Last Blog Post from 2012

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to everyone from the beautiful island of Ometepe in Nicaragua! Well it was my second consecutive Christmas away from my family, and I’ve come to the conclusion that I never want to do it again. Call it nostalgia, call it cliché, there’s no place I ever want to be except with my loved ones during this time of year. That being said, Christmas in Nicaragua certainly was an exercise in cultural experiences. In good news, since I am not remotely near anything resembling a shopping center, I escaped all the horrible commercialization of Christmas, which was nice. I actually did not see a single gift given, though my friends in other parts of the country did.  This was a huge relief to me, because I had spent an entire week agonizing over what to get for my host family, time I could have put to better use sleeping, apparently. In my host family’s home, one would barely know it was the Christmas season because we had no tree. My host mom says it’s because it makes her sad to take it down afterwards. My host dad threw some strands of lights over a tree on our front patio, so that had to do for this year.

My town is largely Catholic, and they begin celebrating imminent arrival of the baby Jesus in late November. I’m not entirely sure if their traditions are purely Catholic, or a combination of pre-existing indigenous practices and Catholic influence. First there are nine days of La Purisima, when different neighborhoods take it upon themselves to erect temporary shrines in the streets out of sticks, shrubberies, flowers, and different-colored sawdust to house the image (I call it a “doll”, which is apparently not the correct terminology) of the Virgin Mary. I’ve been told the nine days are to commemorate the immaculate conception of Mary, or maybe it was one day for each month of pregnancy…not sure now that I think about it. Strings of light are strung over the altar and speakers are rigged that play music all day long so people know where to come in the night. There was one interesting contrast in which the speakers playing religious music were situated next door to the house blasting Linkin Park all day long. Crowds of people arrive at 7pm (theoretically) to recite the rosary and sing some hymns of praise, accompanied by a small brass marching band.  Afterwards, the hosting families distribute food to the people present, then everyone processes with the Virgin back to the church. In the morning there will be an early mass, followed by a procession to the next altar site and the distribution of a light breakfast. Not being Catholic, I felt no need to attend so many rosary recitations, but I did help out with altar construction a couple of times, and I spent a lot of time cooking and putting food into plastic bags when it was my family’s turn to distribute food. My family is by far the wealthiest in town, and they always generously allot a good chunk of money to the food distribution. We made over 100 nacatamales, some sweet squash-like thing, coconut candies, and two types of fruit drinks, plus distributed a lot of candy, all in convenient reusable plastic containers. 

Neighbors putting the finishing touches on the altar outside my home.

 

I took advantage of the opportunity to introduce neighborhood kids to frisbee.

 

I thought this finished on the December 7^th, but apparently this is followed by another 9 days of celebrating the baby Jesus. Supposedly the women are in charge of the Virgin’s celebrations and the men the baby Jesus’, but in practice everyone helps with everything.  The general set-up for the 9 days of the baby is the same, with different neighborhoods erecting small temporary stables to house the “image” of the baby Jesus. I never actually attended one of these, since my family never participated, so unfortunately that is all the information I can share. Maybe if I had attended more of these I would have felt the anticipation of the birth a little more.

On Christmas Eve itself, my counterpart Sara, who is also my best friend on the island, invited me to go out with her. I was horrified, since Christmas for me is a sacred family day. My family ended up cooking dinner with the cousins next door; I helped chop some veggies, but in the end it was a regular meal. I was disappointed, because we have so many relatives living next to us that I thought we would all get together for a big family dinner. I suspect that this might actually happen on New Year’s, especially given that a whole slew of family members showed up the day after Christmas to spend a week or so on the island. We shall see. I believe there was a mass at 7, but we didn’t go. After a 2-hour nap, I woke up to go with my family to the church around 11:30, in time to see the arrival of the nativity procession, consisting of many children with colorful staffs, a Mary and a Joseph, and presumably the baby Jesus, though I wasn’t close enough to see. For whatever reason, the manger in the nativity scene was depicted as a boat; no one could give me a satisfactory reason as to why.  After a few minutes of chanting, the nativity scene broke up and was followed by about an hour of people shooting fireworks off in the street. This is an important part of any Nicaraguan celebration; all during the Purisimas and the celebrations of the baby Jesus, fireworks were shot off before, after, and during musical interludes. All I can ever think during these displays is what a liability nightmare it would be in the US. Shooting off fireworks is a favorite pastime and apparently rite of passage for Nica boys, and I breathed a sigh of relief each time one of them shot one off without losing a finger. It turned out 3 people from town did end up going to the hospital on Christmas Eve for firework-related injuries, though I was unaware of this at the time. Because apparently fireworks alone aren’t dangerous enough; the kids in town went all West Side Story and were chucking small fireworks at each other across the street. I had to duck a couple times to avoid being caught in the cross-fire, and spent most of the time cowering behind a tree.  There’s another tradition, and again no one can tell me how it started, that involves fashioning a box into the shape of a bull, covering it with fireworks, and having a person hold it over their head while running through the crowds. Also not safe. I decided that, without a doubt, Christmas Eve was the most dangerous situation I had been in thus far in Nicaragua – who’d have thought?

 

Failed attempt to upload video of fireworks. Apologies.

 

Other than December festivities, I haven’t had a lot going on here. These two months are dedicated to “community integration” – most volunteers talk about the vast amount of books they read during this time. The prevailing advice is to venture out into the community and sit on as many front porches as possible to get to know the people we’ll be serving. I did pretty well the first two weeks – I know all the extended family members of my host mom, who live right outside our back door. I have good relationships with all the neighbors on our street, and I have infected the neighborhood children with an intense love of Frisbee. We play a game we made up with two teams facing each other, and you have to throw the disc so it lands within the other team’s territory without them catching it to get a point. I have one Frisbee that I let one of the kids keep overnight to practice, and they always fight over it, despite the multiple times it has fallen in cow dung.  The kids are improving a lot, and I’m planning on asking some of the older ones if they want to get their friends together to learn more about how to play the actual sport. But the point is that now I have a comfort zone and it’s becoming more difficult for me to break out of it.

I arrived worried about what projects I was going to do in the community apart from teaching high school English, and somehow fortuitously things are seeming to come together for me. I got in touch with one of the English teachers at the small university in my town. They only teach on Saturdays, from 8-3, and I initially balked at losing a day of my weekend; but as a fellow volunteer on the island pointed out, every day is like a weekend when you live here. Good point. So I’ve now taught 3 days of class to a group of 6 students (one of whom is my host mom!) completing their first year of English. I am enjoying the opportunity to work with older and more motivated students, and hope to continue with them in the upcoming year.

One of the Peace Corps’ requirements for English sector volunteers is that we form a community English class. I was silently fretting to myself about how I was going to get that organized, when a woman got in touch with me. She and a group of about 30 residents of Urbaite had taken an intensive English course for 3 months at a technical institute in nearby Altagracia, and were wondering if I was interested in supporting them. Community class? Check. We held an initial meeting a couple of weeks ago to which about 15 people showed up, and we decided we would start January 14^th, 2 hours a day from Monday to Friday. This seems excessive to me, but it was the same schedule they had when they took the course so they are used to it. Of course we’ll have to cut back to probably 2 classes per week once high school classes begin in February. And of course gossip spreads like you wouldn’t believe around here, and I’ve had a bunch of students in 10^th and 11^th grade express interest in joining the class. I’m keeping a list of students and I have about 22, but I know a lot more have said they’re coming, so we’ll see how many people come. Fortunately for me, my host aunt is the vice-principal of the primary school that is right across the street from me, and has offered to let us use a classroom. Like I said, fortuitous.

Another pleasing development for me involves politics. Urbaite is one of 5 indigenous communities on the island, though the people don’t look any different than other Nicaraguans. Each community elects a leader to an indigenous council that is responsible for undertaking and directing projects to benefit the community. Of these representatives, one is elected president, and the president has the power within the group and will be the representative to international gatherings of indigenous leaders. I think I’ve mentioned before that my host mom is a powerful figure in the community and on the island, due to her incredibly successful career as a (non-corrupted) lawyer. She was elected as the representative from Urbaite, and then last week she won the election as council president. She has talked to me about the ideas she has for the community, such as opening a school for art and music or a training center for women to make handicrafts. I am excited to help work on these projects, and know that I can apply for grants from USAID and the Peace Corps to help with funding.

It should come as no surprise that soccer is a very popular pastime in Nicaragua and on the island. Each community has a team in a league that competes on the weekend. As some of my host cousins and neighbors play, I went to watch a game last week. It was the playoffs and we lost, which was sad, but I learned that there is also a women’s league and that, for whatever reason, Urbaite has never had a team. This is surprising, since Urbaite is one of the largest communities. I asked around, and people seemed to think there would be enough interest to start a team. A neighbor got me in touch with a coach willing to help me form a team, and we’re going to start recruiting girls this weekend. I have a vague fear that this might be one of those “failures” the Peace Corps tells us we’re bound to have, but I’m excited none the less. I also feel slightly guilty because I am doing this for entirely selfish reasons, since I want to play soccer…but I suppose as long as other people benefit than it’s still a good thing.

The other piece of big news I have involves my second spectacular injury of the year (see China blog entry on splitting my eyebrow open by running into a glass door). While I was out for a run two weeks ago, a dog came out of a home and bit my leg, leaving an epic gash. Stitches are not an option because of the bacteria in dog saliva, so after an agonizing week-long ban on running and a lot of triple antibiotic cream, it is slowly beginning to heal. It’s one hell of a conversation starter, that’s for sure, especially since everyone in town has some story about either themselves or a family member being bitten by the same dog. I don’t know how the dog is allowed to a) live; b) run around free. Yet another item on the list of Things That Would Never Happen in America. Which thus far reads as the following:

1.       Small children lighting fireworks and starting gang war.
2.       Impunity for dog that has bitten almost everyone in the community.  
3.    Peeling potatoes with a machete.

My apologies to those with weak stomachs. The neighbors say it looks like someone split my leg open with a machete.

 

Fun photo of my host family 'sardineando' with my Peace Corps-issued mosquito net. I'm not mentioning this to them until I'm safely out of the country. Not that they expressly prohibited using the mosquito nets to catch sardines, they should really be specific about these things.

 

 

Until next year! Love, Laura.

 

 

We Made It!

Nica 60 are now officially Peace Corps Volunteers! Look how good we look! And look well, because we all know we will never look this good again.

I had a good farewell weekend in my beloved training town of Diriamba. I finally got to climb the nearby volcano of Mombacho, which was, as they say, a bitch and a half. One can pay $15 to take a truck up to the top, the equivalent of my entire weekly allowance during training. I also happen to enjoy grueling hikes, so I set off on foot up the road while my intrepid companions boarded the truck. Some of them had climbed previously, and they warned me of how absurdly steep the grade was, but I was not deterred. Their claims were not exaggerated, but I made it triumphantly to the top in 90 minutes and had burning calves the rest of the week to remind me of this victory. Once at the top, we grouped together with some German girls to hire a guide to take us on a 4-hour walk around the various craters. We had fantastic views of the smoking Masaya Volcano, the pristine Laguna de Apoyo that we had visited earlier, the historic city of Granada, and the vast Lake Nicaragua with its hundreds of tiny islands off the coast, and of course the island of Ometepe in the distance (see photo below).

Breaking in my brand new Peace Corps T-shirt with a healthy sweat.

Our final Sunday in Diriamba we dedicated to saying goodbyes to all our host families. My host mother, Doña Yaya, taught me how to make nacatamales, a very traditional Nicaraguan dish, on Saturday, and even made me some special vegetarian ones with soy meat instead of pork. Unfortunately I had just returned from hiking and couldn’t keep my eyes open long enough to witness the entire process. I didn’t even shower before I collapsed on my bed. Gross. Sundays are typically the big family day in my host family, when no one has to work and Doña Yaya’s youngest daughter Yaya comes to visit with her family from Managua. I invited Caroline and Alba to come over for nacatamales and socialization. We whipped up a batch of brownies using a slightly-modified version of my Mom’s world-famous recipe and an adorable heart-shaped pan. I think they were a hit, and I was tickled when Doña Yaya asked me for the recipe afterwards. And then, of course, we had the requisite family portrait. It was like herding cats to get everyone together (What do you mean they went to the market? When will they be back? Who’s in the shower now? Okay, we’ll wait while you change your shirt. Yeesh.), but we got some good photos. I printed a few out that I intend to write heartfelt messages on for them.

Doña Yaya with her nacatamales.

FINALLY got everyone assembled for the family portrait.

                Our next stop was with Caroline’s host “mom” Patricia (age 27), who had been meaning to take us to try raspados at the local raspaderia. Raspados are a much tastier version of shaved ice; they shave the block of ice in front of you, then douse it with a chunky sweet fruit topping. Delicious, and hopefully marginally healthier than ice cream? We had tried them two weeks earlier, when Alba’s host mom had taken us to the beach for the day. Unfortunately, some spilled on my dress and left a conspicuous red stain. I then learned an important language lesson when I informed my family that the stain was from a “raspada” I had at the beach. “Raspada” translates to “scrape”, so they of course assumed I had fallen and was bleeding profusely, and rushed off to find a medical kit. Eventually we figured everything out and had a good laugh. It was a fun afternoon, complete with a visit to the park where we chatted and I raced Caroline’s 4-year-old host brother around on his scooter. He is a dirty cheater, let me tell you.

                Our final stop was a birthday dinner for one of Alba’s host “brothers” (in his 40’s, lives in another house with his family), an occasion that doubled as a goodbye. We combined the words for “birthday” and “good-bye” and called it the dinner of “cumple-dida”. I thought it was clever. The family had prepared many tasty dishes for us, including a flan-like dessert. I was glad I’d climbed the mountain the day before to compensate for all the food I ate, yikes.

The week leading up to the swearing-in ceremony was a grueling one of 5 daily talks designed to prepare us to be let off on our own. One day we spent in the embassy, where we met the head of security, the head of USAID in Nicaragua, and (drumroll please) the American Ambassador herself! We had about an hour-long Q&A session about her background, the situation in Nicaragua, her vision for the future, etc. We were told we had to stand up when she entered the room, even though she acted like she thought it was a ridiculous gesture. And we were treated to a delectable lunch of pizza and breadsticks. I know I always complain about all the carbs in the Nicaraguan diet, but sometimes carbs are just so darn irresistible, especially when covered in cheese!  Our final day of talks took place, fittingly enough, in the same place our initial orientation had taken place when we’d first arrived; it was cool to think of how much we had changed since then. Caroline and I were both given Peace Corps-issued life jackets, since we have to take boats to get to our sites. Caroline’s boats are wobbly and all passengers are required to wear life jackets, but mine is a huge ferry on which I would look ridiculous wearing a life jacket. Sigh. Some of us tested the life jackets out while playing Frisbee by the pool later that day, and they passed. I ended up having to trade life jackets with Caroline because she, a rabid Alabama football fan, had unwittingly grabbed a life jacket with (gasp!) Auburn’s colors. I can only imagine the reaction her friends and family had upon seeing those pictures.

One cool thing we did during our last week of technical sessions was to make predictions of who in our group would: be the first to date a Nicaraguan, be the first to get married, have the most visitors (me), have a pet, take said pet to the US (sorry Mom, I got a few votes in this category. Wouldn’t a pet deer be cool?), travel home the most frequently, be the most Nica, extend their stay, climb a volcano, be sick all the time, etc. We were told the predictions were surprisingly accurate, so I’m already excited to see how they turn out.

It was nice to spend a few days in a hotel with the whole group. Our days included trips to the mall (3 total…ugh) in which I picked up some absurdly neon running shoes. Note to all runners considering living abroad: buy them before you go. Selection will be limited and prices higher wherever you go, even if they were technically manufactured in that country. 

Wouldn't be Thanksgiving without the early morning run to pre-emptively burn off calories! Check out the vibrant colors on my new sneakers...actually matches the new shirt Caroline gave me quite nicely.

We also got sushi (mine seemed to be slightly fried? Weird.), Greek food, and some boxes of wine. There was morning running, mid-morning naps, Frisbee, and lots of catching up. We celebrated Thanksgiving in the house of the Peace Corps Nicaragua’s country director, Carol. Those of us who can hold their own in the kitchen went to help prepare food the night before, producing lots of chopped vegetables, homemade mac’n’cheese, artistically-decorated pies, and various other goodies. Though we were still unprepared for the spread we were presented with. It all began around 3, when bowls of homemade hummus, a sweat cream cheese dip, salsa, guacamole, and homemade tortilla chips appeared in massive amounts. We couldn’t stop eating, and soon everything was gone and we were lamenting having ruined our appetites. However, we had about 3 hours to digest before the real food came, thank goodness. We drank sangria, played Corn Hole on the lawn, and mostly just sat around talking.

 We, the Diriamba group, also took advantage of this opportunity to present the song we’d written, entitled “Diriamba”, to the tune of “La Bamba”. It was well-received, and somewhat legitimized the hours of “self-study” we had spent “writing” this song. Brian also presented a hilarious song he had written called “Piropos” about the relentless catcalls we women receive on the streets. There’s a wonderful tradition at all Peace Corps dinners buffet dinners, in which vegetarians serve themselves first, I guess to make sure we don’t run out of veggies? Fine by me, whatever the reason. We never said anything as a group or talked about what we were thankful for, which made it feel not quite like Thanksgiving, but it was all in all a very enjoyable experience. And the desserts, oh the desserts. Pumpkin pie, apple pie, cheesecake, banana bread, etc. And somehow we got away with not having to wash any dishes.

Para ser voluntario, oh-ay-oh, para ser voluntario se necesita el entrenamiento, oh-ay-oh,

el entrenamiento, que dura 3 meses, ¿y dónde se hace? oh-ay-oh,

¿y dónde se hace? eso lo sé, eso lo sé, eso lo sé...

en Diriamba...Diriamba...Diriamba!

 The swearing-in itself took place in a swanky room at a nearby hotel. Two family members from each of our host families arrived; unfortunately Doña Yaya had to work, but Luisa and her daughter Luisa came to support me. This was slightly awkward because they came with Andrea’s father, Luisa’s ex-husband, who is Caroline’s host father. Their relationship is cordial enough, but there was a definite undertone of awkwardness. We began with a ceremony to thank all the families, in which a representative from each group (we chose Alba because she is eloquent, speaks Spanish well, and loves her host family) said a few words and we awarded certificates of recognition to the host mothers. Apparently certificates are huge in Nicaragua, and we are advised to give them to all participants in whatever activities we organize in our communities. We then had a snack break, followed by the official ceremony, at which both the Ambassador and the vice-minister of the Ministry of Education were present. It was more formal than I expected; we had to shake the hands of all the officials present, sign our names to a contract, and receive an official Peace Corps pin. Then take many pictures, of course. We had celebratory cake afterwards with the PC logo iced on top, but all the families told us the cakes were much smaller this year. Darn budget cuts.

Due to scarcity of funds, the budget 'cut' the size of the cake. Sorry, it's the best I could come up with on the spot. Any other good cut/cake pun suggestions?

Two representatives from each host family came to support us. Me with Andrea and Luisa.

The 3 mosqueteros! (I said this trying to translate '3 musketeers', but it actually means 'the 3 mosquito nets') Alba, me and Caroline.

So here I am now, in my site on Ometepe. My time here got off to an inauspicious start when I arrived at around dusk to an abandoned house and 3 unanswered cell phones. A neighbor, who will be a future student of mine, rescued me from sitting alone on the street and took me and my bags into his house to meet his family. I hadn’t intended to start the process of community integration quite so soon, but so it was. I eventually got a hold of my host mother, who informed me they were at their beach house (apparently cell phone coverage is spotty) and that her brother would take me there in his car. So I eventually made it to the beach house, where I spent the next two days reading in a hammock and eating coconuts. It was too windy and rough for any actual swimming, and I was actually quite bored and finished an entire book, but I can’t tell any of my Peace Corps friends that or they’ll accuse me of having “fachenta-life problems”. “Fachenta” is a Nicaraguan word that refers to a person who likes to show off their wealth and status, be it real or pretend. We use it refer to any possession or habit that is above the general standard of living. For example, Paul’s iphone that he always uses in public (he tops our lists of “most likely to be robbed”) is fachenta. Alba’s wifi in her Diriamba home was fachenta. My private bathroom, walk-in closet, and beach farm are all totally fachenta.

So now I am looking at two months of community integration time. Stay tuned! In the meantime, please check out this link to our YouTube video we made of our original composition, “The 12 Days in Country”, sure to be appreciated by PCV’s around the world. Enjoy!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rhNKvm91Vy4