El Campo

Last weekend I took a trip with my host family out to a very rural area outside of Tipitapa (which, by the way, is a very fun name to pronounce). The purpose of the trip was to visit the sister of one of my “brother-in-law” and take supplies and gifts to the inhabitants. We left on Saturday morning and drove for three hours, passing cities, then towns, and then isolated farms. The roads turned from asphalt to dirt to rock to…I kid you not…water. As we drove through a shallow section of a small river and I watched the water rise around us, I had my doubts that our mini-bus would make it. The rocks also posed a challenge, and we got temporarily stuck or bottomed out several times. The further we traveled into the countryside, the more visible the poverty of the inhabitants became. In the cities and towns, the majority of the houses were cement or adobe, with corrugated steel roofs. In the countryside, the lack of access to everything became obvious. Houses made of sticks or wooden slats. Structures that could hardly qualify as shelters, constructed of a few poles and plastic bags or tarps tied on.

Our destination was one of the nicest homes in the area, and it was still a shocking contrast to the paradise that I’ve been fortunate enough to inhabit since moving here. The woman we were visiting lives in a two room structure made of wooden slats that do not create a solid wall. The floor is dirt, and there are no doors. In the last year, she has managed to add electricity through the purchase of a solar panel. This is a big step up from her neighbors, who must operate within the hours of daylight or use small flashlights intermittently (so as to save battery life).There is no running water – water must be drawn from a well. The bathroom is a small relatively open latrine, and there is another separate and open structure that provides just enough privacy to take a bucket shower.

This place was REALLY cut off. There is no health center. There is no school (right now, the church – a recent addition through international aid – serves as a classroom for all the children that manage to attend. Some have to walk several hours in the dark just to get there on time, and during the rainy season the roads become too treacherous for small bodies to traverse. Additionally, many children have work to do that prevents them from attending regularly if at all. And there are the frequent bouts of gastrointestinal issues brought on by parasites and bacteria). A bus only comes three times a week to carry inhabitants from one “convenient” location to the largest town nearby. It only makes one trip on the days that it operates, so one must plan to leave in time to get to the stop by 7 AM, and must have finished with all business in town by noon. There are no stores any closer where one can buy basic supplies, and people don’t have the money for them anyway.

We had brought used clothing and shoes; plastic cups, bowls, and plates; buckets; candy for the kids; and bags of oranges, mandarins, rice, beans, and bread. All of these items that we take for granted were received with joy and gratitude. And in return, they shared with us what they had to offer – incredible generosity from those who, in comparison, had so little to give. Bottles of fresh honey from the bee-keepers. Watermelons and peppers from the farmers. Eggs and chickens. Fresh milk candy and vegetable soup made at dawn. I was told that the community is always this way – they share what they have so that they may all survive. They give and take freely, and care for neighbors as though they were extended family. To me, this life seems almost unbearably hard, and yet the people I met do not seem to feel that way. Life is simply…life. It is what it is, and they are determined to make the best of it. I should also mention that, in the 24 hours that I spent there, I did not shower. I had forgotten most of my supplies and furthermore had not considered it to be worth the time and effort given the short duration of the trip. I was BY FAR the most disgusting person there. It doesn’t matter how poor someone is here, and how little one might have. Appearance is paramount. Great pride is taken in staying clean and presentable. I felt like a complete slob.

I spent most of my time sitting with various visitors and inhabitants, listening to the conversation and taking in the life and land. For me, the weekend was an incredible experience and I’m grateful to my host family for allowing me to accompany them; I learned a little more about the country that will be my home for the next two years, and the people I will be serving once I am a full-fledged volunteer (that is, if I manage to pass my language proficiency exam…).

Sorry for the delay. I’ve been rather busy.

Now that I’m starting my third week of training, I’m feeling that this blog thing is overdue. Better late than never though, right?

It’s hard to believe that a little less than a month ago, I was scrambling to collect my belongings and make last minute purchases in preparation for my big move. Packing was something of a disaster, as I didn’t buy luggage until the last minute, and realized too late that the bag I’d purchased was far too big to be useful. Sure, it fit all of my belongings. Sure, it was durable and a good price. It was even a nice, dirt-hiding color. The main problem was that, fully loaded, I couldn’t lift it. Oops. Lesson for all: people with no upper body strength should not attempt to use duffle bags big enough to fit (albeit uncomfortably) their own bodies inside of. I ended up stealing a small duffle from my father, and packing a second small duffle and even smaller backpack. In all, I checked only 35 lbs – way under my 80 lbs limit – simply because I couldn’t pack anything else. After seeing what others in my group had packed, I was quite concerned that I would be ill-prepared, but for the most part I seem to have all that I need (even if, in the end, I couldn’t bring all that I wanted).

The quick trip back to DC for pre-trip orientation proved to be bitter-sweet. A whirlwind visit filled with as many of the friends and food I’d come to love over the past three years as I could fit in a 24 hour period. Orientation was dizzying in the amount of information that was squeezed in, and then it was off to the airport for a relatively short flight. As we touched down in Managua on the evening of January 11th, it first hit me that I was really doing this. Moving farther from home than I’d ever gone. Leaving friends and family behind. Giving up my life, my identity, my sense of stability and comfort, and trading it for something far more exciting and frightening. But nothing fully set in at that point. I was too tired, too psyched out after months and months of suspense, and too busy. We were more or less sequestered in a conference center for the first few days as we slogged through introductions, information sessions, interviews, and language sessions, only leaving at night to return to our equally isolated hotel. Then, there was a sudden shift as we were divided up and dropped off at what would be our homes during our next three months of training. One big group of people that had begun to bond after three and a half days of close contact suddenly became six small groups. Hotels were exchanged for homes, and off we went into the open arms of our host families, and into a world of unfamiliar foods, customs, and history. A world filled with foreign language. For me, it was overwhelming.

The first week was exhausting. I’ve been out of class for over three years, and adjusting my life to meet the constant demands of a student’s existence was tough. Homework? Seriously? I’ve just endured seven or eight hours of class. I should be done! Class on Saturdays? You have to be kidding me! Reading, speaking, and listening to Spanish all day, every day – my brain was reaching the point of meltdown just trying to keep up. And then there was the unfamiliar family I was now sharing a home with. Unfamiliar space, unfamiliar habits, unfamiliar food, and unfamiliar ways of operating.

But I AM adjusting. While classes can still be tiring, they no longer leave me longing for 8 hour (or even 10 hour) work days. The larger cities that we visit on a weekly basis no longer leave me dizzy, and I suspect I’ll one day manage to navigate them (and the transportation system) without assistance. I find myself understanding more of what is being said to me, and having a slightly better chance of being able to adequately express my thoughts. And I am lucky. My host family is fantastic. They are helpful and patient, and treat me with kindness and respect. My host mom is a great cook, as is my host sister. My home is comfortable and peaceful – a haven – as is my host town. My fellow “aspirantes” are fun. Most days, I am quite content. Happy. I still have doubts about my ability to fully learn the language, and to effectively do what I have set out to do here, but these doubts are surfacing less frequently.

So that’s where I’m at. Three weeks in, with many, many more to go.

While I’d like to say that I’ll be better about updating this blog in the future, I don’t want to make any promises I can’t keep. But I’ll try. Be patient with me. I’m on Nica time now.