Granada

large, this time. Volcano Mombacho is the background 

Ines' pottery project with the kids from Quinta los Chavales 

The lake cleanup project at Quinta Los Chavales, september 09

Nicaragua – The Barrios of Granada

Dirt roads twist out from the center of Granada creating a labyrinth of connected neighborhoods, or barrios. These neighborhoods are just like Forest Gump’s box of chocolates: from the outside most appear the same, while inside the differences are astonishing. Some of these homes are filled with dark wood interior, grand clocks and women lying on overstuffed armchairs reminiscent of colonial times, while other homes contain little other than a roof made of tin, a couple of walls, and a mixture of cement and hard packed dirt floor depending on the room. Not to say that all of the former are any better off; indeed, often just behind the first room of chairs the cement rooms begin, the walls plain and bare, the hanging laundry the only decoration.

But inside the people are all very similar. Toothless old ladies welcome me in to their homes and patiently speak slowly enough for me to understand and respond, mothers cuddle their children and offer me typical Nicaraguan food: rice, beans, chicken, and plantains being the main ingredients. Children tickle me and play with my hair, asking me questions about where I am from, how long I will be here, etc, bemoaning when I say I need to return to the United States in the coming weeks. Aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandchildren are constantly dropping in and out of family homes. They enter with information and smiles and receive warm welcomes all around.

Family is paramount in Nicaragua, truly in all of Latin America. In one house you can find three or four generations all living together peacefully (to my eyes, at least). The grandparents are respected and given places of honor in the household, while the daughters and mothers of the children are the daycare, the cooks, and the cleaners of the house. The men presumably work during the day at various jobs and seem to be the sole suppliers of income to many homes. Gender roles are rigid, although the younger generation (as usual) seems to have a slightly different outlook than the older. Many of the younger women want to work and/ or go to the university and speak passionately about their dreams for the future.

My Spanish teacher Jessica’s dream is to live in another country where she can make and save money, and send money back home to her mother. I asked her what country and she shrugged, saying: “I need to learn English first”. I presume the United States is near the top of her list of countries. My friend Suyen from Futbol Sin Fronteras will soon have a college education from the university in Managua, and dreams of landing a PR internship in Spain.  These two women have shown me that the future might contain change. With more women educating themselves through school, work, and travel, the economic future in Nicaragua might not be as bleak as the past. Vamos a ver. 

of words that can illuminate

Land as slim as a whip,

hot as torture,

your step in Honduras, your blood

in Santo Domingo, at night, 

your eyes in Nicaragua

touch me, call me, grip me,

and throughout American lands

I knock on doors to speak,

I tap on tongues that are tied,

I raise curtains, I plunge

my hands into blood:

O, sorrows

of my land, O death-rattle

of the great established silence,

O, long-suffering peoples,

O, slender waist of tears. 

-Neruda, Centro America 

Vientos del pueblo me llevan

Vientos del pueblo me arrastran 

Me esparcen mi corazon

Y me aventan la garganta 

(People's breaths, like wind, sweep me along

They scatter my heart, 

They fill my throat with voices)

-Miguel Hernandez 

And a poem that I came across, not for the first time, in the amazing Gioconda Belli's autobiography

We shall not cease from exploration

And the end of all our exploring

Will be to arrive where we started

And know the place for the first time

-T.S. Eliot

Estoy aprendiendo

I just finished perhaps the best book that I have ever read. Called 'The Country Under My Skin' by Gioconda Belli, I've been blown away, time and time again, in 380 pages. An autobiography about the Sandinista revolution in Nicaragua, this book clings to the very idealism that burns so deep in my own heart. The ideal that each and every person, when working in a community for a community, truly can change the world. The lust, passion and lyrical depictions found in this book have painted a picture of a revolutionary Nicaragua that teems of dust, sweat, tears, and blood... all to end a 50 year old tyranny in the hopes of a brighter future. 

Something peculiar is happening to me here in Nicaragua. When I first arrived I could barely stand the sight of this place. Everything either irritated me or depressed me. The macho whistling on the street, the trash lining the roads, the trash in the lake, the smell of the lake... all of it created a distinct taste that lurked in my mouth, as if I had tried something incredible disgusting and could not rid myself of the aftertaste. I had panic attacks here daily, and cried to my parents on skype frequently. I made an escape plan for myself. I would leave in a month and go back and work in the States. I would apply for graduate school. I would pretend that I had never left. I would pretend like this was all a bad dream and scurry back to my First World excessive comforts. No one would be the wiser, and indeed, no one would question me. 

During the weekends I started traveling all around the country, mostly to escape from Granada for a few precious days. I saw the colorful squares of Leon, and screamed in terror as a man hurled firecrackers into the crown during an annual celebration of a devastating volcanic eruption. I donned an orange jumpsuit and slid on a board down Cerro Negro, an imposing black volcano that still smoldered in its caldera. I flirted with the fierce tides of the Pacific Ocean and as I  breathed in the salty breeze that smelled to sweet but stung my eyes, I imagined that I was far, far away from Nicaragua. I dreamed that I was back in Hawaii or Oregon on pristine beachs where seven year old boys scrounding for food or selling shody crafts could not be found.  I lamented  the poverty I witnessed in Nicaragua, and I felt overwhelmed by it, confused how my own country could have so much money and this country have so little.  

One weekend I traveled to San Juan del Sur and basked in the sun during the day, and partied with travel buddies from Europe, South Africa, and the States in the evening. Another weekend I did the same with Ometepe, an island in the middle of Lake Nicaragua (also called Lago de Colibolca). During the weeks I was trudging through teaching Biology. My spanish was such that while I loved the kids I could not understand them when they asked questions, which pains me immensly because for me questions are the most important part of learning. My in inadequacies burned inside me, I felt trapped, frustrated, helpless. "What have I gotten myself into?" I was constantly wondering. 

I'm not sure when things changed, but I am sure that it had to do with my Spanish lessons. Donna, my supervisor here found an excellent discount for me for one on one tutoring lessons. Every morning for 11 days now I've gone at 9 in the morning for two hours of grammar, excersizes, and pronunciation. I've made two Nica friends, my teachers, and have started to get an insight into Nicaragua from a local perspective. One of my teachers asked me for english lessons. About my same age, it was a delight to meet secretly (students and teachers are not supposed to hang out outside of class) and mountain bike through long twisting barrios to her house.  

I've also become involved in Soccer without Borders, or Futbol sin Frontires. I helped teach english one night, and afterward a group of kids went into the street and we played pick up soccer late into the night. That night, in 90 degree weather, the sweat trickled down my skin, forging paths amid the thick Nicaraguan dust that has permanently settled upon my body. 

More updates to come, im sure!  overandout