Et tu Colombiae?

Place: my apartment, windows open, fan on, 100watt lightbulb glaring
Time: 6:40pm but really floating in a surreal eternity of sweat and car horns and sand on my bed
Situation: failure, disappointment, uncertainty, worry, and above all excitement for something to give...

I did it.  I handed the piece of paper that makes my time at Berlitz officially over as of March 18th.  I printed it from the second floor of the school, signed it, finger printed it, dropped my blood on a certain spot, and then sealed it with my American ring and some wax they just keep around.  Now all that's left to do is finish teaching class this week, get an exit physical proving I wasn't abused, sign 350 more papers (including fingerprinting shenanigans), manually check out of the building, and then start compartmentalizing all the luggange I have unpacked in the last 2.5 months of living in a country without digital copies of anything.  I might actually have to go through the entire Berlitz exit with my aparment, my bank (wait I didn't unpack that part yet, maybe I can leave it in the box...), my visa, maybe even the person at the Olympica store will ask me to sign something saying I'm not going to be around to shop there anymore.  High five for being the most ineffcient place I have ever even imagined, Colombia.

The other day I taught a class in which we read a short article about a man who had a mis-transaction with a bank and the bank hounded him for 3 weeks about a 10cent deficit that he owed.  He finally paid the fee with a dollar bill and kindly suggested the clerk she keep the change; the suggestion not taken, she chased after him with his 90 cents.  After reading the story, I was livid with the complete stupditiy of the bankers actions and I asked my class what they thought.  To my semi-surprise, they agreed unanimously that she was a good employee and that she did a great job.  After further prodding, and an eventual "devil's advocate" position taken by me, they still had nothing more to say than "she did her job."  Is this Colombia's quest to use policies and brainwashing in order to industrialize?  If they're all sheep, at least they're going to get the job done...  And this frustration of mine only reminds me of how my American ideals of innovation, bending the rules to create efficiency, and independence of thought are valued where I'm from, but not necessarily here.  And waiting in line to fill out forms and visit offices of offices makes me tired.  I'm tired of this country.  I'm tired.

I came to South America with a vision.  I intended to learn Spanish, to live an exciting South American life filled with clubs and tequila and handsome dark-haired men dancing with me.  I intended to visit the beach after class, to take walks and play volleyball and do yoga.  I intended to build my life with the same blueprint that I've been using the last 4 years in MN.  However, changes in location and schedule and so many changes in lifestyle forced me to scrap the MN blueprint and begin to draw up a new one.  Yet the new one looks more like an amateur sketch than a print.  And some major pieces are missing; where there used to be plumbing now there is a hose, where there used to be a bank account now there is a spot in my top drawer with some bills, and where there used to be a plan to pursue now there is a languid half-intention to just get through the day.  Yet I feel like a fallladora, a failure.  With such intention came such hope and a surity that I would come back with some new skills not just new stories.  I have done some things, and now I know how to get a visa, how to stay in a hostel, how to teach a class of cadets or businessmen or true-beginners.  I know how to bargain for an apartment, and how to leave a contract.  But I don't know how to speak Spanish that much better, or how to move my feet to a latin rythmn.  Or was I just looking at one aspect before?  It seems I have learned all the things I never set out to know.

And that just makes me aware of the fact of so many more things that I haven't the slightest idea about.  Like how to get out on top.

Exploitation of me

A few weeks ago my boss confided to me that "you're helping me do big business here.  You're my star, everyone wants to hear your accent and all the students who have you love you."  Did my hours increase? No.  Did my pay increase?  No.  Did I have enough money to pay for my apartment?  Barely.  I just can't get over the idea of someone else making money because I am a good worker.  Shouldn't I see some of that?  If I'm going to bring something to a company, clients, skills, word of mouth advertising, shouldn't I see something more than $313 for around 130 hours of work?  Anyway, my American instincts of pure capitalism caused me a mini heart attack of defiance.  The problem is that when I become indolent with my work here, I'm not punishing my company, I'm punishing my students.  Which I just cannot do.  So... I quit.  And I'm bringing my dreams back to the US to rewrite my future; one mistake down, many to go.  Just not the same ones. :)

In other news, I was lucky enough to visit the islands outside Cartagena this week and I finally got some rest.  Despite being about as pretty as Cancun's worst beach, the atmosphere was total vacation and I got some vitamin D. :)  Now, I'm just waiting to know if I've been cut out of the system at Berlitz (I'm not working this Saturday, which is weird) so I can sign up for a Spanish class and get my life together before I make my humble return.

More later.

Amy