The Story of Jairo

It's about time I talked about Jairo.

So, one of my four community classes is held in a building called the Casa de la Mujer. Contrary to its name, the locale offers classes for men, women and children alike. Such “Casas” are ubiquitous throughout Nicaragua, with the purpose of making education, or for many adults, continued education, accessible and affordable. For a nominal fee, anyone can enroll in a variety of courses, including keyboarding, clothes-making, cooking and English. I give class on Mondays and Wednesdays.

In the beginning, I was overjoyed with the tremendous turnout of students. We began the course in March, and I'd arrive weekly to see a dozen or more students awaiting me. Then Semana Santa happened. In Nicaragua, vacations are lethal to progress. When, during a holiday like Semana Santa (aka Holy Week, the week prior to Easter) the whole country comes to a gigantic stand-still, momentum comes to a screeching halt. Work lags and morale flags. Although eventually students in the public schools overcome their languor and get back in the groove of work post-vacation, such is not the case with voluntary classes. You'd think that the kind of person who enrolls in extracurricular classes is endeavoring enough to stick with them, but no. My roster was cut in half after Semana Santa.

My once bounteous class has been whittled down to a select few. Every week between three to five tried-and-true students show up. One of whom, has stuck with me from the beginning and whose attendance has far surpassed the rest. I've been meaning to blog about him for a while. He's the kind of person they make movies or pen motivational books about.

World, meet Jairo.

Tall, sinewy, big-eyed and a little lumbering, Jairo is an unexpectedly formidable soul. For months he hardly uttered a word in my class. It pained him to participate, and pained me more so to watch. Worse even, when I would coax him into coming to the board to answer questions, I realized the reason for his hesitation. Jairo is (debatably) dyslexic. I know I'm no expert here, but I interpret his misspellings, difficulty in transcribing from board-to-paper properly and inversion of letters as some sort of learning disability, if not dyslexia specifically. Jairo himself told me he only has a 6th grade education. This is not uncommon in Nicaragua. Nor are learning disabilities, for that matter. What is, however, is somebody so academically disadvantaged bent on learning a foreign language.

As a teacher I'm supposed to be diplomatic and impartial and all that jazz. I'm not. Jairo is one of my favorite students. A teacher's pet without trying, if you will. And here's why.

Jairo's work ethic was apparent from the beginning. While many students would drift in 15 to 20 minutes after class began, he always arrived promptly...sometimes even beating me to class. Furthermore, he commutes by bike from 30 minutes away. He arrives slick with sweat, and likely tired from the uphill journey, but ever-cheerful. He is the only student who calls me when he won't be able to make class, and always explains why. No flaking here. And get this- he's the only student of my small bunch who works full-time. He asks permission to leave work early, come to class, then return to work twice a week. While my other students might be putzing around their houses, deliberating if they want to rouse themselves to come, Jairo takes a pay deduction, makes an onerous commute in all kinds of inclement or scorching weather, and is always the first to arrive. Swoon. A teacher's dream.

Jairo is around 24 years old, has a one-year-old son and a “wife.” (People here have kids and shack up, and take on the names of “husband” and “wife” without formally tying the knot.) He candidly talks about his family, and is proud to mention that he is the sole breadwinner of the family. This is exceptional; hardly any Nicaraguans are fully independent. Most move their spouses in with their parents, and still have their moms iron their clothes and pitch in for food costs. They avoid utility costs, and shirk the idea of independent living altogether. Not Jairo. He lives in a little casita, and from what he tells me everything in it he saved for and bought poco a poco, all on his own. He harvests coffee at Mombacho, a nearby volcano. His work is back-breaking and largely outdoors. His angular features denote years of labor, the dirt under his fingernails as further proof. In two years he has learned the coffee-cultivation process like the back of his hand. Nuances such as soil consistency, texture of the seeds and planting patterns are second-nature to him. He tells me very sincerely and humbly that he is being primed to be the next manager some day. His higher-ups, like me, recognize his unflappable determination and perseverance, and want to capitalize on it.

I interpret Jairo's attention to detail as a byproduct of his learning disability. Yes, he does flub up quite often and mis-copy from the board. But when I gently call attention to this, he meticulously reviews his notes to find the mistake. In my opinion, his tendency to err in English class makes him all the more attuned to the details. Undoubtedly this behooves him in his work. Detail is of the utmost importance in coffee production. Much like cultivating wine, a coffee-grower must know the seeds, the land, the climate, the weather and the harvest so expertly to synchronize them all into a rich crop. One tiny mistake can be costly. Jairo knows this, and is as fastidious about correcting himself as I'm sure he is about reaping coffee beans.

Also, did I mention he's generous? He routinely regales me with fresh fruit, avocados and recently freshly-picked coffee beans. Trust me, when I took them to the mill to be ground everyone was jealous of the unbelievable aroma wafting in the air. Starbucks, eat your heart out. A while back a friend of mine was starting a garden, and looking for worms to irrigate the soil. I offhandedly asked Jairo, figuring he knew about such things. Lo and behold, the next class he brought me a jar of worms from the fertile terrain of Mombacho. He not only saved me the trip out there, but also took the effort to carefully contain and transport live worms for me. Needless to say, I was touched. Sure, plenty of teachers get apples, but how many get a batch of worms? Heartwarming indeed.

One day Jairo was the only student to show for class, and after the lesson we got to chatting. It was in such a context that his life story unfolded, and that I was struck with the inspiration to share his story with you all. A few years back he was injured on the job, and his heft salary was docked significantly. Though his company at least paid him a paltry workman's comp sum, they also demoted his position. He had worked his way up the ladder prior to the accident, but after a year bedridden he returned to work to find that he had to essentially start from zero again. He was still working just as rigorously and with as much finesse as before, but for a fraction of the pay. Unfortunately for Nicaragua there is little power within workers' unions. What in the States would be an outrage, here goes unnoticed. More horribly, the company is fully aware that in the bitter economy a job is a job, and anyone who has one is wildly appreciative. So it is that Jairo, once a hand-picked successor, has been relegated to an entry-level position. Despicable. And conscious though he is of the injustice, he remains mum. Tragic.. And knowing what I do about him, about how doggedly he works, I'm sure his employers are just delighted to have such a fruitful worker at a discounted price. Jairo's a real steal.

At heart, I'm an optimist. I'd like to believe that good people deserve more in life. I'd like to believe that hard-working folk like Jairo who are honest, family-oriented, generous and all-around people of character are entitled to the best that life has to offer. I know this isn't always the case. But isn't it pretty to think so?

While I can't champion Jairo's cause for fair wages, I can give him the best English education I can. I can convince him that he is extraordinary, and to be undeterred in the face of adversity. I can teach him, perhaps more than just a foreign language, to realize his self-worth. More than ever, I've seen the latent advantages of education. Yes, I can teach someone English. You could call that education. But if I teach someone to demand the liberties that are rightfully theirs, isn't that the real pinnacle of education?

In the case of Jairo, I hope so.

Will keep you posted.