Being Different

This post is primarily in response to Monica's question posted in July about being a minority in Nicaragua.
It's an interesting question because I experience different things because of my white skin. Most people seeing me for the first time assume I am a tourist or working for an NGO. I am often called "Gringo" or "Chele" in the street. The term Gringo only refers to people from the US and it's funny because there are many white people here who are not from the US but are called Gringos regardless. Also, there are many lightskinned Nicaraguans who are called Chele as well. It just means white. It's very common here to refer to a stranger by their skin tone: negro (dark or black), moreno (tan or mestizo), and chele (white). There is a common perception, and not unfounded, that white people have money. This creates certain security concerns. I personally have not had any problems. Sometimes I completely forget that I stand out so much. I take the same bus everyday so I see many of the same people along the way. I don't stand out so much. I carry a very common bootleg Jansport backpack that is ripping and dirty and mind my own business. A couple times cobradores (fair collectors) have tried to rip me off on the bus. They try to take advantage by assuming I don't know the bus fare, thus overcharging me. I always check the price beforehand and know better than to be taken advantage of.
More than discrimination I experience white privilege. At work I'm not a normal teacher. I can take off when I need to. I live simply on my $40 per month stipend, but I also have a bank account and a family in the United States. I don't think I actively exercise my privilege, but it's a reality of life here. People just assume I have tons of money, regardless whether they want to steal it or sell me something. The level of discrimination I experience here is absolutely nothing in comparison to that experienced by minorities in the US. I even hesitate calling what I experience here discrimination. But I certainly am different.

Un Dia en la Vida

Last night for Spirituality Night we spent some time writing our stories from the day. I thought I´d take the time to share it with you--un dia en la vida.

I woke up this morning at 6:40am. I layed in bed for four minutes thinking about how I really did not want to get up. I finally got up and went to the bathroom. Breakfast was disappointing--oatmeal again. I miss eggs. We ran out on Monday and we haven´t had peanut butter in months. I took the 120 ruta to Casa Ben Lindner. I got the first bus that pulled up. Usually I end up waiting because they are too full and sometimes do not even stop. I arrived early so I pulled out Heart of Darkness and read for awhile. Two cooperatives came to share what they do. Some cultivate land while others run a sewing shop. No one I knew well was at Ben Lindner so I bounced out of there as soon as it was finished. I went straight to work via the 110 and then the 210. I got to work around 11am and was immediately sent to sub for a sixth grade class. I went in with lots of energy and a cool activity in mind. They were not having it. The teacher left no work for them so they were running around and thowing balls of paper everywhere. I then laid down the law, took a couple kids outside to chat, and put things back in order--momentarlily at least. I do not like being a hardass but sometimes it is necessary.

After class I was standing around chatting with some older high school students when I saw a hoard of kids rushing away and circling two kids fighting and rolling around on the ground. I rushed over pushing kids out of the way and grabbed one of the boys under his arms and lifted him clear off the other. He was kicking and screaming, calling the other boy a piece of mierda. I told him to calm down and take a deep breathe. My heart was racing with exhilaration. It felt like a scene from Dangerous Minds.

After I took a minute to calm down I practiced guitar with Fabiola, a senior, and a great student. I am teaching her the song I´m Yours by Jason Mraz and she in return is teaching me some Nicaraguan folk music. I ate rice, beans, and a little speghetti for lunch. I drank some Big Roja pop. Only one kid showed up for English tutoring. He wanted to practice reading English and the only book I had on me was Heart of Darkness. So, he slowly read through a couple paragraphs and we called it quits. I give him credit; it´s not the easiest read.

I came home an hour early. I stared out the window the entire way home. I was bored. When I got home Megan and I went to Papy´s for beer and converastion. I took a cold shower. I layed in the hammock with Jenna. We ate dinner--rice, beans, beets, and bread. I dried the dishes. We had spirituality night and then I went to bed at 9pm. That´s pretty much it. A day in the life.

Turning 24

Not that this was my first birthday away from home, but I was expecting it to be strange or an emotionally nostalgic time. In fact, it was one the best birthdays on the books. My community woke me up to singing Las Mañanitas and Michael made me breakfast. School was so much fun. Kids sang to me and wished me felicidades. In the afternoon I went to the movies with some coworkers. They bought me fried chicken and we saw The Hunting Party. In the evening we sat on our patio eating pizza from the neighborhood, sipped some cold beer, and got to talk to folks back home. Perfect. On Friday we had a bunch of friends over from work and other places. This happened to correspond to a great annual festival that is held just a block from our house. The festival is called Santo Domingo, and Friday night was the Palo Lucio. Imagine a huge telephone pole lubed up with pig fat and young men standing on each other trying to reach the top. We only saw them get about three people high, but even that was impressive considering how much guaro they had likely drunk, not to mention the tweeked out glue sniffing kids who were not helping the endevour. Apparently there is a great prize for however reaches the top. Buena suerte... It was an exciting and fun way to continue celebrating my birthday. For the record, despite insistent baggering, Michael nor I climbed the pole. Maybe next year.