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.