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

El Rey

Chepe (in the pink shirt) and I were the only sober ones at the party.  It was spectacular.

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.

An Open Letter to my Neighborhood Cats

Inspired by this post and this charmer:

Dear Cats,

I understand your appreciation of the fact that I have both a front and back balcony that are level with the tin roofs you frequent.  That, however, does not mean you can use my house as a shortcut to get from one balcony to the other, as you give me your haughtiest look.  I f*cking live here.  Get out.

La Boda

My host sister, Kimberlin, got married a little over a week ago.  She has been talking about it for a while now, but suddenly sprung the date on me a little more than a week before the fact, so I had to rush from a meeting in Managua to be sure I was there for it.  There was no way I could miss it, and I'm so glad I didn't.

As soon as I stepped off the bus, I ran into my sister-in-law, Olga, and niece, Dayana, as they were picking up Dayana's little bride's dress from the seamstress.  Instead of flower girls and ring bearers, the tradition is to have "little brides and grooms" who will dress up like mini versions of the actual bride and groom, and lead the procession into the church.  We all went to Olga's house where I changed into my dress, and Dayana into hers.

Notice all the bags of corn they have piled in the living room.  It is my host brother's new business endeavor - buying corn from the farmers, then transporting and selling it in Managua.

All dressed up.

I walked Dayana to my host family's house where everyone was still getting ready, even though the wedding party was supposed to be at the church in half an hour.  It was chaos, with most of my family still in their towels, running around, fighting over who would take a bucket bath next, and cooking all at the same time.

The neighbors and my cousin, cooking up vats of beef stew.

Jerson, all bathed, and ready to dress up as the little groom.

 About an hour after the supposed starting time, Kim was ready to head to the church, though everyone was teasing her at this point, saying that her groom had gotten tired of waiting, and left.

The procession

The wedding usually starts with a procession from the bride's house to the church.  It is usually walked, but my family was being their best, and took their car instead.  I should mention that this is the only occasion I have seen them drive this car.  Ever.

Can everyone just stop and recognize how badass Jerson is?
Coolest five year-old I know.

The ceremony involved a full mass, and instead of exchanging only vows and rings, it is tradition for the couple to be looped together with a garland, and for the groom to give the bride coins as a representation of his promise to provide for her...I'll leave my thoughts on the overt machismo of that practice aside for now.

My host mom, Doña Esperanza, with the little brides and groom.

All the girls I love: Danelia, my host sister; Yami, host cousin, Olga and Vanessa, both host sister-in-laws.

 After mass, (presided by the ever awesome Padre Cornelius) we walked back to my host family's house for the reception.  But not before Kim switched shoes with her mom, since she couldn't stand to be in her high heels for one more second.

The walk back home for the reception.

The rest of the night, I put my camera away, and danced like fool with the women of my family in our coconut tree-filled patio until about 1 in the morning when the sound system guys packed it up for the night. 

By that time, Dayana and Jerson were passed out next to each other on the couch, and out of town relatives had put their mats and blankets down on the ground to sleep, since we were out of sleeping space in beds. We hung around eating, drinking, and talking until around 2am, and then I assumed everyone was done partying for a while.  I should have known better.  When I went back to the house in the morning, my host brothers and their friends were still going at it.  Some more so than others.

This guy.  He started snoring not long after I took this.