Bump, Set, Spike

Well ,it's no secret in town that the gringa likes to ''trotar.'' Literal translation: ''to trot'' or ''to hustle,'' but more widely recognized as ''to jog''. I prefer the former. Anyways, so yes I like to trot and trot I do. And the people like to talk about it and talk about it they do. After all, I'm the only person doing any trotting around here without a horse. So what does this mean for my career as an English teacher? Well, to the untrained eye, just about nothing. But to the Chileans, it means that I should not only be teaching English, but Physical Education as well. So let me introduce myself . . . Brooke Mackenzie, part time English teacher, part time PE teacher.

Now I wasn't completely opposed to the idea at first. I mean who wouln't want to play sports with a bunch of rowdy tikes in 10 degree below freezing weather? However, the other teacher didn't want me to just play the usual soccer and games I prefer like dodgeball and who can stay silent longest while standing on their head. Noooo, they had bigger plans . . . . they thought volleyball. There are 3 problems with this particular sport.

1. There is no ball.
2. There is definately no net.
3. The new teacher doesn't really know how to play the sport.

However, this won't stop any determined Chilean because with each of these problems there is an obvious solution.

1. There is a soccer ball.
2. There is an unusually high barbed wire fence diving the property of the school and that of a neighboring farm . . . aka, the net.
3. The teacher makes up the rules she goes.

So with that we began to play volleyball and I have to admit, it has not only been quite entertaining watching a group of kids manipulate a ball with their hands when they are much more comfortable doing it with their feet, but they seem to be learning more English in PE than in English class. Now, rather than greet me with the usual ''hello Miss, how are you?'' which never seems to come out quite right anyway, they cheerfully chime, ''hello Miss! Bump, set, spike!'' With that I simply reply, ''fine, thank you!''

Bitter Sweet Beaucracy

What a girl wouldn't do for a bar of chocolate? In Chile, just about nothing. I walk into a store that seems to have a large selection of chocolate bars. I'd been satisfying that sweet tooth with sugary cakes and cheap cookies. All I wanted now was some semi-quality chocolate. I settle my eyes on a bar of bitter dark in some pretty wrapping (pretty wrapping = yummy chocolate?!?). I tell the woman behind the counter which one I want. Yes, for some reason these candy bars are behind a thick pane of glass. Why? Because thick paned glass = yummy chocolate?!? The woman then takes the chocolate bar to where? Well, I'm not quite sure at this moment and hands me a receipt. I look at her slightly perplexed and she, having probably recieved this look a billion times before, silently points to another woman on the other side of the store. I weave my way through the crowded store, reciept in hand to the ''other woman.'' She takes my reciept and then looks at ME slightly perplexed. Having recieved this look a billion times before in foreign countries, I do as always and start dishing out the dinero. Then the woman takes receipt#1, staples it to another reciept and hands it back to me. But where the heck is my candy? She then points me in the direction of a man waiting behind yet another thick pane of glass (and we already know what that means) who takes my reciepts and miraculously conjures up my chocolate. Chocolate bar in one hand and receipts in other he begins to compare the two. I think he was looking for that little Indian boy with a bow and arrow that indicates you've won a free Tootsie pop. Apparently he didn't win or after a good three minutes of scrutinization he concluded that these receipts do indeed correspond to the candy in hand. And just as he goes to bag my chocolate I almost begin to say the usual ''Oh I don't need a bag,'' but thankfully stop myself. Can you imagine how may receipts I would have to accumulate for the that request, not to mention it would have thrown the whole system out of whack. He finally hands me my chocolate, not to mention my reciepts, and sends me on my way. If you could trace my path in the store that day I imagine it would have looked something like the Star of David. But I had my chocolate and all the proof in the world that it was mine.

The Resourceful Teacher

So, yes I've begun teaching and can you picture me in a room of fifteen 5-7 year olds playing games and singing songs? I know . . . I guess pigs have begun to fly because here I am teaching kids! And I thought all this time I was allergic to them. Anyway, classes with the kids are going well because I've realized that the quickest way to a latino's heart is to play soccer and that I can do! So, how I won them over? Three goals, two assists, and a header that knocked over one of the school bullies. Yes! I'm in their club! Now I just gotta figure out how to teach them English!

My classes with the adults are going amazingly well. I love working with adults! And it seems that the ''resources'' the Ministry of Education was going to send us is just that . . . a word surrounded by quotes. So, I've learned to become resourceful . . . attaching papers without a stapler, using gum for tape, an earing to make a spinning wheel, and you would never believe how useful Cameron Diaz's left leg is to recreate a map of Chile! A wise professor once told me that you know you are in a developed country when you find paper clips on the floor. Well, what I wouldn't give for a few paper clips now!

Chao,

B-ing creative

Pachamama and the Usado

Pachamama is the name of my landlord. She is also my neighbor, my Chilean mother, and my closest friend here in Colliguay. ''Pachamama'' means ''Mother Earth'' in Yquechua. And yes, Pachamama doth provide . . .

Thank you Pachamama for my two story cottage. What appeared at first to be very ''cozy'' was really two large ice chests, one stacked upon the other, in disguise. Yes, I haven't quite figured it out yet, but for some reason it is colder in my cabina than it is outside. However, if I wear every bit of clothing I have, do 28 sit-ups before I get into bed, and spoon my Nalgene filled with boiling water, I manage to stay warm.

Thank you Pachamama for my 8 gaurdian angels who come to me in the form of semi-wild barking dogs. The first night asleep in my little igloo I was suddenly awoken by the little angels barking up a storm . . . or better yet a hurricane. I'm pretty sure they were protecting me from the completely deaf demon (or town drunkard) Ramoncito. You can't have a small town without one. But because of them, I feel safe.

I think I also feel safe due to the little string attached to my bedroom window, running through my grape-vined patio, across my private pool (yes I have a small, empty pool with some cow bones in it), to a bell hanging on the front door of Pachamama. This contraption, along with many others in the house, was invented by the Usado.

Ahhh the Usado (''used'' for those non-spanish speakers). He is Pachamama's partner. I call him this because after our first lunch together (Pachamama, the Usado, the 8 angelitos, and myself) he preferred to be called ''used'' rather than ''old''. It was a little joke of ours. And I was so happy to have an inside joke with my new neighbors, that upon seeing him the next time I yelled out ''Hey Usado!'' You can imagine my surprise when he stared back at me blankly and continued about his business of cutting up empty, plastic Coke bottles.

But all the same, thank you Pachamama for all that you have given me . . . pumpkin, persimmons, walnuts, chicha, a lesson on heating my bath water, a Jehovah's Witness book in Spanish, a room with a view of the snow-capped mountains on all four sides, and all the love and carino a girl could want to keep her warm in this freezing little mountain town.