“We are all family here,” the 18-year-old Moroccan boy told me, keeping one eye on me, another on his dinner that he insisted I help eat.
On this Thursday afternoon in the pueblo Sierra Elvira, Misae and I sat at a table inside the Fundacion de la Solidaridad, a mini barrio where abused children, orphans, single parents and lost souls come for sanctuary.
Two brothers, Ignacio and Carlos, created the foundation 20 years ago, and have never asked for anyone to pay to live in peace. Two of the teenagers I met today have grown up under the founders’ eyes, and the 28 residents in this “walled city” range from 4 to 40.
The Rotary Club of Granada connected us with the Foundation in hopes that the scholarship recipients could volunteer. The moment I entered the school gate, four children rushed up to give the customary dos besos. I was hooked.
Misae and I navigated the Granada bus system to head 15 minutes out of town. Little travel time for such a big difference. From the bustling city to a quiet pueblo with 25 houses. The bus left us at a stop where as far as you could see, there were nothing but mountains and modest homes. So we started walking, and immediately found the school. As Misae rang the doorbell, I peered through the fence, taken aback at what I saw.
The conditions were curious, piles of broken ceramic, shovels, mountains of dirt and construction. After our greetings by the little ones, Carlos arrived and greeted us with a hug. I chuckled because the children couldn’t stop staring at Misae, who kept explaining that she was from Japan.
Carlos gave us the grand tour, and we stopped in a warehouse filled with beautiful pots, vases, wall hangings and more waiting to be painted. Local artisans stop by the school to create works in ceramic and copper, which are sold all over Spain to raise money for the school.
We walked past a pool drained of its water, then to the chicken coop. Little Felix, 6-years-old, explained to me that since it’s winter, the chicken lay less eggs. Then in his tiny voice, he ticked off the names of his “mascotas” or pets. One of course, was named Felix-the biggest. In the summer, a garden flourishes with fruits and vegetables, and as Carlos put it, “there’s always free food.”
After plucking Felix from a pile of timber and nails, Carlos escorted us to the mess hall for a coffee, and said, “We are so happy you are staying the night.”
Huh?
Somehow he thought we were here to live and work for a week. Currently volunteers from Italy and Germany are living at the Foundation, and spending their days with the residents. I felt horrible telling him we couldn’t stay, but it made sense to him when he realized we lived 15 minutes away.
As we entered the kitchen, a group of teenage boys approached us for an introduction. Though they were told I was from Italy and Misae’s name was skipped over, we sat down in a huddle and quickly became friends.
This is where Naval offered me his schwarma-the best concotion of beef, olives, cheese and onion-after plunking down right next to me at the table. Nazem jumped up to get us all coffee, and the boys fought over who got to spoon out sugar. Then I realized that guests were few and far between.
After I explained I was from the US, one boy told me he had a relative in Washington State, but bashfully said he didn’t know where it was. So I drew a map, pointed out Washington and Florida, and that transformed in to Misae drawing everyone’s name in Japanese characters.
I hadn’t noticed, but the crowd of people around us had grown, and children were sitting on the table, sprawled in chairs, one practically on my lap. But I’ve never felt so comfortable surrounded by strangers.
We talked and talked, snapping photos of Fatima making typical Morrocan pastrys and such. A quiet boy from Argentina wearing two sweatshirts and a beanie approached me, and asked if we wanted to see his room. I have never seen a neater room for an adolescent boy in my life, and I told him so. On the wall were pages of magazines, all with famous Formula One racecar drivers.
As I sat back down to finish my coffee, Carlos had just finished telling the boys that I was the new English teacher.
Huh?
Sure! I can do that, I said. Now everyone was crowding me, shouting out their English phrases with glee. But I noticed the cutest little boy I’d ever seen tugging at Carlos’ pant leg unnoticed. He was asking to play futbol, and at the moment, everybody was chatting. I gave him a look, nodded my head toward the door and raised an eyebrow. He understood, and ran out, looking back for me to follow. We kicked the ball around for a bit, until the younger kids came home from school.
The last bus leaves Sierra Elvira at 6:30, so unfortunately it was time to go. But I did not want to leave. Now I understand why volunteers sleep here. Walking out of the gate, one of the teenagers asked me, So, when are we getting married? in English and dissolved in to giggles. After many goodbye kisses, we rushed to our bus stop and waited in the dust, the mountains behind us and the city in the distance.
There is so much work to be done at school, walls to be built, sinks to fix, clothes to mend. But there is nothing lacking at this school. Understand?
