"Vista del Camino" - Spanish for "view of the road" or "view from the road." This blog will hopefully be both a vantage point for the reader to see a piece of the road I am walking and also a perspective from where I stand on my journey.
Oh sweet September, where did you go? The days keep slipping through my fingers. I'm sorry it has taken awhile to get this updated. I have to admit that with my waning days in Nicaragua this blog has taken a backseat. It's certainly not for a lack of eventful days, visitors, and great stories. It is harder though to sit still long enough to reflect on my days and put down something on a word processor. Oh, that's the other factor, my laptop has finally succombed to the brutal Nica JV lifestyle. Adios amigo.
So, here's where I'll start...
At the beginning of September a long anticipated visitor arrived, Allison! Her visit was everything I had hoped for and so much more! We spent the first couple days around Manangua, Ciudad Sandino, and even went to Granada for an afternoon. She accompanied me in class and my students took to her right away. A group of second graders especially fell in love with her and just today, a month later, asked me when she was coming back. (Sorry, Chavalos, she's not coming back anytime soon.) After a few days of teaching and meeting coworkers we went on a double date with Yamil and his girlfriend. We ate and drank our fair share of Salvadoran pupusas and Victoria. On Wednesday we headed north to Matagalpa for one night and then over to Estelí. I just had to show her one of my favorite places in the whole wide world: La Garnacha. But, what's travelling in Central America without a couple unexpected turns. When we arrived to La Garnacha we realized there were no rooms at the inn! We ended up staying in the very humble home of the Italian parish priest who wasn't in. Despite the noctural guests that scurried over the rafters we enjoyed ourselves and enjoyed our cabin the following day much more! Here are some photos from our time together:
Allison with her new second grade friends
Me and Yubelkis
Just one example of Nicaragua's Beauty and Allison's photo skills
Don Humberto, a resident Nicaraguan scultor showed us around his property full of rock scultures and inspired us with his words, "Lo Soñé y tenia que hacerlo," or I dreamed it so I had to do it. Right on.
In other news we have all been doing pretty well. We celebrated national holidays on the 14th and 15th of September. Those were som much appreciated days off work. On the 14th we had a big fundraiser at school that involved making a ton of food. The day before I went with some coworkers to Mercado Oriental, the biggest outdoor market in Central America. It was a crazy experience. I have only been there a couple of times and quite honestly it is always an overwhelming experience. It is just so big. At one point I was carrying close to 100 pounds of yucca on my back. I almost got lost because I couldn't see where I was going. Luckily I was able to put it down to get my bearings. Unfortunately I couldn't get it back up on my shoulder. I must have looked pretty desperate because some guy came over and heaved onto my back. I thought I was a gonner.
As my days continue to countdown I hope to have some more reflections coming your way. I also imagine that in the months following my return I will be able to have some space to sit, reflect, and write about my experience.
So, if you are a long time reader of this blog you may remember back last year when Michael, Sean, Joe, and I scaled the volcano Telica. It was a long hike, but pretty straight forward-about four hours up, and two back down again. The trick to the hike is knowing the trail. The last time we went, Michael told me about the numerous failed attempts former JVs had made, including himself. That said, we made it up without a glitch. We just had to make it to the mango tree in a big field and turn right there.
Well, a couple weeks ago Sean, Thomas, Yamil, and I got the great idea to go back and do it again. We knew the trail would be much different now that it was rainy season. We thought we would remember the trail when we came to it. Oh were we wrong. In all honesty there is no real "trail" like we know in the states. There are no white blazes as seen on the Appalachian Trail. You basically have to get off the bus toward the town of Malpaisillo, at the Quimera stop, walk down under a bridge into a riverbed and follow that until you reach an unmarked campesino trail. One farmer riding bareback on a little horse told us we were going the wrong way, that we should go down to the end of the trail, turn left at the corn, walk straight to the "L" then at the stone wall turn right and just keep walking to the top. It sounded easy enough. But we walked all day and never once saw that godforsaken mango tree. We got lost, turned around, and upside down. We were never in danger because I had a GPS and we knew where to find the highway. The trick was negotiating miles of barb wired farmland that lay between the road and the volcano. According to the GPS, at the end of the day, we had walked about 13 miles and gained a mere 500ft. in elevation. That's nothing. When we finally stopped to turn back to the bus the summit was miles away and shrouded in a low lying rain cloud. It was disappointing, but we still had a great time singing rugby songs translated into Spanish, telling stories about past hiking trips, and chatting it up with local farmers along the way. The farmers were all very sympathetic, admitting to us that it was a hard trail to get up and easy to get lost. They offered to guide us if we wanted to go again sometime. Hopefully there will be a next time! Only four months left until my journey north!
Yamil shaking his head at how damn lost we got.
Thomas and Sean looking tired after deciding to turn back around three o'clock.
Thomas freaked out when he saw this snake on the trail. Luckily it was busy devouring a brightly colored lizard.
We followed these cattle most of the way back to the highway.
Wednesday morning was one of those Wednesday mornings I wish I had stayed in bed for. Sometimes they are nice relaxing mornings for reading, talking with students, planning classes, etc. This morning was different. I was asked by my boss to substitute in a second grade class until their teacher returned from a medical appointment. I took a deep breathe and accepted the challenge. For the past year and a half this group has notoriously given me the most trouble, the biggest headaches, and the highest blood pressure. Needless to say, I was not excited about what was to come. I was given no plans for class so I went to the other second grade teacher to ask her the what to do. She said, "llévelos a educacion física." Great, I thought, take them outside, wear 'em down, and then put them to sleep until their teacher gets back. Well, after an hour of litterally running around chasing a dirty flat soccer ball the kids came back into the classroom covered in sweat and dirt. They actually sat and worked on some Spanish work for about fifteen minutes until a wave of dissent slowly swept over the group of 40 seven-year-olds. I could feel my stress levels slowly rising as I witnessed the ungluing of order in the little classroom. One student, Gary Sheffield (Yes, the same name as the MLB ball player. Yes, I had to look that up.), went Ringo Starr in the corner of the room on a couple of buckets with whiteboard markers. Then one boy roundhoused another in the head and they started to punch each other in the face. I about lost it. Aftering telling Gary to sit down so many times I almost went hoarse, I changed tactics. I said, "Gary, come here, I want to talk with you." We had the following chat (in Spanish originally):
Me: Gary, how are you? Gary Sheffield: Well. Me: Did you eat breakfast? GS: No. Me: Nothing? GS: Nothing. Me: Where do you live? GS: Over there. Me: Do you live with your mom? GS: No, she lives in Costa Rica. Me: With your dad? GS: No, he lives in Costa Rica. Me: Who do you live with? GS: With my grandma and aunt. Me: Do you get to play much at home? GS: No, they don't let me play in the street. Me: Do you want to bring your desk over so you can work with me? GS: Yes.
That's where the conversation ended. I thought I had him. I thought I had used my training in popular education to win some trust, to get into his shoes a little bit, to treat him like an adult instead of yelling at him. That's what we preach at Fe y Alegría. But, I lost him. He went back to his corner to kick out some more jams on his makeshift drumset. Damn. Their teacher finally arrived around 9am. I had only spent 2 hours with them, but I was spent. I walked to the snack bar to treat myself to a much deserved liquid refreshment. As I turned from the bar, with my cold 7up in hand, I heard the song Another Day in Paradise by Phil Collins playing from the boombox behind the bar. I laughed outloud--paradise. If that's not enough, later that same day, I had what some would call an existential coincidence (as seen in the movie I ♥ Huckabees). A senior approached me with her English homework. In surprisingly good English she asked me, "Can you proofread this song for me?" She handed me her notebook where the lyrics to Another Day in Paradise were perfectly written. With wide eyes I proofread the song and walked away shaking my head. I could hear my mom's words in my head, quoting one of her favorite movies, "signs, but you don't believe in signs." Call it a sign or an existential coincidence; it was strange. It got me thinking about Gary and my other students. They deal with stuff I can't even imagine: malnourishment, broken families from abuse, divorce, and migration, lack of infrastructure and resources. In sociology and political science classes we talked and debated about things like malnourishment and infrastructure. It was all too abstract. Here those topics become all too real. Too real to even see on a daily basis. On Wednesday morning all I needed was a sign, a moment of grace, to reveal the poverty and stuggle that is always hidden in plain sight. Sometimes all it takes is a little Phil Collins to put things in perspective.
And now for your viewing and listening pleasure, I present to you, Phil Collins.
Last week I had the great pleasure of welcoming my cousin to Nicaragua. We were able to travel for a couple days up in northern Nicaragua, near the Honduran border. We went to the Cañon de Somoto and to the city of Esteli. It was a quick trip but such a blast. I loved the canyon. The guide we were with kept saying the water was too high to really get into it, but I just kept thinking to myself, "this water is nothing compared to the New or Gauley." If only I had my kayak, then I could really get in there. Apparently the water goes right up to the slick canyon walls and when the water is up, like it was, there are some gnarly waves. Even in the little bit we floated down there were some strong eddy lines and strange currents that pushed us all around. I loved it.
Well, I remember this time last year and how fast the year flew from this point on. Everything seems to accelerate after July vacations. The second semester just began on Monday and I'm already estactic to hear that we have next Monday and Tuesday off because of a national holiday. My relationship with work is hard. (This might be the story of my life) It is tiring and sometimes really frustrating. However, there are some days when I absolutely love being at school. I love the kids, the smiles, the hugs, even the silly and ridiculous ancedotes they tell me throughout the day. One first grader, Yubelkis, always bursts into a heart crushing smile whenever we make eye contact. Little kids are always stopping me in the halls or at recess to tell me all sorts of interesting things: "My aunt lives in Miami, do you know her?" "my papá has a motorcyle!" or "Look at the ten córdobas (50 cents) I have!" It doesn't matter how mundane the story appears; I feel honored they've shared it with me. On the surface these stories seem simple or sweet but under the surface they are much more. They tell the story of a child who misses her aunt, of a boy proud of his father who drives him to school every morning on his way to work at a maquila, or a girl who is excited to buy a snack at recess because she only ate a tortilla for breakfast. Children's stories are often filled with much more depth, wisdom, and vulnerability than I realize. I will miss these kids. When I think about leaving right now that's what I think about most. Sure, there are the superficial things I dream about: what will be the first microbrew I'll drink? or how soon can I get my kayak in the water? or Really how cold is December in Cincinnati? At the end of the day I know I will miss my students. Notice I say students, not the work. You can take the work and shove it, but the kids they stay.
On a different note I hope you like the changes to the blog. I thought it could use a little freshening up.
Check out this photos from out latest retreat at Poneloya beach
This is the photo we sent to the new volunteers. It's tradition that they don't see our faces before arriving at the airport in early December. So, if you're a new volunteer look no further!
We buried Andrea up to her neck and asked some fishermen to take our picture
The following was written on Wednesday May 27th 2010.
I was sitting in the teacher’s lounge this afternoon planning for my Technical English class which was a mere ten minutes away. My boss, Mario, came into the room and told me I would not be giving class today. Instead, I would be accompanying a group of fifty 10th graders to the house of their teacher and my coworker, Elizabeth, whose brother tragically died this week in a car accident. Mario also told me that instead of moving my missed class to next week I would have both of my classes on Friday morning, my free day. Great, I thought, not only am I responsible for fifty 16 year olds on an impromptu field trip through the streets of Ciudad Sandino but I also just wasted an hour planning for a class that I won’t have to give. The following hour put my minor inconveniences and complaints in perspective.
For three days it has been raining off and on. All day it has been drizzling and the dirt streets of Ciudad Sandino are like a swamp. It reminded me of stream-walking with my dad and brother as a child. As we walked through the misty streets it was hard not to feel the ominous presence of death at the end of the road. When we arrived at Elizabeth’s house the door was closed. Someone knocked and the door opened slowly. The kids stood around the door in utter silence and respect for their profe. The rain continued to fall as we listened to her story. I stood in the back of the group. I couldn’t make out much of what she was saying. I started to look around, taking in the surroundings of this typical Ciudad Sandino street. Across the street an old grey haired man sat on the ground in soiled clothes talking drunken nonsense to himself. Another man walked down our side of the street and yelled to the old drunk man, ¿Dónde venden guaro? (Where do they sell booze?) The old man just pointed a gnarled finger down the street. The man nodded and zealously walked toward his next fix. Just then two rough looking guys in their mid-twenties came riding by on an old bicycle. One was wielding a machete and kept making comments about the students and their gringo teacher. I looked away and realized how uncomfortable I felt. The drizzle turned to a steady rain. Elizabeth invited everyone into her small and humble living room. There wasn’t enough room for everyone so I stood in the doorway, one foot in one foot out. All I could hear was the rain on the tin roof mixed with the sound of sniffles and kids praying for Elizabeth and her family.
I never know what to say in situations like this. All I managed to squeeze out was, “Realmente lo siento.” (I’m really sorry) It was such a sad and sobering experience. I cannot imagine losing my little brother. As I stood at Elizabeth’s house I started thinking about how sad it would be to lose someone not only to an accident, but to something like alcoholism or gang violence. They seem like much slower but perhaps more painful forms of death. Amidst the moribund imagines that surrounded us this afternoon I was encouraged and empowered by the spirit of community brought by my students. In my experience as a North American, death is a personal experience to be felt and dealt with in privacy. I truly believe that death, in any form, should be confronted by community. Whether it is like my students coming to visit, pray with, and hug their teacher, or like the many community initiatives I see working all over Ciudad Sandino to confront domestic abuse, substance abuse, and gang violence. Community is so powerful because it can provide the support to grieve and mourn, which ultimately can lead to transformation. This reminds me of the apostles gathered together after the death of Jesus. They gathered to mourn the death of their great friend. In the end they were filled with the Spirit and emboldened to go forth, live the gospel, and denounce the injustice of what had happened to their friend Jesus of Nazareth. In community they were filled with the hope of the resurrection and were transformed. In my experience, personal and communal transformation unfolds when suffering is met with prayer and intentional accompaniment of those who suffer.
Although I initially wasn’t thrilled to accompany my students today I have come again to realize it is they who continually teach me.
So, the winter has started here in Nicaragua. There is no snow nor warm apple cider...just rain - a lot of it. Almost every night this week it has rained profusely. It started pouring last and did not stop until this morning. The air and earth are saturated with moisture.
May is the month of Mothers. So, Happy Mother's Month. Monther's Day is actually celebrated this coming Sunday here in Nica. A little known fact about Mother's Day here is that is was started by the dictator Somoza in honor of his mother. Oddly enough it has struck throughout the years, even the revolutionary 80s.
A new responsability I have taken on at school is co-facilitating the student newspaper. In reality I do very little. The students really do the work and are really animated to get it done. They have also started a blog. I have to warn you that it is really new. I hope there are more updates soon. The title of the paper is Voz Estudiantil (Student's Voice).
Last friday we celebrated Pentecostés with a mini-vigil on Friday night. We had three break-out sessions for kids, teens, and adults and then came back together for mass and a bonfire.
After the vigil Dora, Yamil, Christine, and I met Lauren and our friends from Cantera at El Club for a couple brewskies, live music, and pool. We were celebrating Dora's 30th birthday! ¡Feliz Cumpleaños Dorita!
