Inaugurating Christmas

I recently had a conversation with a Nica friend who asked me what the date was when we "inaugurate Christmas." I stared at him blankly. What do you mean?

Apparently it has leaked all the way to Nicaragua that we celebrate Christmas big. What he really wanted to know was at what point it is acceptable for us to start setting up decorations and get into the holiday spirit. I explained to him that while the stores are full of Christmas gear immediately after Halloween (and sometimes before) many families have the tradition of "inaugurating Christmas" around Thanksgiving. He exclaimed that we should have a party here to do the same.

This conversation made me really reflect on the past year. One year ago I was two weeks into site, just settling in to my host family and gearing up for the celebrations ahead. While in the U.S. we put our Christmas décor up for a month, I feel that it simply sits and we wait for the celebration of Christmas. Nicaraguans instead, spend the whole month of December celebrating. It is a month of graduations, as the school year ends and they celebrate preschool, sixth grade, and high school graduations. It is a month of birthdays, at least in my host family, which means at least a little cake every once in a while. It is a few days of celebrating the Virgin Mary in what they call "La Purissima" through prayer circles where they give out candy, fruit, and plastic kitchenware. It is Christmas Eve with dancing, music, and fireworks. It is New Year's Eve with more dancing, a doll made of old clothes that you set on fire, and more fireworks. To me, inaugurating Christmas means much more in Nicaragua than it does in Minnesota.

We are all looking forward to the end of the school year in the first week in December, teachers and students alike. This year has flown by faster than I ever imagined. Many people ask if I am ready to come home. I have completed one year, I have accomplished some of my goals, I have immersed myself in another community, and I have felt homesick for Minnesota. But I'm not done. Though the Peace Corps is criticized for throwing people into the job without much training, it is a learn as you go experience. Everyone is different and everyone handles the situations we face differently. I for one am happy to have another year to improve the projects that failed, to do better at my job in general, and to start the new projects that I never got going for one reason or another. Two years may feel like a long time in some moments, but in general, I feel that it is an adequate amount of time for us to really make a difference, to have a meaningful exchange with people, and to fulfill our goals, both personal and professional.

This is not to say that I'm not counting down the days until I can sit with hot chocolate making sugar cookies after playing broomball on the snowy lake. In 32 days I will be in shock once again to be home after 16 months away. I am ready to inaugurate Christmas in both cultures, the best of my both worlds.

Child Birth in an Unequal Society

I recently saw statistics showing the leading countries in gender equality. Surprisingly enough, Nicaragua appeared 6th on the list behind Iceland, Scandinavian countries, and Denmark. The U.S. came in as the 20th country on the list. Seeing this list I began to question gender equality in this country and in my own as well.

Here is the link to the Global Gender Gap realeased by the World Economic Forum:
http://mic.com/articles/102560/how-well-does-your-country-treat-women-check-this-interactive-map

What is clear to me about Nicaragua's supposed small gender equality gap is that this study looked closely at the situation in Managua. It cannot be denied that the Sandinista party has done well in appointing female leaders. These include important positions such as the National Police Chief along with many departmental and city chiefs, the national Minister of Education along with an entire institution led by women, and smaller positions filling the mayors' offices around the country. Women have been appointed and elected, they hold an important part in the politics of Nicaragua.

But let's talk about the gender gap in Nicaragua. How many women are actually working? This number drops significantly after a woman has children. How are women treated on a daily basis both in the workplace and in the home? Even a working woman is expected to complete all of the household chores outside of her work hours while the man simply needs to work his shift and return home at the hour that he pleases. Young girls are heard saying that they simply want to be mothers, and that does not mean in the future but that they are searching for a man when they are as young as 12 or 13 years hold. Women are expected to give a man a family, but the responsibilities will be solely theirs, with the exception of discipline in many cases. With many more logistical opportunities for men to continue their education (because young boys are not expected to help with housework or watching their siblings), this country does not deserve 6th place on that map.

I recently had the opportunity to visit an aunt in my host family who gave birth. My host mom (her sister-in-law) took her to the hospital and took care of her overnight. A group of family members (made up of mostly women except the driver) visited her that night in the hospital. We entered two by two into a room full of women, those who recently gave birth and those who were caring for the newborns and recent mothers. There was not a man in site. The baby was beautiful, perfectly calm and to my surprise, nameless! The dad was working outside of town and so she needed to wait to consult with him. I know very little about the birthing process in the U.S., but I do know that my own mother was angry with my father on the day of my birth for taking the bus and not having his car. I can't even imagine the father being absent at the birth of his own son or daughter. There were so many questions I had about this process both in the U.S. and in Nicaragua.

And so I have been informally interviewing people all week. As far as I know, three days have passed and the baby still does not have a name. Now I understand all of the confusions on birth certificates and formal documents of children in Nicaragua. Many children don't even know how to write their name correctly as it was put on their birth certificate. But many women have told me that that's just how it is in Nicaragua. Babies receive a name a few days after their birth perhaps because of lack of communication between the couple. (My thoughts are that I can't believe that 9 months aren't enough to resolve that, but who knows...) Women have also told me that although men were previously banned from the birthing room, they are now allowed in should they so choose. The woman may choose one person to accompany her in the birthing process, but men are still largely absent. It is a woman's process, I have been told. It is a tradition, whether the mother goes to the hospital or has her babies in her house, that she is surrounded by only female family members.

This to me feels like an ancient tradition. I feel enraged for these women that these men are so detached from their babies. As with many difficult subjects that I face in Nicaragua, I chose to discuss what I know as customary in the U.S. as well as what I will/would do in that situation. I have exclamed to almost any woman who will listen that whenever in the far off future I do have children, my partner will be right there by my bedside watching his baby be born. Having a child is not and never has been a process of one person. Why should any part of that process be left only to the woman?

The worst part of these situations that test my beliefs are hearing "that's just the way it is." I often get an affirmation that the way we do things in the U.S. would be nice, but that's not how it is in Nicaragua. Their reality is much different from mine and making them see that change is possible may be the biggest challenge I or anyone else will ever face.

The U.S. has a long way to go in closing the gender gap. I know there are too many cases of men detached from their children in our own country as well. Many women in the U.S. at least know that life does not have to be so unequal. Sometimes we view these statistics as fact without considering how people behind these numbers based on economics live. It is moments like these that make me thankful for the country that I come from and extremely distraught to know that many women will never know what even those possibilities of equality look like.

The "Other"

I’m nearly approaching my one year anniversary in site. Looking backwards the time has flown, and yet these past few months have been difficult for the entire group. What do we have to show after one year? What have we accomplished? What are we doing here? Are we really making a difference? Am I really integrated into my community? 

I have a great host family, a wonderful community of teachers, staff, and students who support me. Frequently people tell me that I have converted into a full Nica, I am no longer a gringa. But there is a harsh reality in the fact that I will always be different on some level, I will always be the “other.”

My neighborhood is my safe haven. People rarely stare me down anymore (unless they’re men making stupid comments or catcalls but even those include my name or “Profe”), I feel comfortable and greet people on the street because they all know that I am a teacher at the school. This has become my piece of Nicaragua where I fit. This town in general is my home, but outside of my neighborhood is less inviting as I do still get stares and recognize less faces. However, in general I feel that people know my role here and have become comfortable with seeing me around.

Then I enter into the rest of Nicaragua where I am simply seen as a dumb tourist with a lot of money. People stare me down expecting my Spanish to be poor and asking me for money in dollars. I am just like any other, despite the amount of work I have put into the schools here, despite my efforts to be culturally appropriate, despite how many customs and beliefs I have left behind in order to convert myself into a Nica. I feel like a Nica, but I will never be one. Even among my host family it is hard to deal with economic conversations. I may be another family member, but to them I’m that rich niece/sister/aunt who has had many opportunities in her life. This is true of my background, but when you’re paid a Nicaraguan salary it is difficult to live up to those expectations.

It often feels like a slap in the face. No matter how hard I try, I will never blend in. The consequences of that here are people looking at me like I carry around loads of money. Questions are never ending about where I come from and if I can speak in English, if my parents send me money and how perfect the U.S. must be. There are days when I think, I would just love to make a friend who didn’t make me feel like a new toy or an alien they never thought existed. I would like a genuine friend just because we like each other’s company.

And here’s where the complaining stops. It’s hard to be different. It’s hard to not be able to escape that fact. It’s hard to be the odd one out, the one that no one understands and has to answer 12,000 questions around every corner. But then I think, boo hoo to the white girl. I get this attention because of the privileged background that I carry. I get this attention because of my fair skin seen as beautiful; because of my birthplace and the opportunities that has given me in life. I am judged as the ideal person to be robbed because of the possessions I supposedly carry with me. For the first time in my life I am different in a town that I call home.

This is my first lived experience where I am beginning to understand what it means to be judged by the color of your skin. Of course I am judged in a completely different manner than my friends who are discriminated against in the U.S., but I now have a basic understanding of what that means. I am now annoyed by questions about my culture constantly being thrown at me, as I have heard from my friends back home. I never completely understood why some of my friends became so frustrated when people asked them if they grew up speaking another language or what kinds of foods their mom cooks. But it is because upon meeting someone we all just desperately want to be seen as humans, as equals. Those questions point out the differences instead of forming friendships through similarities. They make one feel like the “other.”

I am also very tired of being watched constantly. I am aware that I stand out, that people either think my skin is beautiful, are simply curious, or are wondering where I keep my money. But how does it feel to be watched because someone is afraid you may steal something from the store? How does it feel to be stared at because you’re a person of color dating a white person? How does it feel to grow up in an environment where you always stand out, a community that is 97% white for example? How does it feel to be a part of a college community that allows hate crimes to happen without much (if any) ramifications or acknowledgement of victims’ struggles?

We see the world in color. I have little hope that these issues will ever fully disappear. But it is good not only to put yourself in someone else’s shoes, but to have your own experience that helps you understand other’s perspectives. I certainly don’t have all of the answers, but I keep learning and I believe that is all that we can hope for. I believe that this will be the closest I will ever get to feeling the pain of my friends who have lived through racial discrimination in both big and small contexts. I will never be able to crawl out of this white skin or change my nationality, but I will keep learning and reflecting in order to live differently, in order to be a better person, friend, and teacher.

September 11th, 2014

Today started like any other day. I had my plan in my head, today was Thursday and I had a school event. As usual, the festivities started late.

I left my house even later than told just to account for Nica time. Apparently I still don’t have that concept down. Arriving at 6:30am, I met up with some teachers as we waited for the students to arrive on the street where we sat. Today was the day that the torch of Central America would proceed through town later to continue on its journey toward Costa Rica.

The torch passes every year starting its journey in Guatemala in the beginning of September. Traveling next through El Salvador and Honduras, it arrives at the northern border of Nicaragua on the Pan American highway. Because San Isidro is located on the Pan American, it is received by students on the highway and passes through town. Teachers wait with high school and older grades of elementary students who run a few blocks at a time passing through town. I waited with three fifth graders and one teacher on the corner for the torch to pass. Trying not to look at my watch, it became 7am, 7:30am, 8am… The students became antsy and the day got hotter. Finally at 8:30am, we heard the sirens of the police escort. As fast as the procession came around the corner they passed right by us without letting the students touch the torch. With disappointed students alongside, we strode to the park to wait for the welcoming event of the torch.

This is a pattern that has happened in other years apparently. Older students want to run the torch longer distances, everyone wants to touch it a little bit, and students literally fight to carry the torch and flags. Unfortunately, a beautiful moment celebrating the unity of Central America is ruined by selfish tendencies. The welcome was brief, with one folkloric dance, the band playing, and a short speech from the delegate in charge of schools. In a flash, all those hours of waiting were over.

I had to try to convince the teachers that this was a beautiful tradition. Imagining the equivalent in the U.S. is difficult. Crossing borders, sharing an identity, I got chills at the welcome event thinking that this same torch has passed through so many young hands. Although I was a bit disappointed at the lack of organization with the kids running the torch, it was a great experience to be a part of.

And then I remembered the date. Today was no normal Thursday. Today was September 11^th, 13 years after the attacks on the World Trade Centers, 3 years after I learned about the coup d’etat in Chile in which the U.S. played a significant role. Today was no normal Thursday.

I have mixed feelings about what I should be experiencing today. Nicaraguans are celebrating freedom, independence, and unity along with the countries of Central America. The U.S. is remembering the most significant terrorist attack on U.S. soil. Chileans are remembering those painful days under an oppressive dictator. Where do I fit in this day?

I have come to no conclusions, I have no answers. It is a day to reflect and I’ll leave it at that.

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.  
 
 

Packing for Nicaragua

We have nearly reached one year in country and I cannot believe how time has flied. I was reflecting upon how much I’ve learned and the skills that I have gained while being here. One year ago I was stressing about what to pack and remember stressing over many decisions ahead of me. Here is some of the advice I would now give to others packing for PC Nicaragua:

• First and foremost: SHEETS. I stressed about whether or not to bring sheets for days up until the moment I left. Of course if you are a sheet freak and need your silk sheets, pack them. But they are common and easily available here, do not waste the space in your suitcase!
• A computer is absolutely necessary. Some of my friends have tablets, but with the reports that we do your life will be so much easier if you have your own actual computer. I use mine to Skype home, do our work reports, and write my blog.
• Bring as much underwear as you are lazy. You will most likely be hand washing your clothes on a washboard so the more underwear you have the less frequently you are forced to wash your clothes. That being said, I wash my clothes once a week because things will get dirty quickly.
• For girls, buy clothes that are of the see-through, non-stretchy material. (I do apologize for that description but cannot for the life of me remember what it’s called in English). Nicaraguans will tell you that clothes don’t stretch, you’re crazy etc, but every cotton shirt that I brought is too big and full of holes. That is not to say that I don’t love my t-shirts because they are very necessary for garden work.
• Yes, jeans are practical. Jeans are professional here and completely accepted. Shorts that go to your knees are acceptable in most sites that are not extremely small, but not for school. While skirts and dresses are nice for the heat (what I had in my head that I would be wearing all the time) jeans are much more practical for our job. Between biking everyday to school and garden projects, skirts are just not feasible to wear on a daily basis.
• Nicaraguans love to look good. I joined the Peace Corps so naturally I left all makeup except the basics at home, came with no hair products, and parted with my straightener. Turns out those were bad decisions. Women wear makeup to go out to any party and teachers even wear some makeup to school. Perfume or cologne is a must. Finally, heals are on every Nicaraguan teacher’s feet (though I find them crazy personally because they are standing to give class). 

While I do not feel ready to train the new group that will arrive in August, there are certain moments when I realize that I am capable of doing my job. I have learned a great deal about what works in a Nicaraguan classroom, how to deal with Nica teachers, and strategies to keep my garden alive. The skills I have obtained range from tying fresco baggies to hand-washing my clothes on a washboard to planning activities to assure that my 3^rd graders understand the science topics covered. Without knowing it, I have gained valuable knowledge that will serve me for the rest of my service and beyond. I am not ready to think about what I will do when I go home, but I am ready to share some of my skills with the new group that will arrive.

Land of the Ticos

Everyone boasts about Costa Rica. It is the developed country of Central America, it has made so many advances, and it has a booming tourism industry because of its beautiful landscape. All of these tidbits are true and I can attest to that. But just like many other stories, there is more than meets the eye to Costa Rica.

It was fun to visit after the national team made it further than they ever have in the World Cup. The country was full of pride and excitement. What a wonderful feeling and a beautiful thing to see.

Arriving in San Jose one can see what development has done in Costa Rica. The high rises, American restaurants, and modern city streets make you feel like you could be in any city in the world. Managua has a lot of catching up to do in terms of becoming a city with such draw. But luckily, I had a wonderful tour guide who showed me the real Costa Rica. I love to see other countries with nationals because it gives you a whole different perspective on the country. Gabriel, a friend I had met in college, gave me the history, geography, political, and social perspective on Costa Rica. Though he has traveled all over the world and has an interesting identity in terms of nationality, he is pure Tico at heart. He assured me that the whole country did not look like a small colony of the United States.

Sure enough, as we passed into the towns surrounding San Jose we began to see the similarities with Nicaragua. Though we saw a bigger proportion of nice houses, it reminded me a lot of my Nica home. We visited a volcano, seeing the view from above the city and got to see another friend I had met in college in the first day of being there.

Once we entered the region of the coast it was notable that we were in the rainforest. Again, you could clearly see the difference in infrastructure between the city and this region of Limón. My friend recounted the story of Costa Rica, explaining that the money put into development is largely focused on the Pacific side of the country while where he lives they have seen little improvements in terms of development. This includes the areas where tourists have what I would call “gringified” Costa Rica with the large resorts and American style of travel. On my part, I was happy to see the Atlantic coast partially untouched by the chains and big corporations.

We arrived in a small beach town and stayed at a cute hotel owned by a local couple. Close to the beach and restaurants with Caribbean food such as spicy chicken and rice and beans made with coconut, we were in the perfect spot to relax. We noted that most tourists who arrived on this coast are Europeans, an interesting commentary on the affect that Americans have had versus tourists from other parts of the world.

The rest of the trip was full of volcanos, cloud forests, ziplining, and hot springs. I always look at the tourist industry with a critical eye, knowing that the people truly gaining from our visits are not locals. How do you successfully create a tourist industry without crushing local opportunity? We justify our tourism interests in other countries by saying that it is creating jobs for many where there weren’t any. But does that make it right that a foreign investor is making a fortune using (and often abusing) the resources of another country while locals are making a fraction of that? What can we actually do to stop big resorts and promote small businesses in other countries when locals don’t have the money to make the initial investment?

Costa Rica gave me the sense that I was happy that Nicaragua remains largely “untouched” in many regions. I can’t help but feel guilty that it is “my people” who are changing the face of tourism in other countries, but what can I do? Boycott visiting other places? Look for only locally owned businesses? Will that actually affect anything?

I do not mean to say that I did not enjoy Costa Rica because of my analytical criticisms of tourism. Costa Rica is a beautiful country and like many places I have been it is enriched by people who make it a warm and welcoming place to be. To the surprise of Nicaraguans, I loved the gallo pinto with black beans instead of red and the rice made with coconut. Most of all I loved the “Pura Vida” lifestyle! Hang in the hammock and enjoy life.

 

Going up the volcano

Gabriel, wonderful tour guide and friend

A typical plate on the coast: Rice and beans (made with coconut), Caribbean chicken, fried plantains called maduros, and salad. Aka DELICIOUS!

Atlantic coast beach, too bad the weather wasn't cooperating.

Micky, Gabriel's dog who really wanted to come with us. It took a lot of effort to get him to come out of the bag.

Hot springs

Ziplining!

All the blood was rushing to my head

Hand painted carts and wooden crafts

The sun finally came out to say goodbye to us. Until next time San Jose!

 

Futbol Mania

I remember the hype about the World Cup in 2010. South Africa was put on the map for many and the games flew by quickly. Ask me which team won in 2010 and I couldn’t even tell you who was playing well that year.

Four years later, my perspective on the World Cup has changed dramatically. I now have paid attention to the protests, the negativity surrounding the money spent on one month of games, and how real people’s lives are affected. At the same time, I am in Nicaragua and nearly every house has the television turned to the soccer games all day long. I give my students updates on the important games and ask who they are cheering for. I have incorporated soccer review games including making the teams compete based upon who’s playing that day. To say that Nicaraguans are into the World Cup would be an understatement.

And like so many issues today, I know that in order for people all over the world to enjoy this month a government wastes millions of dollars when it should be investing in its own people. But being in Nicaragua, I cannot help but feel the adrenaline and be excited about the games alongside my friends and host family. Three to four games a day leaves everyone waiting to see who will be eliminated. The upsets have been incredible and even non-soccer fans here have been watching at least one game a day. It is soccer mania!

In my opinion, soccer is the one sport that can unite people from all over the world. What else has the ability to connect South Korea to Iran to the Ivory Coast to Mexico? Sure, there are government agencies, there is the U.N. and NGO’s and different ties that help countries exchange many aspects of life. But this is really connecting citizens, connecting the average person of Nicaragua with a person of Italy. They have something in common when Nicaraguans are cheering for Italy only to ensure that their rival Costa Rica doesn’t win.

I think back to my time in South Africa and the story of Invictus for those of you who have seen the movie. Nelson Mandela was an incredibly wise man to use rugby to unite his country in a strategic way. Of course it did not solve all of South Africa’s problems, but served to patch up at least a few wounds. To me it seems that soccer has an even greater capacity to create change, to unite, to convert differences into commonalities. But that cannot happen with Brazilians shut out of opportunities to watch the games within their own country. How can we use this sport played on the streets of nearly every country to foster equality instead of serving only the wealthy?

There is no immediate fix that I can see, but hopefully in the future we can avoid getting caught up in the hype without critically considering the advantages and disadvantages of such events.

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.

Time to Celebrate

Happy Saint Isidro festival! Every town has their own festival (called Fiestas Patronales) of a saint at a different time of year. Based on the name, “San Isidro”, you can infer that our saint is also the name of the town. San Isidro is a farmer saint, a rural man who represents the farm lifestyle here. He is celebrated in May before the rains come so that they can pray for a prosperous rainy season and a good harvest. He passes around town to different houses and schools all week before May 15^th, being accompanied by processions and bands.

On Thursday morning we headed from my neighborhood where the procession started, following the trumpets and trombones slowly down the street. We made our way into town where people were waiting for the saint to pass and gradually melded into the processional crowd. I was greeted by students, parents, and teachers along the way, reminding me that I do know a good amount of people here, I have become part of this community.

We arrived at the church grounds where under the shade of a giant tree mass was to take place. There were pews and plastic chairs, as well as people standing in every corner. A live band was playing music before the service, creating a tranquil atmosphere of celebration. For me it was a time of reflection on how we celebrate. I continue to be amazed at what a strong sense of community this country has. In times of difficulty or in times of celebration, everyone is always there.

It just so happens that this town festival happens right around my birthday so naturally it was a weekend of celebrating. I invited more people than ever before at my birthday party, and that was just in the family! My host mom and another family member cooked all the food, we all helped make and decorate the cakes, and there was so much dancing. I was also serenaded with a guitar their version of “Happy Birthday” and various ranchera songs. I had many people tell me that even though I was far from my family, they wanted me to know that they were my Nica family. Needless to say, I felt very special on my 23^rd birthday.

There is nothing like being in the moment and feeling this community, but here are some pictures to give an idea of what these celebrations are like:

 

Procession to celebrate the patron saint

Cake decorating

Serving the food

 Being serenaded

 

Amigas

Teachers

 

Help

I have always known that being careful about language is extremely important when discussing developing nations and our involvement in other countries, but it wasn't until sitting on the other side of the table that I truly grasped the offensiveness of the ways that we describe our work abroad. We have all heard it, and I have certainly used it. "I want to help people" and "I want to make a difference in the world" and in trying to improve those phrases and be more conscientious we use phrases like "I want to help people help themselves" or "I want to empower people." I can say with a fair amount of certainty that I have used all of these phrases at one point or another. And at the end of the day, I do want to help people, to make a difference, and empower others. But who am I to do that work?

There is an NGO in my town that will receive 12 students from a university in the U.S. for a month. These are mostly engineering students who will be working on improved technologies (the focus of the organization) such as improved ovens and stoves, biodigesters, and drip irrigation. I was asked to support the project by translating, helping with host family training, and whatever else may arise during their stay. There are five volunteers that will be staying with members of my extended host family meaning that I was there also listening as if I was a host family member. As they put up the profiles of each student who will be visiting, I read the profiles from a completely different lens. Thinking as a host family member, I kept seeing those words "help people" and "empower" feeling the awful taste in my mouth. These same words that I have used on similar applications now seemed so demeaning, so evident of the developed triumphs over developing relationship.

It is not bad to want to help people nor is it a negative quality to want to use the skills of host country nationals to uplift their own people. But to the average person who lives a fairly comfortable life in Nicaragua for example, those words sting, and even more than that, they don't make sense. Why do they need all of this "help" that these people from the U.S. keep talking about? On a large scale, Nicaraguans know that they live in a poor country. They know that people in the U.S. have more resources and are familiar with projects here where they receive many different kinds of "help." I was too caught up in my own processing of these thoughts to ask if my host family members felt the same about these words. Based on conversations I have had with them since that day, I would say that in general they were too focused on who would be staying in their house to problematize those terms.

Life here could be improved. Health here could be improved. Education here could be improved. But how do we overcome this relationship of "helping those who have none?" There certainly are people in Nicaragua who don't have a home, food to put on the table, or shoes to send their kids to school in, like everywhere in the world. But that doesn't mean that that Nicaraguans have nothing. After living almost nine months in Nicaragua I have learned to see the beauty of a family reunited outside of the house instead of the fact that the wooden door is falling down. I see the kids playing in the street, covered in mud, and smile instead of questioning if the reason that they are barefoot is because they have no shoes. I see the beauty in the process of a grandmother who comes to make the enchilada mass, later to be pressed by my host sister, then to be thrown in oil by her mother instead of the poor nutrition habits.

Again, this is not to say that life is always a piece of cake nor that things like nutrition and the economic situation of many don't need to be improved. But that's the importance of language. Before throwing out the word help we need to ask, how will we help these people? Do they want and need to be helped in the way that we want to help them? What does the word help mean?

This cuts deep into my roll as a Peace Corps volunteer. I have nothing figured out, but what I can say is that I keep learning. I may have been sent to this country to "help empower" people, but I am leaving with lessons that will forever change me. If I learn how to better interact in this world from this experience, who is really being helped during this process?

It's Easy to Forget

Some days it’s very easy to forget why I’m here. What does a gringa in her twenties recently graduated from college have to contribute to a community that needs good teachers and gardening skills? How can I, with little previous knowledge and three months of training, begin to address these issues? I feel unqualified and very overwhelmed…

And then I remember (just as I said in my last blog) that relationships are everything. As I sat after class with five sixth grade girls and the teacher, I was reminded of why I was here and what my real passion in Nicaragua is. One of the little girls said to me, “being dark is ugly.” She described her twin who has lighter skin than her and how she thinks that I have such beautiful skin. I attempted to address these deeply woven issues by saying that women in the U.S. try to tan their skin to be more like her. I gently explained that I was born with whiter skin and no matter how much she took care of her skin, hiding it from the sun, she would never be as white as me. On the flip side, I could sit many hours in the sun and will never be as dark as her. We are born into this skin, it’s the only skin we have, so why not love it?

Since a young age I have had the perspective of not caring what others think. I simply walk on my path in life and try not to compare myself (at least physically) to other women because I know I will never be them. I also am very well aware that twelve is the age when all of those insecurities come out. This age is delicate and I can tell her a million pieces of advice that may never seep in. Yet this view reflects that of Nicaraguans. They take good care of their skin, protecting it from the sun if they’re out working, putting on a hat, long sleeves, and yelling at me to cover up in the burning heat. I try to remember that this is all positive, that they are at least protecting themselves from skin cancer. But then the comments sink in. A twelve year old girl tells me she is ugly because she is brown and my heart breaks.

These issues are not distinct to Nicaragua, but that doesn’t make them less important. This is my real work here. Yes, I come home from the classroom excited about something we did some days. Yes, I enjoy the topics that I teach and the relationships I have with teachers. But it’s the Ecological Brigade “meetings” where we work in the dirt and the conversations with handfuls of young girls about issues that affect them that drive me to work harder. It’s these youth groups that really uncover the need in Nicaragua. This is where the Peace Corps mission of exchange will come in. My job inherently has me building upon the skills that Nicaraguans also have, but I want to give these girls a taste of what their future could look like. I want to be that role model for them. I want to have an open conversation about, sex, boys, race, and so many taboo topics.

It’s easy to forget, but then I remember. I’m here for a reason.

Relationships are everything

In the Peace Corps success is officially measured in numbers, in the amount of plants you grow, the amount of teachers you work with, and the amount of children who take part in your environmental projects. These concrete numbers are needed to show the government that the money invested in these programs is doing something tangible, it’s capacitating teachers and community members as well as teaching Nicaraguan children. I see the obvious importance and understand that this is the system in which nearly everyone works. How many hours did you put in last week? Did your project produce adequate outcomes?

But Peace Corps is about so much more. Every day things pop into my head and I think about how much I miss cooking my own food or speaking my mind about gender issues. But then I get a hug from ten of my students. Then my teacher buys me a bag of jocotes (a small delicious fruit). Then a cousin who always likes to bug me yells in the street. Then my one year old “niece” won’t let me take a nap because she wants to play with my Frisbee and steal my earrings. Then I soak it all in and think about how many relationships I will miss when I leave Nicaragua.

You could say that it is rare to think about this now, as I am still in the beginning stages of service, yet there is already a new group of volunteers in Nicaragua and the next crew arrives in August. After looking back at these past few months in site, I am terrified to think about how fast time has flown. I was so ready for Nicaragua that I don’t even feel like 8 months has passed without seeing my friends and family. Time will fly and I want to enjoy every second of every day.

So what is interesting is that I also want to explore this beautiful country. I love the relationships I have also made with my very tight-knit environment group. In a group of 19 all of us get along very well and support each other with amazing ease. The interesting things about the many relationships I have fostered in the past 8 months is that my relationships with one group seem to affect my relationships with the other. For example, when I spend too much time traveling (or even a little bit of time traveling) people in my town call me “vaga” like a vagabond who only spends his or her time in the streets. I love to see my PC friends, but then I come home and find that people have missed me or I have missed out on something fun. But the same goes for missing PC trips with my friends. Some weeks I feel like I’m so integrated into Nica culture that I forget to pick up the phone and call my friends, realizing I haven’t heard from them in a long time. I get isolated and don’t hear the latest gossip or news because I am working so hard at enjoying my relationships in site.

So I’m learning to find an interesting balance. And as with everything in the Peace Corps, I follow my gut, I do what my intuition tells me, what at the end of the day will make me happy. Never in my life have I made so many decisions purely based on my happiness and what feels good. That is the beauty of this life. Yes, I will write my reports and do my best to stay true to those numbers. But at the end of the day, success is built within these relationships that I have created. And success for me means following my own happiness.

International Women's Day

On my college campus, International Women’s Day was highlighted, but it came and went like any other day of recognition without much hype. In Brainerd, I didn’t even know there was such a thing as International Women’s Day. Ironically, I moved to a country with grave gender inequalities and a heavy machismo culture where International Women’s Day is not only recognized, but truly celebrated.

On Friday teachers attended a meeting about International Women’s Day and the importance of women in the workforce as well as having good female role models in the classroom. On Saturday morning my day began with a text from a teacher saying “Happy International Women’s Day, it’s a very special day.” There was a march in town to celebrate and most surprisingly, nearly everyone from the general population knows that it’s International Women’s Day. That is something I cannot say of the U.S. today.

Like I have mentioned, Nicaragua has a ways to go in terms of gender equality and that does not change by simply celebrating International Women’s Day and hearing messages about women’s accomplishments and contributions to society. However, it definitely makes me question our commitment to women’s rights in the U.S. Even progressive college students surprised me in their views on women’s issues. “We are past those issues…” they would say. “Women are already being educated and have equal rights…” With all of the health reforms attempting to strip us of many rights you would think that we would put more of an emphasis on fighting toward equality instead of failing to recognize these stark inequalities.

Do I think Nicaraguans have a good appreciation for what International Women’s Day is really about? No. But at least leaders are beginning to put an emphasis on inequality in Nicaragua and focusing on these issues. At the end of the day you can compare the rates of education, the economic status, and other statistics between the countries, but we don’t have it all figured out in the U.S. Even with a larger educated population in the U.S. than in Nicaragua, I guarantee that few people could tell you when International Women’s Day is celebrated and why it is so important to celebrate it.

Happy International Women’s Day to all. Let’s all put an effort into creating a world of true gender equality instead of ignoring the issues in our own backyard.

Capturing my Weeks in Photos

Elizabeth received a gift from Minnesota...

 

And has not put down her Brown Bear Brown Bear book (in Spanish of course) since she got it. If you take it from her, she cries. She sits staring at the pictures, kissing them, and gasping in surprise with each page turn.

Finally learning how to make enchiladas with the family

There actually is a technique to pressing the tortillas.

Throwing the tortillas in oil to be fried, of course I'm scared of burning myself!

Jaime, a cousin of my host siblings wanted to help

She's two years old and calls me tia (in English meaning aunt)

My host mom's mother-in-law comes to help every time because she has many years of practice

Happy little Elizabeth...the house is so quiet, sad, and boring when she's not around screaming, laughing, and stealing random items from my room.

At school we already got to pick the radishes (though the chickens did not leave many behind when they dug them up).

These girls are from the Environmental Club that I worked with this summer.

Digging a hole for a giant compost pile at my larger school.

I have to explain numerous times that both girls and boys will be working on this project and everyone will receive a grade. It's a big goal of mine to get them to erase from their minds the idea that only the bigger boys will be doing hard labor. Some of the little girls are the best workers!

 

Otherwise things are going well and I'm still getting used to my new schedule with teachers. These projects are keeping me busy but it's been a great start to the school year so far!