La Rumorosa

"You remember those papers, all those papers that the schools had to do for your application?" Oralia asked me on Friday, breathless as always. "I lost them. Someone took them. The administration in Mexicali wants to invite you to visit them but I have to send the papers. Do you have copies?" I told her that I would bring her what I had. Was I in trouble?

By pure accident, Alec and I ran into her again at the Cecut museum on Saturday. She looked amazing, wearing a suit and heels on a Saturday. I, by contrast, was wearing a sports headband and Pumas. "I'll bring those papers Monday" I told her. "Don't forget about Thursday!" she added. Thursday? "You have to visit Mexicali, the head of the school system for Baja California wants to meet you!". Okay, Thursday. Again, was I in trouble?

I ran into Oralia again on Monday when I entered the school. "I brought the papers!" I told her proudly. "Oh, I found them" she told me. "So tomorrow, the academic coordinator is going to take you to Mexicali!". Tomorrow? She speaks English and always wants to practice. Tuesday and Thursday are pretty similar.

The academic coordinator. One of my many bosses. Two hours in each direction, alone, in the car. "Wear headphones!" many teachers advised me. "It is the same distance as Tijuana to Los Angeles!" another informed me. "Maybe something will change. ¡Si Dios quiere !" Dios had better quiere. "You hear us. You know our problems. Bring it to the top!" one teacher pleaded. How was I getting this face time?

The ride to Mexicali wasn't that bad. The scary Rumorosa road is pretty fun at 80 miles per hour. I was surprised to learn that my boss is only 29 and though he is an administrator at our school, he still teaches during the morning at another school. Fourteen hour days. We took a little tour of the city, picked up some folks and did a quick interview where I only had only positive things to say. Afterwards, we visited some other schools in our system. The buildings were the same, but had better landscaping. They were clean and orderly. The kids were in class, instead of milling about the school. They had tourism and culinary programs. I ate manta ray tacos.

There was a lot of cultural awkwardness. Mexicans aren't really that different than us, it's not like I am teaching in one of the Stans or some island in the South Pacific. There was a lot of door opening and "let the lady go first" while the men waited for me to pass. The only problem was that I didn't know where I was going. I would pass, stand back and wait for some guy to lead the way. This led to a lot of stumbling about.

Finally, I was taken to a Brazilian restaurant for lunch with the big boss. Yes, Brazilian. "It's a latino thing" they explained "¡Pura carne!". Yes, meat, meat and more meat. I ate steak, tongue, ribs and pork. I became pretty friendly with a really overweight man from the main office and I think we ate the same amount. He beat me at the grilled pineapple. The boss scares me. A straight shooter that doesn't wear a tie. "I want more teachers from the U.S." he told me immediately. "I have locations in Ensenada and Rosarito. What do we have to do?" Apply, I told him. Apply. There are always more U.S. applicants than foreign applicants. We want to go, I explained. Bring it.

He had other things to say too. "We have a lot of problems with principals. The job of a principal is to resolve problems the teachers have, not create problems with them". Was he fishing? Was he talking about my principal? The academic coordinator shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He began showing the boss various newspaper articles that have been written about our school. The big boss seemed a bit dismissive. I felt kind of bad for the coordinator and our school. All day people had asked me which campus I worked in. When I told them, I heard "That location is dirty" and complaints about it's dusty, hilltop location. Continuing complaints about Tijuana. Part of me wanted to defend my ghetto school and maligned Tijuana, another part wanted to ask the boss what he was doing about our problems. Give us some money, get rid of our principal, DO SOMETHING. We want a culinary program, we want landscaping, we want the graffiti scrubbed from the walls.

My U.S. school has never given my exchange partner any kind of welcome. They didn't even put information about the exchange on the website. The superintendent of my schools will never invite my exchange partner to come to HR, tour the offices and personally introduce him to each and every person that works that there. The superintendent will not take him to lunch, nor will he take him on a tour of various schools in the county. I appreciate what they have done. I don't know why they did it, but I do feel welcomed and frankly, honored.

The boss asked me directly about the administration at my school. Might you be asking about the "pinche director"? "It's good...." I said, in a completely unconvincing manner as the academic coordinator sat back down beside me. Did he really want to know? Where do his loyalties lie? Who am I to talk shit about a school I have worked in for three months, where I am basically an invited guest?

"I want our English teachers to do this exchange" the boss reiterated at the end of my visit. "Imagine how good their English would be after a year in the U.S. They could teach our students about American culture and learn from your system". He gets it. He understands the spirit of the exchange. I want to help them. Rosarito and Ensenada would be easy, but Tijuana and Mexicali are hard sells for American teachers.

We raced back to Tijuana. Mexicali was 79 degrees at night in early November. The twinkling lights of TJ looked pretty as I caught sight of my students walking home from school, carefully carrying their beloved dolls over the dark sidewalks of TJ.