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.