monday, december 1, 2003
news
the university daily kansar
5A
MARTIN: Return to Costa Rica bittersweet to study abroad family
CONTINUED FROM PAGE 1A
FLYING HOME
The trial's end last Monday brought 15-years' worth of justice to two of the three defendants, but the Porras had hoped for a more stern ending to the violent death of the student they thought of as their daughter.
With bright eyes and sweeping hand gestures, the retired Porras, 61, describes her "Chanon," reverting to the skills she perfected during her former days as an elementary school teacher.
She and her husband, Marcial, have housed about 40 study abroad students from the University of Kansas and Goshen College, a private Mennonite university in northern Indiana. Many students have passed through, but the memory of Shannon has never faded. They had become closest to her.
"She was always very open,"
"She was Odette said in Spanish. She paused. "It was easy to love her."
A view from the edge of the Porrs' yard shows the short distance from the Porras home to Jurassic Bar, about 50 meters away, Shannon Martin, 23-year-old Topeka senior, was killed in 2001 on the broken pavement of the airport hangar parking lot adjacent to this airport access road.
During Martin's study abroad semester, she often grabbed her host parents, who she called
Martin
Odette Porras, 61, still displays the shelled decoration that Shannon Martin crafted for her during her semester studying abroad in Golifito, Costa Rica. The Porras' home is speckled with memories of Martin, including a 4-foot-tall ceramic memorial in the lawn, which overlooks the site of Martin's death in 2001.
Katie Nelson/Kansan
Mami and Papi, for walks around the neighborhood. They live quietly on the edge of Golfito, where the lush tropical forest almost engulfs the port town town of 18,000. Their house sits less than 100 meters from the Golfito National Wildlife Refuge, where possibly more species live per square mile than any other region on the planet.
Odette remembers the day before Martin finished her initial stay in Golffito. Odette had been concerned that the butterflies Martin had been cultivating wouldn't emerge before Martin was to leave, and she knew how important the project was to Martin.
But that day, Martin called her and Marcial into the backyard butterfly garden she had built.
"The butterflies are ready!" Martin cried.
She peeled back the lid of the plastic bucket to reveal all 15 of the matured insects flying free, one after another.
"How precious, no?" Odette said.
The remnants of Martin's butterfly garden still pepper the Porras lawn. Odette can remember when Martin planted each fern, palm, herb and orchid. She wasn't much of a horticulturist before Martin came, but now she cares for the garden as if she had planted it herself.
"That's Embra, that's Macho," Martin said, giggling. She had named them all, and somehow, they were ready for release on the day she was to say goodbye to the Porrases.
NIGHT FLIGHT
The details of Martin's return to Golfito are as clear to Odette as if the story were displayed in the photo album laying across her lap.
Martin had exchanged teary greetings with her friends and host parents upon her arrival via a seven-hour bus ride from San Jose, the country's capital, late on Thursday, May 10, 2001. Odette had prepared honey and bananas on tortillas, the favorite snack of Martin, a vegan. While Martin stuffed her cheeks and mumbled about the dish's rich flavor, Odette said it was as if no time had passed since Martin left.
"How cute, Chanon," Odtet told her. "You're like a rose."
As Odette narrates Martin's story, her jovial, lighthearted tone suddenly turns solemn.
The day after Martin arrived, Odette fell ill to her diabetes and found herself bedridden for most of the day. Saturday was the same. She still beats herself up over lost time with Martin.
Saturday evening, Martin set out to dance. She had taken a Latin American dance class the year before. This was the night to emulate the moves of Ricky Martin, she told Odette. Word had spread around town about a blowout party at Jurassic Bar, and she was going to be there along with a few friends.
Odette's voice becomes hoarse. Marcial responds faithfully by excusing himself to the kitchen and returning a minute later.
Routine had prompted the warnings, not fear. Odette had lived in Golfito 29 years and couldn't remember any examples of violent crime. Martin had assured her she'd return early, so Odette took her medicine for diabetes and didn't fret.
As any mother would, Odette advised Martin not to drink too much and not to walk home alone on the access road that touches the Porras lawn. She didn't even have to hail one of the faded red taxis that zip like go-carts around traffic on Golfito's main highway. Though the walk would take a few extra minutes, the lit, paved road in front of the house would be safer to follow, she told Martin.
It would have been senseless to
pay 75 cents for a ride back to the Porras home, just 50 meters away on the dark path through an old airport hanger lot. She carried a bottle of Heineken. The neighborhood was quiet. The back fence to the Porras lawn was 50 meters away—a quick sprint.
The autopsy reports say Martin approached her attackers as if they were familiar to her. People close to Martin said she could have befriended anyone.
CRUSHED WINGS
Paulo Lopez, now 25, was friends with the bar owner. About 2 a.m. that Sunday morning, he had noticed something out of the ordinary on the broken pavement of the old airport hanger parking lot. He quickly pulled his car around to illuminate the scene with headlights and froze at what lay before him. There was Martin — lifeless, pale and bloodstained.
Bar patrons spilled out immediately at the news. Not until an hour later did a friend of Martin's knock on the Porras' door. Odette, whose diabetes drugs and grogginess made her confused, thought the man at the door had said Martin was vomiting from alcohol. Marcial knew. He somberly followed the man to the scene and identified the body of Martin for the police.
Odette became frantic when she realized what had happened. She rushed to the yellow tape,
but several officers held her back. Her head was spinning. She wanted to see Martin.
Odette's chin quivered as she sobbed.
"Why didn't she listen?"
Though the trial ended last Monday, Golifeños are left wondering why the punishment was less than requested. The prosecution had asked for capital homicide, which carries a maximum punishment of 35 years, for all
three defendants. The three-judge panel instead declared 15-year sentences for "simple murder," citing a lack of evidence that showed enjoyment in the killing. Kattia Cruz Murillo, 29, and Luis Alberto Castro Carrillo, 33, will be eligible for parole in nine years, while Rafael Zumbado Quesada, 52, was acquitted.
The Porrasse have tried to move on, but the closure of the University's Institute of Tropical
Studies has meant no new students to fill their home and occupy their attention.
Still, Martin's spirit seems alive in the Porras' house through small tokens from her life. Like a monument to Martin's stolen future, a cobalt-colored butterfly sits suspended between two layers of glass, watching over the Porras' living room, preserving her memory.
—Edited by Erin Riffey