Shoo Fly, Don't Bother Me

After a whirlwind kind of week, I am left changed, challenged, and confused as to how and what I should articulate in this post. Perhaps I could focus on the comedic and frustrating aspects of living in a house of 17, the emotional upheaval of divvying up programs for the next 13 months, or the joys of coming home to a group of new friends who can sympathize with the uncertainty we all face of the impending year. Moreover, at this point, I am already starting to wonder what people at home even want to hear. Life in Nicaragua is already seeming to get...normal. To the point where swerving around potholes, children, house-drawn buggies, and faded school buses as I drive the 15 passenger Micro Van (with manual transmission, might I add) is a fact of life. The geckos that live in my house at night, crawling across the ceiling and eating the night-insects...well, doesn’t every good home need those? The one thing that I am not quite used to are the two adorably evil rottweilers that guard our yard. Sidney and Cola have had it out for me ever since I spent the first three weeks of my time here challenging their dominion via staring match - who knew that massive guard dogs would feel the need to kill me if I stared at them? I thought we were connecting...but alas.

One thing, however, sticks out in my mind above all of these petty aspects of acclimating oneself into any new environment - the lack of opportunity for those so drenched in the murky depths of poverty. No matter the potholes and indoor pets, but the poverty breaks my heart in two. Making the transition from language school to program familiarization to Program Director, I have become aware of situations affecting different members of our communities. Child abuse and drug abuse affect not only those in the hell hole that is La Chureca, but those living five minutes down the road from me and my fairly comfortable neighbors. Cycles of poverty resulting in varying elements of abuse affect not statistics, but friends. Rapes occur 15 minutes away at 7:30 at night in a community that lacks the infrastructure to protect it’s people. In fact, I am almost overwhelmed by the lack of infrastructure in this country. Without safe streets or the ability to leave the home after a very early sunset, progress is inhibited. Without a legal system that can rally for the down and out, how can these young children break the cycle of abuse? And what is me being down here going to do to change the rotten status quo? How much can I truly empathize with the communities I work in when I know that at the end of the day, I have a bed, a shower, warm food - and heck, even wireless internet?

I may not be able to change the world; I may not be able to offer much more than a smile, or a shoulder, but I am here. Thank God I am so blessed to be here and am daily confronted with the reality of how the majority of the world lives. I cannot just turn away when I meet a new friend who spends her days in a trash heap and don’t even notice the flies that cover her body. I thought flies were for decaying carcasses, not people...and as much as I wanted to reach over and shoo all the flies away, I was paralyzed by a lack of knowing where and how to begin. If only flies weren't the least of the problem...

NICAyudame,

JM