A Season In Hell

I was in church and they were praying for me.
I felt touched, and not just because they were actually touching me. They were laying hands on me and praying. Loudly. They were asking Jesus to look out for me.
I raised my hands and thought, ‘Christ, what the hell am I doing here?’
The pastor and his wife were Evangelical Christians. This was hard core. This was hands in the air, singing and clapping, falling over in fits type of worship. The congregation weren’t quite talking in tongues -unless you count Spanish- but it wasn’t far off. They believed in Christ resuscitated. There were no crucifixes or idols in the church. It was bare. They thought if He popped in He wouldn't like to be reminded of how He was killed. I would join them in the church most days, out of politeness. They all prayed for me, they blessed me, they thanked me for my help.
I raised my hands and said, ‘Amen.’ I hope I don’t go to hell for it. If I believed I might actually be worried by it.
…
Well, I wanted a life stripped down and bare and, for my sins, I got it. The village was near banana plantations and pineapple fields. The location didn’t lack for beauty but the houses did. It was poor, very poor. Kids were shoeless and homes were shacks of wood and corrugated iron. I was lucky, the pastor had a fridge. Don’t ask about the bathroom, even the cockroaches avoided it.
We were on the Caribbean side of the country and it was hot and humid. The air was so thick you could kick a ball in the air and it wouldn't come down. The nearest town with any civilisation -and internet connection- was about half an hour away. That town was basic. Compared to the village it was bloody Las Vegas.
In the mornings, we’d work from 7 till about 11 to escape the worst of the heat. We’d clear the terrain, mix and lay cement. Each day we'd work till my muscles ached and sweat dripped off my chin. After lunch, I’d sit on the porch, my body exhausted, my head fried by the heat, and think about it all. This was like living in a pot of dirty boiling water. The poverty, the heat, the lack of any escape. It was unbearable.
Some nights, lying on my filthy mattress, my body hurting and drowning in sweat, mosquitoes feasting on me, the ex-alcoholic grandfather having a coughing fit and the three year old whimpering in his nightmares, I just wanted to run away. I just wanted to get up and run as far away as possible. But there was no escape for these people. They had nowhere to run to. This was their life. It always would be.
…
One day, a young guy helped us mix cement. He invited me round to his house. His mother made me rice and beans. It’s a typical Caribbean dish here, it’s actually called rice and beans in Spanish. I don’t know what’s in it. During the meal she told me that she was married to a German. Before disappearing long ago he had once dragged her by the hair along some railway lines. Her second partner had attacked her with a machete, she showed me the scars. Relatively speaking, the German wasn’t so bad. She asked me if I could help her locate him. She didn’t speak English or German or have access to a computer but she had his name and date of birth. I wrote it all down. I figured that tracking down some piece of shit German was the least I could do in return for a delicious plate of rice and beans.
…
'What language do they speak in England?' one person asked me.
'Is it far away?' asked another.
'Why do you speak Spanish?' asked a third.
'Can I see your camera?' a child asked. 'Will you give it to me?'
'Why don't you shave?' asked the pastor's wife.
…
The pastor’s children weren’t great believers. Often while the parents were in church, they would be at home watching horror films on DVD. One evening I joined them. I figured it was a different type of distraction. And, after all, it was about distraction, it was about having some release from the existence here. Some people had DVDs, some people had God, some people had drink.
I had a bus ticket out.

The Heart Of Darkness

It was getting too comfortable so I´ve gone up river, deeper in country.
I´ve extended my volunteering and moved to a new project. It´s remote and very basic, halfway up a mountain, surrounded by forest. I share a room with three kids, a grandparent and two kittens. Sometimes there is no water. I´m alone here, there are no other volunteers. This morning I was up at seven mixing cement. I´m living with pastor and his family, we are building an extension to his church where children can play.
'Do you believe?' his wife asked me.
'Sure,' I said. I don´t want to upset the only friends I have here. I´m not even sure where I am.
Signing off for a while. I´m going native...

Easter

He came for Easter break.
He was a college student from New York and he came to volunteer and to have some fun in Costa Rica. He had an easy smile, was a bit loud -in that American way- and he was active.
The first few days he helped out in the slum. Then he visited a beach on the Pacific coast. Then he did a bungee jump. Then he did some white water rafting. Then he did some cross country All Terrain Vehicle driving. Then the ATV flipped over and crushed his spine. Then the doctors had to tell him that he was paralysed from the waist down. Now he will never walk again.
How was your Easter?

Another Good Thing Lost Forever

We sat on a hilltop. On soft grass.
We talked about things and looked out at the vista. We saw fields and forests and mountains leading far away. This was as green as we had seen it here. Solitary clouds hung still in the sweltering sky. The air smelled fragrant. Insects buzzed past our ears.
We sat and talked.
Sometimes you met someone and you made a connection. Sometimes you met someone who gave you hope about people. She was young but she was smart. She wouldn’t be one of the robots. She would face the tide, find her way and get by.
But it was time to go.
We stood up. The grass bounced back as if we had never been.
Sometimes you met someone who gave you hope and then you parted. Two lives that briefly crossed and connected. Then you’re left with the sadness of another good moment gone forever.
Of course, being objective, it’s quite possible she just thought that I was a tedious knobhead.

Ants In The Sugar

This morning there were ants in the sugar. I looked at them a moment then I picked them out. I figured it was still better than being stuck on the Central Line between stations at rush hour.
…
Costa Rica has no army. They abolished it back in the late 40s. But before you think of trying to overthrow the government here using a pointed stick there are a lot of guns. I was in a bar the other night singing karaoke with other volunteers and there was a shooting outside. We were singing ‘Killing Me Softly’ which I thought was ironic.
…
The currency here is called the Colon. I’ve been here nearly two months and I still find that amusing.
…
Sometimes you’ll be on a bus here and the driver will get off and go into a shop. The first time, I looked around to see if anyone else was surprised. They weren’t. Now I just try and look as bored as they are until he comes back. Having said that, if I see one heading into a cinema I’m getting off.
…
The capital city of San Jose is functional rather than beautiful. A bit like Wayne Rooney. Most houses are behind locked gates for security. Walking around a residential area feels a little like walking around a vast prison. Now and again, I twirl an imaginary baton and shout under my breath, 'OK, lock 'em up boys!'. But I don't do that very often.