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 5th!) 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.
