Reflections of 525,600 Minutes

Precisely one year ago I left my house on an adventure with so much mystery as to where I would spend the next two years. Though the goodbye with my parents was certainly tearful, I felt a strange sense of serenity as I boarded the plane. There was no breakdown, there were no second thoughts, and there were no regrets. I was ready to embark on this journey.  

That image of me at the airport now feels like a lifetime ago. Soon the new group will arrive with the same feelings of anxiousness, excitement, and curiosity as to what lays ahead of them. Once arriving in Nicaragua the sense of panic certainly set in for me. I had signed my life away for two years, could I actually do this?

I see the moments of this last year in snapshots. I was most fearful when we split up from the three day retreat to our new training host families. Training was filled with feelings of inadequacy and doubt, stress and anxiety. Time passed slowly as we waited for the two days a week that we got to be together with the big group. I have images of fighting with a three year old, watching old westerns with my host dad, eating cheesecake and getting wifi at a nearby café. All of these images bring bittersweet memories of training, what I would say was the most challenging and my least favorite part of service.

Then I came to my site visit. One of my favorite memories is during the first week when the power went out and my host family and I sat around chatting over candle light for hours. The first few weeks in site were full of excited children’s eyes as the new “gringa” came to town. I cannot even explain the elated feeling I had the first time I heard “Adios Profe!” in the street. This became MY community where I belong.

There were parties galore in December, making the month about food, dancing, and family. I slowly left behind my identity as “the gringa” and was converted into Morgan or Profe Morgan. I began my Environmental club and English classes that solidified my role as the profesora during the vacation. I ate a lot of enchiladas and other fried goodies, learning quickly that refusing food signifies extremely bad manners here.  

School started and once again I felt inadequate to fulfill this job. Work was slow to get to know my teachers and build trust in order to have an effective exchange in the classroom. I have learned around one hundred names of children of all ages. I am nearly toppled over by my third graders every day I enter the classroom and my fifth graders greet me with a “good morning” in English when I arrive. A moment I don’t remember is when I began to feel like this was my school, when I really felt like I could do this job, and when I converted into effectively fulfilling my teacher role. But somewhere along the way, that is exactly what happened.

I have been lucky enough to travel with family and friends. I will always remember the night that my grandmother did not leave the dance floor for more than five minutes. At 73 years old she learned to master salsa, cumbia, and other Nica steps. Even my dad barely had a rest that night. My two families got to unite and though it was exhausting to translate, I was so grateful that my Minnesota family got to see the real Nicaragua that I live in every day. As I have said before, I like to think of it as brushing my teeth under the stars instead of brushing my teeth next to the pig.

It has been a year of ups and downs and this rollercoaster ride has definitely thrown in some unexpected curves and dips. None of these feelings can be predicted as to when they will attack, but I have learned to take life as it comes. When you need to relax, there is a hammock. When you need to get out of site for a bit, there are other volunteers to meet you in the city. When you just need to hug a smiling baby, there are plenty around to play with. On any hard day I come home to Elizabeth screaming “Momo! Holaaaa!” and a giant hug (though I see that less and less as she is entering her terrible twos…). What more can one ask for?

Nicaraguans have taught me to enjoy the moments as they pass. 525,600 minutes have flown by, but I feel like I have taken advantage of each one to the best of my abilities. In my first week in country 27 months seemed daunting, impossible. 12 months in, I cannot believe I have made it this far already. I have changed immensely, I have grown in ways that have yet to be discovered, and I will only continue to be molded by this experience.

It is scary to think about where I will be a year from now, planning to go back to the U.S. Though those thoughts creep in, I will try to remain in a Nica context, living for today.