Santiago, Chile: After one night at the sister’s B & B I went ahead and paid for the next three nights. The location was good, they were nice enough and the house, room, bed were comfortable. With big windows, lace curtains and over stuffed furniture I thought a lot about an old movie-broadway show, “Arsenic & Old Lace”. Considering two old ladies, the big house and them doing the cooking, I ate out or did finger food; not that they couldn’t cook but the whole idea was just a little cumbersome and the arsenic thing spoiled my appetite. I didn’t have a key and the door was always locked. But one of them was always up, sort of like coming home late when you are 15.
Fast approaching the end of the trip, I had time to rethink all the water gone under the bridge and all the turns in the road not taken. I was still in touch with friends and family back in the States but only when I had access to an internet cafe or used an expensive, international telephone card. There was always a light at the far end of the tunnel, I would go home. Still, every day was like Forrest Gump’s box of chocolates; you never know what you’re gonna get. Everyone I met it seemed was comfortably shuffled into their own deck. Even when they had nothing to do, there was something to do. When I had nothing to do (which was often) it was either take a nap, sing to myself, feel lonesome or walk. I walked a lot. The exercise was good. My learning style is kinesthetic: for me to truly process information and ideas, I need to be in motion. So putting one foot in front of the other was a mental prompt as well as cardio-vascular exercise. I walked a lot that next day, Sunday.
Several years earlier I had given a ride to a homeless roadie, from St. Louis to Columbia, Missouri: what a revelation. Long story short, his culture was basically, Stone Age hunter-gatherer; wake up, move on, find food, move again, cache things of value for another day, find a safe place to sleep. In the morning you may be in a strange place but you follow the same pattern. My trip had an element of that but I never had to worry about my safety and if not among friends, people were always accommodating. I don’t know how long I could stay out on an adventure: I don’t think I want to know. Bees travel long distances from the hive but they all come back with nectar and a good story to tell their amigos. I’m more like the bee, you flirt with “Solitary” but it’s not what you want at story’s ends.
Monday morning I was anxious to see my friends at Terra Australis, the walk was maybe half an hour, maybe less. I was early, Olvia and Juan were there but the door was locked, I had to knock. It was a spontaneous happy go-round. One might have thought I was missing in action, now home from the war. Juan called their son Marcelo, the guy who spent Easter morning with me in a little mountain town, grazing on pilfered grapes and pomegranates. He was on his way to work at his day job but would come by the school.
Before I could get a cup of coffee down, Olvia had my day planned for me. I used my best Spanglish, defaulting to English on words or phrases that I didn’t own, doing my best to show I had learned something. She watched my eyes, helping me in either English or Spanish if she saw I needed help. “You must speak to our students, tell them about your trip; how about after the morning break!” I knew she would do that. She liked to show off her former students. A new face in the classroom would be a welcomed break in routine. “Then;” she said, “Then, oh yes; you must go over to the Library For The Blind. It’s just a few blocks. They called the other day and asked if I knew someone who could help their students who were learning English; you would be perfect.” I couldn’t get a word in but that was alright. We made more coffee and opened a box of cookies.
I brought El Peregrino with me, in a hurry to get him back in his hard case. He had come through all the jostling and thumping without damage and I didn’t want to stretch the luck. Marcelo stopped, agreed to go hang out for a while that night. Students were arriving and I had time to go see the lady at the library. Olvia had called her and she knew I was on my way. They had taught together, once upon a time, so I would be favored over a stranger off the street. Her story was short and pointed: they didn’t have a budget, only small change that falls through the cracks. This little library was a low funding priority, operating on a shoe string. There was a need for blind people to learn English. With bilingual language skill, their chances of finding work increased immeasurably.
I was full of questions. There were books and reading stations where magnifiers helped but most of the library was served by computers. Many of them were loaded with audio/video software so they could hear the text as they read along. She reminded me, the library served people who were visually impaired, from mild to severe to totally blind. They had English language programs for the computer but never able to afford a teacher. Another indirect but real value of the English program was that it gave otherwise social rejects and burdens to their families a place to go and a reason to be there. Any mastery of English could only help them.
I told her, “I have three days, what can I do?” She mused for a moment, pursed her lips and looked me square on; “You are a teacher, you know how to teach. Do what you can.” I asked, “When?” She answered, “How about today, after lunch?” The whole interview didn’t take ten minutes. Back at Terra Australis, Olvia was grilling two young men, conjugating verbs. A new girl, part time teacher had a lady and a teenage girl in the other room. They were farther along than the guys, translating English into Spanish. I got a bottle of water from the cooler and sat next to Juan. It was mind boggling how much correspondence he has to do from the initial contact with a prospective student until they walk in the door. Inquiries come from all over the world and he has to treat each one with a thoughtful, personal response. It’s a numbers, marketing game, never knowing which ones will follow through.
Break time came, the men went outside to smoke while the ladies stayed inside and drank tea. The guys were similar to Jeff & Jeff on Navimag, British college students, off seeing the world. They thought they could absorb enough in a week to take off and survive but they thought wrong. Not bad guys but certainly disappointed their plans had been derailed so soon. Olvia introduced me, invited the students to jump in with questions or comments, that this little reunion was for their benefit as well as ours. I went ahead in Spanglish, she made corrections and translated as needed. The guys were lost immediately and she took the opportunity to make her point. “Gentlemen, When Frank came here he was no better at this than you are now.” They understood but still lacked engagement. I took the opening, “You don’t eat a cow at one sitting.” They didn’t appreciate my humor but did begin to lean into the conversation and ask questions. The ladies followed along well and made good observations. They all wondered why I had chosen to travel alone. That was the part I got right from the start. It requires that you meet people and learn a new scheme. It can be uncomfortable with long stretches of lonesome time. But If I had wanted comfort and convenience I would have gone to Ireland or Australia and I would have taken a friend.
Olvia asked if I had any advice. The best I could offer was to remember, you don’t have to be perfect. It just has to work. Learn the gerund form with verbs. One ending works in just about every situation. Run-ran-runs, who cares? “Running” can serve in any tense and is good enough to make yourself understood. Then, talk to vendedores. They are trying to sell something and you are a potential customer. They were the most willing teachers I found along the way. If you are nice, they are nice in kind. Our session ended and it was time for lunch.
If I was going to work, in front of people, even if they couldn’t see; I was going to have my guitar with me. If I never touch it, it’s stylish at worst and if I do, then where would I be without it? An assistant was there to meet me, showed me to a computer lab with an open area in the middle. The librarian said this was where we would meet. Another lady followed us into the room. With a guide dog at her side, Ruth must have been forty, looked indigenous, well dressed and poised. She was one of the students but she was more. Her English was good, a lot better than my Spanish but still she came to class at La Biblioteca De Los Ciegos. When there was no one to lead the lesson, she guided the group. Shortly, four others showed up, three men and a woman. It was clearly a defining moment. There we were, six people in a room with me the only sighted one, tasked with teaching them my language. I was the only one who could see the weight of their disability. In public, Ruth would not have stood out. She had command of her space and if she couldn’t see, it didn’t leave her disabled. The others were obviously handicapped, with dark glasses and white canes, they shuffled into the room. The way it turned out, when her classmates needed help she helped them. When I needed help, she helped me. At the same time, she was learning new vocabulary and phrasing.
The 1970’s was a bad time to be a poor, Chilean child. If you had any disability at all, if it didn’t kill you, you would wear it like a curse for the rest of your life. Los Pobres do not turn out like Ruth. She had grown up with privilege and now it seemed, she was giving back. Two of the men were new to the program. They knew “Hello, Thank You and Rock & Roll.” Javier had some vocabulary and was there to improve his English but also to spend time with Claudia, the woman. They were sweethearts and Library For The Blind was the only place they could be together with any kind of privacy. Both came from the rural countryside but from opposite directions. Both were completely dependent on their families, had long bus rides into Santiago. Both in shabby, tattered clothes, poorly kept. Your first instinct on a bus would be to stand rather than sit beside them. For me it would be a crash course in gratitude and the resilience of human spirit.
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