I´m completely blown away by the caribbean coast. I expected something like the campo, only more depressing. Instead, I live with a social activist by the name of Wesley Williams. He now runs a guesthouse, where I and 8 other students live. The name of the town is Pearl Lagoon, and we´re staying here from Wednesday to Saturday. Every day we talk to two representatives of the various organizations and NGOs around the town. They are incredibly dedicated and eloquent, something we pick up more easily here than on the Pacific side since most choose to speak in English with us.
The town is a mix of shacks, cement houses, and something like bungalows. It sits right at the waterside, but since it´s a lagoon we can´t see the ocean. The town mostly fishes for an income, and does some subsistence farming of the side. Although the town has about 1000 houses or so, the roads are generally not paved. This is only an issue on the roads cars pass through--most is pedestrian oriented. There´s also a lot of four wheelers, such as the one used by the police. There´s only 7 police for the entire municipality (like a county), so they can´t possibly be very effective.
Anyway, the town has two primary schools (one public and one private, although the private one costs less than a dollar a month to attend) and a secondary school. The university is a 40 minute panga ride away to Blufields. A panga is a 12 seater boat with an outboard motor, which the group has been using extensively, first to get from El Rama, where the road basically ends, to Bluefields, where we spent a night.
I´ll say a bit about Bluefields here. It´s mostly a spanish-speaking community, and the biggest town in RAAS (Southern Atlantic Autonomous Region). We stayed in a guesthouse right on the shoreline--the panga pulled right up to the restaurant part. I went for a walk around with some others in the group, and we mostly saw a lot of brightly colored cement houses, used clothing stores, clothing boutiques, and street music vendors. I´m still not sure how I feel about the town, which is fine since I only spent one day there and probably shouldn´t pass judgement on it.
As for food, it´s been great. We had the regional dish, rondón, for lunch the first day. That´s a type of fish, cooked in some kind of sauce. Very rich. They also cook up coconut bread, which everyone should try. They have rice and beans on the coast, but they stew it with coconut milk as well. We´ve also had shrimp, probably the best I´ve had in my life. Not even that weekend in Vietnam´s Ha Long bay compares to it. Although there I had great clams. And lobster. And, like all Nicaraguan exports, the best lobster goes to the States, so we haven´t seen much of that around here. People have been over fishing them, so now there are penalties if the fisherman keep lobsters below a certain size.
This is just a sprinkling of what I´ve learned here, but I don´t want to overwhelm everyone. I´ll just say we´ve so far spoken to the caldía, or mayor, of Pearl Lagoon, the municipal director of FALDCANIC, and a member of CONADETI.
FADCANIC stands for Formación del Autonomía y Desarollo de la Coasta Atlantica de Nicaragua. That translates into the Formation of Autonomy and Development of the Atlantic Coast of Nicaragua. It is an NGO with funding from Austria and Norway to develop the capacity of the people here to live sustainably. What I like about the NGO is its consciousness to empower the communities themselves, and not impose improvements on them. The organization first talks to the comunity to see what needs to be done to improve it and help mitigate the poverty, then provides education and microcredit to give the people the capacity to provide a livlihood for themselves. For example, FADCANIC funds a school in Pearl Lagoon, in which all the teachers are from Pearl Lagoon. The NGO provides workshops to improve their teaching skills, and funding to attend the university in Bluefields. The schoolboard is comprised entirely of the student´s parent, and they are the ones who manage the direction of the school. So of course the NGO is effective in helping the communities here--it´s run by the people who are familiar with the community, know what the problems are, and now have the capacity to solve these problems.
CONADETI is the Comisión National de Demarcación Territorial Indigenas y Etnicas. I don´t think that needs a translation. The issue is that the indigenous people of the coast are used to working the land communally, but the mestizo community migrating east from the Pacific side have a European understanding of land, which requires titles of ownership. So this commision was created in 2003 to set up a way of giving the people communally titled land. But of course this is hard because people fight over which communities have the comunal right over what land, and the process has been really slow. It doesn´t help that the government doesn´t provide them with much of a budget--it´s mostly funded by UNESCO. Also, the reason the word Territory is used over Land is because Land only applies to earth, and Territory to land, water, minerals, and the cultural tradition itself--so the idea is to preserve not only the land for those who use it, but also this cultural history that comes with comunal ownership.
Finally, I´ll say a little but about the Garifuna. They´re a very small ethnic group, whose history is rather recent. Their ancestor are escaped African slaves and the Arawak indigenous group. They originally lived in Honduras, but have since migrated to Belize, Guatemala, and Nicaragua. Orinoco, where the other group went, is home to the largest Garifuna population in the world. The entire group is currently involved in preserving the Garifuna language, which only 10 can speak fluently, as well as codifying their culture and traditions. This is also funded by UNESCO, but they´ve only given $20,000.
I´m so impressed by the people here. This is nothing like the campo organizations, which suffered from a lack of involvement in La Amancia. Which I think is a product of dependency on the government or NGOs to swoop in the fix everything for them. What I´ve seen here is a history of people who want self-determination, and are in the process of working towards that. It´s very uplifting. No wonder so many SIT students go to the caribbean coast for their projects.
Also, I might be going to the Pearl Keys, apparently the tourist hot spot on the caribbean coast. Stay tuned.
Thursday, October 4, 2007
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
Off to the coast
Ok, so I've been pretty busy this week, but I'm going to the coast tomorrow morning at 5 am, so I better write something now. Hopefully I'll get around to all those questions later, since right now it's midnight and I should probably get some sleep. And pack.
So, about the coast. It's the Caribbean Coast of Nicaragua, which is both gorgeous and impoverished. Narcotrafficking is big here as well, so the communities aren't all that healthy. We'll be there for a week, split up between Orinoco and Pearl Lagoon (I'm in Lagoon).
As for recent events, you will all be pleased to know I prepared wild rice soup (which actually thickened into something more like a casserole) for my mom and some friends. Huge success. It will probably be the next big phenomenon of Maximo Jerez. So when I get back from the coast, we'll all cook ethnic dishes--I'll learn how to cook something along the lines of indigena viego, but I think that's wrong.
My mom here has been telling me some more stories about herself as well. Apparently she was a Spanish teacher a while back for high school. So I asked why she left, and there are three reasons. One, the students were coming in with not even a basic education. Some couldn't even spell their own name correctly, which made teaching a secondary level spanish class very difficult. Two, the schools are autonomous, so students whose parents couldn't pay were asked to leave, and those who could were passed regardless of actual aptitude. Third, oone of her students had been approached by her boss (he had stayed behind with her in between periods and dropped his pants. She ran off and told Edu, my mom). So when she reported him, she was fired. And she hasn't been able to get a job in education since. And this is one top of the fact she was a teacher in the literacy crusade, headed up the youth organization of the revolutionaries, picked coffee (more or less voluntarily) for the revolutionary cause, and runs her on business. And worked in a womens NGO in Matagalpa. She's my hero.
Other than that, I'll just say life is wonderful here. It's cheesy, but whatever. I'm good.
So, about the coast. It's the Caribbean Coast of Nicaragua, which is both gorgeous and impoverished. Narcotrafficking is big here as well, so the communities aren't all that healthy. We'll be there for a week, split up between Orinoco and Pearl Lagoon (I'm in Lagoon).
As for recent events, you will all be pleased to know I prepared wild rice soup (which actually thickened into something more like a casserole) for my mom and some friends. Huge success. It will probably be the next big phenomenon of Maximo Jerez. So when I get back from the coast, we'll all cook ethnic dishes--I'll learn how to cook something along the lines of indigena viego, but I think that's wrong.
My mom here has been telling me some more stories about herself as well. Apparently she was a Spanish teacher a while back for high school. So I asked why she left, and there are three reasons. One, the students were coming in with not even a basic education. Some couldn't even spell their own name correctly, which made teaching a secondary level spanish class very difficult. Two, the schools are autonomous, so students whose parents couldn't pay were asked to leave, and those who could were passed regardless of actual aptitude. Third, oone of her students had been approached by her boss (he had stayed behind with her in between periods and dropped his pants. She ran off and told Edu, my mom). So when she reported him, she was fired. And she hasn't been able to get a job in education since. And this is one top of the fact she was a teacher in the literacy crusade, headed up the youth organization of the revolutionaries, picked coffee (more or less voluntarily) for the revolutionary cause, and runs her on business. And worked in a womens NGO in Matagalpa. She's my hero.
Other than that, I'll just say life is wonderful here. It's cheesy, but whatever. I'm good.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Back from the mountains
Ok, I've been avoiding writing an entry, since I'm afraid I won't accurately represent what happened in the campo. But I'll give it my best shot.
I lived in La Amancia, with a single mom and five of her kids. The other seven are old enough to live out of the house. Yeah, her kids range from a 26 year old daughter to a three month old son. Who I ended up taking roughly a million pictures of, I guess because he made a good picture prop. We lived in a one room shack with wood boards for walls, a tin roof, and a dirt floor. The house was shaped like a small L, with a bed on the ends and the living room in the middle. We lived right on the main road so every half hour or so a creatively decorated bus would rumble by to pick up/drop off day laborers, students, teachers, and everyone else in the campo. They're apparently privately run, and they're surprisingly effective. So, kudos.
La Amancia never had electricity, we used the candles I brought after nightfall, generally 6:00. We had a radio, so sometimes my sisters and I (they're all under 13) would have dance parties to reggeaton, merengue, mariachi, and pop. They're way better dancers than me.
The scenery is gorgeous. The farms are not Iowan cornfields, they're more like a jungle that spontaneously decided to grow coffee, corn, bananas, oranges, papayas, chayote, and anything else. I met the owners of one of these farms, and they were really friendly. Without knowing anything about me except I'm a student from the US (None of the reps from SIT came with us, it was just me and 5 other students from the group), they showed me around (with two other students) both of their gorgeous fincas.
Not only that, these people can be incredibly motivated. I met one woman, Blanca, who teaches elementary school during the week, then attends class in the city on weekends to be a high school professor, all while 7 months pregnant (when I was there anyway). Rachel (Blanca's host sister) and I went to the elementary school with her, which was ridiculous. We took two buses and an hour long walk up a mountain road (which included a small river to ford) to get to the three-room school. We played games with the kids and gave an english lesson. I like thinking that 30 kids in the middle of nowhere know the lyrics to "Miss American Pie."
Life there is so hard. The father of my host mom's (Myrna) children is a drunk, would beat Myrna, and eventuall married another woman. Myrna doesn't even have the money to buy flour for tortillas. We ate only what I brought, what other people gave to us, and what she could find in her own little farm. She's pretty lucky; she owns about an acre of land (or half a manzana, as I heard it) just outside of town. But anyway, domestic abuse and alcoholism is very prevalent in the campo, no doubt due to the grinding poverty. I'd like to write later about machismo if I get a chance though, it's an interesting topic.
Anyway, it's a start. Please, ask me questions so I can figure out what else to say. =)
I lived in La Amancia, with a single mom and five of her kids. The other seven are old enough to live out of the house. Yeah, her kids range from a 26 year old daughter to a three month old son. Who I ended up taking roughly a million pictures of, I guess because he made a good picture prop. We lived in a one room shack with wood boards for walls, a tin roof, and a dirt floor. The house was shaped like a small L, with a bed on the ends and the living room in the middle. We lived right on the main road so every half hour or so a creatively decorated bus would rumble by to pick up/drop off day laborers, students, teachers, and everyone else in the campo. They're apparently privately run, and they're surprisingly effective. So, kudos.
La Amancia never had electricity, we used the candles I brought after nightfall, generally 6:00. We had a radio, so sometimes my sisters and I (they're all under 13) would have dance parties to reggeaton, merengue, mariachi, and pop. They're way better dancers than me.
The scenery is gorgeous. The farms are not Iowan cornfields, they're more like a jungle that spontaneously decided to grow coffee, corn, bananas, oranges, papayas, chayote, and anything else. I met the owners of one of these farms, and they were really friendly. Without knowing anything about me except I'm a student from the US (None of the reps from SIT came with us, it was just me and 5 other students from the group), they showed me around (with two other students) both of their gorgeous fincas.
Not only that, these people can be incredibly motivated. I met one woman, Blanca, who teaches elementary school during the week, then attends class in the city on weekends to be a high school professor, all while 7 months pregnant (when I was there anyway). Rachel (Blanca's host sister) and I went to the elementary school with her, which was ridiculous. We took two buses and an hour long walk up a mountain road (which included a small river to ford) to get to the three-room school. We played games with the kids and gave an english lesson. I like thinking that 30 kids in the middle of nowhere know the lyrics to "Miss American Pie."
Life there is so hard. The father of my host mom's (Myrna) children is a drunk, would beat Myrna, and eventuall married another woman. Myrna doesn't even have the money to buy flour for tortillas. We ate only what I brought, what other people gave to us, and what she could find in her own little farm. She's pretty lucky; she owns about an acre of land (or half a manzana, as I heard it) just outside of town. But anyway, domestic abuse and alcoholism is very prevalent in the campo, no doubt due to the grinding poverty. I'd like to write later about machismo if I get a chance though, it's an interesting topic.
Anyway, it's a start. Please, ask me questions so I can figure out what else to say. =)
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Prepping for el campo
I´m going to the country-side for the next 7 days or so. I´ll be living with the poorest in Nicaragua. Here are the statistics. 80% of the people in Nicaragua live on less than US$2 a day. 40% do not have access to potable water, in a country with an inordinate amount of freshwater sources. (We will bring water purifiers, and leave them with the villages after we leave)
So today I went to the Oriental Market to buy supplies for my village home stay.
Food: Rice, beans, oil, sugar, salt, some powdered soup mixes, potatoes, carrots, onions, spaghetti.
A plastic hammock that looks really uncomfortable. Rope.
One small plastic bucket. I´ll use it to take baths and wash my hands at meal times and after using the bathroom. Sidenote--none of the villages will have a latrine. This will be more of a Quetico, dig-your-own-hole style thing. As for baths, I´ll be in the river. A bathing suit would be too risque, so I´m just going to have to figure out what the villagers do. Remain in their day clothes?
Soap for: hands, clothes, and something else. Dishes, maybe?
Matches. Probablry more. My morning in the market was a bit surreal.
All of this will be left with the family after we leave. I feel a bit like Santa Claus. And considering all the other stuff I´ll be bringing, like bedsheets, toiletries, my headlamp, three changes of clothes, two pairs of shoes, etc, I´m going to have more things than all the members of my host family combined.
There are going to be bugs. It´s going to be dirty. I´ll be doing the same work the family does, so I will be tired. They aren´t going to talk slow like my host mom does. They´ve probably never seen a foreigner before.
I have a feeling the upcoming week is going to be one of the most intense of my life. Stay tuned. I leave tomorrow morning at 7:00 am.
So today I went to the Oriental Market to buy supplies for my village home stay.
Food: Rice, beans, oil, sugar, salt, some powdered soup mixes, potatoes, carrots, onions, spaghetti.
A plastic hammock that looks really uncomfortable. Rope.
One small plastic bucket. I´ll use it to take baths and wash my hands at meal times and after using the bathroom. Sidenote--none of the villages will have a latrine. This will be more of a Quetico, dig-your-own-hole style thing. As for baths, I´ll be in the river. A bathing suit would be too risque, so I´m just going to have to figure out what the villagers do. Remain in their day clothes?
Soap for: hands, clothes, and something else. Dishes, maybe?
Matches. Probablry more. My morning in the market was a bit surreal.
All of this will be left with the family after we leave. I feel a bit like Santa Claus. And considering all the other stuff I´ll be bringing, like bedsheets, toiletries, my headlamp, three changes of clothes, two pairs of shoes, etc, I´m going to have more things than all the members of my host family combined.
There are going to be bugs. It´s going to be dirty. I´ll be doing the same work the family does, so I will be tired. They aren´t going to talk slow like my host mom does. They´ve probably never seen a foreigner before.
I have a feeling the upcoming week is going to be one of the most intense of my life. Stay tuned. I leave tomorrow morning at 7:00 am.
Saturday, September 15, 2007
La Vida
I can't believe it's been almost a week since my last entry. It should probably also be known that I was sick all of Thursday and Friday. My cold morphed into a 100 F fever. Then I woke up this morning a bit dazed but back to normal. Fortunately, it's la semana patria (patriotic week), so we got Friday off. I mostly self medicated with water and an "anti-gripal" drug called Panadol. Right now I'm at the SIT study center, with the hope of completing my paper about above mentioned semana patria--in Spanish--yet that is for some reason a bit daunting at the moment. So I'll talk about my feelings instead. =)
Here's my daily routine. I wake up at around 7:00-ish, probably earlier thanks to a rather enterprising rooster next door. Since the water shuts off at 8:00, I make sure to take a shower soon after I wake up. I'm not sure exactly how the water system works in the house. Edu fills up buckes to the brim every morning so there's ample amounts for the rest of the day. There's even a barrel in the shower, so if I miss the water hours, I could always take a bucket bath. Then I have breakfast, usually rice, beans, and a banana.
At around 8:30, I start walking to the UCA. Usually I go with a few other people from the SIT group, and we take a route known 'round here as the Zig-Zag, preferred for its scenic beauty and lack of pedestrian-unfriendly superhighways. Depending on who I walk with, this can take between 20 and 40 minutes. Taxis are constantly beeping at us--their way of inquiring if we want a lift-- and men regularly shout out piropos, or catcalls, at the women. The best way to deal with this is to ignore it, reactions of any kind just make it worse. But then of course you occasionally ignore someone who genuinely is wishing you a "buen dia." But that's life.
Spanish class goes from 9-12:30, with a break at around 11:00. At this point I usually buy instant coffee from a little convenience store on campus. It costs 3 cordobas, which works out to about 1 penny. Unless you want milk or sugar, then it can get as pricey as 6 cordobas. Class is a lot of discussion which helps widen my vocabulary and improve my grammar. There's three spanish teachers, and every week the three spanish classes rotate. So, the first week I had Myrna, last week was Araceli, and next week Ramon will be my professor. Also, twice a week we have conversation partners. These partners are students at the UCA who are paid to talk with us for an hour. I never really know what to say to my partner, Margarita--I think she sees herself as a teacher more than a peer. So our interchange is a bit unidirectional. She's majoring in "bancofinancia," and is pretty much always busy. I asked her how she was going to celebrate la semana patria, and she seemed surprised at the idea. Still, I'm happy to have someone to practice my spanish on.
After class is out, I have lunch somewhere. A couple very enterprising students in the group have found some great comedors--on thursday we went to a vegetarian eatery, which included some very delicious soy burgers. I don't think I've ever gone to the same place more than twice. And the price is never more than 35 cordobas. That's maybe $1.50. Lunch is usually rice, beans, chopped up cabbage (soaked in vinegar to ensure cleanliness), a banana, and some kind of meat. It sounds more boring in text. You have to imagine plastic square tables and red plastic chairs, the smell of diesel and whatever sugary beverage you managed to order (on thursday, mine tasted exactly like therma-flu). There's always some sensory overload during lunch.
In the afternoons, I have class with Aynn and Guillermo on the CIES campus. This is fairly close to my neighborhood, which is good because the sun begins to set about the time class ends, so it's a safer campus to leave from. Aynn teaches a field study seminar every Monday, and Guillermo leads the Revolution, Transformation, and Civil Society seminar, which has always been lectures and presentations from other people on topics surrounding Nicaraguan politics. Last week has been really interesting. First, Guillermo talked to us about his experiences during the revolution and later fighting the contras. Then a Contra commandante talked to us about his point of view. And on Thursday, we heard from a man who fought the sandinistas, basically because he thought he was true sandinista and the ones in power were too marxst-leninist. There's always a question and answer session as well, and I've managed to ask a question every time. Don't know if they were all that good, but I like that I'm involved.
After that, I go back the the SIT center, which is just a few blocks from my house, to do homework. Electricity was off from 5-10 this week, and next week that will change to 2-7, which makes far more sense in regards to lights sources. SIT has a couple electric lamps, so I use them. Then I go home to the pulperia, have rice and beans for supper, and talk Edu outside of her store for a few hours.
Sometimes, I'll go to a concert or two during the week. I went to a fundraiser for the hurricane on Tuesday, which mostly featured (mostly bad) folk singers. On Thursday I went to a different hurricane fundraiser to see the pop band Perrozonpopos, which reminded me of Jack Johnson. Except there were something like two bass players, a synthesizer, a drum set, and an electric violin as well as a lad back guitar player man.
I think that sums up my life. Any questions?
Here's my daily routine. I wake up at around 7:00-ish, probably earlier thanks to a rather enterprising rooster next door. Since the water shuts off at 8:00, I make sure to take a shower soon after I wake up. I'm not sure exactly how the water system works in the house. Edu fills up buckes to the brim every morning so there's ample amounts for the rest of the day. There's even a barrel in the shower, so if I miss the water hours, I could always take a bucket bath. Then I have breakfast, usually rice, beans, and a banana.
At around 8:30, I start walking to the UCA. Usually I go with a few other people from the SIT group, and we take a route known 'round here as the Zig-Zag, preferred for its scenic beauty and lack of pedestrian-unfriendly superhighways. Depending on who I walk with, this can take between 20 and 40 minutes. Taxis are constantly beeping at us--their way of inquiring if we want a lift-- and men regularly shout out piropos, or catcalls, at the women. The best way to deal with this is to ignore it, reactions of any kind just make it worse. But then of course you occasionally ignore someone who genuinely is wishing you a "buen dia." But that's life.
Spanish class goes from 9-12:30, with a break at around 11:00. At this point I usually buy instant coffee from a little convenience store on campus. It costs 3 cordobas, which works out to about 1 penny. Unless you want milk or sugar, then it can get as pricey as 6 cordobas. Class is a lot of discussion which helps widen my vocabulary and improve my grammar. There's three spanish teachers, and every week the three spanish classes rotate. So, the first week I had Myrna, last week was Araceli, and next week Ramon will be my professor. Also, twice a week we have conversation partners. These partners are students at the UCA who are paid to talk with us for an hour. I never really know what to say to my partner, Margarita--I think she sees herself as a teacher more than a peer. So our interchange is a bit unidirectional. She's majoring in "bancofinancia," and is pretty much always busy. I asked her how she was going to celebrate la semana patria, and she seemed surprised at the idea. Still, I'm happy to have someone to practice my spanish on.
After class is out, I have lunch somewhere. A couple very enterprising students in the group have found some great comedors--on thursday we went to a vegetarian eatery, which included some very delicious soy burgers. I don't think I've ever gone to the same place more than twice. And the price is never more than 35 cordobas. That's maybe $1.50. Lunch is usually rice, beans, chopped up cabbage (soaked in vinegar to ensure cleanliness), a banana, and some kind of meat. It sounds more boring in text. You have to imagine plastic square tables and red plastic chairs, the smell of diesel and whatever sugary beverage you managed to order (on thursday, mine tasted exactly like therma-flu). There's always some sensory overload during lunch.
In the afternoons, I have class with Aynn and Guillermo on the CIES campus. This is fairly close to my neighborhood, which is good because the sun begins to set about the time class ends, so it's a safer campus to leave from. Aynn teaches a field study seminar every Monday, and Guillermo leads the Revolution, Transformation, and Civil Society seminar, which has always been lectures and presentations from other people on topics surrounding Nicaraguan politics. Last week has been really interesting. First, Guillermo talked to us about his experiences during the revolution and later fighting the contras. Then a Contra commandante talked to us about his point of view. And on Thursday, we heard from a man who fought the sandinistas, basically because he thought he was true sandinista and the ones in power were too marxst-leninist. There's always a question and answer session as well, and I've managed to ask a question every time. Don't know if they were all that good, but I like that I'm involved.
After that, I go back the the SIT center, which is just a few blocks from my house, to do homework. Electricity was off from 5-10 this week, and next week that will change to 2-7, which makes far more sense in regards to lights sources. SIT has a couple electric lamps, so I use them. Then I go home to the pulperia, have rice and beans for supper, and talk Edu outside of her store for a few hours.
Sometimes, I'll go to a concert or two during the week. I went to a fundraiser for the hurricane on Tuesday, which mostly featured (mostly bad) folk singers. On Thursday I went to a different hurricane fundraiser to see the pop band Perrozonpopos, which reminded me of Jack Johnson. Except there were something like two bass players, a synthesizer, a drum set, and an electric violin as well as a lad back guitar player man.
I think that sums up my life. Any questions?
Sunday, September 9, 2007
random happenings
So I´ve been trying to learn more about my host mom´s history. This is what I´ve got so far.
Eduviges (Edu for short) grew up in Managua. When she was 12, she went to a pueblo near Matagalpa to teach as part of the Literacy Crusade. I´m fairly certain she was the only one of her family to go. This was a voluntary program started by the Sandinistas shortly after the revolution against the Somoza dictatorship. The Crusade was so successful it won an award of some sort from the UN. And my mom was one of those teachers. When she was 12.
After that, her family began hosting American students when she was 16. At first her dad didn´t want students, as they represented imperialism, even though her mom was for the idea. At the last minute, one student had no place to stay, so after Edu said she was fine with the idea, the student moved in. Her dad didn´t talk to him for three days. Finally, he started making a bit of small talk, and learned the student was a farmer, just like he had been before living in Managua. It was magical after that.
And I have a vague idea of what she did afterwards. She lived somewhere not in Managua, working in a feminist organization to help women support themselves. This involved things like microcredit and sexual health, I belive.
After her parents died, she decided to come back to Managua--she had missed it. She opened her little convenience store and has been here for at least 4 years, in the same house her parents lived in. I think.
I´m beginning to see just how little I´m remembering what people tell me. I always understand my mother, I´m just not taking it in. This is rather frustrating.
This past weekend, I almost went to Omatepe, which is the island in the Nicaragua Lake. It was formed by two volcanoes and looks a bit like an hourglass. I was up at 4:30 in the morning, waiting for the rest of us who wanted to go, and as the minutes went by, it felt more and more like a bad idea. The group was fairly big, about 7 people, which usually makes for a frustrating time when it comes to decision making or hotel-room-renting. I had no idea what the plan was , and to make things worse, Ally´s host mom, who had decided to accompany us to the waiting place for some reason, said there weren´t taxis this early. So we had no way to get us to the bus stop. And we didn´t really know when the bus left anyway. So, I got the heebie jeebies and went back home.
I still don´t know what to think about that. Lately, whenever I go ahead and do something because I´m afraid I´ll regret it, I end up regretting that very decision. So on the one hand, I wish I had gone. On the other, I´m also sure I would not have enjoyed myself while there. Is that a self fulfilling prophecy? In this case I doubt it. There were too many factors that had been freaking me out. Still, it was a tough decision. But we have a three day weekend coming up, and I´m sure I can plan something out for that.
I´ve been thinking over my independent study project however, and I would like to work with coffee farmers. I know there´s a female cooperative somewhere, and I´d enjoy living there and researching the dynamics of the organization. But I´ll need to talk to Aynn, the academic director, for additional direction.
In other news, my spanish still sucks. Writing in english right now probably isn´t helping. But I´ll be at the UCA (the university) an hour early for additional time with my teacher, and I´ve got another wonderfully long week of spanish ahead of me. Wish me luck.
Eduviges (Edu for short) grew up in Managua. When she was 12, she went to a pueblo near Matagalpa to teach as part of the Literacy Crusade. I´m fairly certain she was the only one of her family to go. This was a voluntary program started by the Sandinistas shortly after the revolution against the Somoza dictatorship. The Crusade was so successful it won an award of some sort from the UN. And my mom was one of those teachers. When she was 12.
After that, her family began hosting American students when she was 16. At first her dad didn´t want students, as they represented imperialism, even though her mom was for the idea. At the last minute, one student had no place to stay, so after Edu said she was fine with the idea, the student moved in. Her dad didn´t talk to him for three days. Finally, he started making a bit of small talk, and learned the student was a farmer, just like he had been before living in Managua. It was magical after that.
And I have a vague idea of what she did afterwards. She lived somewhere not in Managua, working in a feminist organization to help women support themselves. This involved things like microcredit and sexual health, I belive.
After her parents died, she decided to come back to Managua--she had missed it. She opened her little convenience store and has been here for at least 4 years, in the same house her parents lived in. I think.
I´m beginning to see just how little I´m remembering what people tell me. I always understand my mother, I´m just not taking it in. This is rather frustrating.
This past weekend, I almost went to Omatepe, which is the island in the Nicaragua Lake. It was formed by two volcanoes and looks a bit like an hourglass. I was up at 4:30 in the morning, waiting for the rest of us who wanted to go, and as the minutes went by, it felt more and more like a bad idea. The group was fairly big, about 7 people, which usually makes for a frustrating time when it comes to decision making or hotel-room-renting. I had no idea what the plan was , and to make things worse, Ally´s host mom, who had decided to accompany us to the waiting place for some reason, said there weren´t taxis this early. So we had no way to get us to the bus stop. And we didn´t really know when the bus left anyway. So, I got the heebie jeebies and went back home.
I still don´t know what to think about that. Lately, whenever I go ahead and do something because I´m afraid I´ll regret it, I end up regretting that very decision. So on the one hand, I wish I had gone. On the other, I´m also sure I would not have enjoyed myself while there. Is that a self fulfilling prophecy? In this case I doubt it. There were too many factors that had been freaking me out. Still, it was a tough decision. But we have a three day weekend coming up, and I´m sure I can plan something out for that.
I´ve been thinking over my independent study project however, and I would like to work with coffee farmers. I know there´s a female cooperative somewhere, and I´d enjoy living there and researching the dynamics of the organization. But I´ll need to talk to Aynn, the academic director, for additional direction.
In other news, my spanish still sucks. Writing in english right now probably isn´t helping. But I´ll be at the UCA (the university) an hour early for additional time with my teacher, and I´ve got another wonderfully long week of spanish ahead of me. Wish me luck.
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
Orientation Complete
So, I have finished my first 7 days or so in Nicaragua. I am orientated. I am trying to write in English with a keyboard configured for Spanish. I have no idea where to find apostrophes. It is a bit odd, and makes for choppy writing.
Anywho, I have a host mom, Eduviges, who owns a small convenience store (pulperia) attached to her house. I have two host siblings. Heyling, female, 10 years old, and Edubar, male, 7 years old. Edubar is ridiculously shy, but Heyling likes to talk to me and help me out when I start fumbling my Spanish. It is a pretty quite house compared to other people in the group, but I like it. Also, my host mom talks nice and slow, taking care to use words I understand. This is not the case in my Spanish class and my seminar.
The seminar is going to be pretty frustrating for a while. I am in level 1 Spanish, which is the lowest tier. So while I know I will be a lot better by the end of the semester, I am really struggling at the moment. This is rather unpleasant. Hopefully, this helps how I interact with foreign exchange students in the future. I wonder if I can turn this into a Writing Center presentation?
Managua. There probably will not be many pictures of this city, since I do not want my camera stolen. Maybe pictures of my neighborhood, Maximo Jerez, will happen. But here is a description. (I do not know where the colon key is either. I am surprised how much a simple apostrophe helped my flow. Or it was a cheat. No, definetly keeps a paper suave (smooth).)
The houses consist of a solid concrete wall bordering the sidewalks. You know when one house ends and another begins thanks to the different paint colors. Everything is on one floor, as far as I know. This is probably mostly a low income thing, but could also be from the 1972 earthquake. Most people have front porches that double as garages occasionally, with several rocking chairs behind a solid metal gate that stretches from the floor to the ceiling. My host moms pulperia has something similar to a metal garage door to keep it secure. The colonia (neighborhood) has a little park in the center, with multicolored swings, monkey bars, and slides. It also has a basketball park, where I hear teenagers gather for games. Due to all this concern for safety, it is hard to convince myself to explore the area. No doubt there are cute little andens (pedestrian streets) yet to be explored, with imaginative color combinations on the houses and adorable children playing in the streets.
Food is always an adventure. Lunch is the biggest meal of the day, and for around $2, one can get quite a spread. The fare is carb heavy, what with the rice and tortillas, which can lead to a mid afternoon crash if one does not look out. Fortunately, coffee is offered at around this time for my afternoon class, so I have no problems.
I will try to remember some of my funnier bilingual moments in the future. For now, take care not to mistake infierno for fuego. Infierno is an adjective pertaining to hell, which is not quite accurate when trying to talk about firemen in my Spanish class.
Anywho, I have a host mom, Eduviges, who owns a small convenience store (pulperia) attached to her house. I have two host siblings. Heyling, female, 10 years old, and Edubar, male, 7 years old. Edubar is ridiculously shy, but Heyling likes to talk to me and help me out when I start fumbling my Spanish. It is a pretty quite house compared to other people in the group, but I like it. Also, my host mom talks nice and slow, taking care to use words I understand. This is not the case in my Spanish class and my seminar.
The seminar is going to be pretty frustrating for a while. I am in level 1 Spanish, which is the lowest tier. So while I know I will be a lot better by the end of the semester, I am really struggling at the moment. This is rather unpleasant. Hopefully, this helps how I interact with foreign exchange students in the future. I wonder if I can turn this into a Writing Center presentation?
Managua. There probably will not be many pictures of this city, since I do not want my camera stolen. Maybe pictures of my neighborhood, Maximo Jerez, will happen. But here is a description. (I do not know where the colon key is either. I am surprised how much a simple apostrophe helped my flow. Or it was a cheat. No, definetly keeps a paper suave (smooth).)
The houses consist of a solid concrete wall bordering the sidewalks. You know when one house ends and another begins thanks to the different paint colors. Everything is on one floor, as far as I know. This is probably mostly a low income thing, but could also be from the 1972 earthquake. Most people have front porches that double as garages occasionally, with several rocking chairs behind a solid metal gate that stretches from the floor to the ceiling. My host moms pulperia has something similar to a metal garage door to keep it secure. The colonia (neighborhood) has a little park in the center, with multicolored swings, monkey bars, and slides. It also has a basketball park, where I hear teenagers gather for games. Due to all this concern for safety, it is hard to convince myself to explore the area. No doubt there are cute little andens (pedestrian streets) yet to be explored, with imaginative color combinations on the houses and adorable children playing in the streets.
Food is always an adventure. Lunch is the biggest meal of the day, and for around $2, one can get quite a spread. The fare is carb heavy, what with the rice and tortillas, which can lead to a mid afternoon crash if one does not look out. Fortunately, coffee is offered at around this time for my afternoon class, so I have no problems.
I will try to remember some of my funnier bilingual moments in the future. For now, take care not to mistake infierno for fuego. Infierno is an adjective pertaining to hell, which is not quite accurate when trying to talk about firemen in my Spanish class.
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