BOOM! BOOM!

At 5 a.m. firecrackers went off down the hill from my home. All three of my very large dogs dove for my bed – each fighting to get under the covers. The sky glowed like a blue television screen. The sun would rise in minutes.

BOOM! BOOM!

The firecrackers went off again. Since there was no room left in my bed for me, I got up. After the third set of BOOMS, I remembered what day it was – September 15, Independence Day in Costa Rica. The celebrating had already begun.

Celebrations for Independence Day go on throughout the month of September in Costa Rica. Blue, white, red, white and blue flags hang from houses, taxi cabs, hospitals, and parks. Vendors start waving the flags in the streets in August with hopes of selling out by September 15th.

Central America was ruled by Spain (called the Central American Federal Republic) and the whole region had one governor who lived in Guatemala. He never saw much reason to visit poor Costa Rica. Basically ignored, Costa Rica began to sow its own seed of independence in the land.

Farmers grew wheat, vegetables, sugar, cocoa, livestock, and of course coffee and bananas. Farmers became independent land owners and the independent feeling, along with the money, spread.

On September 15, 1821, Guatemala declared independence from Spain. However with no phones, no telegrams, and no email, Costa Rica had no idea it was freed from Spanish rule.

So, the story goes that four weeks later, a man on a mule carried the letter informing officials that they were free from Spain. (I have often wondered what the messenger on the mule did after delivering such an important bit of news – was he invited in for coffee? Did he have more mail to deliver?)

On Independence Day in downtown San José, there is a parade. Parks set up for festivals. Blue canvas tents and formica tables display souvenirs like ceramic toucans with bright yellow and orange beaks, and tiny green frogs with bugged out eyes and suction cupped feet.

I walked between the tents and listened to a band. The band consisted of a crooked flute, a silver dented tuba, a bass player who plucked green and orange strings, and several guitar players.

A young couple sat at the foot of a green copper statue. The woman kept beat to the song by tapping her cellular phone on her knee. The song ended. The crowd politely clapped, and the band began another Latin polka much like the previous three songs.

The sun was warm. A crowd had gathered for the upcoming parade. A sea of students in uniforms filled the park. Rows of flags, held by students with white gloved hands, formed in circles and lined the park. A large white tent divided the crowd with velvet blue ropes.

A few dignitaries in dark suits stood under the white tent. A priest talked first and blessed the crowd. “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.” Every hand in the park went up, down and across the shoulders in unison giving quite an efficient blessing.

The President of Costa Rica bowed at the statue in the park, then walked to the podium to speak. I was so close to him, I could have hit him with a rock. He talked about the great future of Costa Rica; the great workers of Costa Rica; the challenges of this century for Costa Rica. He talked for 40 minutes.

I sat on the curb and took a few pictures. One young man, about 16 years old, walked down the side walk holding his grandmother´s hand. Teachers stood in the huddles of students; boys stood together – some in baggy pants – watching the girls; girls watched the boys.

A small girl rode atop her father’s shoulders. Two sisters twirled in circles, forming bells with their long red, white, and blue traditional dresses while a bigger sister spun a red and white Coca-Cola colored umbrella. Two men walked over to an ice cream cart and bought something.

The speech ended. The crowd applauded. The girl closed up her umbrella. The students holding the flags stood erect and quietly resumed their positions to march. Parents grabbed the hands of their children and began to walk toward downtown.

So many people, so many teenagers and grandmothers – together – and not one fight, not one threat or disruption – not a single rock was thrown. Teachers stood among the students, families stood with children and hundreds of teenagers stood, clapped and walked away.

The only thing left behind were candy wrappers and confetti. Flowers lay at the foot of the statue. The band played a march with a Latin beat, and as the park cleared, I followed the parade home.

Written by Susan Carmichael who is a freelance writer living in Costa Rica. She has developed several education curriculums for children and adults. She has also taught journalism. Susan produced and hosted radio programs and documentaries in Costa Rica including a short story program called “In the Moment” and an hour long interview program focused on the issues of women called “A Woman’s Voice”.

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