Dermot - Api

To lay the groundwork for this story, I need to take you back to the battlegrounds of Mes de Misión: the month-long service trip I completed in January. This is where I first tried api: a warm corn-based drink that has the consistency of runny toothpaste, the flavor of something awful doused with a lot of sugar, and the potential to ruin your day, if consumed in large quantities. I imagine that in some dystopian future, an alien invasion force might force-feed api to rebellious humans, as the beverage is as torturous as it is other-worldly. If you disagree, ask yourself: how many times have you seen anyone voluntarily drink steaming, purple goo? Before Mes de Misión and outside of reruns of Star Trek, I had never encountered anything like the pseudo-beverage that has become the nemesis for my teaching at Cristo Rey.

Now, I can't entirely blame what happened on the api. I was on my third day of Mes de Misión and was getting ready to eat a simple breakfast, when my new best friend Doña Lila filled my Nalgene water bottle with an overwhelming quantity of the purple stuff. I was happy for the generous gift and was pleased to know that Doña Lila (the cook at the cafeteria where we ate every morning) had taken the bait from all the effusive compliments I had paid her about her cooking. Unfortunately, the Almighty frowned upon both my gluttony and my sycophantic tendencies toward Doña Lila by giving me the all-to-familiar rumbling in my stomach which sends me running to a Peruvian bathroom.

I politely excused myself from the breakfast table and headed toward my living quarters. I was fiddling with the keys to open the door and quickly redeposit the api in our communal toilet, when mother nature dictated that that the front door to our house would be a better place.

Luckily, no one actually saw me vomiting up purple bile. But, sure as sunshine, all my kids came marching out of the cafeteria as I was attempting to hide the evidence of my latest failure with Peruvian cuisine. I tried to play it off that a dog had done something nasty….or maybe it was funny run-off from the river (I tried to tell them, "It´s the rainy season, you know"). Then, the biggest smart-ass in the class stared at me deadpan and said, " Meester Liinch, es vomito de api." (No translation needed).

The cat was out of the bag. And it’s been the running joke in the school ever since. In class, on a bad day, I turn around to write something on the board and I hear “api,” “api,” “api,” from various corners of the room. I try to discipline the kids and somebody invariably yells, “don´t worry, Miister Liinch, be api (happy).” Two weeks ago, I was watching Cristo Rey play a soccer game and the entire 4^th year and 5^th year classes (120 students) started chanting “api” as I walked by.

What can I do in the face of this problem? In reality, very little. At first, I tried to be rigid: a strict disciplinarian. I tried to make the kids fear me. I threatened them too much with detention. I tried to shock and awe them with meticulously organized lesson plans. None of this really worked. I realized that excessive punishment only alienates you from the students, while more trust will give you a great class.

I learned this valuable lesson in balancing discipline and encouragement after visiting the houses of my "tutoria" students. As part of the Peruvian education system, every thirty kids are assigned the equivalent of a super-homeroom teacher who must fulfill the role of head disciplinarian, counselor, spiritual guide, and adult best friend for the student. Part of this job entails a visit to each students’ house during the first half of the year. As an assistant tutor (working with a very capable Peruvian), I have visited 29 of the 30 kids at their homes and have learned about the difficulties many of them have overcome.

Perhaps most shockingly, I learned that about half of my students come from broken families. The parents might have had children early (and unexpectedly), as is often the case in Latin America, and now have trouble maintaining a marriage caused more by an accidental pregnancy than through mature and prolonged feelings of love. On the other hand, there are a surprising number of families who are split for economic reasons: the man or the woman might work across the border in Chile or in the mines outside of Tacna, while the other parent is left to work in town and take care of the family. Either situation is far from ideal and certainly gives my kids more to worry about than the correct way to conjugate the past perfect simple.

Furthermore, after talking with my fellow JVs who teach at another school in Tacna, we all concluded that depressingly few of our kids have positive male role models in their lives. I´d never known so many single mothers until I came to Latin America. I´d never met someone who beat his wife until I moved to Tacna. And I felt especially grateful this Father’s Day to have such a caring and stable father, when so many of my students lack the same.

I kept all this in mind when I saw the 120 kids chanting “api.” What did I do to stop them? I could have flown into a fit and punished the entire class. I could have grabbed some more teachers to "tranquilizar" the students. I could have ignored them.

Instead, I put a big smile on my face and charged head-on into the crowd. I half-tackled the ringleader of the group and introduced him to the very American concept of a "noogie," only after picking him up and playfully throwing him in the air, in a move reminiscent of the WWF wrestling stars all these kids love so much. The kids enjoyed my antics thoroughly and only chanted “api” in a louder voice: something I interpret as a good thing.

I understand now that these kids need a male in their lives that will do more than yell at them and demand of them without reward. In short, I've learned to embrace api in all its forms, as long as it will bring me to a closer and more respectful relationship with my students. Not, I join in the api jokes when it suits me, as a self-effacing way to connect with my students.

Learn more about Dermot here.

Kate - On Faith

I came to JVC seeking both reconciliation with the Catholic faith of my childhood and absolute fear that JVC would brainwash me into "becoming Catholic".

I was raised Catholic, but from a very social justice orientation. I attended gay right protests, woke up to migrant workers sleeping in our playroom, and by the 2nd grade had written a book on racism and sexism. At the same time, I did not make the connection between justice and faith. What I remember about faith was receiving a Bible in preparation for my First Communion and randomly flipping it open to the section about how a wife should obey her husband. I couldn't believe that this was the book everyone believed in. In my First Communion class, I also asked the teacher if we could change the Lord's prayer (not knowing you can't change it) to say as we TRY to forgive those who trespass against us, because we don't always forgive them. Religion and I were not off to a good start.

As I grew older, I drifted from Catholicism but maintained a belief in justice. I still considered myself a very spiritual person, but it was mostly a personal practice for me. When I thought of Christianity I immediately thought of anti-gay, anti women-rights, and generally close-minded people. I must admit that I came to JVC with these prejudices. At the same time, I believed so strongly in the four values, and I genuinely wanted reconciliation with Catholicism.

What I have loved about spirituality within JVC is that I feel as though I am given the space and the time to explore it fully. No one is telling me: "This is what you have to believe". Instead they are asking, "What is it you believe?" How do those beliefs sustain you? What can you do to go deeper into faith? I feel as though so often in our lives we are not given the time and space to ask these questions, and yet JVC asks that we do.

There are many different things I have come to understand about Catholicism this year. I have met so many incredible people who identify as Catholic or Christian, thus shattering my pre-conceived notions about what it means to be religious. I have loved the connection to social justice and the idea of approaching justice from a faith-based place. This connection is one of hope; and I feel that it is hope that ultimately allows me to keep doing this work even in moments of despair.

At the same time, I am not sure I want to identify as Catholic. Sometimes I go to Church and feel very much at peace, and other times I just get angry. Why would I want to be part of something that is telling me women are second-class citizens? Why would I want to be part of an institution that is against gay marriage? If I say I am Catholic, aren’t I automatically saying I am these things too?

I suppose as with any institution, the Catholic Church is not perfect. And it will never change if everyone who disagrees with it as a whole just chooses to leave. I can chose to either fight from the inside or from the outside. I can say: I am not Catholic because there are some issues I institutionally do not agree with and therefore do not want to be identified with, or I can say: I am Catholic, and I want others to understand that to be Catholic is ultimately about the people and the message and not necessarily the institution.

I haven't yet decided where I want to stand. I do know there is so much more I want to learn about Catholicism, and that I love having a community element to my spirituality. I suppose my reconciliation is this: to be Catholic should ultimately be a call to radically love. If you go to the Gospels, and look right at Jesus' message, it is pretty radical and beautiful. It is a call to love all people, to recognize their human dignity, and to especially recognize that in the people who have been marginalized by society. It is a message of hospitality and the idea that we are all family. And I personally don’t think you need to believe in Jesus to believe in these things. I think faith in something, whether it is god or humanity or this earth, ultimately should be a call to radically love one another.

Learn more about Kate here.