Standing Room Only

If you know me really well you know that I am as far from a morning person as you can get. I spend mornings groaning, still half asleep, and wishing I could crawl back into bed instead of conversing with the world. With this same attitude I dragged myself to the bus stop at 6:30am to wait for a packed bus to the city.

Just my luck, I was not able to grab a seat on the bus today at the various stops where people got off. As I realized that my ride was about to be hot, packed, and I would not be able to nap, I tried to remain positive. Packed bus rides are simply a part of Nica culture. There is the man taking the money who is trying to squeeze between people to make his way through the bus, constantly telling people to move toward the middle of the bus no matter how many sardines are packed into that space already. There is the woman sitting in the seat that you are leaning over, as you stand silently apologizing that you are taking up any free space she had and bumping your leg against hers. There’s the man next to you who is just too close and sometimes looks over at you for way too long. Not to mention that it’s hot and stuffy with two and half hours to go on your feet. That gives you a vision, but the experience is unlike any other.

And yet I stood waiting for my feet to get tired, feeling as though I might faint because of the heat, thinking that for so many Nicaraguans this is just a reality. Cars are a luxury and rarely used for long journeys. Taxis are never used for long trips either. Buses, just normal school buses packed with people, are the most frequented form of transportation. My family members have expressed that they have even been on 10 hour rides standing the entire time. This is a reflection of how we come here to experience Nica life, but we really only get a small taste of what life is like.

I have often thought that the life we try to lead living like our Nica families as Peace Corps volunteers is in vain. There is no doubt that we learn about another culture, about ourselves, and about how much we can handle. It is a test. But eventually the test is over and we get to go home. This is the reality of an entire country as big as the state I live in. This is the second poorest country in Central America after Haiti. To say I enjoy and appreciate the rich culture and my Nica family and friends is an understatement. I can live two years eating Nica food, brushing my teeth on the patio with the chickens, and sweeping the dirt on the patio. But then I go home.

What I have learned is that you can take the girl out of Minnesota, out of U.S. culture, and out of the influence of consumerist culture. But you can’t take those influences away from me. I know that there are other opportunities out there. I know that there is another way of life. That makes this lifestyle even more difficult.

But through the ups and downs of this journey, we keep learning, changing, and missing home. Even if our experience is only a snapshot of life in Nicaragua, that snapshot will help me to understand my place in this world. My feet will be sore, I will feel uncomfortable for a while, and I will keep riding the bus when there’s standing room only.