An open letter to the rats in my room

Dear rats,

Our relationship has been rocky ever since I first discovered you in my room.  I know I didn't make you feel welcome when I first heard, and then saw, you rooting around in my trash.  You must not have taken favorably to me moaning, "no, no, NO," as I pulled the covers over my head, and pretended you weren't there.  Then I started hiding my food away from you, which I can understand hurt your feelings, since it is not something a good host does, but that's the thing - I don't want you here.  I've known rats (actually just one we named Annie) in the past; a sweet, clean, and clever domesticated rat who would crawl into my overcoat pocket and fall asleep.  You are nothing like Annie, you're her backwater cousins she tries to forget she has.  You are loud and rude and filthy and harbors of awful diseases.  You root through my trashing hoping against hope you will find something to eat, and when you don't you start gnawing away at anything you can find.  First you went for my crayons and I was like, ok, fine if you want to eat colored wax, yeah go knock yourself out, then you started on my books.  Then my clothes. Then my bag of warm-fuzzies, were I keep all the letters and notes my friends and family have sent me.  Then, most disturbingly, you left your stillborns on my floor to clean up.  If you wanted to start something, you sure as hell are going about it the right way.  This is war.  Prepare for battle.




Note:  I wrote this a while back, before I moved, but I never posted it, for fear that my mom would be on the next flight down to try to convince me to come back.  Now that I am in my new place, which doesn't have any rats, I feel like it is safe to post.  Oh, and there was war between the rats and me, and like all war, it was horrific and traumatizing even for the victorious.  I found three separate nests and had to do things that I'm pretty sure are against the Geneva Convention.  I don't want to talk about it.

I see your piropo and raise you a regañada

For female volunteers (and females in general) here in Nicaragua, street harassment is an unfortunate reality.  I don't think I've ever left the house without at least one man yelling something at me, here or in my last site.  The abuse can range anywhere from a slimy "adiossssss," to hissing, to spitting (after I ignored what was surely a romantic sentiment), to groping, to a man literally telling me, in English, no less, "I want to rape you."

It's infuriating, humiliating, and in the last two cases, scary as all hell; but for the most part, the best thing I can do is just ignore it.  Feeling all these emotions and strangling the things I would like to say is extremely difficult, but often the men are looking for rise out of you, either positive or negative, so even if you blow up in their face (as I have on a few occasions), they will just think you want to play.  One of the advantages of my position is that I've been able to talk to a lot of young men about piropoing, and how it can make women feel.  Some of my guy friends have countered that it is a complement (including the rape comment), but I've at least made it clear that if they want to hang out with me, they need to cut it out.  It's a small victory.

I try to tell myself that change, especially behavioral change, is slow, but that I'm working on making a small difference.  Some days it makes me feel better as the comments fly at me from the street; some days it doesn't.  Today was one of those days, and while shouting obscenities at men who piropo is never really effective, shaming them is, as evidence by what happened not a half-hour ago.

As I was walking the long way from the health center to my house, I passed a man who hissed and called at me.  It has gotten to the point that I just automatically block out most of these piropos, so it wasn't him, but a chocolate cupcake I spotted in a bakery window, that stopped me dead in my tracks.  I had completely forgotten him in my joy at beholding such a beautiful pastry, until I saw him walk into the bakery and stand uncomfortably close to me.  He then started whispering to me as I stood at the counter, basically telling me how awesome it was going to be when we were having sex tonight.  If I had followed my current path of open discussion of gender rights, I would have said something like, "excuse me sir, but your comments are making me very uncomfortable, and I would appreciate it if you showed me a bit of respect."

Instead I thought, two can play this shame game, and in my loudest voice I said, "excuse me, but DO I KNOW YOU?"  Everything went silent, and everyone turned to stare at us, as the man stammered and shook his head.  I should mention that this bakery is a annex of the local women's shelter and it raises money for their work to prevent domestic and gender violence.  Many of the looks he got were less than friendly.

"Chill out," he kept whispering as everyone continued to stare, "chill out, just chill out."  It was as if I'd bought an awkward pie, and forced it down his throat.  I know it's hypocritical to fight humiliation with humiliation, but sometimes it just feels so good.  Tomorrow I'll be better, I promise.

Check out this video:

Then check out the awesome cupcake I got:

Update

Isabella really liked her doll.

She was feeling much better today too.

Crafts for Kids, or How to Campo-Laminate

My landlord works right below me, and his five year-old, Isabella, sometimes comes up to visit me.  We end up either coloring or removing the cushions from the sofa to jump on them like a trampoline.  I plan on teaching her the-floor-is-lava game pretty soon.  A few days ago, as I was searching for something for Isabella to color, I came upon a print-out of a doll* I use to teach children about nutrition.  He comes set with eyes, clothes, shoes, and a leg-bone that I tape on him after he eats from the proper food group (formadores give him eyes and the bone, protectores give him his clothes, and basicos give him his shoes, while energeticos make him run around) until he is happy and healthy, because he ate from all the food groups.  It's a fun way for kids to learn the importance of eating a more varied diet, but it's also a fun activity for a bored five year-old.

Isabella really enjoyed coloring the print out, and then taking the photo to document her work.

She kept on trying to sneak out of my photos though.  This is the clearest shot I got of her.

Pretty soon after she finished coloring the doll, it was time for her to go home, but she left the paper with me.  Today, as I was leaving the health center, I ran into Isabella and her dad in the waiting room.  She had had a mild allergic reaction to something, and was getting an injection to help with the swelling.  I thought I would do something to help cheer her up, so I went home to finish making the doll she'd colored.

First, I cut out the doll and all the accessories she had colored, and then worked on "laminating" all of the parts.  Obviously, there really isn't anyway to do that professionally here, but thankfully I've learned a passable alternative that you can do with just some clear tape and scissors.  I call it campo-laminating.

Using a flat surface, just place strips of clear tape on the front of what you want to laminate, doing it so that a good amount goes over the edges of the paper.  Take your time, and be careful so you avoid making as many wrinkles and bubbles as you can.  Once you're done with one side, flip it over and repeat on the other.

Next, cut out the shapes, making sure not to cut directly next to the paper, but just a little bit around it.  By leaving a little border of clear tape, you'll ensure that both sides stay stuck together, protecting your laminated creation.

Once I'd laminated the doll, I could tape all its parts to the main body for the finished product.

Now Isabella can play with a doll that she colored herself, and that will last longer than it would if it weren't campo-laminated.

There you have it - a fun activity that you can do with kids, giving them a doll of their own creation to keep for rainy days to come...now let's see if Isabella likes her surprise when I give it to her tomorrow.

*It's adapted from the book Actividades Saludables, by RPCVs Patrick McGee and Angelina Zamboni, which has been of immeasurable help to me during my two years here.  I've simplified some explanations, and added some others to incorporate clothing at the request of my panzonas, who insisted that the doll was not complete even after eating a complete meal, since he was still naked.