Tightly gripping my backpack stuffed with lesson notes and craft supplies, I slowly walked into the classroom, and immediately, the eyes of eight sixth-graders darted towards my Spanish-speaking partner Gaby and me. They were excited to meet the volunteers introduced to them as Amigos de Los Estados Unidos (Friends from The United States). Unfortunately, their impatience with my limited Spanish-speaking ability would be frustrating for us all. I had already misinterpreted questions from three students who decided to direct any future questions at Gaby instead. This setback undeniably impacted my confidence in my communication skills and caused me to comfortably record lesson plans behind the scenes for the first two days. However, I knew that my purpose for training and fundraising with the Amigos program for the past year was so I could collaborate with the community on a project, practice Spanish, and teach the students. I had always aspired to help youth reach their fullest potential, and I knew that I was prepared to undertake the influential role of a teacher. The biggest challenge was surely going to be the language barrier. After all, I had come to live in Palmares having taken only four years of mediocre Spanish courses.
I came up with a plan. I would ask Gaby to let me manage the activities for environmental sustainability the next day. Knowing that we would teach the first graders for the first time, I was ready to renew my passion for teaching. I eagerly brainstormed, discarding the complicated games, and starring potentially enjoyable crafts until I convinced myself that I had the perfect lesson. I prepared stickers and a song called “¿Dónde Jugarán Los Niños?” (Where would the children play?) and demonstrated how to make fortune tellers so Gaby could help supervise. Even after all of my preparations, I was still nervous. I wanted the young students to enjoy my class.
It was finally time. After giving hesitant instructions filled with unfit conjugated verbs and rough sentence structure, I could feel my confidence fading again. Still, I was determined to finish the lecture. I tried once more, carefully, clearly, and correctly crafting each sentence word-by-word. My patient, proud, and encouraging students gave me a sense of instant gratification. They were young enough to remember the struggle of learning Spanish but reliable enough to help me rectify my errors. They would give me time to piece together each question and, to my advantage, not immediately turn the question to Gaby. This supportive experience had prepared me for leadership roles beyond my twenty days at Escuela Naranjo.
Ironically, my transition to adulthood was initiated by eleven Spanish-speaking first graders in a community 3,463.6 miles from my comfort zone. I taught them about environmental issues and personal health, and in exchange, they indirectly showed me how patience can strengthen an individual's confidence in making mistakes. When I arrived back in Utah, I reread Antoine de Saint-Exupéry's novella "The Little Prince" about how all grown-ups were once children. The young students in Naranjo taught me what Saint-Exupéry meant by this. As one grows up, it is necessary to maintain the untroubled and encouraging behavior they had as children. I am grateful to the first graders for reminding me that school can be enjoyable if you have confidence in your cognitive abilities. I will continue to implement what I have learned in my future role as a student, neuroscientist, and teacher.
At the end of our cross-cultural service project, Gaby and I were unprepared to leave the students that now considered us Amigos de Costa Rica (Friends of Costa Rica).