To the Campo we Go

On Wednesday we headed to the campo for our first home stay experience in Nicaragua. Campo for lack of a better word means the countryside. We took what some refer to as chicken bus about 1.5 hours outside the city. Along the way it started to rain which all the Nicaraguans told us was very strange for this time of year. Once we arrived in the town of Masatepe we hired a small mototaxi to take us to Arenal where we met our hosts. The four new volunteers were split up between different towns in the area. We took a twenty minute pickup ride down a bumpy country road littered with trash and volcanic stones from the nearby Volcán Masaya. When I arrived at the house my hosts treated me to a great meal of beans, rice, fried cheese, and Coca-Cola. Even in the campo cold Coca-Cola is readily accessible. I recently learned that one of the second-years, about to leave, had 7 cavities filled recently, thanks to a heavily sugared Nicaraguan diet no doubt. Life in the campo is very laid back, or tranquilo. We spend most of our time hanging out, chatting, exchanging words in English and Spanish. On Thursday we went to visit my host father at his work. He works on a small plantation or farm owned by a local woman. We were graciously brought into her home and given lunch right there on the spot. She didn’t even know we were coming. It was yet another example of incredible Nicaraguan hospitality.

My host father showed me all around the farm which spanned an area that felt like miles of hillside covered with bananas, coconut, pineapple, coffee, beans, ayote, plantains, and many more things which I can’t remember the names of now. My relationship with my host father was very interesting because I couldn’t tell if he really liked me. We had a couple conversations while I was at his house and they all seemed to involve him being angry about something. I say seam because I never could understand everything he said. When I couldn’t understand something he simply repeated the same thing only much louder as if yelling would increase my comprehension. In fact, it just made me nervous. The most memorable conversation consisted of him telling me about how hard he worked just to put food on the table. Then he went on to ask if my parents worked, and if I was appreciative of what they have given me (Mom, Dad, I am.). He talked about how the rich didn’t have to work hard, but that he worked hard for the very little he had. I figured out eventually that he wasn’t talking about me, but was simply sharing a piece of his story and what he has struggled with. Although the conversations were painfully awkward I am very appreciative for the time I spent with my host family. It turned out that he actually likes me a lot. He told me I could come back whenever I wished and even offered me some money to get a drink for the ride home. I cordially declined him hard earned money, but his generosity was jarring. My time in the campo was a great respite from the grind and heat of the city, and I learned a lot about Nicaraguan culture and life outside the city.

Please enjoy some pictures and video from the past few days!

A real experience of culture shock was riding in this mototaxi listening to Apple Bottom Jeans. haha

Me and the owner of the plantation. No one hear seams to ever smile in photos. awkward...

Picking coffee! This one goes out to yall at the Main Cup in Milford Ohio.

The Second Years leave their mark on the wall of fame in our front room. Your spirits will live on in the house forever!