Semana Santa

One of the best parts about living in a country that is predominantly Catholic is Semana Santa, or Holy Week. Yes, we have the entire week before Easter off. Originally this was a holy time for spiritual reflection, but in its modern incarnation it is a time when all Nicaraguan citizens flock to the beaches.  And who am I to eschew Nicaraguan cultural traditions? Unfortunately, a week of vacation does not compensate for the distance from my loved ones this time of year; but I made the best of it, anyways.

In my first big vacation trip in Nicaragua, I journeyed out to the isolated Atlantic Coast of Nicaragua, to the city of Bluefields. I have described Bluefields in previous posts, since it is where Caroline is currently living. In summary, it is extremely different from the rest of Nicaragua not only for its isolated location, but because it was settled by freed African slaves and had more colonial contact with Great Britain and the US than with Spain, giving it a unique cultural flavor. Most residents are dark-skinned Creoles who speak the Creole dialect, a form of English without all the pesky grammar rules that make teaching it so difficult. The journey to Bluefields is epic. I left on Friday night for the capital of Managua, and almost didn’t make it – it was a special religious holiday in the port town of San Jorge in honor of a saint named Santo Jesus del Rescate. To celebrate, groups flocked to the beaches of San Jorge, and to accomplish this they hired all the buses in the region. As such, there were no buses left running the regular routes, and it was after dark by the time a bus finally stopped for me. And even then I had to sprint half a block and elbow my way on, something I am very good at from my time in China. But I finally made it, and the next morning at 6am I departed on a bus for Bluefields. Well, not all the way to Bluefields; after 5 hours, the buses arrive at a town called El Rama, where all the passengers disembark and sprint to a ticket window to reserve seats on the pangas, small boats that transport one the 90-minute trip up a river to where Bluefields is situated on the coast. Pangas are fairly small motorboats that fit 20 passengers crammed into 5 rows, heaven forbid if you have excessive amounts of luggage. The wooden benches one sits on begin to be really uncomfortable about 15 minutes in, a discomfort that even an improvised towel-cushion can’t alleviate.  

Robi, Alba, and I on the panga. We were among the handful of people actually wearing the life jackets. I hope the Peace Corps sees this...

All things considered, our trip went as well as could be expected – I slept most of the bus ride, then we managed to get seats on the very first boat to depart, which as luck would have it was also the only one with a covering to protect us from the brutal sun. Caroline has horror stories about taking the only other bus available, which leaves at 9pm from Managua, then drops the passengers in El Rama around 3am, leaving them to wait 3 hours in the dark for the first boat to depart.

There were 5 of us in total staying at the Hotel Caroline: myself, Alba, Robi, Isabel, and of course Caroline. She has a fantastic set-up in which she occupies the entire second floor of a beautiful home, complete with wrap-around porch and hammock. The only downside is that the entire city lacks running water, so we were bathing and flushing toilets by bucket. It was of course wonderful to see all of them, as always, and they are my best support network when it comes to sharing experiences and frustrations from our sites. And of course there are always the tales of cultural misunderstandings and bloopers that are bound to occur and will be retold for the rest of our lives.

It became very clear from the start that this trip would be all about eating. Bluefield cuisine is famous for utilizing coconut milk, most notably in the pan de coco (coconut bread), which comes in two varieties: regular pan de coco and the sweetened bon, which bear a pleasant resemblance to cinnamon rules. We consumed at least 3 of these daily. 

Top shelf: pan de coco. Bottom shelf: bon.

Bluefields is also famous for its fish and shellfish, something I readily believe but cannot personally confirm. One of the highlights of our trip was a special traditional lunch of rundown prepared by a friend of Caroline’s counterpart. She even prepared it specially with the fish apart so I could enjoy the sauce, which was extremely tasty with a coconut milk base. The highlight of the meal was when we witnessed Caroline, who was gamely eating the honorary fish head, suck out a fish eyeball for the first time. She made a very satisfying sucking noise, which was recorded on video for posterity. She said it wasn’t bad, but I noted that she didn’t eat the second one.

Bluefields has yet to develop many attractions to bring in tourists, which is unfortunate because it is such a cool and unique place in Latin America. The event it is most famous for is the Palo Mayo, the May Pole celebration on May 1^st. I had the privilege of witnessing a portion of the May Pole dance performed by some campers at the Access Camp in January, and it was an awesome spectacle. I think a dinner theatre would be a perfect and culturally respectful draw for tourists. But luckily for us, we had a local tour guide who took it upon herself to give us a cultural tour of her city. Our first cultural experience was a baseball game between the coastal team and a visiting team from Masaya. Everyone tells me that baseball is king in Nicaragua, but in the two places I have lived it’s soccer that the people love. Not so here. The stadium was packed with enthusiastic fans and vendors selling goodies at much more reasonable prices than in the US. Unfortunately the home team lost the game in a regrettable come-from-behind surge, but it was a double-header and we heard that they won the second game. 

Caroline, Robi, Alba, Carol, Lisa, and I at the baseball game. Lisa and Carol are friends of ours who arrived in the TEFL group of volunteers last year, and happened to be in Bluefields at the same time as us. We are sitting in the first row, which was annoying because the vendors always stopped in front of us to watch the game during the most exciting moments. But it was very easy to buy snacks: fresh mango for me, tasty-smelling meat pouches for everyone else.

Our second cultural experience was a trip to the beach. Although Bluefields is technically an island, it has no beach front, so anyone who wants to go to the beach takes another panga across the bay to a place called The Bluff. I loved it because we were virtually the only tourists, there was plenty of shade, and the water was unbelievably pleasant for swimming and frolicking. However, despite repeated applications of sunblock, none of us really understood just how strong the sun was until the burns emerged. I made out the best of all of us, with only some red on the back of my legs and a little on my back from when I was playing in the waves. But now it’s faded into a nice tan, yet another step in my quest to look like I belong in my host family (ha!).

And then, all too soon, it came time for me to return on Wednesday. I only stayed for half the week because I wanted to spend Maundy Thursday – Easter with my host family, and to see how the week was celebrated on the island. Plus I was seriously worried about the lack of public transport any later in the week. 

Back on the island, I finally made it to the tourist destination “Ojo de Agua”, a natural spring transformed into a swimming area complete with overpriced refreshments for sale. I went with my two host brothers, Moises and Francisco, and we spent a relaxing day swimming, reading, and generally doing nothing. Three of my students from my advanced community class work there, and they obligingly slipped me an orange juice and a lunch for free J

Now for the more spiritual aspects of the week. Good Friday is celebrated by Catholic islanders with a large Via Crucis, or Stations of the Cross. I accompanied my family in the name of cultural experience, but was not adequately prepared. The beginning of the route was about 2 kilometers away, and then it took about 90 minutes to visit each of the flowered crosses placed along the route. Also, it was sunny and hot and on the main highway of the island, which means that trucks of tourists were constantly driving through the middle of our procession. And of course we had to kneel on the pavement at every station; I brought an empty corn flakes box so I wouldn’t get my pants dirty. But I did enjoy the solidarity of walking with the people from the community and experiencing their traditions. It was also cool to see that a couple of my students were leading the ceremony. And I’m getting pretty good at saying the Lord’s Prayer and the Hail Mary in Spanish. Later in the evening there was another procession to commemorate the death of Jesus, called the Silent March. I didn’t participate, but I saw the procession carrying the image of Christ in the tomb, walking silently with only a sole drum to indicate their passing. On Sunday there are more processions, but of a more joyful character: the faithful divide into two groups. The men accompany a figure of the resurrected Christ around the city, while the women accompany the figures of Mary and Saint John. They finally meet joyously in the park, where people celebrate by shooting off fireworks. However, apart from these religious activities we did nothing special and had no big meals. Which is probably a good thing, our pigs will get to live a little longer…

Now for updates in my regular, day-to-day activities: the most unfortunate is that I managed to aggravate my long-running hamstring injury while lifting weights with Caroline in Bluefields. This is now the third time I have pulled it, and it feels the same way it did in 2010. Will I have to spend another 2 years rehabilitating it? Will it ever heal? And this is an especially bad moment for me because I have become so passionate about my long runs in the morning, I’ll have to find a substitute to maintain my sanity and mental well-being.

Other than that, another new development has been the addition of a new brother to our family. His name is Francisco, and he is the 24-year-old son from Felix’s former marriage. He first arrived in February to stay for a week, then never left and planned to stay here for a while, but now it seems he will be leaving next week to return to work in Costa Rica. We’re all sad to see him go; he has a gregarious personality that brightens the house, and we all adore him, especially Moises. Plus he does a lot of chores in the house, and I’ll probably have to take up the slack once he leaves…

Disclaimer: As I was traveling with friends who love to take pictures, I felt no need to replicate them. However, many of these photos haven't made it to facebook yet, so stay tuned.

Other updates: I have posted several lists on the "pages" section of my blog including: 

- Class was cancelled today because....

- How to Ruin Clothing in Nicaragua 

- How to Sustain Bodily Injury in Nicaragua.

Enjoy!

Jumping In

First blog post of the new year! My life has gotten busy, but that’s not really a good excuse. It’s just that I feel anti-social if I sit in a corner and write a blog in my house. The only reason I’m writing now is due to a class cancellation.

Me being Nica

Class cancellation. Now there’s a theme. All the experienced Peace Corps volunteers told us class would be cancelled a lot; by their guesstimation, they only taught 80% of the classes they planned. I am wayyyy below that now (this week: 3/8 classes), though I’m hoping a lot of it is just due to beginning-of-the-academic-year housekeeping. Nonetheless, I have decided to keep a list entitled “Class Was Cancelled Today Because…”

1.       Teachers had to have a meeting to figure out the schedule. The way scheduling works is the teachers report to school a week before classes begin. During this time, they attend sessions run by the school director in which they are indoctrinated about the values the Ministry of Education has decided to promulgate in the upcoming school year. This year the slogan is “Vivir sano, vivir limpio, vivir bonito, vivir bien”, roughly translated to “live healthily, live cleanly, live beautifully, live well”, though it sounds a lot better in Spanish. I didn’t participate in the multiple sessions of reading about values, discussing values, answering questions about values, and reflecting on values and how to work them into lessons.  Anyways, the point is, during this time the school secretary is in her office enrolling students, who need to drop by at some point during the week. At the end of the week, the school leadership looks at the numbers and decides how many classes each grade will have and who will be their head teachers. Then they design the schedule, a process that took about 10 days this year. In the past, this process was done on a chalk board with all the teachers present, each one shouting out their preferences and distaste for whatever decisions are reached. For the past two years, they have had help from Noelle, a Peace Corps volunteer in Altagracia (5 km away, where one of my schools is) who has downloaded a scheduling program. However, the computer-generated schedule inevitably upsets various teachers, who have their preferences changed manually. Noelle reports the process taking 8 hours last year for the school in Urbaite. And yes, occasionally classes must be cancelled for the teachers to meet and hammer out details.

2.      There is an “acto” to commemorate the death of Agosto Sandino. Sandino was a famous guerrilla fighter who battled a ruthless dictatorship in the 1930’s I believe. He was successful in his revolution, but then betrayed by representatives from the enemy who attended peace talks and assassinated. Decades afterwards, his image was co-opted by a socialist political party to become the Sandinista Front for National Liberation, the party which assumed control after the country overthrew the brutal dictatorship of Somoza in 1978. They lost control in the 1990’s but regained it in 2006 with the election of a former revolutionary leader, Daniel Ortega. “The Frente” has an amazing political machinery that works to generate propaganda across the nation and distribute hand-outs to encourage party loyalty, and I don’t see them leaving power anytime soon. I personally have no political leanings, but my host family is intensely Sandinista. So the Sandinista Youth of Altagracia organized an event to commemorate the death of their icon. I left the premises, but I saw a truck with speakers come in and heard loud music, and can only assume cultural acts involving girls dancing in traditional dresses were involved as well. No class.

3.       Students need to clean the premises. This may be culturally insensitive, but I really don’t understand why we don’t just place some trash cans in convenient location to dissuade students from throwing trash on the ground. Class is frequently cancelled in one of my schools so the students can go out and clean the very same mess that they created. My idea is make the students seen littering stay AFTER school and clean it up, since now it’s almost like a reward since they get to miss class.

4.       Head teachers need to meet to even out the numbers and gender ratios in the first-year classes.

5.       All the teachers want to attend a funeral. This week the mother of a teacher in Altagracia died, and all teachers in both my schools left to attend the service, despite not having permission from the director. I told them they were rebellious and they corrected me; united, not rebellious. And with a lot of solidarity for their fellow teachers.

6.       Parent-teacher meeting. I can only assume that teachers’ contracts obligate them to work during the school day and not a moment more, or else such meetings would be held in the evenings after classes had been completed. It was also ironic, since much of the meeting was dedicated to talking about how students shouldn't miss class.

7.       Gathering personal information from all students. I would have done this during registration.

It’s so funny to me to think about the contrast between Nicaragua and China. In China, I would come to school one week and be told I had an extra day of class on Saturday to compensate for a holiday on Monday. And before I could request a day off, I had to find a teacher to switch classes with so I could get all my weekly teaching hours in on a different day. Not so here.

I remember reading the description of life on Ometepe as a Peace Corps volunteer that a former volunteer, Joanna, had written for me in 2010. Her words of advice were to not become a workaholic like she was. At the time, I scoffed. Then did precisely that. The Peace Corps’ assignment tells us to work 16 class hours a week between our assigned counterparts. I have 21. Plus 6 at the university with an additional counterpart that I wanted to work with. I meet with each of my four counterparts for about 2 hours every week to plan our classes, in addition to actually teaching them. We are also required to have a community class. And that’s a whole other saga. I believe I mentioned in a previous post that a group had approached me about supporting their studies after they had completed a 3-month intensive English course at a nearby technical institute. So I met with the students and set up the course to begin mid-January in the evenings. They completed 3 textbooks’ worth of material, but I decided it can’t hurt to review, so I would start from the beginning with quick reviews and a lot of practice activities. Well word got around and over 30 students of all different levels arrived to my first class. I told them I would also start a beginners’ class, that those with no knowledge should switch and the new class would begin in February.One of my neighbors was organizing the beginner class and had a list of about 12 students on the day of our first meeting. Again, 30 people showed up. What’s more, all the students from the intensive English course for whom I had designed the class decided they wanted to switch to the beginner level. This felt like a slap in the face, like I had failed completely, but they assured me it was fine, especially since I would be here for two years; they had time. So as it stands now, I have two classes: my “advanced class” meets on Monday and Wednesday evenings. There is a range of levels within the class; there are several who work at a nearby tourist destination and speak English with foreigners every day, and others who struggle more. I started from the beginning to make sure all the fundamental bases were covered, and it’s nice because everything is more like a review than teaching; less work for me! I work to find speaking activities that focus on the target structures and vocabulary. I’m lucky because the Peace Corps has provided us with a fantastic teaching manual, developed and revised by volunteers from previous years. It provides lessons plans and a range of activities to choose from for each topic that the Ministry of Education mandates, and has proven invaluable to me already. I also have a binder full of teaching materials I made in China that have helped me a lot already. My beginner class meets on Tuesdays and Thursdays and started from zero: alphabet, colors, numbers, introductions, etc. There are a lot of students from the upper levels of high school who have been studying for 3 or 4 years, but I think they were scared out of the advanced class by the more fluent and confident speakers. My host brother (age 14) tells me the beginner classes are boring. Oh well. Long story short…I am very busy.

I also want to take a moment to talk about a potential secondary project that I really want to develop. Noelle, the volunteer from the sector of Small Business Development, organized a university fair last year for students on the island. She invited representatives from 11 universities in our region of Nicaragua, and the top 10 students from each high school on the island, giving students a chance to explore their options for the future. It was an opportunity that both the universities and the students loved, and I hope to organize it again this year.

As for recreational updates, my big news is that the day of The Big Race finally came, and I successfully completed the 25-km course. I realized after scouting the route ahead of time that running up the steep hiking trail was not an option, so my friend Emily and I jogged the 10k or so to the base of the volcano, hiked up, hiked down, and jogged to the finish line in 4:17:50 (almost exactly 2 hrs behind the winners!). This put us 63/106 overall and 20/42 females, which was a lot better than I thought. We showed up the day of the race to a crowd of professionally-dressed runners with camel-baks, looked at each other in our basketball shorts and t-shirts, and thought, “What the hell are we doing here?” But then we began and settled into our own rhythm and all was well; it was a beautiful day to run a race, one of the rare occasions when the peak of the volcano isn’t obscured by clouds. Emily wrote a beautiful blog post about the experience which I, unfortunately, cannot replicate because I have grown too accustomed to the awesome beauty of my island. Most of the runners were as uncompetitive as we were, walking up the volcano and resting for 5 minutes at the top to rehydrate and admire the view. It really was a team effort, as Emily set a blazing pace up the volcano and I kept her going through the final 5km stretch.

I made it!

 We made it!

A disappointing thing about the course was that there were way less water stops than I anticipated. I’ve never carried water during races in the US because water stations are so plentiful that I skip half of them, and the only reason I carried one during this race was because a sponsor pressed it into my hands a few minutes before we took off. There was only one water station between the start and the summit of the volcano, which we reached in 2.5 hours, sharing a water bottle between the two of us. Then the route down was totally exposed to the blazing sun, parching us until the final water stop, 5 km from the finish line. I was so dehydrated at the finish that I could barely drink. 

Me 'lying flat' after the race. Note the medal (for participation), scone, and nails painted with tiny Nicaraguan flags. And utter exhaustion.

After over an hour of resting in the shade and drinking water and Tang, I tried to take an ibuprofen and vomited into the trash pile of an unlucky convenience store owner. The outpouring of sympathy and support from all onlookers was touching, if humiliating, as Gatorade, electrolyte pills, and a chair suddenly appeared by my side. So I have something to improve upon for next year, I guess. All was not ruined however, as this experience was followed by Emily and I splitting a huge veggie pizza. Nom nom nom. 

Next up: a half-marathon in the city of Jinotega this weekend in the mountainous northern region of the country. But this time I actually have to run the entire course, which is allegedly entirely uphill. Wish me luck!