Nat King Cole calls it “unforgettable.” Here in Nicaragua, I call it “inolvidable”...that’s what these past two weeks with my new familia nicaraguense have been. Because I believe times like these are near impossible to articulate, the following is a sporadic and themed update of a few experiences.
Group bonding and Political Propaganda. You’d think after four years as an HOD-majoring, dorm-dwelling Sorority girl, I’d know a thing or two about group bonding and team building, but my last two weeks have been like Recruitment on steroids, only with fewer people, less Freshman girls, and more boys (and by more, I mean 4). With clases de espanol every morning and a packed afternoon of country and community acclamation, exhaustion and exhilaration were the two possible outcomes. At least I have the weekend, right? Well, Sunday the 19th marked the 30th anniversary of Revolución which overthrew the Somoza dictatorship, so with thousands of banner-waving Red & Black clad folks (I felt like I was at a UGA football game), I joined in the very celebration I was so ardently warned not to attend. In my experience, large crowds mean trouble in any country in the world. I was warned by several locals not to attend the event for fear of thieves, drunkards, and ne’er-do-wells. But I also firmly believe that as long as one’s smart, conservatively dressed, and not acting like a complete gringa (as in a loud and culturally-unaware American girl carrying lots of money), I think there can be safety in numbers. So with four amigos and one new Nicaraguan friend, we braved the Sandinista party propaganda in order to experience our own little piece of history. And guess what? I was right...I got to experience a piece of Nicaraguan history-in-the-making and see thousands of Nicaraguans celebrate the anniversary of their Independence. And although I don’t by any means align myself with the Sandinista Party, I must admit seeing people celebrate something of value to them was a heartwarming moment.
(the Sandinista bus comes to pick folks up for the Revolucion Fiesta!)
Heart aches. The first week was filled with afternoons of exploring the country with our language school. This meant plenty of hiking, volcano-viewing, and monkey-spotting. However, during an afternoon excursion of the city of Managua, I saw a sight that has literally burned an image into my mind. On top of a huge hill capped with the Nicaraguan flag and Sandino monument, I could see a view of the city and Lago Managua. Palm trees, blue skies, scattered infrastructure...and on the outskirts of town, right along the lake, a massive fog of thick smoke. Is this, it couldn’t be, but it must be...La Chureca? La Chureca is a massive municipal city dump on private property where the city brings all of it’s unsorted, unregulated trash (yes, this is where all those trash-cans full of TP end up), and rising up from this stockpile of filth is the thickest smog bordering any city and lake I’ve ever seen. My friend informed me that on hotter days, when the sun burns down on the old trash, chemical combustions sporadically occur throughout the dump and lead to the thick amount of smog. Random fires busting up in the midst of all this trash. Biohazards galore. Extreme pollution of natural resources. But what makes it worse? There is a community of several thousands living in La Chureca, making a home in combustible wasteland and making a living out of sorting through the filth for recyclables. Children are often put to work at this task of trash sorting, or else they may shadow Mom’s trash-collecting for the day for fear of staying home alone, fear of sexual or physical abuse. Many children in this community resort to glue sniffing - peeling away the soles of shoes and sniffing the shoe-glue in order to numb their sad realities. There is a constant prevalence of child abuse, child labor, prostitution, drug abuse, violence...so why do people live here? Because this is home. This is where family, community, and job collide. Without the resources to move off the land, start a new home, and find work in a country where the underemployment rate hovers around 46% and the poverty rate near 50%, the opportunities are scarce. This year, I will have a chance to work in La Chureca. Even still, we only enter the dump for three hours a day because the health conditions are so poor. Latino children have yellow hair. People have chronic illness and skin disease. But any little bit I can do to help this community, to work with them towards opening the doors of opportunity, I am ready to do.
(fumes rising up over La Chureca, on the border of Lake Managua)
Baile folklórlico. Nicaraguan customs and comidas (food) are two things I have sought to embrace upon entering the country about two weeks ago. In my homestay with Doña Francisca, I got to experience it all. For one, there is a fair amount of Micro-Business going on in Barrio La Luz, so I was only a walk away from 10¢ Choco Bananos, the local seamstress, and laundry lady, and my Madre was the neighborhood’s very own maker of nacatamales. This interesting dish combines meat, fat, cilantro, tomato, onion, dough, rice, and potatoes, all wrapped up and cooked in banana leaves. It has the consistency, when eaten, of mush...but a very tasty mush. They are eaten for breakfast on Saturdays and Sundays, kind of like I’d eat a cinnamon roll or breakfast casserole in the States! Besides this, there’s the daily serving of gallo pinto, a dish of rice and red beans eaten for breakfast and dinner. However, I had the best Madre in the Barrio, and she made me a variety of meals so I could taste all kinds of different Nicaraguan specialities. I felt completely embraced by my family, but I think the night that sealed the deal in developing a lasting friendship was the one in which Marcela taught me how to dance the baile folklórlico. This consisted in wearing a big red skirt, following her moves step by step, and twirling around to the tunes of Carlos Mejia Godoy (YouTube “Nicaragua Nicaraguita” and “Son Tus Perfúmenes Mujer” - my new favorites). There is nothing like laughter and dancing to bring people together. After saying a tearful goodbye yesterday and moving back into the Manna House, the family called me today to make sure I was doing okay. I am, as Doña Francisca would say, “Gracias a Dios.”
(posing with my dance teacher, Marcela)
Besos,
Jan Margaret
