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

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