Soup

This was my friend, Ili's, version of just a little bit of soup.  An entire river shrimp.

Puro Lodo

My first site, Los Chiles, consists almost entirely of dirt roads.  We paved one road this past year, and it was a huge deal.  It was quite the orchestration though, so the chances of paving the other dirt roads are very slim, which is a shame, because dirt roads mean dust in the dry season, and in the rainy season...

mud.  Lots of mud.  Mud everywhere.  Puro lodo.  And you would think that I would have learned to wear better shoes, but on the day when this photo was taken, I had rushed out the house in flip flops without thinking about the consequences.  Eventually, they got so caked in mud I couldn't walk in them anymore, and walked barefoot the rest of the way to my friend's house where she had a good laugh at me, and lent me her much more sensible shoes to wear for the day.

El Zorro

My family said there was something eating abuela's chickens.  They said it only came at night.  Said it slunk around in the shadows.  My family called it zorro, a fox.  Said we would have to trap it and kill it one day to keep the chickens safe.  Finally one day, we caught it in a hollowed out log behind the latrines.  Finally we had it.

I looked, expecting to see an actual fox.  Instead I saw this thing.

A possum.  That is a possum, not a fox.  I tried not to feel cheated.

My host brother later tied it up to that tree, and we found a neighbor who had a pet boa he wanted to feed it to, so there was that.

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.

Day at the Zoo

On a free day in Juigalpa, I decided to go to the zoo they have there.  Before I went, I was worried about what kind of conditions the animals would be in, but it exceeded my decidedly low expectations.

The puma was my favorite.  She had another section to the left that she could climb to.

While I was there, there were also about five staff wandering around with a thermos and lassos.  It didn't take me too long to figure out that two of them were vets, and they were vaccinating some of the animals.  I went to watch them as they entered the sheep section, lassoed them one by one, and vaccinated them.  When they left, one of the staff looked at me and asked if I would like to help with the goats.  After learning the basics of throwing a lasso (throw, then pull to tighten the loop) I went into the goat pin with the rest of the men, and started to be the good little cowgirl I knew I could always be.  Except, most of the time I would just get part of a horn or hoof, so they kept on getting away from me.  When I finally did manage to wrangle a catch, though, I got two at the same time.  Everyone cheered me and then laughed at my disappointment when they told me they had already vaccinated those two.

The vets marked every animal after vaccinating them.

So ended my failed career as a cowgirl.  It was a lot of fun, though.

Mayoreo

Managua is not my favorite place in the world.  After it was devastated by an earthquake in 1972, it was rebuilt as a sprawling, unorganized mess of a city, and one of its least appealing spots is where I spent a good deal of time.

Mayoreo is a major bus station for Nicaragua; buses heading north to the mountains, and south to the Rio San Juan all leave from here, and because my buses were so infrequent and crowded, I would have to show up at least an hour and a half beforehand if I didn't want to stand the seven plus hours.  It is noisy, dirty, and hot, but it became a comforting place for me to be while waiting.  It is noisy because so many people are traveling to different corners of Nicaragua; it is dirty with all the travel and accumulated dust blowing around, but employees are always coming by to mop under your feet; and it is hot because it is Nicaragua, what else would you expect?  Mayoreo means you are going somewhere, either home or on an adventure, instead of staying still, which is something special.

Now if I can just get my face to agree with me...

Boat Travel

As I have previously written about, travel from the Rio San Juan to other parts of Nicaragua can be a bit of an ordeal.  Fortunately, there are other options besides the long haul on a bus.  One of them is the ferry that leaves San Carlos Tuesdays and Fridays at 2pm and 5pm, respectively, to arrive in Granada the following morning at 5am.

Bye San Carlos

You will also travel with a good amount of cargo.

What the trip lacks in efficiency, it makes up for in relative comfort.  Unlike on the bus where you are lucky to get one bathroom break, you can use the bathroom any time you choose, visit the itty bitty cafeteria, and if you are quick about it, hang up your personal hammock to hang out in for the trip.

Look how casual this selfie is.  I'm not at all straining to keep one side of the hammock down while also trying to get everything in frame, and keeping my face at a flattering angle.

Feet selfies are much easier.

If you dont' know how to hang up a hammock, there is bound to be someone willing to help you, which is better than trying it on your own, and then having your hammock slip and fall as I've seen happen.  It looks like it hurts.

Or just pick a spot on the floor.  There's also an air-conditioned section inside.

Now, something about this ferry, there are two levels, the upper being more spacious and expensive.  In the past, anyone was able to pick which level they wanted to go on, now only Nicaraguans are allowed on the bottom level, and foreigners are required to go on the upper one.  It costs about 200 cordovas, or $7.70.

The dock at San Miguelito

Before, the ferry would spot at two towns along the lake shore, San Miguelito and Morrito.  Now, they only stop there on Tuesdays, and on Fridays they head straight to the island of Ometepe.

People will crowd around to board, dock, sell snacks, or just watch the ferry.  After hanging out a few times here, I know that the ferry's arrival is one of the town's highlights.

These two drunk men really really wanted to make sure their friend got on the ferry.

The sun will set not long after leaving San Miguelito, and you will get a great view, right on the water.

Even though you will only arrive at your destination about 12 hours later, it is still a wonderfully scenic trip.

Maria

Maria didn't remember the date of her last period, and we don't have an ultrasound machine in Los Chiles to see how far along she was.  Even when she did travel the two hours to San Carlos to the hospital for her ultrasound, the doctors were indecisive, so she ended up staying more than two months at the Casa Materna.  She was a distant relative of my host family, so I would often see her at our house, and then later at the Casa Materna.

And then, sometimes when she sneaked out of the Casa Materna, like this time she took another panzona with her to the independence day celebration.

Another day, she decided to have a photo shoot at the Casa Materna.

The women doing their hair and makeup before the shoot.

There were wardrobe changes.

Different angles

They asked me to get in the photo as well.  Please note that I am 5'4" and wearing flats in this photo.

When I went back after my one month of homeleave last year, Maria was at abuela's with her son.

Whoa Boa

I was on my way to the health center one day when my friend Evelin called me over, and told me she had something in her backyard she had to show me.  I thought it would be her new guinea pig, or her neighbor's pet monkey.  I was wrong.

She had it hung up so that all the goo inside of it would fall into that pail she's holding, saying that it is an oil that cures a lot of illnesses.  So the goo is actual snake oil that Evelin will go on to sell.  This was a totally normal day.

Repeat Please

This is my favorite photo of my friend, Edgar and me.  It was when we were judges for the Columbus Day celebration, or as many countries have renamed it, Dia de la raza.  One of the contestants for the "pretty indian" competition answered a straightforward question with a five minute long circumnavigation that involved peace, love, and solidarity.  These are our wtf faces.

Juguetes para el Desarrollo

In the spirit of this post I'm sharing another arts and crafts activity to do with your community.  This time, it's child development toys.  Again, it is in Spanish, but the photos make it fairly straightforward.  Stay tuned for more diy projects, this time in the states.  I originally saw these toys when a fellow volunteer, Sarah O, showed me how to make them.

I. Motivación

Los niños necesitan estimulación temprana para desarrollarse correctamente.   

Materiales:

Tela                                                                                                                                                            Cinta

Aguja de coser

Hilo

Chichíl

Tijeras

Marcadores

Pedazo de cartón, cortado en un círculo de 4”

II. Información

 Se dibuja en la tela alrededor del pedazo de cartón, haciendo un círculo. 

Se corta ese círculo.  Se repite pasos #1 y #2 hasta que tenga dos círculos idénticos.

Se dibuja una cara alegre en uno de los círculos.

Se cortan la cinta en pedazos de 1 ½ o 2 pulgadas, hasta que tengan 10-20 pedazos de cinta.

Se cosen los dos círculos juntos, pegando los pedazos de cinta, uno por uno, entre los círculos.

Se sigue así, cosiendo los dos círculos, y pegando los pedazos de cinta cada 2 centímetros, hasta que haya sólo 2 pulgadas del círculo que estén abiertas.  Se llena este espacio con el chingaste de la tela y 2 o 3 chichíles.  No se llena mucho, para dejar espacio para que suenan los chichíles.

Se sigue cosiendo, hasta que esté completamente cerrado el juguete.  Se hace un nudo al posterior del juguete.

III. Practica

• Esta manualidad debe de ir acompañada con una charla sobre el cuidado de los chiquitos.  Así que, es perfecta para presentar en la casa materna, o en un grupo de mujeres embarazadas.
• Siempre hay que refortalecer la importancia de ayudar a los niños desarrollarse las habilidades motores desde sus primeros días

IV. Aplicación

Que los padres de niños lo ocupen para ayudar en el desarrollo de sus hijos.

• A un mes que lo usen para que el bebé lo siga con sus ojos.
• A los dos meses que el bebé lo siga con la cabeza.
• A los tres meses que el bebé gatea al juguete.
• A los cuatro meses que el bebé intente a agarrarlo.
• A los seis meses que los padres lo use para animarlo que gire de boca abajo a boca arriba

Despedida..or Not

I dreamt of Nicaragua last night.  I could see sunlight falling down through the pink and blue mosquito nets of my host family's house as I lay on a giant bed with all my Peace Corps friends (we all magically fit, as you can in dreams).  I could feel the dirt outside being warmed by the sun, feel my hands wringing out the pila water from my hair, and hear abuela pounding out tortillas.

Then I woke up, and I felt like crying.

The same thing happened when I arrived in Nicaragua.  I would dream of my parent's house and wake up trying not to cry.  I never thought it be the other way around.

People ask me why I chose to stay in Nicaragua an extra year, and the truth of it is that a big reason was that for the longest time I wasn't happy there.  My first year, especially my first six months, were the loneliest I have ever felt.  One of my Peace Corps friends described the kind of loneliness that we feel as something deeper than we've ever felt before.  For me, it felt bone deep, like the loneliness sat with me every waking hour, poisoning my body and mind.  I tried explaining this to some friends back home, and they said that yeah, sometimes they felt so lonely they had to turn on music in their house, but that then they felt better.

It was like telling a chronically depressed person that yeah, I totally get what you're going through, sometimes I get sad when I look at a picture of a sad puppy.

It's not the same thing.

Then something magical happened.  I found people in my town who actually wanted to be my friend.  Not the gringa's friend.  Not that white chick's friend.  Not the new Peace Corp volunteer's friend.  My friend. People who didn't constantly criticize what I did, because it's not what the previous volunteer did.  People who didn't make sexual advances out of the blue.  People who didn't give the stank eye when I told them I didn't know when I was next going to the states, so I couldn't really buy them that camera, MLB hat, etc. they wanted.  People who made me laugh, and who laughed at my odd jokes.  People who worried about me, and who I cried for when tragedy struck.  People who made me glad to be there.

And I felt cheated to have just one year of that.  So I stayed.  And I feel like a part of me still stayed behind when I left back in April (yes, it's taken me this long to write about it).  It's surprising how easy it is to slip back into my old routines, how real the danger of forgetting is.  Sometimes it feels like my time in Nicaragua really was just a dream.  But I never want to forget, especially not the bad times, because that's what made the good times so special; what made me stronger today than I knew I could be.  Also, what has given me a zero tolerance for bullshit (seriously ya'll, stop complaining about doing laundry in machines; imagine washing it by hand before you throw your pity party).

More than anything, I want to remember the people who made me so happy, and who I hope I touched as well.

This is Ili with her granddaughter, Leonela (and me).  She ran a comedor, always gave me an absurd amount of food, and made me laugh more than anyone in town.  One day, when her comedor was especially busy, and she was shorthanded, she "hired" me to be a waitress.  I did alright, until I put a glass of juice on the uneven part of the table, spilling it all over the customer.  After I apologized, mortified by what I'd done, we all laughed (even the guy), and she promptly fired me.

I've been remiss in updating this blog, mostly because it was hard to admit that I'm no longer in Nicaragua, but looking back  my photos, I see that I have so many more stories to tell.  So I'll be updating more often, with some photos and stories I haven't told yet.  Hopefully, when I'm feeling especially ambitious, I'll post some of my post-Peace Corps adventures to Panama, Ecuador, and back in the good ol' U.S. of A.  

There are still adventures, still travels, still stories left to tell.

Men Taking Up Too Much Space On The (Taxi)

Excuse me sir, does your leg HAVE to touch mine?  Yes?  Ok, keep yelling into your cellphone and staring at me.  It's cool.

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.