It’s Tuesday afternoon at 4:15, and I just walked home from
school. It took me ten to twelve minutes, was uphill the whole way, and I read
the news feed on my iPhone as I walked. About two blocks from home, a car
slowed down and the passenger rolled down the window to talk to me.
This whole scenario is chock full of things I am privileged to
enjoy here in Switzerland. I can walk
home from school safely. I can have my
iPhone out and not furtively look around to see if anyone notices it. I can walk, distracted by what’s on that
phone, virtually unaware of my surroundings.
I can hear a car slow down behind me and not fear for my life. (Driving the car was a teacher friend who
gave me a lift the last two blocks home.)
I am so thankful for this life of safety and ease that I
live here. I am grateful that I can buy
milk (and even choose how much fat it has in it), butter, toilet paper, flour,
and sugar. I am thankful every day that
Luke and I can walk to and from school, and that he can even do that by
himself. I love the freedom and outdoor
life we have here. I know that one day I
will appreciate so much more about this country and the Swiss life, and I’m
getting there. But today, my heart is
thousands of miles away in Venezuela.
Yes, in the country where I couldn’t have walked home from
school alone, where I never had my Blackberry out where anyone could see it
(even though it was 8 years old and the screen was cracked), and where I would’ve
freaked out if I’d heard the slow-down of a car engine pulling up behind me on
the road.
I LOVED Venezuela, almost from the moment we arrived. Venezuela and ECA were my adopted home for
four years, and Venezuela and its people wiggled its way into my heart almost
instantly.
What is it about that country that grabbed me? I have been thinking lots lately about why
that transition was so much easier for me than this one has been.
First of all, it should not have been a comfortable place to
move to. In the first week we had a security
briefing from the embassy security guys that was designed to scare the pants
off of us. We were told right away about
items that might become scarce, like toilet paper and flour, and that we should
stock up on them. We were driven
everywhere in groups on school buses and taught about safe places to walk and
shop. Yet, despite the security concerns
and the inability to purchase fresh milk, we thrived in Venezuela.
Why?
Luke became best friends right away with Fisher. They will always be friends, I believe. Luke still talks about Fisher every single
day. I keep wondering when his
homesickness for his good buddy will subside, but six months in, he still
misses him daily.
Luke loved school. He
loved all of his teachers, and he loved seeing teachers outside of school. He knows no different, I suppose. He and I talk almost daily about what made
ECA so special. Luke’s teachers knew him, understood him, and loved him
right away.
Lisette, his kinder teacher, made up activities for her
class that connected with Luke’s love of pirates. She allowed Luke to be himself, to be a
4-year old kindergartner, to be a boy.
She expected him to learn and behave, but she always allowed him to be
who he was. I learned a lot both as a
mom and as a teacher from this loving, patient lady.
Mariana, Luke’s first grade teacher, loved her Lukie from
day one. She took such good care of my
boy. She took time to learn all about
him and the things he loved, too. One
time Luke called Mariana “Mimi”, and she came to tell me how flattered she was
that he would call her my mom’s name.
She knew how much Luke loves his Mimi!
Maya, Luke’s second grade teacher, took time to challenge
and push Luke in the ways she knew he needed to grow. She helped him grow up and mature, all the
while nurturing him and nudging him in the right directions. Kelly, his third grade teacher, stayed
patient and calm with Luke while he learned to be responsible for his own work
and his things. She allowed him to fail,
helped him to make plans to succeed, and she will never see the fruits of all
that patience and calmness. Kelly, we’ve
had a lot less teary meltdowns this year!
That boy has got systems in place!
Luke still talks about art class. He still thinks about and talks about artists
and ideas Kiki taught him YEARS ago.
I asked him yesterday about people he misses from ECA. He named every single one of these adults,
and more.
My dear friend Andy deserves his own special paragraph. Orthy, we talk about you every day, too. Luke brings up funny things you said or did,
songs we sang, or places we went. He and
I laugh all over again, and sometimes we cry together, too. You are forever a part of our family.
My baby moved to Venezuela as a four-year old, and left
there a Spanish-speaking, Latin music loving, dancing, happy, confident, well-loved
little boy. I hold Venezuela in a
special place in my heart because of how wonderful our time there was for Luke. Our transition to Switzerland has been really
hard for him, but at the same time, I believe many of the successes he has
already had here are thanks to the experiences we had there.
For me, ECA was a place where I grew professionally. It was the first school where I had the opportunity
to teach the same grade level twice in a row!
I got to spend four years there getting better at what I did. I had opportunities for leadership and growth
that were possible because of the support of our administration and because I was
able to stay put for once! I loved the
constant learning, growing, and stretching I got to do there.
Yet, it is the friendships I miss most. It is true that many of my friends have moved
on, and that’s normal in international schools.
Luke and I often talk about going back to visit, and when we have those
chats, we have to talk about the people who are NOT there now, whom we wouldn’t
get to see if we were to go visit. We
were blessed with so many close, fun friends there.
I miss afternoon tea at the Davidsons’ house, where Luke
would run wild with the girls or act annoyed while they followed him around,
and where Ian would come home and rough house with Luke while Pauline and I had
a few minutes to chat.
I miss daily chats with my friend Kelly. Weird, random, out of left field chats. She could always be counted on to shock and
surprise me as well as to tell me the truth, even if sometimes that was
hard. I miss the evening time texts.
For the first time in four years, I had to miss being a part
of the faculty dance at the annual benefit gala. I watched on youtube like many others,
wishing I could be there with that fun group of people.
I miss dinner at meat places with the Pihowiches. I miss the choir, miss watching Laura direct
and hearing her call people “mi amor.”
And I miss my friend Andy.
I just can’t say more.
What is it that makes me tear up when I think about ECA,
though? It is the thought of walking
down the hall to Carmen’s room when I need a laugh or a hug. I don’t know how many times I walked in there
and just sat down to cry to her or stomp my feet about something. How many people does she take care of, I
wonder, and how does she handle us all? I
cry when I think of Laura, of Revi, of Mariana, of Marcela, of Mariolga and her
funny stories. These ladies are Venezuela
to me.
We traveled fairly freely throughout the country. We felt generally safe, but knew we were
fortunate to feel that way, as others close to us had experienced scary
circumstances. We developed friendships
with our conserje and his wife, with people we saw weekly at the grocery store,
with people working in restaurants we frequented. We came to know that country and its beauty—the
beauty of its scenery and the beauty of its people.
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I will always remember the view of the Avila out my window
every day. Los Roques will forever be the most beautiful place I’ve ever been.
Siete Mares will always be my happy spot.
Venezuela is a place of uncertainty. A country always on the edge. We
were there through torrential rains and floods, through elections, through a
prison riot that derailed a field trip I was on with students when shots rang
out across the highway from our bus, through more elections, through the death
of a president, through the expulsions of American diplomats and their families
(including ECA children), and through even more elections. We watched the internet for news like
everyone else, and we banged our pots and pans out the window during the cacerolazos in support of
Capriles and in protest of the unfair elections last spring.
Venezuela is technically a “hardship” post now, I believe, for
the embassy families. And yes, there are
many things about it that made life challenging. But now, living in Switzerland, I realize
that those hardships are what made my transition to Venezuela easier than my
transition here has been. When people
experience hardship, they learn to lean on one another. Bonds and friendships are formed immediately,
and they last. The invisible grey,
oppressive cloud of uncertainty that hung over us certainly shaped our outlook,
but it also taught us to share, to be vulnerable, and to hold on to hope. You
learn to make the most of what you have.
You focus on what is important and try to let the other stuff go.
Once again, Venezuela is in a time of uncertainty. Today is a big day, as protests continue and
opposition leaders are marching downtown. Media in the country is censored and websites
and Twitter feeds are filtered or blocked.
It is frustrating not to be able to find out what goes on there, as
major news outlets seem to be 2-3 days behind.
Friends there are depending on social media to get their news. It’s frustrating that the world is not
watching more closely. I’m glued to the iPad, watching what you all post on
Facebook, and reading Twitter feeds.
Venezuela is in my heart and on my mind, and in my prayers. I wish I could do something for that country I
love and for my friends and “family” who live there.
