The Barter System

In a place that doesn't have much money, and in a job where you don't take money from the community, people find their own way of repaying you for the work you do, or for helping them with their English homework, or what not.  More often than not, and especially in the campo, it is food.  I got a lot of food gifted to me over my three years.  Produce pulled from the ground or little napsacks, fresh eggs, baked goods, and almost a chicken once...that was when I had recently lost enough weight that someone was worried she might have to send me one, to which I said that no, really, I'm ok, please don't give me a chicken.  Please.  Some of my favorite were the sweet things people would give me, like these buñuelos.

They are sweet corn or yucca that has been deep fried and covered in a cinnamon sugar syrup.  They are incredibly unhealthy, and exceptionally delicious.  My neighbor in San Carlos, Carlos, gave them to me after tutoring him in some English, and it was a perfect little dessert.

Moroso Desgraciado

The hardest working man in all of my town, and possibly Nicaragua, is the arroz con leche man.  He walks all over town selling newspapers and rice pudding that he carries in a giant tupperwear container on his head, from sun up to sun down.  His shirt is almost perpetually soaked with sweat all the way to his waist, and if you sit anywhere for more than twenty minutes, you will see him pass at least twice, announced by his nasal cry of, "La Preeensaa.  Arroz con leeeeecheeeee."  A few months ago, I saw him walk by with a piece of paper taped onto his plastic container saying, "ya pronto, LISTA DE MOROSOS."  I suppose I should not have been surprised, seeing how hard he works, but I was indeed surprised to see that people had accumulated enough debt with him that he felt he needed to make a list of their names to shame them into paying up.

Are you unsure about your excessive use of exclamation points?  Just make them look like question marks, and add some uncertainty to your enthusiasm.

For that is what a lista de morosos is; a list of names of people who are in debt to a business.  Buying things on credit is pretty common here, whether someone has the credit or not to do so, which naturally leads to a lot of debts.  Businesses will often talk to the debtors, trying to settle things, but if that doesn't resolve anything, they know that shame will always work wonders.  That's where the lista de morosos comes in.  They will post it in the largest lettering possible, in plain view of everyone, so the whole town will know who is a moroso desgraciado.  Some will even include details of particular morosos, like where they work, or how much they owe.  I can't even imagine how mortifiying it must be for someone to find their name up on that list, and I know I would pay up immediately to have my name erased as soon as possible, if it ever happened to me.

It seems that all the arroz con leche morosos felt the same way, and payed up when they saw their names would be on a lista de morosos for pudding, none the less.  I suppose that is why I never did see the arroz con leche man post his list - everyone settled their debts, not wanting to call his bluff.  He knows what he's doing that arroz con leche man.  Well done sir.

Birthday Video

I really wanted to post a video I have of everyone singing Las Mañanitas on my birthday last year, but it appears to be too big.  I wanted to see if I could post some videos on here though, so here is a very blurry video of Lindsey breaking open the piñata she, Sarah, and Sophia (the other PCVs in my training town) got for me during my first Nica birthday.

Edit: Has anyone actually gotten this video to play?  I've been waiting for a while now, and there is nothing more than the spinning wheel of death.  Does blogger even really do videos?  I no long believe they work on here.

This was the beautiful aftermath:

Las Mañanitas

A little more than a week ago I had my 26th birthday, or I "completed" my 26th year, as you would say in Spanish.  This would make my fourth birthday I've had in Nicaragua, since my first was during training, and the other three during my three years of service.  Each one has been special, this year's included, but last year's birthday was especially memorable for me because of the surprise my Nica friends cooked up for me.

As in many places in Latin America, it is tradition to wake the birthday girl or boy up with a song called Las Mañanitas.  It can either be blasted through the house on a stereo, or sung in person, but it has to be freaking early in the morning, to be sure that it is the first thing they hear as they wake up.  Since people in the campo tend to wake up early, around 5am, to begin with, this means that you have to wake up really really freaking early here if you want to do Las Mañanitas right.  Which is why, last year, I was woken up at around 4am to the sound of singing and guitars outside my room.  

I had thought that I would be safe from Las Mañanitas, since my room was in my host family's backyard, and the logistics of going through their house to get outside my door would have been complicated.  I had underestimated the tenacity of the local Catholic youth group.  The day before, they had conspired with my host mom to let them in early, and then swore her to secrecy.  

Ronny playing the guitar.

After the Mañanitas, it is also tradition for the serenaded to then give the serenaders coffee and bread as a thank you.  Luckily, my host mom and sister had me covered on the coffee, and I cut up the cake everyone had brought me to share with the group.  All in all, a very nica birthday.

Paca Shopping or Popping Tags

One of my favorite lazy day activities here in Nicaragua is browsing the second hand stores, alternatively called pacas or ropa americana, which are full of discarded clothes from the U.S.  For those who are patient and determined enough to sift through the mountains of unorganized clothes, it can be a treasure trove.  Some volunteers have even found designer clothes for a fraction of their price, including my ever-stylish friend, Linsdey, who wrote about her own paca experience on her blog.  I, myself, have been able to find some pretty nifty things, like this silk scarf, for only 40 cents.

Please forgive the selfie.  Apparently this is a thing back in the states, and I have to practice before I go back.

Besides getting absurdly good deals on cool clothes, paca shopping is also highly entertaining for the odd things you can find.  In the same store where I found my scarf, I found this proudly on display:

These leave me with so many questions.

The late afternoon sun was shining in to illuminate this glorious scene of whitie-tighties, and I wondered as I took this photo if the stars had aligned to give me a moment of perfect absurdity.  Pacas are presumably second-hand, so who would buy used underwear?  And who would donate them in the first place?  And in that size?  And in that quantity?  So many questions that I hope I never learn the answers to.

Saving Chickens

When not given a specific structure to roost in, chickens will sleep in trees.  It is quite a sight to see.  People will often also tie string around chickens' feet for easy wrangling.  As a logical conclusion, these strings will get caught in the trees, and the chickens will be stuck in the most absurd positions.  And so, I have had to save more than one chicken from this fate.  Not before I've taken a photo of them, though.

This is How We Roll

As I've mentioned here before, the public buses in Nicaragua are, more often than not, old yellow school buses.  All of these buses have seen better days, and a hard life on the dirt or potholed roads here tend to take their toll.  One day, I was on the bus, traveling to help with a medical brigade, when the seat I was on just gave up and fell off, almost exactly like my left toenail.

"What's the point of it all, really?" the seat asked before falling to the floor.

 Because everyone else was traveling to the same brigade, the bus was packed.

So standing in the aisle when the seat fell wasn't much of an option.  Instead, I just chose to stand in the same spot where I had been sitting.  My neighbor, on the other hand was able to sit on the seat cushion that was now on the floor.

It worked out well for him.

 When we eventually arrived at our stop, I, along with half of the bus, tried to get off the bus, only to realize that it was so crowded that it would be almost impossible to exit out of either the front or the back doors.  That's when someone cleverly opened up the emergency side door, and we were all able to make it out.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how you do public transportation Nica style.

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: