concerts and Gritar-ing

Dad invited me to the High School Winter Concert. Usually, these types of events make me shudder and turn back to my laptop. Dad and I both know the majority of the high school choirs are painful collections of gangly adolescents who breathe from their shoulders and never stay in tune. But we also know that we are hosting a South Korean student for the week as part of a Christmas homestay program and to deny Kim Jo the opportunity to see dozens of hormonal teenagers who think they can sing is unthinkable. Also, I was curious to see my old high school, inhabited by students I had never met.
Of course, all of the songs were Christmas-themed. One of my favorite pastimes is situations like this is to squint my eyes and watch the entire ensemble blend into one big Caucasian blob. But Kim Jo said she liked them, although she did not understand what figgy pudding was, and why “they wouldn’t go until they got some,” as the demand seemed rather threatening. So Dad launched into an explanation about an old tradition in England of caroling from house to house for treats.
I can’t believe this didn’t occur to me during La Purisima. For those who don’t know, this day celebrates the conception of the Virgin Mary. The night before is known as La Griteria, or The Shout, something like that. Groups of Nicaraguans visit families with Purisima altars set up, sing one of the holiday songs, and receive gifts. The gifts are usually practical, like Tupperware or cups, but you can also get nacatamales (think large mass of cornmeal with some meat in the middle), juice, noisemakers, candy, etc. Let the imagination go wild.
Of course I threw myself into celebrations with some others in the group, as well as a few Nicaraguan friends who knew where the good houses were and how to sing the songs. We really do just shout out the song. I’m beginning to think Nicaraguans prize decibels over harmony. And we never did just a refrain; we shouted out several verses before calling it good and getting our treats. I wonder why this tradition died out in England? And why it is such a big deal in Nicaragua? If anyone has any suggestions, feel free to comment.
The best part about the night was roughly midnight, when what sounded like every person in Managua lit off all the firecrackers, fireworks, and various noisemakers they had bought with their bonus paycheck. I stood in the park with Rachel, Brian, Cailen, and David, and couldn’t stop grinning. For all Nicaragua’s inner contradictions and divisions, at least they can all agree that setting off explosives to celebrate Mary getting knocked up is a splendid idea.

Home...

So, I'm back in the states. It feels rather sudden, and I'm reeling both mentally and physically. What with the strep throat and ear infection that made the 12 hour plane ride (involving two transfers) a living hell. I've been making plenty of notes however, so hopefully I'll create some entries later about other Nica experiences. For now, I'm facebooking like there's no tomorrow, downing double dosages of ibuprofen, and taking antibiotics. In reality, I'm not even home yet, I'm at my aunt's in St. Paul. I still need to drive 3 1/2 hours north to get to my house. Where my parents can't wait to pile on the creature comforts. I don't know what I'll do with so much love. I've been in 100% academic load for four months. The switch over has been far too sudden.


Upcoming:
+ sights and sounds of Maximo Jerez
+ Nicaraguan political commentary
+ an explanation of exactly what I did for my independent study
+ poetry

All photos are finally on flickr, and even in handy, themed sets. Much more helpful to view. Whenever I'm not writing blog entries or writing internship applications for the upcoming summer, I'll probably be organizing them even further. I call it my Tupperware peccadillo.