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!