Year One on the Books

Merry Christmas to all my loved ones, and best wishes for a 2014 full of happiness and joy!! I’m writing from my kitchen table at home in Princeton, a place I have not been for 16 months. In a true Christmas miracle, the entire family is together this holiday season, something that has not happened since 2010 due to various globetrotting adventures. My plane landed at Logan during a brutal cold snap – Dad greeted me at the airport with a jacket, hat, and gloves, and I was still shivering in the 8 degree weather as we lugged my sacks of stuff to the car. I brought a lot of stuff home with me; gifts, yes, but also a lot of things I’d never used in Nicaragua. I remember talking to a returned Peace Corps Volunteer before I left (RPCV, in Peace Corps lingo), who gave me these instructions: “Pack all the clothing you’ll think you need. Then take out half of it.” I did not follow this advice. Convinced I would spend 5 days a week in a classroom wearing professional dress, I raided my sister’s closet and hit up consignment shops for dresses, skirts, blouses, and the like. Come to find out, in Nicaragua the standard dress for professionals is jeans and a polo shirt. So home came all of the borrowed clothing, the rest I will probably give away before I come home. I also brought home my hiking boots, because I had only used them once (see hiking “adventure” up volcano during rainstorm) and they are big and bulky. My flannel shirt also came home due to lack of use, with the result that I was dressed slightly like a lumberjack for my flight home. Oh well.

Lumberjack headed for home

It’s been so refreshing to be home. I thought I would be unable to sleep past 6, but this has turned out to not be a problem once I bury myself under a pile of down comforters. We had a good amount of snow during my first week home, so we took advantage by snowshoeing and cross country skiing almost every day. Unfortunately, all this exercise was no match for the amount of delicious food I’ve been eating, mostly exciting forms of cheese and chocolate. (My experience can be summed up in the following conversation: Mom: You’re eating BREAKFAST dessert? Me: I’m on vacation!) So I’m avoiding the scale for a few days, and belts. I’ve also gotten my fill of Christmas music through a steady diet of Christmas concerts and performances, all of which I’ve enjoyed immensely (I love Christmas music oh so much!) I’ve taken advantage of my mother’s Netflix membership to catch up on some movies and TV shows I’ve been missing out on, and using the wifi to skype with some sorely neglected dear friends. I was also pleasantly surprised to find that our piano, previously loaned to friends in my absence, has returned to our home, and I have been plunking out some simple songs. And of course just spending a lot of time with my family, basking in their presence and the unconditional love and acceptance (and bad puns, naturally) of family, something I will never take for granted.

Reunited, finally. Let the bad puns begin!

I think I’ve run into the same problem that every person who returns from a trip abroad inevitably faces: how to adequately respond to the question, “How’s Nicaragua?” I think all who have been reading my blog have something of an idea of the ups and downs I’ve been through. You know I love my work and find it rewarding, and that I’ve met some amazing people, but that I’ve also been very challenged emotionally and psychologically, struggling to gain acceptance and understanding a lot of the time, offending many people despite my best intentions. Sometimes I respond to the question by describing the beautiful place where I live, or by explaining my work. I hoped that I would use this time at home to reflect on the past year, and define some goals for what I want to change and accomplish in the upcoming year. According to Peace Corps mental health experts, volunteers usually become depressed around the one year mark, as we reflect and feel like we’ve accomplished very little in the first half of our service. So far I haven’t fallen into a wallowing depression, but every day seems to hold a different emotion for me, so my perspective on my life in Nicaragua changes drastically depending on what day you talk to me (my site mate Katie can testify to this). As of yet I haven’t taken the time to be introspective, something I plan to do via extensive journal writing (I haven’t written in my journal in over a year). However, my life in Nicaragua is constantly present in the back of my mind, and surges forth every time I have a quiet or alone moment.

Always on my mind. A not-so-white Christmas.

One thing I wanted to do in this blog is something I should have done a long time ago: describe what a typical work week looks like for me. Keep in mind that there have been many interruptions in recent months due to national holidays, patron saint holidays, final exams, etc, but you can get an idea of what my life is like here.

Monday: Wake up at 5:30 and go for a run. Ride bike to Urbaite (4 km) to co-plan classes at 9:00 with my counterpart Shirley. Eat lunch at her house, then hang out (this can be accomplishing useful things or visiting people) until class at 2:00. Teach two 90-minute classes to 8^th grade students.. 6-8 Community English class at the primary school. On Mondays and Wednesdays I teach an advanced class of 8 students, and on Tuesdays and Thursdays I teach a “beginner” class of about 15 students, though I think very few actually came in as true beginners. I started the beginning of the year with over 50 students and have lost a lot, due to waning interest, other commitments, etc. I try not to take this too personally, but sometimes it’s hard. After class I bike the 4 km back to my house, eat a late dinner, and collapse into my bed.

My advanced community class with their certificates!

Tuesday: Teach two 45-minute classes to 9^th grade in Altagracia, a 1-km ride all downhill from my house. I give my little host brother a ride on my bicycle to his primary school, which is on the way. Something I’ve become very adept at is passenger-bike riding; I’ve lowered the seat on my bicycle so I can balance while a passenger seats themselves side-saddle in front of me, after which I push off and hopefully maintain equilibrium (easy when going downhill). Men do not ride side-saddle, but mount the bar like a horse; I have carried a man in this way, because I believe it is unmasculine since I am a girl, and also because I think it would be awkward. Instead, I have installed foot pegs on the back of my bicycle for passengers to stand on, while holding on to my shoulders. Passengers usually choose to mount this way while I am already in motion, which makes me a little nervous, but hasn’t caused any problems so far. But I digress. After class, I usually ride into town (Altagracia is one of the two main “urban centers” on the island) and set up in one of the hotels with my laptop. I buy a lemonade, and they let me use their wifi for as long as I want. This is sometimes the only time all week that I use the internet, and I usually have a to-do list a page long. From 9-11 my counterpart at the university, Santiago, comes, and we plan our two classes for the upcoming Saturday. When we first started working we were just teaching English classes, but lately we’ve been given more technical classes like Translation and Interpretation, Teaching Practices, and English Linguistics. These courses require research on the internet to educate ourselves on the material before we teach it to students, as the university gives us nothing more than a vague syllabus to work with. I have the afternoon free to plan classes and prepare materials. At 4:30 I head to Urbaite for soccer practice from 5-6, though I’m never quite sure if my teammates will show up, or if I’ll just end up running laps by myself. 6-8 Beginner Community Class, then home.

My beginner community class, with certificates!

Wednesday: Pretty much the same as Monday, except I teach the first two hours of class to 9^th and 10^th grade, from 12:30-3:45. Then I have an hour to kill until practice 5-6, class 6-8, then home.

Thursday: I teach 9^th grade classes in Altagracia from 8:45-12:00. After lunch, I ride to Urbaite to teach a business class to the women with whom I will be building new efficient ovens (hopefully). I have applied for a grant from the foundation Energy Conservation Program of the Americas (ECPA) to build 12 energy-efficient wood ovens out of recycled metal barrels in my community. I was hoping to have received a response by now, but I suspect the people responsible for reviewing the grant are on holiday vacation. This will cause an inconvenient delay in the project, which I was hoping to get underway during my vacation in January. The women who will receive the ovens completed a dessert-making course and are now receiving classes from me on how to run a successful business, based on the curriculum the small business volunteers use in the high schools. So the goal is that the women will use their new ovens to run a small business selling desserts, and thus be able to generate additional income to support their families. So fingers crossed everything will work out and the grant people will get back to me soon with an affirmative response! Again, I’ve digressed. After class I have practice and class again, then home. Though I admit sometimes I skip practice to stay and eat dinner with some friends.

The women I will (hopefully) be building ovens with!
With my friend Colleen, who was giving baking lessons. Thanks so much Col!

Friday: This is my “day off”, meaning I don’t work in the schools. Recently, as I’ve been training for the 50k on the island in February, I use this morning to do my long run. I can either take the 17km back way or the 23-km route along the paved main road to Moyogalpa, the port city. There, there is a wonderful café called the Corner House, run by a wonderful British-Canadian couple that serves fantastic Eggs Benedict. I usually get a slice of carrot cake for dessert, too, as a reward for my exertion. Sometimes I can convince my site-mates Katie and Emily (another TEFL volunteer who arrived two months ago) to join me, though they usually opt to take the bus. The afternoon is free for me to spend as I wish, either planning, using the internet, fulfilling some other obligation I have neglected during the week, or occasionally just relaxing. But only very occasionally, I like to be busy and usually look to get ahead on the next week’s planning if I have free time.

Saturday: At 8:00 I bike to Urbaite to teach at the Saturday-only university set up at a Christian conference center. My students usually don’t show up until about 8:30, even though they know we mark them down every time they are more than 15 minutes late.  Our first class, Teaching Practices, finishes at 10, then there is a half-hour devotional, during which time an energetic evangelical preacher from Altagracia comes to read from the Bible and offer a reflection. We have a free period and lunch break until 1:15, so we go to my counterpart teacher Santiago’s house nearby to eat lunch, correct papers, etc. Then we return to teach Linguistics in the afternoon. The university has classes year round, for 48/52 weeks of the year, so I barely ever get a free Saturday unless I skip. After class I bike to Altagracia (5 km) to meet with my counterpart Dora at her home to plan our classes for the upcoming school week. Then I either go home for the night, meet up with my sitemate Katie to hang out, or go to whatever party is going on that night in Altagracia. The islanders love to party, and it seems like every other weekend they have some excuse to set up the outdoor disco and dance the night away. The main nights for parties are Saturday and, surprisingly, Sunday. Friday not so much, which is fine by me since I have to work early on Saturday. 

Sunday: Church with my host family at 8:00. The father of my host family, Julio, is an Anglican priest who preaches at a small mission on our property. I’m getting pretty good at reciting some of the prayers, but I have a long way to go on the songs. We’re usually done and back at the house by 9, which is weird for me because I’m used to returning from church and eating lunch. But now I have to wait three whole hours…so weird.  In the afternoon I have a soccer game at 3, so I need to head out on my bike at 1:30 to arrive on time. I think I am the oldest on my soccer team by at least 5 years, but I really enjoy playing and I usually get to play the whole game, which is nice. It’s also the time I feel most connected to the community, and I’m pretty sure it’s the reason most of the people in Urbaite know who I am. The unfortunate part is that my weekends are so busy I have little time for traveling, but maybe this is best for community integration purposes.

My host family got an adorable kitten! This is our post-shower selfie.

So that’s my life, from which I am on vacation right now. Maybe one of my new year’s resolutions will be to write more regular blog posts…but don’t hold your breath. I’m still waiting for people to come visit me! Especially if you’re into running, there are some great runs in February.  So again, may everyone have a very merry Christmas shared with loved ones and a happy new year, I send all my love and hope that everyone keeps in touch in the upcoming year!

Some Reflections, and Another Injury

I think it’s been a few months, sorry. Of course I’ve been busy and had limited internet access, but more than that the truth is that the past few months have been really difficult for me. I usually like to present only positive experiences on my blog, but I think this is an aspect of my experience that needs to be shared.  Being a Peace Corps volunteer is a totally different kind of experience from anything else. I have experience living abroad, and in Chile I was even with a host family that I loved dearly. But the main difference from my time in Santiago and Hangzhou and my time here is the size of the community. My previous experiences had been in cities, where I basically only formed relationships with people who wanted to get to know me and spend time with me. Here, I’m suddenly thrown into a community and forced to interact with everyone; no one has a choice in the matter. Add to that the pressure-cooker that is the town gossip. We were warned about gossip, but it always seemed to be something benign; like the people gossiping about how I go running for example, or have a soft spot for kittens, or take showers at night (Nicaraguans say this will make you sick). This was not the case; the people take details and invent stories that have been very harmful to my reputation and standing in the community, and some days I ended up crying myself to sleep and wondering how I was going to complete my service in such an antagonistic and hateful environment. I felt unappreciated and unaccepted by the community at large, even though I had some positive relationships with individuals. The worst parts were when I had interpersonal conflicts with the very people I considered to be my friends and allies during those difficult times. I debated the merits of looking for another site on the island, or maybe even off the island. I’ve broken down and cried more times since I’ve been here than probably the rest of my life put together. I think maybe another person might have been able to shrug some of these problems off, but my personality type is such that I’ve always thrived on the acceptance by and approval of others, and perceived rejection stings me in a particularly acute way.  And then I see what other volunteers are accomplishing in their communities, and the seemingly great relationships they have formed, and it just serves to further emphasize my feeling of failure. 

I’ve received some great pieces of advice through all this, the best of which was probably “it will pass”. People say and do cruel things sometimes, but with time they grow bored, they forget, they move on to other things. I will always have another chance to make an impression. With this in mind I resolve to stick out the difficult times, and before I know it several weeks or even a month have passed without any interpersonal or PR catastrophes, and I can finally answer “good” when people ask me how things are going. Throughout every difficulty, I’ve always had my Peace Corps friends to rely on. Now I understand when people say the friendships I form here will be forever. The shared experience is something unique and provides an essential emotional support. My friends always have good perspective grounded in our familiarity with the two cultures we navigate, and more often than not they have had a similar experience to draw upon. Of course I’m not happy that my friends are struggling, but it does make me feel like I’m not quite so alone.

I know I’m painting a very negative picture, and I want to emphasize that it’s not completely like that. Everyone talks about the extreme emotions of Peace Corps, and it’s true; I’ve never experienced such lows, but nor have I ever felt so rewarded. Every successful class, every conversation, every shared moment of laughter; somehow even the mundane interactions and routines give me a sense of satisfaction and accomplishment. And as one of my friends told me, “It doesn’t matter how sh*tty your life is, at least you live in a beautiful place!” True of course, though easy to forget at times. 

So now that I’m out of the darker phase of my time here, I can write about how difficult it’s been. I hope no prospective PCV’s are reading this because it might discourage them. But in conclusion, there’s nothing I’d rather be doing and nowhere else I’d rather be than right here, right now.   And of course my everyday life is still filled with mini-adventures…

I’ll start with The Pinky Finger Incident. Soccer season has started again, and I have switched allegiances to the newly-formed Urbaite team. It was through a misunderstanding that I left my former team in Las Pilas: they decided they wouldn’t play as a team for various financial and political reasons, so I left and joined the Urbaite team. Later the team in Las Pilas changed their mind and invited me to play with them again, but I had already signed my name with the new team. I’m happy with the change though, since I feel more connected to my actual community of Urbaite. I thought it would be weird since most of my teammates are students from the institute, but so far I haven’t felt too out of place. We have consistent practices, conveniently located right next to the school I work at, and the community fan support at all our games is unbelievable. I didn’t think women’s sports would receive a lot of attention in Nicaragua, but we have a full “barra” (fan section) that even pays money and loads into the back of a truck to follow us to our away games. Usually with a couple coolers full of beer. Also I get a lot more playing time on this new team, which I love. I’m in pretty good shape because I go out running several times a week – the Ometepe marathon in February will be here before I know it! 

But anyways, during the first game of the new season, my team threw me in as goalie so our regular goalie could play the field. This turned out to be a good strategy, since she scored a goal in the first half. However, at one point I bent down to scoop a ball and was solidly kicked in the pinky finger of the right hand by an opposing player. Having jammed fingers in the past, I thought nothing of the swelling for about 10 days. But that point it seemed to have been too long, so I called the Peace Corps and went in for an x-ray. Sure enough, it was broken, a nice, clean, diagonal slice into two halves. I was wrapped up in a Mummy Hand and told to come back in a week. It was a long week, during which I learned to do many things with my left hand, and my poor host mother Julia ended up washing all my clothes and dishes for me. Fortunately I could still write, but in a really awkward position, and only with decently long pieces of chalk. By the end of the week, my formerly-white wrapping was a revolting shade of gray and smelled like dirty gym socks. No one ever commented to me about this, but I’m pretty sure they were thinking it.

Can you see the bone split in two, top center?

Day one with the Mummy Hand, while it was still white.

Luckily I only needed that for a week, then passed three more weeks with my two small fingers taped together to a popsicle stick. My most recent x-ray showed that the tips of the bones had fused back together, leaving just a gap in the middle that will heal itself in one or two months. I now have to come to Managua 6 times for physical therapy, as I can neither straighten nor completely bend my finger at the moment. My most recent session (yesterday) involved a game for toddlers in which I had to put the correct shape in the correct hole, using only my pinky and thumb. Oh well, baby steps. I had to miss three game-day Sundays, which actually worked out well because they coincided with Sundays I had signed up to give workshops to a group of English teachers on the mainland.

Second saga: hiking Volcan Telica. We recently had our mid-term medical check-ups in Managua, which coincided with our one-year in country anniversary (September 5^th!) So some friends and I took advantage of the occasion to plan an overnight hike of Volcan Telica. The draw with this volcano is that you hike to the top, camp, then hike up to the crater and look down at night, and you can see the red lava all lit up. Awesome! So Alba, Caroline, Robi, and I set out on Saturday morning, along with two other German tourists and two guides, one  German and one Nica. It started off so incredibly hot, with lots of sunscreen application and guzzling of the 6-8 liters of water each of us was carrying. I offered to take the tent, figuring I was in the best shape to do so. We had a nice picnic lunch under a shady mango tree, after which we looked up and commented, “Hmm. Those look like rain clouds coming in.” We re-arranged our luggage as best we could to try to keep things dry and protect cameras, phones, etc, but most of us had no type of rain covering. Oh well, we’ll just hope for the best. At about 3:00 it started sprinkling. It felt refreshing at first, but as the intensity increased we realized we were in trouble, as no one was going to get any sleep in wet sleeping bags. In good news, I was too focused on the rain and keeping moving to even notice how difficult the last section of the climb was. We made it in about 45 minutes and descended into the grassy crater where we would make camp. Four of us held open a tarp while our guide pitched the tent as fast as he could underneath it, though nothing could prevent it from getting wet. When all three tents were up, we chucked our dripping bags inside and crawled in, watching as puddles from our soggy clothing formed in the downhill side of the tent. After a while, we decided to try and get dry. The sleeping pads were mostly dry, so we put them together in a corner and put the sleeping bags on them, most of which were damp, and one of which was missing because one of the Germans had offered to carry it. We then dug through our stuff and everyone managed to locate or loan at least one article of dry clothing. I was better off than most; I had shorts, a t-shirt, a jacket, and a long-sleeved shirt that I lent to Robi. We then huddled under the sleeping bags in a spooning formation and didn’t move for several hours.

At 7:00ish we hear a commotion outside. Then one of the Germans asking to come into our tent, because theirs had flooded and their possessions were floating away. Wait, on second thought, you all need to come outside because we need to move your tent. What? It will be underwater in like 20 minutes! We unzipped the door, and sure enough there were like 3 inches of water outside. We stripped off our dry clothes and rummaged through the corner where we had tossed all our dirty wet clothes, looking for something to wear. We all emerged wearing only a wet shirt and underwear, then worked together to slide the tent a few meters up the hill. Then we dove back inside, put our dry clothes back on, and huddled back together as the 3 Germans (did I mention they were all about 7 feet tall? Naturally) entered with their belongings. We all arranged ourselves in like a star formation, half of us sprawled over the luggage, no one quite able to straighten out their legs without sitting up, and passed several very uncomfortable hours in this way. But I figure it wasn’t so bad because we were somehow warm and dry, and I actually slept a decent amount, despite waking up many times and only being able to sleep on my left side because I had to curl around a rock. Two of the Germans left at about 2 am and rescued their tent. Their shoes and containers of food were floating a fair distance away, but they managed to retrieve them too. A little after 5, just as dawn as breaking, we hear our guide calling us to leave NOW if we want to see the lava. We stumble out of the tent in our pj’s, stuff our feet into whatever footwear we can find, and take off practically running to see the lava. I was the only one who managed to find my camera in the chaos of the tent. But we made it, have incredible memories, and managed to mostly dry out on our way down. It was indeed an adventure. I lost one sock.  

 Against all odds, we made it, and in high spirits!

The view from the crater to our tent site, at the top left side of the lake. The previous night it had been IN the lake.

Getting ready to go in the morning.

The view into the crater. Most of the lava was covered from all the water the previous night, which also caused massive amounts of steam to issue forth.

In the Land of Coffee and Bricks

I’m always impressed by my good friend Alba, who manages to post thoughtful blogs about interesting Nicaraguan subjects twice a week. I fear I shall never live up to her standards…

Change was in the air in the month of May. Oops, I just realized I never wrote anything about the month of April. I don’t think anything exciting happened in April, so we’ll just skip to May.

The biggest change for me was that I moved into a new home. Most Peace Corps volunteers decide to change homes after the first two months of their Peace Corps experience, but I had decided to stay. Then last month I decided it was time for a change, something the Peace Corps recommends to achieve better community integration. I talked to some volunteers who have been around for a while and changed houses, and they said it was a very difficult decision, but that it ultimately improved their experience in Nicaragua immensely. Most volunteers change houses because they want to be more independent; those of you familiar with my lack of know-how in the kitchen and my love of being in a family environment can imagine that this was not so in my case. I moved in with the family of a friend of mine, Julia, who is an English teacher at another high school. She lives with her husband Julio (fate, right?), her 12-year-old daughter Cristhell who was a student of mine before I lost my counterpart, and her 7-year-old son Kenneth Joshua, who is adorable, especially when he smiles because he is missing his front teeth. They have a cat named Missifu who sleeps with me at night (the family secretly thinks this is dirty…I don’t care, of course). They also have a cow who gave birth to a cute baby calf shortly before I moved in, meaning…fresh milk! I’m dying for a milking lesson, but they tell me the cow has a bad temperament and won’t let me. But I do enjoy the mug of warm milk with sugar with my breakfast every morning! My new house is a little farther from Urbaite than I would like, about 3 kilometers that I travel by bicycle almost daily. It’s uphill on the way there, downhill on the way back. I have been making good use of the headlamp my loving parents sent me, since I need to ride home after my community class that finishes at 8pm Mon-Thurs. Fortunately I have students who also live out my direction, so I usually have company (yes, I guide them through the dark like Rudolph). My house doesn’t have all the luxuries of my other house; for example, running water. Water only flows through the pipes a couple times a week at night, and we use it to fill an enormous pila (water receptacle) from which we retrieve water to use for the next few days. Unfortunately, sometimes the water doesn’t come as expected, and we are eeking by on very little today – I hope it comes tonight! However, my new family is absolutely wonderful – they have welcomed me with open arms and love, and positively dote on me when it comes to meals. Oh, and did I mention we have a laundry lady who comes in once a week? Only those who have had to hand-wash their clothes will truly understand the joy that this brings me. Finally, someone who cares enough to make sure all the soap is rinsed out…So yes, I’m very happy in my new home, and still take time to stop by my former home to visit the family, the cousins who live next door, and the neighbors whom I’ve become quite close to.

Speaking of my former host family, I believe many have already seen the pictures of the fawn that I posted on facebook. In April, the does Gaviota who lives at the beach-farm gave birth to a beautiful baby boy, who as of yet is unnamed. I spent a great deal of time photographing him on his first day of life. The new news is…that Giselle, the doe that lives at the family home, also gave birth to a baby girl last week! Her name is Pelusa, and she is adorable and allows me to touch her gently. I didn’t take nearly as many photos, because the truth is that all baby deer look very similar, but I couldn’t resist snapping a few. And mama is as sweet as always and not at all aggressive or protective. She also doesn’t seem to have the urge to follow her baby around, constantly licking its butt like Gaviota from the beach does with her baby. Speaking of deer, there is also some bad news. I have been posting pictures on facebook of Chamaco, the father of these baby deer. He used to be very aggressive, but ever since his horns came off in a very bloody and dramatic fashion several months ago, he has been the very image of docility in the house. I adored him because he is curious and likes to be involved in household activities, a trait that often infuriated Georgina, our cook, though she always smiled when she scolded him. Unfortunately, his horns slowly grew back, and I enjoyed touching them because they were covered with a soft layer of fuzz. Then, shortly before I moved out, he began scraping the fuzz off, again in a dramatic and bloody fashion. Something about this process reminded him that he was a tough male with two impaling devices on his head, and he returned to his aggressive ways. He signed his death sentence when he pinned Moises against a wall, ripping his jeans and injuring his leg so he could barely walk. Marlene beat him back with a large cooking spoon she grabbed from the kitchen. And so it was that Chamaco’s life came to an end last week. Reports say he has not yet been eaten, but is in the freezer. They are preserving his pelt, I don’t know whether to sell or keep, and they also saved his antlers. Rest in peace, amigo mio.

Unnamed baby boy

 the proud father, RIP

Another big change for me has been something I’ve been wanting to do since I arrived: I joined a women’s soccer team! The team is based out of Las Pilas, a small community down a dirt road from Urbaite, just past the university where I work. It has a beautiful soccer field and a soccer team of about 22 official members. Several of the players had seen me running and mentioned me to their coach, and it so happened that one of my students was on the team and offered to invite me to play. Last Sunday was my first official game. We lost, I got really tired in spite of only playing half the game, and I felt like I was running around aimlessly most of the time. I was disappointed about my conditioning, but it seems the ability to jog half marathons and the ability to run for 45 minutes are entirely unrelated. With some conditioning and training, hopefully most of these problems will go away. The team played fairly well, yet at a level that I can play at, which is good. So wish us luck this season! There are only four teams in the league, so I’m sure we will all get to know each other very well. Games are every Sunday at 3:00, which means I have less incentive to leave for the weekends. Practices are Tues-Fri at 4pm, though it seems to me like everyone shows up at 5pm and then I have to leave to teach my community class at 6pm. I’ll do what I can at least!

I suppose I should take a moment to talk about my birthday, which was on a Monday this year. Well, wait I need to digress a moment. The weekend before my birthday, I spent in Managua with a group of 10 TEFL volunteers working on an exciting project. As I’m sure I’ve mentioned, Nicaraguan students have nothing in the way of textbooks or classroom materials. A great deal of class time is devoted to copying things off the board. So, we were all thrilled to hear that the Ministry of Education had developed English textbooks to be distributed to all high school students in Nicaragua next year! And would the Peace Corps please proofread the books for mistakes? Proofreading has always been a hobby of mine (something my dear sister and I have in common!) so I was looking forward to the task. We worked tow full days in partners, two volunteers to a textbook for each of the 5 grade levels. None of us were prepared for the sheer number of errors; we speculate that a textbook-publishing company whose employees didn’t speak English was hired to transcribe the textbook, because mistakes were abundant. We spent the first day simply correcting mistakes, such as grammar, spelling, etc. One volunteer, Jamey, kept a list of the most entertaining mistakes. One of our favorites was: “A: What’s your profession? B: I’m a dog, Walter” (instead of dog walker. Lol.). On the second day, we exchanged textbooks and made notes about the content; our opinions about the activities and suggestions for changes and improvements. We also had a ton of these, and I can only hope that the government listens to us. Our boss, Greg, said he was going to suggest that we personally be in charge of making the changes on the computer program (I can hear you snickering, Dad), and I hope they let us do it so we can have free rein to make improvements. It was also interesting to see how overtly politicized the textbooks were, biased toward the current ruling party, the Sandinista Front (commonly referred to as “El Frente”). But we expected nothing less based on our experiences in-country, so we weren’t overly surprised.

Anyways, back to the birthday. I had nothing planned, because from what I’ve observed in Nicaragua, only small children and 15-year-olds celebrate their birthdays. When Moises turned 14 in January, all he received were hugs, and gag gifts of 3 bottles of coke of increasing size with each meal from me. The one tradition I took part in was with the teachers at my school in Urbaite. The tradition is, whenever someone has a birthday, that person brings in a small meal, soda, and sometimes a birthday cake for each of the 14 teachers and administrators. The other teachers each contribute a little money, and buy a gift for the birthday girl/boy. I requested jeans, since my other ones are a little big on me. The result was my first pair of Nica-style skinny jeans; I bet no one can even tell I’m a gringa when I wear them! They’re going to take some getting used to, but I feel like I’ve taken an important step towards cultural integration. Anyways, goodness knows I wasn’t going to cook, so I asked a lady from town named Maria to prepare the food. She prepared tortilla with chicken and salad, and a vanilla cake with a layer of raspberry in the middle and chocolate frosting, which everyone proclaimed delicious. One down side to celebrating birthdays is that the administrators invariably extend the snack break from 15 minutes to half an hour, if not 45 minutes, and I get frustrated at the lost class time; oh well. My two 8^th-grade classes surprised me by singing, offering me small gifts, and showering me with confetti, and even my 9^th grade class whom I didn’t teach that day called me into their classroom to offer me gifts. I felt very touched. 

However, the biggest surprise was yet to come. First of all, I had been very discreet about my birthday; I think only my counterpart Shirley, Moises, and one other friend knew about it. But I had been warned about the power of gossip around here, and word got around. So there was half an hour to go in my advanced community class that evening, when suddenly I heard a ruckus outside. I froze and looked at my students questioningly, and they all had huge smiles on their faces. Almost all of the 30 students from my beginner community class had come together, including some students who formed a band, complete with turtle-shell percussion. They burst into the room singing, pressed a bouquet of flowers into my arm, and proceeded to sing the infamous Nicaraguan birthday song, which was approximately 20 verses as far as I can tell. Then the band continued playing while the students milled around, the advanced class jubilant that they wouldn’t have to present their interviews using the simple past. They brought tons of soda and a beautiful cake with fluffy pink frosting. Another Nica birthday tradition is to paint the face of the birthday boy/girl with frosting, and I consider myself lucky for only getting a little. However, various students went on the attack, and soon almost everyone sported some pink or white fluff on their cheek, neck, or forehead. We wrapped everything up around nine, at which time I headed home to share the rest of the cake with the family and all the aunts, uncles, grandparents, and cousins that live nearby. I felt very special and loved on my birthday, and am extremely grateful to my students. Now I’ll have to see if they can outdo themselves next year…

May was also the month of the university fair that I had been planning for two months with Kelly, the health volunteer in Altagracia. I think I’ve outlined the plan in a previous post, but I’ll recap here. We invited universities from the island, Managua, and Rivas to give presentations on the careers they offer and opportunities to receive scholarships. Getting responses was a pain in the boss that involved hours of repeated phone calls on my part, but in the end we had a group of seven who made the trip. Kelly was in charge of the health portion, and she gave a presentation about HIV/AIDS and condom use. I think overall the event went really well, but there were a lot of unforeseen problems, as expected. First, our invited speakers still hadn’t shown up by 9:15, the scheduled start time, so we delayed 45 minutes and then had to improvise by inviting a woman from the community to speak about her career. The students from 2 of the 10 schools failed to show up, and I still don’t know what happened. We divided the students into 3 groups; one went with Kelly, and two went to see the university presentations. We did two rotations, then broke for lunch. This is when I realized that the lady who prepared lunch had not brought drinks like I expected. So my counterpart Santiago graciously offered to go to the local convenience store on his motorcycle and pick up 30 liters of soda, which we served and the students picked up after they were finished eating. It then proved almost impossible to organize the students into the groups again for the final rotation, and many students left early. So we have many things to improve on for when we do this event again next year, but I think it was a solid effort for our first attempt.

The month of May was not a very busy month in terms of teaching class. School was cancelled one day for a teachers’ training and two days for Mothers’ Day celebrations. Unlike in the US, Mother’s Day occurs on a fixed date in Nicaragua: May 30^th. On May 29^th, class is cancelled so the students can present an “acto” in honor of their mothers. I didn’t attend, but from what I hear these involve dancing, reading poetry, and raffling a “canasta basica” (basket containing all the essentials one needs to survive in Nicaragua) to one mother from each class. Then class is cancelled the following day so the students can spend time with their mothers. So I suddenly found myself with a 5-day weekend, and thought, how can I take advantage of this? So I hopped on a bus (more accurately: bus-ferry-taxi-bus-taxi-bus-taxi) to visit my friend Alba in the northern part of the country (as I like to call it: In the Land of Coffee and Bricks). After 9 hours of traveling, I found myself surrounded by green mountains and a relentless drizzle as I arrived at Alba’s home. We didn’t do any touristy activities; the trip was more about spending time together and me getting the opportunity to see her life first-hand, after having heard so much about it from her. She lives in a very nice house on the edge of town with a 30-year-old woman whose husband works in the US. She almost always has running water, and recently got wifi in her house. But she has to do her own cooking, which she enjoys and she showed me one of her rice creations that she dreamed up a few weeks ago. She took me to her favorite Nica café where we ate fantastic typical food with another volunteer from the area, Carol, who then took us to visit her site nearby. We got to see a really cool tradition having to do with the Catholic celebration of Corpus Christi, in which artists use colored sawdust to make elaborate carpets on the streets outside of the churches. We visited the workers in a nearby bakery whom Alba is friends with a chatted with them while they worked, after which they served us cake and coffee. I know, I’m not usually a coffee-drinker, but the north is coffee country and I felt obligated. We stopped by a convenience store whose owner is a friend of Alba’s and snuggled with her two super-friendly kitties, Muchachito and Osito (Alba knew I would love this). We took a day trip to the nearby city of Esteli to visit a farmers market, drink frappes, and eat tasty organic lunches. I bought coffee and chocolate for my host families and some friends on the island, and also a new belt and some tea for me! We stopped by a women’s pottery collective on the way back, but unfortunately the women weren’t working that day, so we poked around the gift shop and left. We got stuck in a drizzle, and rewarded ourselves with tea and rosquetas, like homemade graham cracker cookies from the north, when we got home. Our final highlight was an early-morning walk down a gorgeous dirt road (that would be perfect for running) to a scenic river spot that Alba sometimes visits. We were most excited to see a baby burro on the opposite shore, so cute! Then a 9-hour bus ride back to my beloved island so I could play in my first soccer game the next day. 

Me with some kitties that belong to one of Alba's friends who owns a small shop.

 Beautiful sawdust "carpet" for corpus christi.

 Scenic river that we walked to.

 Alba and I at said scenic river.

Okay, I think this might be the final piece of interesting news that I have to report. I believe May 4^th was the official celebration of the Patron Saint or Urbaite. Unfortunately, I’m not entirely sure who this is, but I’m sure what it means: it means that a bull-riding ring is set up in the plaza, along with various tents for beer and snacks, and the “Casa Comunal”, a communal roofed structure adjacent to the plaza, is transformed into a disco. But is one day of celebration enough? No. One weekend? No. This celebration continued every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday for the entire month of May. I ventured out twice when some friends of mine from the community invited me to go. At first I didn’t want to because I was worried my students would see me and spread ferocious gossip, but I relented and had a great time. Though yes, the rumors have spread that I was horribly drunk (totally false), but I suppose that can’t be helped. One of my friends asked me how parties in Nicaragua compared with parties in the US, and I didn’t know how to respond, as I really had no basis for comparison. When do we have large dances where every member of a community attends and everyone knows each other? Do we even have anything remotely similar?

 

Okay, thanks for sticking with me dear readers. I’ll probably check back in sometime in July, please keep in touch!