They come in droves, they come in waves

Peace Corps has changed the nature of my relationship with children, at school and at home. I'm still quick to say that I love kids, but now, after ten months of dealing with kids, albeit from a different culture, I've changed my tune slightly. Now, I'm not afraid to get terse with some kids. Or straight up yell.

I work in the schools, so I deal with kids every day in the supposed teacher-student, "expect respect" relationship. However, I have come into an educational system where insulting kids (or at least labeling them) in school is more common than where I'm from. (Remember Teacher Meany Pants from an earlier post?) Also, slowly but surely, the culture of blaming the parents and the students has seeped into me, and although the lack of initiative is a collective issue, it's hard not to think, "These darn kids just don't care anything about school." So the respect from teachers to students is often absent. So, sadly, it has changed the way I interact with kids. For example, when I see kids from the middle school walking around the elementary school, I ask, "Hey you, troublemaker! What are you doing here? Did you get suspended? If not, shouldn't you be in class?" The sad truth is that in too many cases, the students respond saying the teacher sent them to do an errand or that their class is not in session. What does this all lead to? My mistrust of most children. That's not good. I always thought to assume their innocence, but that has now changed.

So of course, get respect, give respect. The opposite, students respect teachers, doesn't always happen either. I can't assume they're all bad kids, and sometimes they don't even know they're up to no good. Or that what they're doing is widely considered disrespectful. It's a cultural thing, you know? As soon as I got here, I came face to face with snotty children in school. See, back in my day, a snide, rhetorical question like, "Is the teacher's desk really where you're supposed to sit?" got a kid to get up, move, sit down, behave, whatever. Here, it seems like an invitation to respond similarly, i.e. "Yes..." (tongue out or heavy sarcasm implied) Teachers have no qualms about taking class time for meetings, teacher parties, idle chit-chat, whatever. And if the teachers don't respect class time, why should the students? However, I leave that issue for another day.



Outside school, it's a bit different. They like to think you're their friend, just another member of the community. What they don't know is that I'm not Panamanian, and that what they do can really annoy me. Let me give an example of a regular day in which I can touch on several points.

Today several waves of kids stopped by the house. Wave One was a pair of boys. They came to talk and play with the cat. No big deal. They're good kids, so it was fine. They asked over and over again if I had peanut butter to give them.

Point 1: They never forget anything. ANYTHING.
To review quickly, I went out and gave Oreo cookies with a dab of peanut butter for my birthday. I wanted to share a tasty treat with the kids. Since that day (April 10th), I've gotten kids asking me, "Y las galletas?" And the cookies? In that exact way. Not at all specific. Not "Do you have more cookies?" or "Wow, I really liked those cookies." or "What kind of cookies were those?" (The phrasing of their inquiry irks me, if you can't already tell.) Same thing with the goodie bags from Halloween. Now every kid, whether they came to my house and got a bag or not, is asking me if tomorrow is Halloween again or if I have more bags. How am I supposed to answer that question in a way that shuts down the conversation? NO I DON'T HAVE ANY MORE BAGS! You think that'd work, but they still ask over and over.

Then the kids poked their head in the house when the cat went inside. They played with the cat in a way that annoyed me, yanking his arms and holding him up on two legs, pulling his tail, etc. Then, they saw the bicycle and immediately went inside to touch it.

Point 2: If you're not careful, they will invade your house.
And they touch everything. They ask you what you were doing on your computer or what you were reading (or "studying") on your Kindle or what you were listening to on your iPod. Then they'll ask you how much it cost you. In this case, it was the bicycle. It's a difficult situation, because if I divulge too much information about how much money I make (however little it may be), I may give the impression that I'm rich...which I'm really not. Then you get kids, or worse, parents, asking you for money for a soda or cookies, or bigger things. Luckily, that hasn't really happened too often. But I digress. The point is that the kids come in and touch things. They don't understand that my house is my sanctuary.

The culture here is such that anybody can walk up to a house in the neighborhood unannounced and just come inside. And if you stay at a house long enough, they eventually give you food and drink. Really great, right? Until they flip the script on you. Now I have a house and all the little kids expect me to give them something. I don't make a huge pot of rice and beans for everyone, so I don't just have food to offer. The little food I have in the house is for me. I mean, I paid for it, right? It sounds selfish, but I really only make enough food for myself. Sometimes I give a tiny bit of something, but from there, it only gets worse.

Point 3: The "If you give a mouse a cookie" Scenario
So finally after the kids got under my skin (or into my heart, depending on how you look at), I finally gave some peanut butter. I had them go buy cookies to spread the peanut butter--made 'em work a bit for it. They came back with cookies, and I gave them as little peanut butter as I could manage. (Heck, the 18oz. jar is almost $4.) I gave a bit of peanut butter, but then when they finished, they licked their lips and the roof of their mouths. Then they asked for water. I went to get water, and then they came inside while they poured. At that point it was too late to shoo them out of the house.

I kept having to say no to everything. No, I can't play the video I played for you that one time. Why? Because then you'll want to watch a thousand other videos just like it. No, I won't download Call of Duty and play with you. Why? Because you'll come over every day and want to play. On my computer. MY. COMPUTER. No, you can't borrow the bicycle. Why? Because then you'll be seen riding it and then every kid in town will ask if they can ride it too. Everything I do has the potential to fall down a slippery slope.

And it kind of did. I had a pack of kids, Wave 3, come asking for water and peanut butter.

Point 3: They are entitled little blabbermouths.
As soon as you give to one, it's like you have to give to everyone. Wave 3 had come from playing in the dirt and their hands and feet were filthy. What did they want? Water to drink. No, I said. Can they at least have water to wash their feet and hands? Fine. Go around to the back. One kid tried to go to the back porch by walking through the house. Hey, I said. Go around back from outside. (SEE Point 2) One or two had especially dirty feet. So they put out their hands and I poured water from my homemade totuma to help them get clean. First question: why weren't they doing this at home? I made the mistake of opening my door, meaning they could ask for something the way they ask anyone else. As soon as the two were done, the rest immediately put out their hands. Even clean hands extended, simply for my attention. I was like Jesus pouring water on disciples' hands and feet. They just wanted water poured by my hand, it seemed. Then they started asking about peanut butter and water. Kids from Wave 1 had told them about the food I had told them to keep secret. I wanted to avoid that exact situation.

Point 4: They don't listen until you raise your voice.
I skipped Wave 2. Wave 2 was a pair of boys. One of them is an 8th grader, whom I'm certain has a crush on his English teacher. How does he express it? By constantly bringing her up to me? Teacher Nicholas, why don't you go out with Teacher Four-Foot-Nothing? Teacher Nicholas, if you and Teacher Four-Foot-Nothing had kids, they'd be so short. And so light-skinned. So should I tell her you said you love her? She told me to tell you she misses you. Probably all lies. It just fits into the category of bugging me about my personal life. They ask me about my romantic life. This same kid has asked me how many times I've had sex. Of course, I didn't answer. I tried to be an adult about it.
On top of that, they were playing rough with the cat. Then they started doing the same thing the other kids did, asking for food. But they went further, poking their heads in, wimpering like dogs, saying, Please. At the time, I was making a peanut butter sandwich. I eventually got fed up, closed the door, and ate. The kids didn't leave. They went to the window facing the table where I eat and proceeded to wimper more, beg, and stick their hands through the window cracks. I told them over and over to stop it, that I'm not in charge of feeding them, that they need to leave. They didn't leave. Only when I stood up, screamed in English expletives, and slapped the window did they finally leave, running away...just like stray dogs that come here begging. They weren't willing to respect me until I made it crystal clear.

This often happens, too. Not the yelling, but the kids not getting the picture. Not picking up on the subtleties of my actions, my body language, my shoulders hunched and my butthole clenched, all screaming, "Leave me alone! Go away!"


What else can I do but put up with it? I try to teach the kids better manners, try to slip in little lessons about behavior whenever I can. If not from me, then from whom? I handle it all because there are those moments when the kids make you smile. When they say somethiing hilarious or profound or awe-inspiring. I long for that. It sustains me. Most of the time, though, I have to tell them that farts aren't really that funny.