Yesterday morning I took Tula on another walk in the neighborhood. She requests this almost daily, enjoying both the exercise as well as the large following she has gained here locally. I think it's a combination of her fortuitous name ("Tula de Tapachula!" or better, "Chula de TapaTula!", where "chula" is a local word for "cutie") and her overall, well, cuteness. People reach across sidewalks to touch her hair ("pelo de oro!"); ask to hold her while someone takes their picture together (she rarely complies--though did so here because the bounce house had her a little disoriented, I think);
and spontaneously buy her treats--which, of course, she cannot refuse. She is a favorite of the children in Infonavit Las Vegas, our neighborhood, and I was reminded of this on our walk as her name was called again and again through metal bars and windows by smiling children as they prepared for school.
We are starting to come to terms with the fact of our departure. It is hard to believe that we will leave in less than three days for our journey across southern Mexico. In the less than three weeks we have been in Tapachula, we have managed to settle very comfortably into the "Pearl of Soconusco," and the adventure has turned out to be even more amazing than I could have imagined. The boys have demonstrated themselves to be incredibly open to new experiences: new language, new food (though usually only an obligatory nibble, as was the case with this plate of iguana and its accompanying vegetable side dish, a.k.a. Deep Fried Mop);
new customs, new friends, new levels of heat and humidity.... They are soaking it all up, and occasionally they drop hints of the new awareness they are acquiring. Yesterday we packed a bag of the toys they have collected while in Mexico to share with the two children who are living at the shelter, and who have none. I suggested that they consider giving the toys away, if the kids wanted them. While initially reluctant to consider this, once Greg had described to them the conditions in which these kids live--one set of clothing, a single board game for entertainment, no school (no one to take them), etc--they immediately jumped into the project and by the time we left for the shelter had two backpacks filled with toys and clothing. Mahlon spent some time reflecting on the couch after that, was overheard mumbling something about feeling "weird, having so many toys at home." No doubt.
The evenings this past week with the neighborhood kids have also been transformative for them. Our boys' initial shyness has completely disappeared, and now they spend several hours every night running around with about twenty other kids between the ages of 5 and 17. Last night I arrived home late to find them both on the sidewalk across the street from Dona Olga's--Baxter involved in a duel with some other kid on DS's, and Mahlon in a furious game of "hot potato," where the potato was the deflated rubber ball that had been a gift from Gabi, et. al., a couple of nights ago. (Ah, the too-well-loved ball. I think that poor, 3 peso ball survived about 17 games of either soccer or basquetball before giving up the ghost.)
Here they are, within minutes of hitting the bed, after 4 hours of ball games and craziness in the 'hood until 10 pm. There's no work like Kid Work.
Up until this past Monday, Mahlon and Baxter had been formally learning Spanish for an hour a day. Their first teacher, who had some long, utterly unpronounceable name and who had asked them to call him "Nacho," instead, had been coming to the home of their nanny to teach them. That was working beautifully. Nacho was fun, funny, drew elaborate pictures to illustrate what he was teaching them, and, helpfully, could (and would) speak English in a pinch. This week a new teacher arrived, and while she had extensive background in the conjugation of Spanish verbs, she apparently had little awareness of the special needs of goofy boys. She did bring cut out pictures of the Simpsons to illustrate her lesson but this unfortunately backfired, since, according to Baxter, "Nacho did the same thing last week. And he DREW them. HIMSELF!" Possibly in pen, or perhaps watercolor. Mahlon was quick to report that she did not smile for the whole lesson. And she left them them terrified of using any English, though I have not heard the details yet on how she managed this.
Needless to say, that lasted only once. When we mentioned their disappointment to Myra (the "adopted" daughter of Dona Olga), she offered enthusiastically to teach them in the afternoons, which we have done for the past two days. Yesterday the kids spent about an hour writing in names of body parts on a tracing of Baxter. The day before, they made cards with the names of furniture, etc. Both days' lessons now decorate the house, and Greg and I are kicking ourselves for not doing that 2 weeks ago. Better late than never, I suppose.
