Stockholm Syndrome

"You are invited to attend the opening ceremony..." the email said. I had to think about it. Go to school at 8:45am for some ceremony though I didn't have to work until 1:30? Hmmm. But, generally when they say "invited" they really mean "required". I decided to go. I was out sick last week for two days and figured I had better make an appearance.

As soon as I entered, I was hustled to the front by my principal. "I want to introduce you to the crowd!" he announced, referring to the six hundred odd students standing in the sun. I was placed in a line with the superintendent of our school system, a representative from the federal education system and the police chief. And then, I was introduced and told to address the crowd. Something happens to me when I am forced to speak in front of hundreds of people without notice, in Spanish. For the second time within one week, I became a mumbling, unintelligible mess. "Gracias!" I ended, and ran away after about thirty seconds of gibberish.

Quite a lot of folks were there from the superintendent's office in Mexicali. One approached me and asked if I was going to Mexicali with them, that day. Huh? "We'll take you by your house so that you can pack a bag", they instructed, "We'll be back to get you in an hour!". I ripped damp clothes off of my clothes line, forgot my contacts and a hair brush, and was whisked away to Mexicali. Four solid days without a teacher for my students. Oh well.

We stopped by a couple of nice hotels in the centro so that my drivers could collect their things; they had stayed the night in Tijuana. As we headed to the highway, we passed another campus of my school system that is basically right around the corner from where I live. Muddy, dirt roads lined the neighborhood and shanties lined the paths. Uniformed students poured out of the school. It reminded me of some of the rural areas in Laos. I was surprised that such third world conditions existed in Tijuana. Not completely surprised, but to say the least, saddened. "Look!", one of my cohorts called, "There is the academic coordinator's daughter!". Banda music played on the radio and the border wall twisted and turned on our left as we drove to Tecate. We ate some carne asada tacos and stopped by the bread place to pick up some of Tecate's famous bread. We passed through the military checkpoint and headed for La Rumorosa.

"We're going to visit another plantel" my drivers told me. "It's an extension". We pulled into the town of La Rumorosa, something that I didn't know existed. And for good reason. "No one stays here" they told me. "There aren't any jobs. Everyone goes to Tijuana or Mexicali or the U.S. But there are some kids here and the community asked us to start a school". We pulled up in front of what used to be an abandoned orphanage. There were three classrooms with some chairs and tables and beaten up whiteboards. It was freezing. People were wearing winter coats and stocking caps, inside. They have a student population of 50. I was shown a rickety kitchen with a sink and an old, tiny four burner stove. "The tourism students practice culinary arts here" they told me. Everything became very clear to me at that moment. I knew that I wanted to work there.

They told me that they would take me to another extension. They said that it was in a "humble" neighborhood near Tecate and that Americans had helped build whatever semblance of a school was there. I was curious, very curious. But for now, we headed to Mexicali. Música romantica played on the radio. We arrived at a hotel and I was told to call them if I needed anything, but might want to avoid going out alone. I waited for their car to pull away, put on my coat and headed out. As it was 6:30 and I had nothing to do, I decided that I needed beer and nail polish.

Breakfast with the superintendent, 8:00am. Or 8:20am, Mexican time. I barely ate. He wanted to smooth things over about my schedule difficulties. I told him that changes were made after I contacted Mexicali. "Good, good, good, we want more exchanges!" I was told. I told myself to be confident and attempted to drive my point home. I wanted them to understand that if they were willing to treat me, their exalted guest, so badly, the superintendent really ought to think about how the Mexican teachers are treated at that school. Deaf ears. "We want more exchanges!" was the only thing that rang clear. I know it's not my place. I had to try. I worry that I didn't try hard enough.

"The roads from Mexicali continue in Calexico" I was told. "We used to be one city". We were driving to the big event. We arrived at another plantel that was cloaked in students and press. The governor was coming. I was escorted to the front row. The governor of Baja California was introduced to the crowd along with another slew of distinguished guests. And then, I was introduced. At least they did not ask for comments. I have to admit that I wasn't too comfortable being within five feet of the governor, considering the nature of some of the violence here. I was especially concerned when we had to pose for huge group pictures and I was thrust at his side, sporting a ridiculous thumbs up! I got to sit in on his press conference. "How do you feel about the recent announcement from the U.S. that Americans SHOULD NOT visit Baja California and that Tijuana is one of the most dangerous cities in Mexico?" was the first question. Oh God, what did my government do now? I was interviewed afterward by a reporter. The inevitable question: Do you feel safe in Tijuana? "Nothing has happened to me yet" I answered, and stared back at her. Yeah, the hype about Tijuana is overblown. Come one and all? Well....no.

We never made it to the extension near Tecate.