Costa Rican Culture--November 2010 Essay

Before committing to volunteer in Costa Rica as an elementary school English teacher for a year, I spent several hours reading and talking to others about Tico culture. One reoccurring theme was that Costa Ricans do not value personal space and independence in the same way that we do in the U.S. As an extremely independent and self-sufficient American, I knew that this would be a struggle for me. I read that Costa Ricans, or “Ticos” as they refer to themselves as, often do not need nor want “alone time” as Americans often claim to require. Despite knowing that this would be a challenge for me, I began preparing for my year abroad, not knowing at the time how much Tico culture would truly impact me over the next 12 months.

I spent the first month in the breathtaking town of Orosi for orientation, where I stayed with a host family and attended classes on Spanish, teaching, and Costa Rican culture each day with the other 23 volunteers in my group. My host family seemed extremely nice and surprisingly understanding of the acculturation process I was going through. Days during orientation, however, were long and tiring. We were constantly having to process an abundance of new information, translating between English and Spanish, and experiencing a diverse array of emotions.

After a little over a week in Orosi, I arrived at my host family’s house tired from a full day of classes and uncharacteristically homesick. It was my dad’s birthday back in the States, so I was excited to call him. However, as soon as I arrived home, my family told me we were leaving in five minutes for a rezo to bless the nativity scene in a family member’s house. I felt overly disappointed and emotional, and although I was not in the mood to go, I decided to be flexible, telling myself that I would be home early enough to call my dad. We arrived at the party around 6:00 p.m. only to find out that it started at 7:00, meaning we would be home by 9:30 at the earliest. I was so overwhelmed with disappointment at not being able to call my dad that I could no longer hold back the tears. My family stared at me bewildered as I stood bawling in the foyer. They sat me down on the couch and tried to console me. Meanwhile, a steady stream of relatives poured into the house, only to find me bawling in the middle of the family room. I met several of my host aunts, uncles, and cousins for the first time that night.

As family members continued to surround me, all I could think was “I want to be alone!” I knew that if they just left me alone for a few minutes, I could pull myself together and stop crying. Finally, I said I was going to go for a walk and left the house. My host mom told my 13-year-old brother he had to go with me, but I begged him to leave me alone. When I arrived at the house again 30 minutes later thinking I had gotten all the crying out of my system, my host mom hugged me and a new stream of tears began. This time they herded me into a side bedroom and people took turns sitting with me for the next hour or so as I cried non-stop. My host brother sat by my side the entire time, cracking jokes to make me laugh between sobs. When I was finally able to settle down, I was thankful to be surrounded by such caring people. I felt oddly close to this family whom I had just met a week ago. This was my first experience with one of the most challenging and one of my favorite aspects of Costa Rican culture.

Four weeks later, I arrived in the small mountain town where I would teach for the next 11 months. Upon walking into my new house, I quickly noted that there were no ceilings separating the rooms; not even the bathroom had a ceiling. In the house would be my host parents, my ten-year-old host brother, my five-year-old host sister, and myself. I have always loved kids, so I was excited to have young host siblings. As we sat on the couch that first afternoon, my sister studied me curiously. As she sat swinging her feet back and forth on the oversized chair, a big smile lit up her face and she told me that she liked my shoes. A few minutes later, she got up and ran into her room, returning with a piece of candy for me. Later that night, she gave me a princess sticker. As my host mom likes to say, we had an instant connection.

I quickly learned, however, that living with a boisterous five-year-old in close living quarters was also extremely challenging. Months later, we like to joke that my sister is my “shadow,” as she is always bounding behind me, full of questions and comments and wanting to see and touch everything. Despite the fact that I love her immensely, she is often a challenge. I frequently wake up in the mornings and stumble out of my room to find her sitting at the kitchen table smiling up at me, wide awake and bursting with energy. Within seconds, she is at my side. When I come home from school in the afternoons, she runs to open the door for me and asks me to play. If I am traveling for the weekend, she likes to help me pack my bag. With a lack of ceilings in the house and my sister waiting on my every move, privacy is hard to come by. Although my family is very respectful of my personal space, it can be difficult to explain my need for “alone time” to a hopeful five-year-old.

As a fiercely independent person, I am not accustomed to asking for help; in fact, it’s quite difficult for me. Luckily, many of the Costa Ricans I have met often do not seem to consider that I never asked them for help. In October, I planned a long-awaited Halloween party for my students. I wanted it to live up to their expectations, so I had several activities planned. As I began to prepare a few days beforehand, I quickly felt overwhelmed with the work ahead of me. The day before the party, I had accepted that I would be in the school until very late that night to finish preparing. Soon after I began making halloween treats in the school kitchen, the school cook found me and decided that she would help me. Although at first I told her I was okay, she insisted. Finally I relented and quickly realized that we worked much faster together than I ever could have done on my own. We finished my first project and ran to attend a school board meeting. Then, to my surprise, she insisted on staying to help me with my other projects. A few minutes later, a neighbor came in, saw what we were doing, realized that it was going to take awhile, rolled up her sleeves and set to work. The three of us finished my projects by early afternoon, and they turned out so much better than I could have done alone. I thanked my neighbors endlessly. They explained to me that Costa Ricans love to help others, and I could not agree with them more.

My year in Costa Rica has been full of experiences such as these. Although my first reaction is often “leave me alone!” or “I can do this by myself!” Costa Ricans have a way of shrugging off my requests and generously helping or accompanying me anyways. Many of these people who so often annoyed me with their persistent ways have left an unforgettable impression on me. My heart aches as I think about leaving them; however, I know that this is proof that this year has been an amazing and life-changing experience. One of the most challenging aspects of these past 12 months has also made it one of the best of my life. I have learned to take a deep breath and accept help and friendship where it is offered. As I often tell the Costa Ricans that I meet, of all the cultures that I have known, I have never met one that is as generous and kind as theirs.