Never would I have guessed that after graduating college I would work in a library of all places. Sure I always enjoyed libraries and reading, but now that is where I spend almost all of my time. Sometimes I get restless and feel locked up behind the doors, but the moments when I realize that my job is nothing at all about books or reading, I am completely reaffirmed that my job is absolutely perfect for me…and it has been flawless in showing me the injustice that permeates this country. Honestly, there are days that I am faced with too much to deal with, but more and more these are the days I am beginning to appreciate.
This one particular day began with a slow, boring morning…one of those days that I have to remind myself that I work in a library… The banal work of the morning was soon interrupted when a 16 year old high school student, Katherine, came in to borrow a book to finish her homework. We sat at the same table both half working and half talking to each other. I asked some simple questions about how her classes were going and how her family was, and before I knew it we had launch into a conversation about the sexual abuse her close friend had receive for four years. Katherine was talking low and soft and quickly, I was having trouble understanding everything, but I knew this was a conversation that I shouldn’t ask questions, just listen. Everything she described sounded horrifying…the mom knew the abuse was taking place, the friend felt like it was all her fault, etc. Apparently, this all occurred 6 months ago, and she has since been removed from the situation, but when I asked how she was doing now, Katherine sadly tells me that two weeks ago her boyfriend who was 21 or 22 moved into the house. The mother approved as long as he paid for his own expenses and that the girl washed and ironed his clothes and cooked for him. All I could do was lean my head down and shake it slowly in disbelief, and close my eyes and pray. We sat in silence for a few minutes after the conversation; neither one of us wanted to return to the work in front of us. Although I felt a disgust and rage for this sad story, what more could I have done?
A few hours later, I cross the cancha (basketball court that doubles as a soccer field) and headed to lunch. I came across Gloria, a woman who worked in kitchen at the project but left to find other work. She shared with me that her family was in a “critical” economic situation. I didn’t have to ask what that meant. She is recovering from eye surgery and doesn’t want to return to washing and ironing clothes because that is what she did for 13 years and doesn’t think her back and body can handle the work anymore. Later in the conversation, she tells me her son quit school although he only has a year left until he graduates to look for work also. On top of her job-searching struggles and barely making ends meet, she is attending Saturday school because she is determined to finish high school.
During lunch I was given the opportunity to accompany Emilio, a friend of the project from
As we entered the crowded, chaotic, three thousand student high school, I was greeted by dozens of regular library attendees. I think we were all surprised and excited to see each other outside of the typical setting of the library. They say everyone gets their ten minutes of fame, right? Never before in my life had I felt like both a huge celebrity and complete foreigner at the same time. Children were running out of classrooms to hug me, shouting my name through open windows to exchange a smile, staring at me with wide-open eyes. Meanwhile, I stood stunned and speechless at the conditions of the school environment in front of me. I tried to focus on the reason I originally came the school that day.
Emilio and I entered the classroom and began working with the students. After a few icebreakers, we sat in a circle and played a simple game. Emilio would say “Stand up and move your seat if…”, and the students would respond by running and quickly searching of an open, available seat in the room. He started out with simple phrases, but when he moved into the move heavier questions, I was shocked by some of the candid responses of the students.
Emilio, “Stand up and move your seat if…you ever seen someone dead…”
Four kids move.
“Really, you have seen someone dead? Who was it?”
My cousin he was being assaulted by two robbers and they killed him. The entire family was very sad.
“And you, what death did you see?”
My uncle. He offered no more explanation. No more words.
“Stand up and move your seat if you like the war”
Five kids get up and move.
“Why do you like war?”
Because people fight, and I like fighting. These words were spoken by a third grade girl named Maria. She stood there stoically looking painfully innocent in her school uniform.
“Does anyone else like fighting?”
Kids throughout the classroom nod their heads in agreement.
“Stand up and move your seat if you ate lunch today.”
Of the twenty kids or so only half moved.
“Stand up and move your seat if you were woken up last night by people shouting.”
Without thinking four students quickly ran across the room.
“Stand up and move your seat if you know someone who is a robber.”
Seven kids search for new seats.
“Is the robber a friend of yours? Does she live in the neighborhood?”
Yeah she is a friend, but she is a little older than I am. She is my neighbor who lives in the house right in front of mine. She has never stolen anything from me though. I think she only works on Saturdays.
“Stand up and move your seat if you have ever yelled at your mother.”
Everyone even those that haven’t been participating much moved.
“Move…if you like hugs.”
Not a single move except one innocent looking young girl stands slowly and nervously looks around.
“Stand up and move your seat if you like hugs.”
Emilio stood and repeated the question. Still no movement, and the girl sinks backs down in her seated hoping to remain unnoticed.
The kids couldn’t even stand in front of the room and say their name. All the classrooms are open. Metal roofs which make it impossible to listen in the rain. Broken desks, children sharing desks. Trash thrown all over the floor. Children screaming, shouting, hitting one another.
A teacher yells so loud that her voice quivers and runs down my spine, trying to get the children to behave. I can tell she has passed the point of frustration; she’s lost hope and is not acting this way because she wants to be. I think she would be embarrassed to know my thoughts about her at that moment.
While we walk out of the school, I realize my afternoon is not quite over. We pass by an assembly for the secondary students. After a very biased political speech given by a representative of the government, they announce that the president is giving a brand new bike to the best student in each classroom. The best student of the school receives a new computer. Meanwhile, they lack teachers, paper, photocopies, pencils, classrooms. But a bike is something necessary for the top student of the class? Why not award them money towards a college education they might never have?
I leave, get on the bus. I don’t even know what else to think. I don’t speak, just stare and stand and try not to fall over amidst the many stops. I want to think about everything and nothing that happened today. I want the world to be just. That seems so far off.
No comments:
Post a Comment