taking it out on the wrong people. Regardless, my boy shell has very much been a factor in the way I go about my work here.
That was up until Saturday. Across the street from Tres Pisos, there are two solid stucco houses next to each other with a small alley in between them. From the third floor balcony, you can see that through that alley way is a dilapidated tin shack and some clothes lines. A family lives back there, and two of the girls are participants in FSF. Their cousin, Erick, who is about 12 also lives there and he is one of our neighbors who is always playing out front on our stoop with a small crew of neighborhood kids. He is very eager to ring our doorbell, see what we're up to and what games we want to play, or he asks to borrow a ball...all the time. It can be annoying, especially when we have some free time and are trying to squeeze in a nap. My boy shell has made it very difficult for Erick to get on my good side. Saturday night was more of the same; Mady and I had just made a pasta dinner and were sitting down to eat when the doorbell rang and it was Erick. It was raining out and he was wet and cold so we let him come in and hang out. He came in, examined every item we had laying out in the kitchen (sunscreen, bugspray, hand sanitizer, etc) and asked, "Que es eso?" (What is that?) over and over and over. He moved on to playing hangman with us on our whiteboard, and then to playing with some bobblehead Marta dolls that were donated. His favorite word is, "Mira!" which means "Look!" and he uses it nonstop when we're hanging out, always trying to show us what he's doing. We got the sense that he doesn't get much attention at home since he is always in our house and always craving our attention. We asked him a little bit about his family, and sure enough he comes from a very rough situation. His father is out of the picture, he lives with his grandfather, uncle, aunt and cousins in their tiny tin home and his mother lives next to them but not in the same house. We didn't push for the reason to why he doesn't live with his mother, but we learned later that she often beats him and his sisters. After we finished eating, we had a bit of pasta left and asked if he wanted some. He took the bowl and began shoveling the food into his mouth. Pausing at times only long enough to say "Gracias" in between chewing. We also gave him a cup of juice, and he had barely finished the last sip and bite before we was at the sink vigorously scrubbing his dishes. He was so grateful, so respectful, and so harmless that I felt terrible for all those times I was annoyed with the doorbell. He had cracked my boy shell, and made me realize that they are children in need just the same. While I will continue to pour all my energy and efforts into my girls and creating a safe space for them to grow and play without the pressure of having boys around, I will always consider the look in Erick's eyes when we handed him that bowl of pasta to finish and remember that boys are not immune to suffering and that being narrow-minded in the ways I can help people here would be a waste of time.
On a completely separate note, I ended up at a karaoke bar later that night with Techo and César and their friends from their barrio. What better way to completely shatter my boy shell than to experience a group of ten guys around my age belting out the lyrics to love ballad after love ballad? Some personal favorites of the night: Stand By Me (which the Nicas pronounce Esstand By Me and it cracks me up) by Ben E. King, Heroe by Enrique Iglesias, and True Colors by Cyndi Lauper. Who knew they were such softies? Softies with some vocal pipes for sure.
Can't wait to see what week five will bring.
Amor, paz, y fútbol
KPope
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