Nicaragua Nicaragüita: September 2009

Rabbit and the Bear (Lyrics), a song that has provided me encouragement and motivation, two needed elements in my line of work...

photo of La Chureca; Managua, Nicaragua

And now proceeds my post, which I didn't have a title for other than the above fitting song:

Two days a week, I walk into La Chureca to visit the families involved in Manna’s Child Sponsorship. Two days a week, I trample the trash, hold my breath through the smoke, and sweat under the sun that is endured by Churecans day in and day out. Two days a week, I pass children carrying loads of trash on their backs to be recycled. I greet mothers suffering from ever-present illness. I avoid mangy farm animals who look more like walking nightmares than pets or food. I see people dwelling in a veritable hell on earth.

Seven days a week, I hope for a way out. I coordinate efforts with the Child Sponsorship team to enact new measures to increase the efficiency of our program. I look for new sponsors. I dream for a better life for the children who know of nothing more than life in Chureca.

Every week I visit a family with precious little girls who have captured my heart with their funny haircuts, sweet little pipsqueak voices, and increasing desire to play and be held. They live on the border where the neighborhood merges into the dump, and the view from their front gate is trash, smoke, and the occasional flea-bitten mongrel. But one day, as I held one of the tiny girls in my arms, she looked out over her shoulder, pointed to the trash, and said “¡Hay flores!” There are flowers. Look! Flowers! Do you see them? We’ve got lots of flowers, and animals too! She showed me the beauty she finds in her life, the only life she’s got. Where I saw heaps of trash and green plants growing in puddles of sludge, she saw beautiful flowers. She then ran down to a row of weeds growing along the wall of a nearby home, and pointed out more “flowers.” Her joy was contagious, but as I picked her back up, acknowledging the beauty of the flowers, I fought back quickly forming tears. The injustice of what some children have or do not have is a heartbreaking reality I must face every week.

If she can find beauty in La Chureca, I can too. I find beauty in the people who work to provide for their children and in the mothers who consistently attend health charlas (talks) to learn better health practices. I am encouraged by the mother who makes her child change clothes three times a day to keep clean. I am impressed with mothers I see sweeping the entrance to their homes, cleaning in spite of the fact they live in close proximity to a dump (or perhaps cleaning because of said proximity). Not all are like that here, perhaps not all can be, but the ones who fight for themselves always encourage me.

Walking into La Chureca, I notice every day the bright yellow butterflies which twirl about. They are not ashamed of the smoke, the dirt, the trash. They remain a constant reminder of the life that lives here and of the reason Child Sponsorship is so important. The value and dignity of human life necessitates the meeting of basic needs. For only $20 a month, these children can be provided a means to better health, quality of life, and increased opportunity for a successful way out of the desperate existence which surround them.

To find out more, contact childsponsorship@mannaproject.org.

Yours,

Jan Margaret

It’s not every day that I’m able to escape the daily grind. When I live, work, socialize, discuss, learn, argue, laugh with the same nine others, day after day, it becomes easy to be focused on the here and now of life. Now granted, when the here and now includes working in Nicaraguan community development, that’s not such a bad thing. However, with the anniversary of both the conquest of William Walker and latin american independence from Spain allowing us a four day vacation weekend, I took the opportunity to escape Managua and Manna for the cool air of the mountains North of Estelí. With four friends, our packs full of extra food, a change of clothes, and our yoga mats, I headed North by bus to Tisey Nature Reserve. Tisey is a land of changing terrain, including rolling tree-covered mountains, fertile valleys, cow pastures, organic farms, and (apparently) the best cheese farm around. Our only self-imposed “rule” for traveling these lands was thus: No talking about Manna.

No talking about Manna?! No discussion of my work, what I’ve lived and breathed for the past two months? My very purpose for being down here? No sharing of stories and frustrations? No lesson planning? No discussion of the house? Nothing?

Yes, nothing. And the decision to take a break from what we have centered our lives around gave me the space to reflect more seriously about the role I’ve played, what I’ve learned, and how I hope to see the community grow. Moreover, the five travelers broke down barriers imposed by the ease with which we center our knowledge of each other on our jobs. We discussed our pasts, the things that make us, us. We laughed, joked, hiked, enjoyed the best gallo pinto I’ve ever tasted, and reveled in once again seeing something new. And we had a fine time doing it! I realized the importance of getting away: to learn about others, to learn about yourself, and to open yourself up to new lessons waiting for you in the chance to travel.

A certain lesson awaited me just down the road from our Eco Posada (Eco Lodge). After a brief hike down the road, through a pasture gate, down the mountainside, past the cows, and over the rocky slope, we were greeted by a man who seemed to have walked right out of the pages of a good novel. Seventy-seven years plus, tall with weathered red skin and a mop of white hair, grizzly stubble, and eyes that seemed they knew the secrets of the world, he welcomed us into his reserve. He was lanky and strong, a man of hard labor, wearing clothes that seemed to be a daily uniform of coffee colored shoes and pants and a loosely buttoned striped shirt. He smelled like a grandfather, the musk of mountainside and tobacco. A sculptor, his name was Alberto, which he proudly showed us chiseled upon rocks along the pathway while explaining that he’d been learning how to read and write. He led us on a personal tour of his art and his land, showing us rocks that had been carved into elephants, camels, self portraits, and guardarbarrancas (the ave nacional of Nicaragua). As we made our way up the hill, he began to pass us fresh mangoes he found along the path. After each of us were happily chomping through our own delicious piece, he continued to discover more of these delicacies which we placed in my companion Daniel’s pack. Next, we saw trees filled with yellow-green grape sized fruits. Adding these to our stomachs and pack, we continued forward, now seeing whole murals etched into the mountainside: an image of September 11, a nativity scene, doves, crosses, sun, moon, and stars. I felt like I was in Willie Wonka’s Chocolate Factory, only instead of chocolate, there were delicious edible fruits to be enjoyed in every direction and wonderful artwork to gaze upon. When we reached the peak, Alberto perched himself on a bench and offered Daniel a smoke. Against the backdrop of the mountains, valley, distant city of Estelí, and his artwork, Alberto shared his story.

During the night of one childhood birthday, he dreamed that he would grow up and share with his people and the world the culture of his country. He dreamed that he would inspire people with art. Over a half-century later, sitting against the mountainside, looking over the beautiful land of lagunas and volcanoes and his handiwork, I can see that Alberto has lived his dream. “Everyone has the five senses that God gives them,” he said, “We just use them in different ways.” Upon descending the mountain, I was challenged to reflect upon the talents and opportunities I’ve been awarded throughout my life and how I’ve used them. I was touched by the tenderness of this man’s care for people for he’d just met, how he’d filled our bags until they were overflowing with fruit, how he’d shared with us his life and dreams, and how he’d inspired me not to doubt my abilities to use each of my five senses to the glory of God and the betterment of my fellow man.

In the same way I was opened to new lessons this weekend, I have been available to learn more in Nicaragua with my focus far from the worries, concerns, and trivialities that plagued me in Nashville. Things I thought were so important, aren’t. Some things I had not valued before, I do. Thank God for my very own Willie Wonka of the woods - a man who, instead of filling me with chocolate and sugar, filled me with the fruits of the fields and the fruits of his labor. A man who taught me never to underestimate the power of dreaming and the ability to do.