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.

Feet and Falling Apart Continued

So remember when my left toenail fell off with apparently no reason?  I should have known better than to assume that it did it por puro gusto.  Turns out I have a fungus on my toenails.  I have since found out that fungus is incredibly hard to get rid of, and that if I don't want to take the oral treatment, which could possibly cause liver damage*, I will have to apply a topical treatment for six months.  Six months.  At least now I can share in my mother's pain.

Also, my sandals broke today.  This is, I believe, the tenth pair of shoes that Nicaragua has killed.

These were pair number seven.  And so, my feet and their accessories still struggle on.  Such is life here.

*Actually, Peace Corps won't give me the oral treatment, since they say they don't have the ability to monitor my liver function closely enough to make it a safe option.

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.

Kindness of Strangers

Many people ask me how nicaraguans view my presence here as a United States citizen, in light of the not-too-friendly foreign policies that the U.S. has supported in the past.  I always have the same response - no one has ever made me feel discriminated against for my nationality.  Even if people talk critically of the U.S.'s role in the Contra War, they are quick to recognize that a country's policy and people are two completely different things.

That being said, there are the rare times when I feel that, for my age or sex or accent, some people just really don't like me.  There is one nurse at a local health post who harbors, if not a fiery rage, then a slow-boiling dislike for me.  Every time she sees me, she looks like she's gotten a whiff of something horrible, and just recently, when I went to do some satisfaction surveys at the health post, I heard her saying, "I don't know what that girl's doing over there, some stupid shit she just made up," knowing full well that these surveys were a requirement from the Ministry of Health.  It annoyed me, but I handled it in my new favorite way, which is to make things as awkward as possible.  From my chair, I just stared at her.  And stared.  And stared.  She knew what I was doing, but couldn't call me out on it without acknowledging what she had said about me, and admitting that she knew about the satisfaction surveys, thus showing just how petty she was acting.  I finally stopped when I saw her visibly squirm, and returned, with a smile, to interviewing patients for the survey.

After a few minutes, a young woman who had been sitting close to the nurse came over to talk to me.

"You're not from here, are you?" she asked.

"No, I'm from the United States," I answered.

She nodded and continued, "yeah, some people are different, they look different, they speak different, and so, some people treat them different, but that's not right."

I quickly agreed, and kept talking in the hypothetical, until the look on her face told me that she was speaking of the here and now.  I stopped talking, and we just sat there looking at each other.

There will always be those who choose to look at our differences, who choose to reflect their inner negativity on others, to turn them into ugly enemies.  And there will always be those who reach out to others with love, even if it's to someone they've never met, even if that person is different.  

The young lady finished her survey, and as she left, I thanked her.  I tried to put a lot into the word, everything she had made me feel, all the love.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Photos by Elida

When I was just beginning my time in Los Chiles, I was making it my daily routine to walk to the health center in the morning.  It soon became part of my daily routine that a little voice would scream out "TERESA!!!" every time I walked by a certain house.  I'm not sure how she learned my name, but the little girl who lives in the house right across the way certainly did learn it, and took every opportunity to let me know it.  Very loudly.  When I learned her name, I started yelling it back to her whenever she would yell me my name, and so every time I walked to the health center, the call and response of TERESA!!!  ELIDA!!! was inevitable, and soon became a comforting ritual to my day.  And it wouldn't have happened if not for Elida.

You see, Elida is what we call in Nicaragua a bandida, which is a trickster, joker, or general causer of trouble...in a good way.  Just look at her face. 

Please note what her shirt says: You're just jealous cause the voices talk to me

In this photo, she has climbed onto the table where a relative had set up a stand to sell repocheta (shredded cabbage and refried beans on top of a fried corn tortilla), because Elida gets what she wants, dammit.  This also explains why mere minutes after I took this photo of her, Elida suddenly had control of my camera, and was taking all the photos she possibly could.  I present to you now, with no further ado, the photography talents of  Elida.

The view from her house.

The blue building pictured is the school Pablo Antonio, which is open every other weekend for students who have to travel from distant communities, or non-traditional students, like young mothers.

Sar, the dog who lives at the doctors' house.

 We often joke that his name is short for Sarnoso, which means mangy.

Elida's relative who was selling repocheta, and me, willing model.

A neighbor friend.

Truck going by the evangelical church that Elida and her family attend.

My friend, Edgar, who teaches English at Pablo Antonio

Elida's mom's feet on the porch

And a selfie.  Well done Elida.

Feet and Falling Apart

I decided to paint my toes today.

I'll give you a second.  This is like one of those charming "like" when you see it photos.  Got it?  Good.  So yesterday my left pinkie toenail decided it was done with me, and bailed.  To be honest, it wasn't looking great for a while, so it was probably for the best anyway.  Still, though, this is one of the many things that has happened to my body here in Nicaragua with seemingly no explanation.  My skin and feet have taken the brunt of it.  I've gotten rashes, inflamed bug bits, cracked and sore skin, as well as illnesses with no clear cause.  Volunteers will occasionally joke that Peace Corps will take at least a few months off our lives.

Thankfully, everything I listed above wasn't too serious, so I think I'll be fine in the long run.  As for toenail, it will grow back, my body will cope with everything else the environment can throw at it, and I will be stronger for it, if at least just emotionally.  See, while my body has kind of crumbled around me, I have started to take better care of my physical appearance to try to counterbalance everything else.

My skin might be blotchy and uneven but I'm going to wear that cute hair clip my host sister gave me.  A bacterial infection is no excuse not to at least wash my hair.  I might have a fever with pains, but I'm going to look damn good when I go to the hospital to get my blood drawn to check for dengue.  And it's not just for when my body is in a bad state.  When work isn't going well, when people are being gossips, or when my neighbor's rooster just won't stop being a jerk, it is nice to know that I have just a little control over something in my life.

I don't ever manage to look like a movie star, but that's not really my goal.  It is just to feel put together, so I can prove to myself and others that maybe, if I look like half of my clothes aren't covered in mold (even though they are), I can do that final VAST completion report.  And even if things don't turn out the way I want them to, at least I feel good about myself.

So my toenail might be MIA, but the rest of my nails look fabulous.  Sometimes that's the only battle that I'm going to win...and I'm learning to be ok with that.