Issue#24: From Yokel to Local by Jeff Benson
Navigating Newcomer Integration in the Machuca Valley
Yokel(noun): a naive or gullible inhabitant of a rural area or small town
Won’t you be my neighbor?
Uh-oh. They’ve seen you. Not only that, but they’ve seen you seeing them. Though every ounce of your being wants to hide in the jungle, amongst the snakes, you have no choice but to do the hard thing and…say hello.
It’s that time of year. As school ends and our communities clear out, families on summer break will descend upon the remaining denizens of the Machuca Valley. WhatsApp novices with their easily excitable children (“Mom! A lizard! Mom! Mom!”) upsetting the balance of our precious ecosystems and perhaps even our yoga poses. Not only that, but they want to wave to you.
Who let these yokels in, am I right?
They don’t know the rules. (How, one wonders, didn’t they read the community bylaws, which every LEV and Alegria family keeps in a drawer next to The Bhagavad Gita and a signed copy of Fingerprints of the Gods?)
They don’t understand the culture. (English, please. We’re in Costa Rica.)
And they have soooo many questions. (Google was invented so I wouldn’t have to answer 80 queries on where to buy organic granola.)
And yet I have a confession: I was once a yokel. Some might even say I’m still a yokel. What’s more: you probably are too.
I first stepped foot in La EcoVilla in the summer of 2022. My family was in the market for a new place to call home, even if only temporarily.
I’d love to say LEV blew me away with its friendliness and charm. But it didn’t. The people seemed hidden away, and when they did come out, I was lucky to get a head nod in my direction. The only human contact I made was with homeowners who were ready to leave, the lifestyle having left them feeling cold.
I thought I’d seen the last of the Machuca Valley.
But somehow, we ended up back here again last year, this time for the whole summer. The extended stay helped me integrate, in a way. I took the morning exercise classes, went to potlucks and parties, and hiked up the river with neighbors. My kids, too, made friends and went to camps at Journey School. I could start to see the appeal — not just of the nature, which was obvious, but of the community. And, I think, people were more willing to invest in my family because we might actually stay. Maybe we weren’t just transient drifters needing a quick layover during our search for something better.
Now I’m finishing up a three-month stint as I work my way up to full-time. People are starting to recognize my name, or at least my face. I don’t feel like (as much of) an outsider. I am confident enough in being a part of this community that I can write about it.
And I’m left wondering:
A) Was I being an introvert before? These days, I watch noobs throw themselves not just into the pool but into the community ecosystem, making friends, giving high-fives, and getting the greetings that eluded me. Maybe I had been expecting someone to hold my hand.
B) Was it just the rainy season? Like, maybe people just didn’t like getting wet, dude.
C) Has the Machuca vibe shifted? The proliferation of multiple multicultural communities — from Alegria to ESM — means there are suddenly many more newcomers. Some of the more veteran extranjeros amongst us have only been based here for a couple of years. And there are more resources to guide people (subscribe to this newsletter!) than before.
After much contemplation, I think the answer is D) All of the above.
So, back to this summer, and the hordes of yokels who are here because they heard the good word, whether through Netflix or Charles Eisenstein or because your Aunt Marge shared your Facebook posts with her friends.
The people who come to the area are deciding whether to stay or go partially based on their interactions with community members. I’m trying to use my energy to attract the type of people I want to live near. My thesis is that standoffishness won’t attract a community-centric crowd. They may not know how to rent a car or where the compost goes, but, well, I barely do either. If they got here, they’re probably good people. And we’ll figure it out together.
That doesn’t mean we all have to be a walking advertisement for ESM. It means recognizing that we shape the wider community’s culture by virtue of just being here. It doesn’t mean throwing in the towel on gentrification. It means educating newcomers about regional values and customs so they can integrate. It doesn’t mean engaging in a 45-minute conversation about restaurant options with every visiting family. But it might mean adding them to a WhatsApp group.
The journey from yokel to local isn’t instantaneous. When you’re creating a life outside the matrix, there’s no manual. As humans, we rely on guides. If you’ve been living here in any capacity for more than a couple of months, you are a sage and a mentor, whether you asked to be or not. That’s part of the deal. You can be vegan or a meat-a-tarian, anti-vax or on schedule, Buddhist or Atheist. But you have to be here for others. Because you once were lost. Because you found something here. And because others are seeking the special gift that you have discovered, a gift that only grows if you share it.
Be the neighbor you want to have.
(Oh, and I know the best spot for organic granola….)
—Jeff Benson