Winding roads swirl throughout Rio Azul. When we first arrive it’s starting to get dark. From a distance, the hills sparkle with tiny lights from the houses. If you squint your eyes just right, you can almost believe that the hills are covered with hundreds of twinkling orange stars.
As we drive up, I’m eager to see what Rio Azul looks like, but the darkness almost completely conceals it. I’m only able to catch shadowy images of houses and people as we pass by on our bus. We climb higher and higher up the hill, twisting up on the narrow road. There are cars parked on the sides, making the road even narrower. As we maneuver past the cars, I wonder if we’ll be able to make it all the way up. Sometimes we’re just inches away from a car on one side of the road and a dip on the other. But our driver is nonchalant; he drives as if he has the whole road to himself, passing through the gaps with an uncanny ease. I’m grateful that he knows what he’s doing. I’m also grateful that we didn’t have to carry our giant, 50lb packs all the way up the hill.
We finally come to a complete stop. I look around, trying to see if I can spot the church where we’ll be staying for the month. At first I’m not sure where it is. It looks nothing like what I pictured. The building doesn’t stand out to me. On the outside, from what I can make out in the dark, the church is made up of metal siding and cinderblock. There are a couple of windows, all of them covered with wooden boards. From the outside it doesn’t look all that big either, making me wonder how six of us will fit inside. Then I see our contacts, David and Angie. Both of them with big smiles and beckoning us inside. We enter with our packs slung over our backs, stomachs empty, and eager to learn what our next month in Costa Rica was going to look like.
As we enter, I realize the inside of the church is much bigger than I first thought. There’s an entryway, stairs that lead to a sizable room below the entryway, a kitchen, two bathrooms, and a huge sanctuary. I’m amazed by how enormous the sanctuary is.
We pile our packs in the entryway, tired from our long travel day and ready to settle in. Our hosts have set a table for us and prepared supper for us.
As we sit down at the table and eat supper, we learn that Rio Azul, the city where we’re staying, is one of the poorest in the area. It has a reputation as an unsafe area and even native Costa Ricans are nervous to be in Rio Azul. Alcoholism and drugs are common problems and almost all of the families in area are affected by them in some way or another. Many of the people here don’t have jobs. Fathers leave families. Kids only get one meal a day, and they’re lucky to even get that one meal because it’s through a free program. School is a long walk away, up and down steep hills. The town has one gang. A lot of people are refugees and immigrants from Nicaragua who thought they would find a better life in Costa Rica but really life is still filled with hardships. Most people claim some form of belief in God but it’s works based and many don’t feel like they measure up enough for God to truly love them.
Despite their struggles, the people are warm and friendly. That evening, to welcome us into their community, they throw us a barbeque. A barbeque with meat. We’re all touched because in a community as poor as Rio Azul barbeques are rare. Meat is like gold and incredibly expensive for them. It amazes me that these people are willing to give so much to people they haven’t even met yet. Their gesture gets me excited to dive into another month of ministry and to really get know who the people of Rio Azul are.
As they arrive, they shake our hands, give us hugs, and enjoy our company. Over and over again they express how grateful they are that we are here. They laugh with us (and at us) as we try to communicate with them in Spanish. Some of them speak English, but they are shy and only say a few words to us.
The kids gather around us, eyes sparkling and happy to have someone new to play with. Their little hands grab us and pull us in every direction. One girl, about 8 years old, pulls me into the center of the sanctuary. She grabs both of my hands and pulls me around in a circle. We start to spin and she laughs, her hands gripping mine as we spin faster and faster around. Another child, a 3 year old boy, tries to join our circle as we spin. He latches his fingers onto my pants in an effort to slow us down. He giggles as I stop our spinning and sit down. Dizzy, I feel the boy wrap his arms around my neck and climb on my back as the girl sits in my lap. Suddenly more children are climbing on me, weighing me down and I feel a little like a jungle gym. But I don’t mind. The little girl takes my hands and tries to pull me up but really she ends up sliding me across the floor. She smiles at me and jerks on my hands. Finally, she sighs and lets go of my hands, puts her hands on her hips and says, “Nila!*” scolding me for not getting up right away.
I finally get up and after spinning around with her and some of the other kids a couple more times, I finally tell them, “Consada, consada,”* and then crumple into a pile on the floor. We’ve had a long day of travel. That combined with getting two suppers (one from David and Angie and one from the bbq) and playing with the kids, I’m ready for bed. Soon people begin to filter out of the church, shaking our hands and reiterating to us how happy they are that we’re here.
After everyone has left, we all pull our sleeping gear out in the sanctuary, hardly caring where we put it. Even though we’re in a new place and we can hear the wind rattling the tin roof, dogs fighting outside, and people walking by, I fall asleep as soon as my head hits my pillow.
Throughout the next four weeks of our stay in Rio Azul, the city begins to feel like home. Although the town is filled with people who are struggling to support themselves and their families, the town has an aura of peace. Something about it reminds me of home. The houses, although not always in the best condition are colorful and each has its own distinguishing mark that someone is living in it. Plants, animals, kids, and adults hang out outside of them. Everyone seems to know everyone. People wave and smile at us from their windows and porches. Kids follow us up and down the hills, repeatedly saying the couple of English words they know (like “hello” and “goodbye”). An old man with a fedora waves at me as he sits in his wheelchair on his front porch, enjoying the sunshine. A mother walks with groceries in one hand, her child in the other. She nods at us as we pass. Angel jumps into my arms, as we meet her walking home from school. She screams “Nila!” and I respond, “Angel! Mi amiga!*” She squeezes me tightly and talks to me in Spanish, laughing when I repeatedly say “Que? Que?*” and then says, “Whax? Whax?*” back to me. The man at the fruit stand gives us free fruit with our purchases and tells us “Pura vida!” every time we see him, his hands flashing us peace signs. The youths beg us to play soccer with them again, asking us when we have time for a game as we pass by. When we’re in the church, people pop by to say a quick hello.
Can I say that I was tempted to stay in Rio Azul and rent an apartment?
Can I say that grew to love Rio Azul’s people and its character?
Can I say that in Rio Azul, I found a home away from home?
*I was informed this month (by the kids) that I’ve been spelling my name wrong. They think I should be spelling it Nila because i’s in Spanish sound like long e’s in English. If I spell it Neala they think it should be pronounced Nay-ala.
*Consada means tired in Spanish
*Mi amiga means my friend
*Que means what
*Whax is how Angel said ‘what’. She thought the amount of times we said ‘what’ to everyone (when they spoke to us in Spanish) was hilarious and would repeat it over and over to us, while laughing hysterically.
*Pura vida is a common Cota Rican saying (it’s even on the tourist t-shirts) and it literally means pure life
