807nica

La Extraccionista

Sat, 23 Apr 2011 14:14:18 GMT

Two days ago when I got a message from Robyn, a volunteer in a nearby community, that she needed translators for a visiting medical brigade, it felt like the right thing to do and I knew it’d help shake me out of my recent, single-minded pursuit to complete the 242-page English manual that I’ve been working on for months. Like I said, if ever in doubt about your priorities and place in the world, take a day and give it to someone else. Who knows what new perspective you’ll be granted. In a stroke of genius (patting myself on the back with one hand as I type), it occurred to me to accept what will ever be known as “the medical translation challenge” as long as I could bring an advanced English student to “job shadow.” Robyn thought it was a great idea and we even started brainstorming how we could match future brigades with bright, young Nica English speakers to give them work experience and English practice in a professional setting. Like any great idea, we’ll see where it goes. Anyway, I called Victor, English teacher extraordinaire and my beloved teaching counterpart. He recommended I take 17-year-old Hamilton, an advanced level student from Prime English Center who graduated last year, and so I did.

And now to the most fascinating (and exhausting) day I’ve had in a long, long time. Hamilton and I arrived at Hotel Café, the nicest hotel in Jinotega, at 6:45AM where I met Lou, the dentist; Max, the surgeon/anesthesiologist; Mark (Max’s twin), also a surgeon; and Gary, who is Max’s son, Lou’s son-in-law, and a jack-of-all-trades. The twin doctors were doing surgeries for hernias, gall bladders, and “lumps and bumps.” The hospital San Rafael del Norte recently acquired one of those fancy laparoscopic units that allowed doctors to perform “closed” surgeries instead of the far more evasive, dangerous, and time-intensive “open” surgeries of old, although they did a few of those, too, when circumstances called for it. The health clinic down the street where Lou the Dentist was working had just received one of 20 dental chair units distributed throughout the country by the government. It’s just like the chair I’ve sat in all my life during dental visits with slightly less functionality because some parts were installed incorrectly. More about that later . . .

After “doing rounds” with the doctors at the hospital where I visited small rooms of 8 to 10 patients and learned what they had done or needed to have done—just a tad less glamorous then the scenes of “Grey’s Anatomy”—we parted ways with Max, Mark, and Gary, and made our way to the clinic where the Lou had been working all week. I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you there was a lot of vocabulary that Hamilton and I had to learn but that’s life. You don’t get to be 100% prepared for all of the situations you’re thrown into—or in our case, volunteer to be thrown into. Anyway, all of that “translator prep” was a great learning experience for Hamilton, and Lou was so kind to include him in everything.

We worked in a small room with a dental chair, a large desk, a sink, a red plastic lawn chair (like I have in my living room) and a counter for materials. Additionally, there was a chair at the desk, a chair in the corner, a chair for Lou, and a chair for me. I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention that there were also a minimum of eight people in the room at all times: two dentists (one Nica, one American), two Nica teens who functioned as secretaries/assistants to the Nica doctor, myself, and Hamilton—oh, and the two patients.

Let’s discuss this two dentists detail: Lou was using the chair because he was doing fillings and intensive cleanings. Doctora Myrna was doing tooth extractions—it’s all she’d been doing for about 16 years. Because regular dental services (the kind we know) had not been available for, well, over 15 years, people lived with whatever problems they had until the tooth was so far gone that it had to be extracted. Doctora Myrna, expert in extraction and henceforth known only by the name, La Extraccionista (The Extractionist), saw people of all ages, comforted them with kind and gentle words, injected them with the going painkiller, and then yanked their teeth out as they sat with their necks uncomfortably crinkled against the wall yet supported by the small sink. A trash can was placed nearby for spitting. She extracted at least 20 teeth, occasionally displaying the tooth to all present company if the roots were especially large or if the tooth was terribly decayed. There were some tears, some moaning, and in the end some hugging—by folks who’d been in such great discomfort. Some people came with shiny, white front teeth but had molars that had to go. Others came with three, maybe four teeth and left with one or two. In the words of Forrest Gump, “That’s all I’m going to say ‘bout that.”

On a related topic—stop reading, get up and go brush your teeth, and then floss—twice. Please do it now. I’ll wait. . . . . . . . . . Let me just add that I have never felt more blessed to a) have been born in a developed country b) have had access to dental care (parents with jobs with great dental insurance and c) parents who prioritized oral hygiene and took me to probably a hundred visit to dentists and then orthodontists who gave me the no-cavity, straight, white-toothed smile that I have today. To the extent that Nicas have stopped me mid-sentence to ask how I get my teeth so white. “Oh, it’s just because I’m so tan that my teeth look so white (wink, wink).”

Back to Lou though—he said the first thing was always to ask the patient what was bothering him/her. That seemed simple enough. Then he said, “If they’ve got a lot of pain and are really sensitive to hot and cold that probably means they’ll need a root canal but we don’t have the equipment to do that right now—maybe in October on the next tour.” My job then was to tell the people they needed a service the Lou couldn’t provide and then ask them if they had a smaller problem that he could fix such as a tooth that didn’t hurt quite as badly. As gifted a dentist and nice of a person as he was, I could tell that Lou felt helpless in a lot of ways because he could see the problems and see where they were headed (to La Extraccionista) but he couldn’t do anything about it. Of course, the conversations got technical—the patient had the shell of the tooth but nothing inside and so Lou made me a great drawing (See video to follow—tooth extraction to toe-stomping ranchera music. Just kidding) and we labeled it and used it to give patients a better idea what was happening. On the day, Lou saw about 10 patients and did or replaced fillings for each of them. In a couple of cases, he did just a cleaning but by hand as the suction unit did NOT suck nor did the water shoot out fast enough to knock off the 15 years of built-up tartar. Go ahead, you can go brush again if you’d like.

Ultimately, I put Hamilton in the chair by Lou. Hamilton had no trouble explaining to patients what Lou wanted once he understood what Lou was saying. To non-native speakers, each of us has a different accent. In my line of work, I’ve naturally started speaking slowly and more simply just like on public radio’s “Voice of America”—a radio program that offers audio files and written transcripts using “Special English” or what they’ve deemed to be the most commonly used and therefore more important “word bank” for English language learners. Lou, for his part, had some trouble understanding Hamilton’s accent in English and so my job at that point became serving as translator between Lou and Hamilton who were both speaking English. All things said, it was a wonderful learning experience for Hamilton, and obviously for me, too.

We worked from 8:30am to 1:30pm and again from 2:30 to 6:30pm. When we got back to the hospital around 6:45pm, the doctors were still in surgery. Buses had long stopped running to Jinotega plus we felt compelled to stick with the team, so we waited. We finally got home at 9PM having as graciously as possible turned down repeated dinner invites from Max and Mark. I was simply exhausted. They must have been going on pure adrenaline having performed surgeries from sun up to sun down for a solid week. It was so fascinating to work with these dedicated doctors and see exactly what happens when American medical brigades visit developing countries. Certainly, one day can’t reveal the big picture, but the glimpse I got was memorable, nauseating, and above all inspiring.

I tell you, it’s almost impossible to give something to another person and get nothing in return. Inevitably, I end up thinking that I got so much more than I gave. It’s just what Gandhi said (and I’ve mentioned in my emails before), “The best way to find yourself is to lose yourself in the service of others.”

Not Better or Worse

Sat, 23 Apr 2011 14:12:55 GMT

Yesterday I physically grabbed hold of a chunky, dirty street kid who was chucking rocks over the fence at some shrieking school kids. He’d be doing it for awhile, in fact, as I approached I watched him—as did about 10 Nicaraguans who were nearby selling vegetables or pirated DVDs or just walking by. At first I asked him to stop, then I told him to stop, then I grabbed his cocked-ready-to-throw arm and he still let one loose. Now the moment that the Nicas in the vicinity saw that I was having trouble, they got involved. They started yelling at the kid and ultimately I think a parent or familiar member came to get him from the other end of the block where they sat selling something or other. Haven’t figured out—culturally-speaking—why they’d intervene for me but not on behalf of the school kids inside the fence getting shelled by fist-sized rocks?

This was all moments before I met a teacher for coffee and last minute agenda planning for this morning’s monthly training. We have this new system that allows for “intercapacitacion”—training done by local English teachers for local English teachers—every other month. I was asked to present this month at the first exchange, let’s call it, on the topics of Speaking and Technology—supposedly two areas that teachers had previously identified as difficult. Of course, during the opening remarks to all teachers of the municipality, the superintendent called attention to the fact that Nicas were supporting Nicas and no outside experts had been called in to give trainings. Her remarks gave me a jumping off point as I started the first session for twenty English teachers. I thanked them for asking me to participate and emphasized that I was no expert and hopefully no one saw me as an outsider but rather another teacher and a colleague. I also emphasized my hope that I stood before them as a mere facilitator of conversation and not a presenter before an audience. And with that our workshop day got underway and I do feel it was quite successful. You’d be surprised how timid teachers can be about sharing ideas—not because they don’t have any but because they are worried about being criticized or that perhaps someone will think they are being a know-it-all. And to that I say (and have said to them many a time), there is no right or wrong in teaching, there is only successful, more successful, and less successful. Everything we do falls somewhere on the spectrum.

My counterpart, Victor, is a fabulous example of a gifted teacher who will not stand in front of a group to share his ideas. From what I understand, he’s had a lot of bad experiences with colleagues over the years. It’s a sore subject but I’m working on him. For the moment he says he’d be happy to present to the “humble, rural teachers” so we’ll start there, I guess. Anyway, baseball freak that he is, he went running out the high school to get to the baseball game on time. I made time for lunch and met him there in the 3^rd inning. Tempted by the stadium food—bags of sliced mango with salt, peanuts, ice cream, syrupy ice cones in a cup, potato chips with vinegar, hot dogs, friend donuts with honey, beer, and soda—I finally settled on some cinnamon gum that went stale in ten minutes. Poor choice, however low calorie.

A wiry, yellow dog took to the field in the 6^th inning and simply would not leave. The players on defense took turns throwing their gloves at him. The team in the dugout jumped around and tried to scare him. It went on for awhile until he ran into deep left and the pitcher and umpires ignored him to get through the current batter. Finally he ran off amidst laughter. Today’s game featured las Brumas (The Mists) and Los Toros (The Bulls) from Chontales. One player from the Toros had been accused of raping a minor. When he came to bat the Jinotegan fans called him a name that meant pedophile, more or less. It’s not in my dictionary but Victor explained it to me. The Toros ended up winning by run-rule in the 7^th and the local fans left unsatisfied.

I spied a little girl, maybe 4 years old, walking along as the crowd flowed out of the stadium. She wasn’t holding anybody’s hand but seemed to know where she was headed. Once we got outside, I saw her stop and burst into tears upon realizing her mom wasn’t around. I spoke to her first and then a couple ladies grilling pork outside the stadium took interest. Through the snot and tears we managed to get her mother’s name and then after 10 minutes or so the mother came out of the stadium—both worried and angry. During the wait, the ladies and I made small talk—they were cooking pork and potato patties stuffed with shredded beef and rice. Again, I was tempted but I have some personal guidelines for eating “fritanga” or street food. You have to ask yourself how long it’s been there and how many flies might have landed on it. It also helps to observe the hands of the cook. Right now, given that we’re in the dry season and the lady was cooking on the side of the busiest road in the city, I decided against the road-grimed, stuffed potato—delicious as it looked (no lie).

The moral of today’s story—life goes on here in Jinotega. It’s not better or worse—it’s just different. I hope I’ll always remember that notion when traveling, living abroad (again), and even when working with different kinds of people. There’s no such thing as better or worse; there’s just difference.

I Sit Corrected

Sat, 23 Apr 2011 14:12:02 GMT

Please allow me a couple of corrections—if there is anything I mean to be as I write about Nicaragua and Peace Corps, it’s accurate. There are two recent things I’ve said that I want to correct:

1) We are not entering the rainy season—we’re leaving it and beginning roughly four months of summer. I think I wrote that on a rainy day without really thinking. Truly, Jinotega has more months of rain; let’s say a total of eight or nine versus the rest of the country which receives six or less. I’m told it should start raining again in May. For now, we’ve got dust and a hot daytime sun to dry my clothes. Sunset brings cooler temps and the morning, well, it’s usually breezy and cool. It’s my favorite timeJ Overall, we rarely drop below 65°F.

2) I quoted from something I’d written two years ago and in that quote I used a term that I no longer like nor really believe in: third world country. Having never been to Africa, I don’t know how it compares but across the board I suggest the term “developing world,” instead of “third world” because just like my Spanish I have to believe “we’re” always getting better and moving forward. And what’s different isn’t necessarily worse or backwards or behind. Certainly, there are examples of crushing poverty and disease as well as complex issues of food security. Still, third world says “behind” to me—behind the first world and the second world—wherever that is—so forgive me that phrase and please slide “developing world” in there instead.

Thanks.

Guac

Sat, 23 Apr 2011 14:11:21 GMT

Sitting down with a bowl of chopped tomato, onion, and avocado sprinkled with salt and a splash of lime juice. Oh, I’ve also got two freshly toasted tortillas—my fourth and fifth of the day. I had this same snack at mid-day minus the cold Victoria Clasica cerveza. The avocado cost me 50 cents which is a bit high but I made up for it by buying not four tomatoes for 50 cents but four pounds of tomatoes for 50 cents. What a deal! Nothing like a dynamite, organic, locally-grown-right-down-to-the-corn-in-the-tortillas kind of snack for, what, 30 cents? I’ll never get over the availability of awesome, home-grown veggies on every corner in Nicaragua or at least in the parts where I’ve lived. It’s a year-round farmer’s market!

Today’s news headline in La Prensa caught my eye so I’ve got a newspaper to read until Ugly Betty comes on: “Nicaragua Asilaría a los Gadafi” (Nicaragua Would Give Asylum to the Gadafis). I can’t believe it. It was shocking enough last week when I realized I was living in one of two countries in the world whose presidents were supporting Gadafi and had even called him on the phone to pledge support. In reading the article, I was relieved to see that a number of other Nicas had spoken out against this possibility saying that it would be a black day in history. I don’t feel at liberty to speak freely even in my emails about anything of a political nature. One of my counterparts occasionally mentions something political but always in English and like a mom talking about ice cream in front of her kids, “Boy, I could sure use some I-C-E- C-R-E-A-M but I don’t want little Jimmy eating that so close to suppertime.” If you haven’t ever, I invite you to read about our upcoming elections (November 2011). They’re gonna make international news and probably for awhile—that much I can promise.

Yesterday in Managua, the president of the Nicaraguan English Teachers Association and I presented to the committee in order to receive funding support for a grant that will provide a teaching activities manual and related training to 363 teachers in 14 municipalities during the month of May. I think I mentioned that I’m coordinating the efforts of the 14 volunteers involved and will be receiving the grant money (approximately U.S. $6,000) into my bank account to manage and disperse accordingly. I’ll keep you posted—it’s a wonderful project with far-reaching benefits.

That’s all my good news for today. Running in a 10K tomorrow morning—half the distance between Jinotega and San Rafael del Norte. You may recall I ran the whole distance—a half marathon—in 2009 and afterwards I said this: “What I’m learning about myself now are some things I guess I already knew. I can live in the third world country. I can sweep and clean my happy little home. I can hand wash my clothes. I can make my own food or learn to make Nica food. What I cannot do is travel great distances on the buses, unless it’s a direct route: one bus for many hours, in which, I’ll probably find a decent seat and be able to relax a bit.” It appears that the travel killed me more than the race and this year, with the travel element removed from the situation, should be a great time.

Skimming over my old blog entries and emails, I realize I used to write more often and more vividly. When I think about why that is I guess I’d have to say that while I’m still delighted, affected, and challenged by so many parts of life in Nicaragua, this is where I live and this is what I do. It doesn’t occur to me to draw attention to the “difference” or the “foreign-ness” because I don’t see it so clearly anymore. I think that’s a good thing.

The Art of Coming Home

Sat, 23 Apr 2011 14:10:09 GMT

Sometimes it’s the hardest thing to stop, reflect, and report but I’m making myself do it now and asking you to take five minutes to do the same. I’d really like to know how you are—really. Just this week I picked up a book in the Peace Corps library called The Art of Coming Home, because at some moment this year, I do expect to “come home” and I do expect it to be something of a shock. Anyway, the book makes mention of an attitude many expatriates have—that they are the only ones leading interesting lives. I just want to be clear; I am not at all of that opinion. No matter where we live or what we do, our successes, challenges, and daily routines deserve equal air-time which is to say they’re important. I wanna know.

My story is this: I facilitated 8 hours of “Coping with Stress” discussions with two new trainee groups this week. It’s a full day’s work and that’s not a comment about the session. We literally meet in the office around 8AM to get materials ready, leave at 9AM, drive an hour to another department (either Masaya or Carazo,), do two sessions in the morning, get lunch somewhere, and do two more sessions in the afternoon—each session with five or six trainees, and get back to Managua around 5PM, traffic permitting. Studies do show that having some idea of what’s ahead reduces stress so as facilitators we try to present a realistic picture of volunteer service. I assure them that they’ll learn Spanish because, hey, I did and you can accomplish things you are motivated to accomplish. We also help them understand the medical resources at their disposal as well as volunteer committees and the online tools that they have at their disposal throughout their two years of service.

I’m also happy to report that the small grant proposal I was working on is in! What I pulled together over the last month was 107 pages of proposal, budgets, printing bids, trainings plans, contracts, and participant sign-up lists. I delegated some parts, practiced teamwork, and ultimately “guided” 14 other volunteers through the process of setting up trainings for teachers in their respective cities/communities and meeting all of Peace Corps and USAID’s deadlines and requirements. The proposal is for a workshop on the adaptation of materials and we’re providing the material: a teacher’s manual that was written specifically for the Nicaraguan classroom in accordance with the recent curriculum transformation set forth by the Ministry of Education. A committee of volunteers wrote the manual which provides exercises, games, readings, grammar, and strategies for grade levels 7 to 11. I participated as little as possible in the writing of the manual such that I could do the design work with a fresh pair of eyes. The manual design is underway but now that the proposal is in, it has moved to pole position on my priority list.

Mobile Matricula

Sat, 23 Apr 2011 14:08:58 GMT

Yesterday I attended a meeting called “The Battle for Sixth Grade” which had as its focus the strategic plan of the departmental ministry to enroll, maintain, and graduate Nicaraguan youth from the sixth grade. As I understood it, the current average level of education in the country is fourth grade which isn’t great when you’re looking for a job in any country. Come 2015 they’ll be fighting the battle for 9^th grade—raising the bar little by little until it is feasible to expect for all students to graduate high school.

This year there will be two forms of enrollment—stationary and mobile. Stationary enrollment is when the parents bring the kids to school and sign them up. Mobile enrollment is when teachers, university students, governmental committee members, and other volunteers go door-to-door in both the urban and rural zones to ensure that all students have access a free education which emphasizes values such as ethics, honor, transparency, Christianity, and solidarity. Matriculation will be open from January 31 until March 31—yes, three whole months—for kids to come back to school after working or traveling with their working parents to whatever coffee farm was looking for pickers. Strikes me as especially difficult for the student who starts late (and probably departed early at the end of the last school year) and the teacher who will be receiving new students for the first three months but that is the reality of the situation.

Of course many of the people present from the wide variety of educational organisms working in Jinotega inquired as to how students would be retained and promoted once we’d achieved enrolling them. The plan offered included the following: improved infrastructure and cleanliness in area schools; first day of school will be “un día festivo” or a holiday/celebration; improved didactic materials although no comment as to whether teachers would be trained to use them; more “counseling” to improve relations between students and their teachers; better and timelier snacks for all students because many only attend for the food which they do not get at home; educational passport documents to allow for easier school transfers if a student should have to transfer; strengthening the network of student monitors/leaders who often have the best insight as to why their classmates don’t attend school; and last but I pray not least, more training for teachers . . . so they’ll know how to identify students with learning disabilities or problems at home. The snack part was discussed at length. I wish more time would have been given to teacher preparation and in-service trainings which I see as key to students’ permanencia y promoción in primary school. I believe a caring, creative, and motivating teacher can make all the difference in the world.

The new school year begins on February 15th—just a few weeks away though before that date arrives I’ve got a small project assistance grant proposal to complete, three workshops (for English teachers) to plan, and a leadership camp to attend and help manage logistics. In my leisure time, I am designing a 200-page teaching manual, rockin’ out to Marc Anthony, and hanging out at Victor’s English center.

Hope the New Year is treating you well. No complaints here except that it’s starting to get hot and I can’t run between the hours of 10AM and 4PM. I leave you with my quote for the week:

“The purpose of the work on making the future is not to decide what should be done tomorrow,
but what should be done today to have a tomorrow. “ -Peter F. Drucker

La Madrina

Sun, 02 Jan 2011 19:27:32 GMT

Happy New Year friends and family! Hope it was memorable and spent with loved ones. While I did surprise my parents by showing up at the house and staying for 10 days over the Christmas holiday, I was back in Jinotega for New Years and celebrated with Victor and his family. Let’s do the highpoints of both holidays starting with Hillsdale:

My Mom’s face when she saw me
Getting snowed in
Working with my sister on a multi-faceted Excel spreadsheet for a project I’m directing and learning that I’m NOT financially-challenged, as I’ve always thoughtJ
Christmas Eve at Grandma’s with my mom’s side of the family
Sitting in my parents’ jacuzzi under the full moon and surrounded by snow
Beer, wine, cheese, and chocolate croissants in no particular order
Doing self-assessing, career development activities from What Color is Your Parachute? with my sister
Discovering my unknown interest in leadership styles and emotional intelligence and loading up on resources (articles and books). Ask me about it!
A day in Iowa City with two close friends

New Year’s in Jinotega:

Becoming a Godmother to Victor’s 4-month-old son, Joshua
Teaching the kids to play Bop It!
Watching “Sleepless in Seattle” (in Spanish) with Mayra, Victor’s wife
Going to bed at 11pm :)
Eating some of my favorite Nica foods (gallo pinto and tajadas)
Sharing Grandma’s cookies that I brought back with me from the states

A little more about the “Godmother thing” which came as something of a surprise though in hindsight it’s starting to make more sense. Victor and I became close friends instead of just colleagues. His family has taken me in from the moment of my arrival here in Jinotega. I am invited to all of their celebrations and outings but I think there was one thing in particular that swung the Godmother vote in my favor. When I went to the farm for the pig roast Mayra and I got to talking on the porch while we watched the kids play baseball. I told her that I had offered to help Victor get his son, Brandon, to baseball practice. Victor does so much for so many other kids at his English center and through his counseling work at the high school. He does so much he can’t make the time commitment so that Brandon can be on a baseball team. The only thing I could think to do was help Victor by taking Brandon at least until Victor realizes that he doesn’t have to be everything for everybody. Apparently that struck a chord with Mayra. She’d been telling Victor the same thing—she’s worried that Brandon won’t have any good childhood memories of his father. She said something like, “La luz de la calle es la oscuridad de su casa.” You can understand that in a couple of ways—either that the house is left dark when Victor gives his time and energy to the outside world or that Victor is so bright and energetic outside of the house that when he is home he is “out” and has to recharge.

Mayra also asked about my parents. I told her my dad worked at a factory called John Deere. It wasn’t a glamorous job but he could almost always come to my after-school activities and weekend games. I told her my mom was a teacher and she too attended the vast majority of my extra-curricular activities not to mention the countless practices someone had to take me to before I could drive. Boy, did she love hearing that!

Victor has asked me several times why I came to Nicaragua and why I stayed longer. He knows I could be pursuing opportunities and making more money elsewhere. He asked me when I’ll get back to my life, as if it’s on hold in some way. The thing is Peace Corps is only a great sacrifice if you think you’ve put your life on hold. Otherwise it is a great adventure where you make a lot of your own rules, learn to adapt, study another language, develop a tremendous range of life skills, and broaden your worldview. Ah, this is a good time for a favorite quote I came across in J. Patrick Murphy’s “Theories of Nonprofit and Organizational Leadership” (that’s my Uncle Pat, by the way):

“The best way to find yourself is to lose yourself in the service of others.” –Gandhi

There’s a lot of truth in that notion but back to my point. In hindsight, it all adds up—my work, my friendship with Victor, that conversation with Mayra, my surprise trip home for Christmas—I know why they asked me to be the Godmother. It’s because I’ve been taught to value family and to help others and it shows. Furthermore, Victor and Mayra share those values.

I never anticipated being a godparent to a little boy living in a developing country. This third year sure is full of surprises.

Do You Know the Way to San José?

Fri, 10 Dec 2010 20:36:07 GMT

Well, I painted my toenails and put on my other dress—I have two—and it’s a darned good thing I got all done up because for the second time in three years I was seated at the head table handing out diplomas to the graduating class of students in San José de los Remates, Boaco.

When I left Jinotega at 6AM on Thursday morning with my landlady who was heading south to Managua to buy merchandise for her store, I felt anxious. It was my first visit back since August and though San José will always feel like home, going back felt very much like going backwards. It was that feeling and the “fishbowl effect,” i.e., the minor celebrity status that I’d have for the duration of my visit that made me nervous. I’ve never liked being the center of attention and I like it even less now. That said, so much has changed already in my third year and I imagined it would feel good to share that with the people who met me when I couldn’t speak Spanish and when I wasn’t sure if I could last two years in Nicaragua. I was right. It was a blast!

Highlights included seeing and talking to tons of former students; attending the graduation ceremony; lunch with the mayor and the high school teachers; the dance party in the evening after the ceremony; staying with old friends; eating tajadas and fried cheese at La Fogata with Kelvin, Celia, Jorge and Jessica (the new volunteer in San José); making güirilas (new corn tortillas) with Albertina over the wood fire; and catching up with la Profesora Daysi (my tutor).

Riding through the mountains on the old school bus, the good and bad of the last two years flashed before my eyes. It started to sink in—finally—that I did it. I did Peace Corps. Obviously, I’m still a volunteer but I have a television, cable, an indoor toilet, hot water, a sink in my kitchen, and electricity 98% of the time. I ride on an “express bus” (two to three stops total) to Managua and I don’t sweat every day. For a volunteer that is called living large!

I think my favorite moment was when Nelson, a member of the graduating class, upon seeing me in the street said, “Se ve mas gorda que antes.” Literally, “You look fatter than before.” I replied without hesitation, “Why thank you!” Because “mas gorda” conveys not only the notion that I'm fatter, which is a compliment, but also that I look more beautiful.

A Cool Breeze, a Pot o’ Chili, and Some Anne Murray Hits

Fri, 10 Dec 2010 20:34:29 GMT

Nothing like a cool breeze, a pot o’ chili, and some Anne Murray hits to call forth the Thanksgiving spirit. Tomorrow I’m hosting 15 other volunteers at my house in Jinotega. It won’t be quite the same as being at Uncle Pat’s in Lincoln Park but we have cable TV and a few bottles of wine so we’ll make do.

I hope to go to Victor’s family’s farm this weekend. He and I could both stand to kick back a bit and roast a pig or something. I don’t so much like to eat the piggy but I can appreciate a celebratory roasting at the end of another school year.

Wanted to share my best moment from last week that took me back to my childhood (whole life really) on the farm:

It was Sunday afternoon and I’d been in a bit of a funk. I drug myself out the door for a jog that would hopefully reset my system. I had just crossed the little river and bounced up the bank when I came across a calf running down the road. Let me tell you, cows don’t just run around for kicks. They aren’t athletic and they don’t care about fitting into a bikini. When you see a cow running it’s because someone or something is chasing it. This I learned during my enchanted childhood on the farm where every so often dad brought home a new pet (calf, sheep, goat, goose, horse, cat, or dog) and my brother and I had to take care of it. Looking back, it was a privilege to have so many animals friends and grow up this way, but when you’re 10-years-old and it’s the dead of winter, making a bottle of warm (powdered) milk for an orphan calf and going down the hill to feed him before school is not very pleasant. But I digress . . .

Sure enough, as I approached the calf I could see a man in a red shirt running up behind him though still a ways away. I stopped about 15 feet from the calf out of instinct. Where I’m from you help people catch their loose animals—it’s just what you do. So I stopped in front of the calf and gave the Red Running Man a “what’s next?” gesture. He gave me the “send him back my way” signal. Ah, right. I knew what he wanted but I also knew from experience that the calf was gonna bolt to the side and try to get past me. I had him stopped just standing there with my arms out to my sides so I opted to wait and let the running man close in from behind with a lasso. The calf zigzagged back and forth and so I was forced to zig and zag, too, to keep him from advancing. Soon, Red Running Man was within lasso range though his first two attempts failed. Finally, he lassoed the calf by the hoof and fell over backwards. While he struggled to get up, I closed in on a rather alarmed calf. Red Running Man recovered fast and reeled in the calf by his left hoof like a big ol’ fish until he got his arms around him and I had hold of the rope noose. He thanked me profusely and I told him it was nothing at all and that I had a calf like that when I was a little girl. We parted ways—both smiling and me feeling like someone had indeed hit my "reset button" and the world was right again.

For me the moral of this story is the unique, revitalizing experience that is possible in all of our human (and animal) interactions. This Thanksgiving I’m thankful for all of you and for my family. I’m also thankful for the Nicaragua people who have accepted me, worked side-by side with me, treated me like a neighbor they’ve known for years, and welcomed me like family such that my life is richer than ever imagined. Here’s to you and yours this Thanksgiving Day.

I Kill Your Dog

Fri, 10 Dec 2010 20:33:09 GMT

On Sunday at Victor’s English center I was supposed to guide a discussion during the watching of the movie “Twilight.” We planned to watch in English and use English subtitles. My plan was to stop the movie every so often and ask questions about the plot or ask for predictions about what might happen next. Sadly, the power was out and a handful of Nicaraguan youth will have to wait another seven days before meeting Edward and Bella and the love story that is "Crepuscula" (Twilight).

When I arrived at the center on Sunday the students were studying a reading about getting along with your neighbors. They were learning about friendly versus extreme ways to respond, facing problems instead of avoiding problems, getting to know your neighbors, and vocabulary words such as “deliberately” and “annoy me.” After some pronunciation practice and controlled Q & A, Victor and I introduced a role-play activity: In groups of three, you have five minutes to create a role play showing how you would handle one of the following scenarios:

1) Your neighbor’s dog barks all night long.
2) Your neighbor has loud parties every night.
3) Your neighbor steals clothes from your patio.

Eglis, Fatima, and Gloria selected scenario one. Fatima played the role of the dog owner, Gloria played the friendly neighbor, and Eglis was the extreme neighbor. And ACTION:

(There is a knock on Fatima’s door. She opens to find her neighbor, Gloria.)

Gloria: Good Morning Fatima. How are you?

Fatima: I am fine, and you?

Gloria: I am so tired. Your dog not let me sleep.

Fatima: Oh no.

Gloria: Every night he is barking so much. He never let me sleep.

Fatima: Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I work at night.

Gloria: Yes, but I am so tired.

Fatima: Okay, I will do something.

Gloria: Thank you for hearing me. Thank you for receiving me.

Fatima: Yes, no problem. I am sorry. Bye.

(Fatima walks Gloria to the door. Eglis enters in a huff.)

Eglis: I HATE YOUR DOG! I can’t sleep. I HATE YOUR DOG! He is barking always.

Fatima: Take it easy. Sit down.

Eglis (still shouting): What are you going to do?

(Fatima speechless)

Eglis: I HATE YOUR DOG. I KILL YOUR DOG.

(Eglis storms out.)

And CUT! This conversation took place in English and ever since, whenever anything goes even remotely wrong in any aspect of my day, I must suppress the urge to shout, “I HATE YOUR DOG. I KILL YOUR DOG!"

The Youth Are the Motor

Wed, 17 Nov 2010 18:54:22 GMT

Temperatures plummeted this week in Jinotega and it’s possible that we’ll hit 10 degrees Celsius in the next week. My phone “converter” tool tells me that’s 50 degrees Fahrenheit. The fact that I sleep in sweatpants and use a horse blanket for a comforter all the while living 14 degrees from the Equator tells me something very unnatural is happening. Jinotegans are bundling up in the two weeks before “summer vacation” and also doing everything they can to prevent the spread of “leptospirosis”—our latest health scare.

Leptospirosis is a bacterial disease that affects humans and animals. In humans it causes a wide range of symptoms, and some infected persons may have no symptoms at all. Symptoms include high fever, severe headache, chills, muscle aches, and vomiting, and may include jaundice (yellow skin and eyes), red eyes, abdominal pain, diarrhea, or a rash. If the disease is not treated, the patient could develop kidney damage, meningitis, liver failure, and respiratory distress. The Center for Disease Control, from whom I robbed this information says, “In rare cases death occurs,” although 17 deaths have been recorded in Nicaragua in that last month.

Outbreaks of leptospirosis are usually caused by exposure to water contaminated with the urine of infected animals (rats and mice have been blamed in Nicaragua). Humans become infected through contact with water, food, or soil containing urine from these infected animals. This may happen by swallowing contaminated food or water or through skin contact, especially with mucosal surfaces, such as the eyes or nose, or with broken skin. Leptospirosis occurs worldwide but is most common in temperate or tropical climates. It is treated with antibiotics, such as doxycycline or penicillin, which should be given early in the course of the disease. The risk of acquiring leptospirosis can be greatly reduced by not swimming or wading in water that might be contaminated with animal urine. Protective clothing or footwear should be worn at all times.

Now, I get my medical advice and dosage info directly from Peace Corps and this Friday I’ll be taking my fourth and final dosage of the doxycycline prophylaxsis. My Nicaraguan friends and neighbors, however, get their medication from a very different source: 9^th and 10^th graders.

Yesterday I was at Ruben Dario with Victor and we were just returning to our 9^th grade class after recess. A kindly representative from the Ministry of Health asked for fifteen minutes of our class time to “orient” the students on wave two of the medication distribution. Victor suggested I do a lap around the neighborhood rather than be bored by “the lepto talk” but I’ll be damned if I was going to miss that action. Here’s what our 9^th and 10^th graders (13- to 15-year-olds) are being asked to do:

1) go door-to door and record names and ages of all people in the household

2) ask if any women are pregnant or if any people are allergic to the suggested medication

3) distribute appropriate antibiotic (amoxicillin, erythromycin, or doxycycline) to pregnant women and allergic people

4) distribute appropriate medication and dosage to youth ages 2-4, youth ages 5-9, and people aged 10 and up—each receives something different

5) record meds and dosages given

6) take names of any persons who refuse meds and report them to health worker

7) tally results of all dosages given at the end of the day

Some important details: A teacher and health work go with the groups but cannot be with every group of kids in every house they visit. They have to be able to perform these tasks themselves. The medication comes in pill vials or bottles—not in individual servings or dosages—which is to say that neighborhoods of people are receiving pills or liquid from the same bottle and certain hygienic precautions must be introduced.

Still, going into the second distribution there was a lot of confusion and some frightening mistakes were revealed. For example, babies under six months should not receive ANY medication. Students should not be pouring out pills into their bare hands and then returning the extras to the bottle after counting out the household quantity needed. People should take pills with purified water. Kids given the liquid antibiotics should not be drinking it directly out of the bottle. Allergic people should not receive simply a lesser dose of what they’re allergic to. Kids are to take 5 or 10cc’s of the liquid and adults are to take two doxicycline pills—not the reverse. Yikes! Yet this is how medication, prevention instructions, and rat poison are distributed to the masses. I heard a teacher say recently that “the youth are the motor.” And while I appreciate that they are being mobilized to help their fellow citizens and they are learning first hand that when people working together they can make a difference, I lament the days of missed classes and the misunderstandings during the first wave of medication. I heard a young woman, rather distressed, asking if a medication she gave in error could have hurt another person. The answer, “No, it didn’t hurt them but it also didn’t protect them from Leptospirosis, which is our goal.”

I personally believe in the old-fashioned way of fighting illness: eat your fruits and vegetables and get enough rest. Today I bought a bag of 15 juicy oranges for 50 cents. At the same stand I got six glorious carrots for $1. Clearly, life in a tropical, developing country has its high and low points.

(While I call this a health “scare” and it is a serious matter, let's be clear: what’s happening in Haiti—the cholera epidemic, earthquake aftermath, recent hurricane, and the incredibly poor living conditions that affect so many human beings—is far, far worse. I am reminded of something my counterpart said recently, “We don’t know what poverty is. . . .” He may be right.)

I HATE YOUR DOG

Wed, 17 Nov 2010 18:52:08 GMT

1) Your neighbor’s dog barks all night long.
2) Your neighbor has loud parties every night.
3) Your neighbor steals clothes from your patio.

Eglis, Fatima, and Gloria selected scenario one. Fatima played the role of the dog owner, Gloria played the friendly neighbor, and Eglis was the extreme neighbor. And ACTION:

(There is a knock on Fatima’s door. She opens to find her neighbor, Gloria.)

Gloria: Good Morning Fatima. How are you?
Fatima: I am fine, and you?
Gloria: I am so tired. Your dog not let me sleep.
Fatima: Oh no.
Gloria: Every night he is barking so much. He never let me sleep.
Fatima: Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I work at night.
Gloria: Yes, but I am so tired.
Fatima: Okay, I will do something.
Gloria: Thank you for hearing me. Thank you for receiving me.
Fatima: Yes, no problem. I am sorry. Bye.
(Fatima walks Gloria to the door. Eglis enters in a huff.)
Eglis: I HATE YOUR DOG! I can’t sleep. I HATE YOUR DOG! He is barking always.
Fatima: Take it easy. Sit down.
Eglis (still shouting): What are you going to do?
(Fatima speechless)
Eglis: I HATE YOUR DOG. I KILL YOUR DOG.
(Eglis storms out.)

Anything You Dream, You Can Achieve

Sun, 31 Oct 2010 15:23:28 GMT

The thing is, there’s just so much happening all the time and it’s hard to get it all down. A few recent highlights:

(Victor, my counterpart who moonlights as the school guidance counselor, giving the 11th graders a “choosing the right career for you” chat. You may find it noteworthy that Nicaragua is, in fact, the second poorest country in the western hemisphere after Haiti.)

“You think you know what poor is? We’re not poor. We are not poor here. Walt Disney was a man who lived among trash and he made something of his life. Anything you dream, you can achieve."

____________________________________________________________________________

(Completely out of the blue, as I’m walking down the street, text messaging and paying no attention, a normally dressed though slightly “off” looking, mid-40s lady stops me. This is a wonderful example of how you "get to the point" in Nicaraguan culture. This dialogue has been translated.)

Lady: Hey, you’re not from here. Where are you from?

Me: The United States

Lady: Oh how nice. What is the name of your state?

Me: Illinois

Lady: Nois?

Me: ILLinois

Lady: That’s nice. I see you have a bag. Do you work here?

Me: Yes, I do, at Ruben Dario School.

Lady: What do you do?

Me: I work with English teachers

Lady: So you teach English?

Me: No, I work people who teach English.

Lady: So you give English classes?

Me: No, I help professors.

Lady: So you work with the professors?

Me: That is correct.

Lady: Do you live here in Barrio Carlos Rizo?

Me: No, I live in the city.

Lady: How often do you come here?

Me: A few times a week.

Lady: That’s so nice. So, are you catholic or evangelical?

Me: Catholic

Lady: How beautiful. We’re sisters in God’s eyes.

Me: You said it.

Lady: I got to church just over there. Say, do you think you could loan me $3 cordobas? I need to buy three little pieces of bread and the lady I work for wasn’t there today to pay me.

Me: Would you believe that people ask me for money quite often?

Lady: (aghast) Oh I’m not asking for money. I’m asking to borrow money.

Me: Borrow. Huh. How is that gonna work?

Lady: Oh I’ll come to the school to pay you back.

Me: Right. Listen, if I have $3 cordobas (18 cents roughly) it’s yours.

Lady: God bless you sister.

Me: Have a great day! Bye now.

You Can Make the "R"

Sun, 31 Oct 2010 15:22:07 GMT

Having just spent a week with a 11 trainees from my program (Teaching English as a Foreign Language/Teacher Training—in Nicaraguan High Schools), I’ve been made to reflect on my two and a half years here in country—where I started, where I am now, what I’ve learned, what I wish I knew then, and so on. As a result of a lot of volunteers giving feedback upon leaving Nicaragua, TEFL program and PC training staff started brainstorming for an all new training activity that would give trainees the most realistic teaching experience including time to observe their peers and real Nica teachers and provide feedback. It was marvelous especially considering it was the first time it had been attempted.

The basic structure was this: send 11 trainees to Jinotega for three days of intensive teaching and observing with six local English teachers. I was charged with selecting teachers, explaining the purpose of the “Practicum” and ensuring their presence and support for the week. You’ll have to take my word for it, but that was no small thing. It started with me telling them my story—even after training it took me several months to feel comfortable and effective as a teacher. I told them we had identified this delay in the effectiveness of trainees upon arrival at site and needed way to help them get authentic teaching experience—and essentially “fail faster.” I like how my boss said it best—just jump into the ice cold swimming pool head first instead of going in toe-by-toe and prolonging the discomfort. We asked the Nica teachers to give up 6 hours of their classes over a three-day period and simply observe. And what a way to learn by observing someone else! They sat, watched, reflected, processed, and gave feedback to the trainees and in turn received feedback and suggestions after their classes—which is rare. Observation or supervision by a director or a colleague is not typical here or entirely pleasant for teachers. I’m working to get to a point where I can go and observe local teachers on a regular basis to show them how invaluable a second opinion is and how useful it can be to receive feedback and problem –solve trouble spots with an interested colleague. Team-building, network-building, that’s what is going to make this project sustainable.

There were two trainees with each teacher and they taught either morning or afternoon classes. When they weren’t teaching we had group “debrief” sessions to process the experience and they were constantly providing feedback to one another and sharing ideas. In the evenings, they made plans and materials for the following day. PC Staff members and I visited schools all day long and observed classes. It was a happily exhausting week for all.

Anyway, as I said, it was such wonderful experience and on the last night we celebrated at Mi Montañita. Going around the table each person expressed something they would take from this experience. The Nicaraguan teachers carry forward the energy of the trainees, the activity ideas, the friendship and trust they’d established sharing the classroom, and lots of new expressions in English. The trainees take with them the feeling of welcome they received from the teachers, problem-solving skills, some hilarious teaching moments, and a tremendous sense of confidence that came from being throw into the deep end and finding out they could swim.

I said it once a long time ago—in this job (or in this life), you can’t be prepared for everything, you can’t have all the background information before you start—you just have to start and make your way or you’ll be waiting forever for the day you finally feel “ready.” And that has been one of my greatest lessons in Peace Corps. “Live the questions now,” as Rilke says, “Perhaps then, someday in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer.”

In other news, at the Monday, Wednesday, Friday night class I often attend (and help out in) a boy asked me in English, “How do you feel when you speak Spanish?” I told him I often felt like I wasn’t very smart and sometimes I couldn’t express all of my ideas. And he said, “But I think you speak very good. There are people from your city, the United States, and they can’t speak. You can make the ‘R’!” Yes, yes I can, Rrrrafael, my friend. And thank you for reminding me that I’m not half bad.

5 Departments in 5 Days

Sun, 31 Oct 2010 15:19:59 GMT

Last week was no doubt the busiest of my Peace Corps service. I was in five departments (states) in as many days. On Sunday, I was in Jinotega at my counterpart’s private English school. We’re doing a letter/video exchange with some students in the states and the kids were finishing up their letters of introduction and recording brief video greetings. We’re not entirely sure where the project will go but we’ve got lots of fun plans. On Monday morning, I left at 6AM to travel to Managua (2.5 hours, express bus). We departed Managua at 11ish en route to Masaya for the “Site Fair” which introduces new trainees in my sector (TEFL) to the select places around Nicaragua where they may live and work. My presentation was a PowerPoint which drew attention to the pros and cons of small, medium, and large sites. I made it home to Jinotega that same evening around 7pm—after five hours on the bus and a little over an hour in cabs getting to a from the bus station. On Tuesday, I ran all over Jinotega looking for teachers and holding short meetings in preparation for the activity I’m participating in this week—a teaching practicum for the TEFL trainees. On Wednesday, I attended a Peace Corps meeting in my town before catching a ride with staff back to Managua. On Thursday, I spent the day in Carazo doing “Coping with Stress” talks with trainees from the environment sector. On Friday, I left at the crack of dawn for Matagalpa (2 hours north) in order to co-present at a regional English conference with a teacher from Jinotega. It was the first time this particular teacher had ever presented at a conference and boy was he nervous but we did well and that was the point—to have a positive experience and build confidence. I arrived back in Managua that same evening around 8pm, ate at Burger King—if you know me, you know how desperate I must have been—and then on Saturday I was back in Masaya co-presenting on the topic of “Effective Communication” with 43 trainees. Saturday evening I got home at 7pm, ate oatmeal, and went to bed. Sunday I had more video projects starting at 8AM and Monday morning the practicum got underway with teacher/trainee meetings held in my living room. This activity is still underway. I'll send some details later because it's really awesome.

Anyway, during the Effective Communication presentation I found myself acknowledging how busy I felt and how exhausted I was but instead of focusing on my need for rest, I was focusing on my need/desire to be working, contributing, and basically being really involved in Peace Corps and in the lives of the teachers in my city. That need has absolutely been met over the last couple weeks. I’m so glad I’m still here. I’m learning so much and sleeping so soundly. Hope your days are equally fulfilling y Feliz Cumpleanos a todos los miembros de mi familia que han cumplido un ano mas este mes de octubre. Felicidades! Espero que lo pasaron alegres.

Miss Scarlet on the Patio with the Pistol

Wed, 06 Oct 2010 23:48:24 GMT

Last night I played a two-hour game of “Clue” with four English
students at Prime English Center. I lost. We never actually finished.
At the end of the class, we all wrote down our “accusations” and Jeni
was the only person with two out of three correct: Miss Scarlet on
the Patio. The murder weapon was the pistol.

The class is made up of Jeni (age 11), Manuel (age 17), Javier (age
17) and Little Omar (age 11). Jeni and Little Omar are Victor’s niece
and nephew and they’ve been studying English for a few years now.
Still it amazes me to hear an 11-year-old speaking in English, “I
think the killer was Mr. Green in the Kitchen and he used the Ax.” I
guess I hadn’t realized how appropriate board games are as
“Communicative Language Activities,” which we TEFL volunteers are
really pushing to Nica teachers. Let’s look at the four
characteristics of such activities:

1. A giver of information
2. A receiver of information
3. Proof of comprehension
4. Meets established learning objective

Now it sounds like it’d be easy enough to meet the criteria but in
fact it’s very hard to design communicative activities for large
(30-50), multi-level classes. Studies show that “input we understand”
and “opportunities to participate in meaningful communication” help us
learn best but creating these authentic encounters is tough. Let’s
say, for example, that we do a Dictation where the teacher reads aloud
a warning from the National Weather Service. The students listen and
try to write exactly what the teacher says. We have a giver of
information and we have receivers of information. Check, check. Do we
have proof of comprehension? Well, they wrote it down, supposedly, but
it doesn’t mean they understood a thing. So no, there is no proof of
comprehension. What if we ask them some questions about the warning?
Where is the weather system? Is it a storm or a hurricane? When will
it hit? Now we’re getting closer to the mark but let’s say only a
handful of students (15-25%) answer those questions. I can’t really
say that as a class we met our learning objective—whatever it might
have been.

So, teaching a foreign language to high school students, some of whom
live in plastic houses, deal with family violence, are stealing to put
food on the table, or are simply dealing with teenage hormones is
quite a task. The thing is, to look at the kids, you wouldn’t know and
they’re certainly not about to complain.

But back to “Clue”—it was pretty fun. Then we got stuck at school for
an extra hour waiting out a downpour. I asked Big Omar what the people
in plastic houses do and it’s not that I haven’t wondered this before
but Jinotega gets a TON of rain. I can’t imagine how people ever get
warm or dry in those “structures.” He said that concerned him too
because he lived for two years in a plastic house—which is exactly
what it sounds like, a single room with walls and a roof made of black
plastic and any other found material (old tarp, canvas, etc.) It might
be that an entire family is living in that space. He said at night
it’s hard. Sometimes you wake and the water is pouring down on you.
And I highly doubt there are beds in that house but maybe they’ve got
cardboard or have managed to string up a hammock somehow to be up off
the ground. There’s a lot to be said for having a roof over your head
and warm bed. Only in these past couple years have I realized how
fortunate I am to have never worried about those things before. Nor
have I worried for potable water or three meals a day or shoes that
fit or a parent to ask me about my school day. Lord only knows what
would become of the developing world if these basic human needs were
met.

Everything and a Kitchen Sink

Wed, 06 Oct 2010 23:43:29 GMT

Well, life is good thus far and I’m going to make an effort to tell
you about it more often. It’s Wednesday and I’ve been to 10 hours of
English class so far this week at the high school with my counterpart
(and best friend) Victor Rizo. Victor is a little bit of a
fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants type in that he finds it limiting and
unnecessary to spend a lot of time on thorough planning but he’s a
good teacher. Because he speaks English in class and does it so
self-assuredly, our students are naturally instilled with confidence.
They trust that the activities he asks them to do are the very same
that helped him learn English and so they do them willingly. There are
exceptions, of course, but I can tell you already that there are a lot
of good things happening at Escuela Ruben Dario. My role with Victor
will probably be to focus him a bit more on creating learning
objectives and comprehensive unit plans instead of just “one-off”
classes that don’t scaffold the students’ knowledge or trigger a
different language skill or ability (speaking, learning, reading, or
writing).

At the very least, we have a lot of fun and not only do we work
together at the high school but also at his evening and weekend
English school called Prime English Center (PEC). PEC has roughly 60
students ranging from ages seven to 45-years-old. Victor and his best
friend, Omar, another high school teacher I work with on occasion,
give class almost every night of the week plus all day Sunday. One
really cool thing Victor started was giving the advanced English
students (high school seniors or recent grads) their own level one
class to teach. There is no better way to learn than to teach someone
else, right? Victor and I are hoping to do some teaching workshops in
the near future for these young, teachers-in-training.

I’ve attached a few photos of my house. So far so good. My landlady
kind of irks me but I am hopeful that I’ll be here in this 3-bedroom
house for the whole year. The biggest, best changes are that I have a
kitchen and a kitchen sink, an indoor toilet and shower, lots of
closed closet space, and walls and a ceiling that meet! The house is a
10-minute walk from the supermarket, the medical clinic, the central
park, and two coffee shops (the only two in town:); five minutes from
the open market where I get tupperware, fruits and vegetables, pirated
movies and music; and about 25 minutes from the high school which is
on the outskirts of town and is far from most everything.

While the department of Jinotega produces roughly 80% of Nicaragua’s
coffee, I’m trying to drink less. A recently acquired chai tea recipe
brings me happiness on the chilly evenings at home. Seriously, I often
wear a coat at night when it drops into the low 60s. We’re dead in the
middle of a 6-9 month rainy season that brings us showers or downpours
a few times each afternoon/evening. The other day I wore my new rubber
boots for the first time and felt like a schoolgirl!

Moving On Up--Except I Have No House

Tue, 22 Jun 2010 15:35:22 GMT

Okay, let’s cut to the chase. Here’s what’s happening:

I’m wrapping things up here in San Jose. Today should be my last day of co-planning with Luis and my last week of classes at the institute here. The director says there will be some sort of goodbye party with all the students but I pray it falls through. I hate parties for me. This Friday will be my last monthly planning meeting—in San Jose that is. Of course, I’ll be attending and participating in my new school(s) in Jinotega.

As for when my new job officially starts . . . my boss says I’ll start making the big bucks (ha, Peace Corps humor) on July 1. I’ve basically already started several of the projects that I’ll be working on during my third year. More than anything as of late, I’ve been hanging out and enjoying time with friends in San Jose.

I anticipate some busy and possible stressful days ahead as I plan to move to Jinotega without having a place to live. I had a great lead on a studio apartment-sized place but the local business mindset got in the way. Let me explain. I showed up and showed interest in the place. After hearing all the details (rent cost, utility payments) and discussing a basic contract, I called to say I’d take it. I promised to call again with my exact moving in date. Two weeks later, at my boss’s request, I went back to Jinotega to sign the contract so there would be no hiccups when I moved in. The owner wasn’t there, just her son. I went back five hours later. She still wasn’t there. I talked to the 30-something son about the contract. He told me his mother was considering letting some Jehovah’s Witnesses live in the apartment for the first month of my proposed contract? First problem. You should not give your word to rent a house for 13 months and agree on a moving date only to enter into negotiations with other people. When I was finally able to talk to the owner in person, she gave me her word once again. She told me first so the place was mine.

Me : “Great. Terrific, now let’s talk about the contract. We’re all in agreement on $80 right? (and we discussed other basic services) Okay, we agree then. I will send a clean version of the contract to your son’s email account or I’ll have a local volunteer deliver it. See you on July 5.”

Three hours later I get a phone call.

Her: “Fijate que . . . (wouldn’t you know) but now my son won’t let me rent you this 10ft by 25 ft studio apartment for less than $120 a month. I’m so sorry. I’m really embarrassed."

Second problem.

Me: I’m sorry, ma’am but that tiny room with a bathroom is not worth $120. I don’t believe it’s worth $80 but I’m willing to pay $80 because it’s
safe and well-located. Do you recall that we agreed on $80 just three hours ago?"

Her: “Yes, well, I’m going to have my son call you directly.”

Me: “Oh wonderful. Your son who told me yesterday that he has nothing to do with the rental of the house? Yes, please have him call me straight away.”

So the son calls and now they want just $100. At this point, I wouldn’t pay $10. What begins in chaos traditionally continues in chaos, no? I feel I can no longer trust them. So, unfortunately for this nice family—and I’m sure they’re nice—instead of having a responsible renter for 13 months, they tried to boost the price by a third and lost me entirely.

It appears as though I’ll rent a furnished room from a sweet little lady near the center of town while continuing the rental house hunt. Ideally she’ll let me share her kitchen as well. The thought of eating all meals “out” for a few weeks makes me cringe. There just aren’t that many restaurants and I’d be significantly increasing my chances of getting a bacterial infection. Pass, thanks.

The thing about finding housing here is that there are no classifieds. Most cities don’t have realtors. You just have to talk to everyone you know. For example: a taxi driver who gave me a ride recently in Managua. He’s from San Jose but his wife is from Jinotega. He gave me some numbers to call and people to talk during our 35-minute pothole dodging adventure across steamy Managua. Second contact—a woman from the Canadian Red Cross who works occasionally in the north. Met her through an American friend who lives in Managua. Third contact—the same Jehovah’s Witnesses friends who recommended the studio apartment. They used to live in Jinotega and remember well the houses other foreigners rented. Fourth contact, Don Mario—my friend in San Jose who used to be the Vice-Minister of Finance. His buddy, a former Vice-President of Nicaragua lives in Jinotega and has a big farm. Perhaps he’ll know of something. Fifth contact—a teacher from my school in San Jose who have a niece and two nephews in Jinotega. I am not accustomed to putting a lot of faith in the friend of the wife of a taxi driver or even the nephew of a teacher who is mostly an acquaintance. Yet, these are my best options for finding a decent, safe place to live.

The lesson for me in all of this is to treasure and cultivate every relationship. There are no insignificant meetings or people. Hopefully, I’ll have the chance to return the favor in the future. At the very least, I can pay it forward:)

Who is Josefa?

Sat, 29 May 2010 01:42:06 GMT

Returned this afternoon from a two-day adventure in Jinotega with my Nicaraguan boss. I have two bosses—well, four really but two are within the English program and of those two, one is Nica and one is American. Both are under the age of 35. On this visit, we met with English teachers at four high schools as well as the directors of those schools. We tried to meet with the superintendent (delegado) of the department of Jinotega but he double-booked and wasn’t able to see us. This is incredibly common. Some other male administrator “attended” to us and in two phone calls during the meeting he made reference to the “muchachitas” from Cuerpo de Paz who were sitting in his office. I was not impressed but had to consult my boss later to ask if his tone and word choice were as condescending and “ol boy” as I thought. Yes, “I’ve got two little ladies from Peace Corps here in my office.” Not cool, dude. But on to bigger and better things . . .

We went to Jinotega to do what is known as “Site Development.” We try to meet all the key players and make sure they know who we are and what we do—exactly. We give the directors and teachers some paperwork to complete. It requires some work on their part—such as finding a family for the new volunteer to stay with for his/her first six weeks (after the first three months of training) in the city where they’ll stay for two years. The information we receive from the teachers helps my bosses make the best possible matches of volunteers to counterpart teachers and it ensures that the teachers who work with volunteers are motivated and committed to do more work. Yes, working with a volunteer takes more time, not less. Most of these strategies are new even since I’ve been in country. The TEFL (English teaching) program that I’m a part of is only four years old versus some other programs such as Environment or Community Health that have been here in Nicaragua for like 30 years. Anyway, the managers of the TEFL program I can say for certain are great at getting feedback and really using it make improvements. Lots of folks are curious about the TEFL program but that doesn’t exactly mean they’re ready to commit and work side-by-side with a PCV for two years. Our quest is to find those teachers who are motivated, committed, and open to sharing and developing better teaching strategies.

Anyway, my boss had been in touch with this woman, Josefa. Josefa responded quickly and consistently to all emails and phone calls. This is rather rare. She even offered to be our guide in and around Jinotega which might have meant she wanted to get out of work but it also meant to she was more than willing to give us any amount of her time. We met three great teachers on Wednesday morning. After that meeting I started to get excited about the possibilities! We lunched at a buffet on Calle Central and had a moment to buy a few $1 movies as we sat and waited for our plates to arrive. I got “Invicto.” Later we tried to meet with the delegado of Jinotega. He’d be the person highest up in the Ministry of Education in the department of Jinotega. They gave us a bit of the run around and told us first that he was nowhere to be find but later that we should come back in 30 minutes. Fine then. We hurried on over to Soppexcca to buy bags of Jinotega’s finest coffee. When we returned, we met briefly with the condescending guy and then we found Josefa! Woo. It took a couple of phone calls to locate her until finally we were all standing in the street talking on the phone looking for each other.

Josefa is a slight, soft-spoken, gum-chewing woman around 40, works somewhere within the Ministry of Education. Later when asked “So who is this Josefa woman?” neither my boss or I could really say. Here’s what we know: She is always available. She seems to know everyone. She works occasionally with a PC volunteer in the business sector. She arrives on time. She has bangs and straight hair just a bit above her shoulders that she pulls back on the sides. She wears knee-length black skirts and she chews gum constantly.

We took her with us to the community of La Concordia outside of Jinotega on Thursday morning. In La Concordia we met a teacher, a director, and a municipal delegado who tried to convince us that the hive of bees hanging in the entryway to his school were called, “Quita calzon.” This roughly translates to “take your underpants off.” He claims they will swarm you and get into any dark place. You basically have to strip to get them away from you. Better than a guard dog, no? This guy was a riot. We left Josefa in La Concordia and took the funny delegado to El Coyolito making a pitstop along the way at the home of his sister. She had a spare room where the new volunteer could potentially live for the first six weeks after arriving in the community. My bosses have to personally see all potential houses. In fact we did two other security checks for volunteers who had just completed the required six-week family stay and were ready to move into new places. All of the homes or rooms we rent must be inspected by a PC staffer. At the house check in La Concordia my boss asked the lady if she had pets. I found the conversation hilarious. It went like this:

Karen: “Do you have any pets?”
Doña Auxiliadora: “No. (pause) Well, a monkey. But he’s in his cage.”
Karen: (slowly, taking notes.) “Okay . . . “
Doña Auxiliadora: “And a little rabbit. It’s not a rabbit. It’s a hamster. It has a cage too.”
Karen: “Okay, hamster.”

I don’t know but that just struck me as funny. We did not see either creature. Later we visited the high school in El Coyolito. And we left the funny delegado there. We proceeded to San Rafael de Norte about 40 minutes away to do another housing check. It was at that moment that I realized that my purse was still in El Coyolito—where they have no phone signal. Bummer. My boss purchased our lunch and we headed back to Coyolito. While passing through La Concordia once again we spotted Josefa at the bus stop and she hopped in—happy as a dog with two tails. [Note: All weird Mississippi-sounding sayings I've learned from friend Anjie] We found the teachers leaving school and the crazy delegado wearing my purse in the street. A good laugh was had by all and then everyone jammed into the back of the range rover and we took them to La Concordia. I should mention that at this moment the entire country had been receiving rain for over 24 hours—continuously in some areas. My boss is a super trooper but more about that later.

After this bit of backtracking we burnt rubber with Josefa in the back seat to get to our final destination of the day—La Bastilla. La Bastilla is hands down one of the most beautiful places I’ve seen in Nicaragua. It sits about nine kilometers off the main road and has no bus or phone service. These details could pose some problems for a volunteer. Anyway, we bounced, climbed and twisted over the nine kilometers on a one lane rock path—it was hardly a road—before arriving at La Bastilla and finding that the wooden bridge had collapsed and we could go no further. A few sad-face photos later my boss was doing an 8-point turn trying to get our tank of a car pointed the right way.

It was 4:30PM when we got back to Jinotega. Josefa, as agreeable as ever, hopped out at the market and offered her services for any future “adventures.” My poor boss was already pretty tired and sore from driving the stiff manual transmission of the range rover. We stopped at a store and did some power shopping until she was mentally prepared and physically rested enough to carry on. I asked her to drop me along the Pan-American highway so I could grab a bus that would take me to my friend’s house. She quickly vetoed that idea when we found out the bridge was underwater. She was just not willing to leave me anywhere where my chances of catching a bus in the rain weren’t 110% sure plus it was almost after dark. That said, we headed toward Matagalpa, supposedly 45 minutes away, so I could stay with my buddy Anjie. My boss was still deciding if she would stay over too or drive 2+ hours back to Managua. She had to be there by 8:30AM this morning.

The drive to Matagalpa was insane. We took the most direct route that led us through some mountains and curves on a blacktop road without a single lane line which is to say we drove at night, in intense fog, on a black road with no lines whatsoever. I rolled down my window and stuck my head out and directed us—right right, okay now softly to the left, okay turn harder, harder still, yes still left. This went on for about 45 minutes. We couldn’t see a thing but we couldn’t stop or turn back. We’d have been there all night. Finally we arrived in Matagalpa and it became clear that both of us would stay and leave at 5AM which we did. My boss dropped me in San Benito this morning where I caught a reliable bus to Teustepe. I passed out for two hours on my friend’s hammock while waiting on the next bus to San Jose. Got back to San Jose and cleaned up all the bat crap and puddles in my house and passed out for another hour and a half.

The rain continues off and on. The situation on the Pacific Coast (Chinandega and Leon) is much more dire. They are such dry, hot places. When the rain comes, the ground there doesn’t know what to do. I’m not entirely clear but as I understand it, there is a hurricane in Honduras or Mexico and that’s where all this rain is coming from. In closing, it was a super fun couple of days. My boss never loses her cool. She laughs all the time, makes good conversation—in English or Spanish—and will go to whatever length to get the work done well. I learned a lot, which was the point of my going, and I’m excited to work with the teachers I met. Oh and I think I found a place to live! Size-wise it’s probably like my studio in Chicago but it’s decent. I do well in small spaces especially since it’s just me—no pets, not even a monkey.:) I really like the landlady and the house is super hidden so my stuff will be secure when I’m on the road. New address to come

The Contents of my Fridge on Mother's Day

Sat, 15 May 2010 15:52:04 GMT

Well Happy Mother’s Day to any moms who might be reading this. Today I plan to list the contents of my refrigerator. Here goes:

Bag of milk
Bowl of Pipian—it’s in the squash family
Bag of Reeses Eggs from Easter (they melt quickly outside the fridge)
Bag of Trail Mix (it has chocolate bits and also melts)
2 eggs
5 bottles of purified water
Gallo Pinto (about 4 servings left in the pot)
Cuajada (nica cheese that goes with everything)
Pineapple ($.50)
1 Guayabana (I call it the “Cloud Fruit”)
Fresh Basil
Half stick of Butter
Baking Soda

Both yesterday and today first thing in the morning, I needed something from the store. Yesterday it was milk—mine had gone bad. I blame the cat. This morning I needed oatmeal and a new jug of purified water. Honestly, I got up, pulled my hair back, put on a hat, and walked to the store. I did not wear my pajamas but I easily could have. Everyone is up and about in the morning getting corn ground at the mill, bringing fresh milk to the collection center, sweeping their patios. At this point, I’ve know the faces of the people around town and they know me. With each one there is some greeting or brief exchange, “Good Morning. How’d you wake up? Looks like rain, no? How old is your kid again? What time is the baseball game today? Your cat sure is cute. So, you’re back from Costa Rica. Hey, look at that dog. Yep, Sunday. Nice day.” We tend to state the obvious here. But compared to Chicago—a wonderful, lovely city where I could walk around for a whole day and never see a familiar face nor greet another pedestrian or neighbor—it’s nice. People smile so much more.

Faster than a Speeding Truck Filled with Rocks

Sun, 02 May 2010 23:29:21 GMT

Today I ran faster than a moving truck . . . a dumptruck, that is, a dumptruck filled with rocks driving uphill through the mountains. Still, quite a feat if you ask me. I typically pass people on horseback and old ladies carrying bags on their heads but the truck is all new to me.

I returned to San Jose feeling dehydrated and beat up after seven hours of off and on travel from the Pacific Ocean beaches of Vista Mar in Masachapa, Managua to the mountains of San Jose de los Remates, Boaco, where I hang my hat. From Tuesday to Friday, I participated in a Project Design & Management (PDM) Workshop for volunteers and counterparts. I went in large part to observe the format and see if perhaps I could be a facilitator in the future. I was also taking a look at the materials used by the facilitators to see if I’d be able to create a couple of sets that could be used permanently by staff and borrowed by volunteers. Of course, I had to participate in the workshop to get the full benefit—and this was a three-day, all-Spanish workshop. We broke into groups during the workshop—two volunteer-counterpart pairs who talked over the projects they had in mind and then selected one to work on for the duration of the workshop. We went step-by-step beginning with “The Vision” and ending with plans for monitoring and evaluating the project. Projects can be scary like any monstrous beast, but when broken down into sizeable, workable chunks, they seem possible and even exciting! I hope to have some new sets of materials created by August when the next training takes place.

Moments before being hustled out of Vista Mar (more about that later) I was bitten by something. I thought it was an ant but now I see it was a bee. I’m allergic to bees and two days later I’m still having an allergic reaction. I was bitten on the underside of my left bicep—not unlike that time I was bitten by a llama at a drive-thru petting zoo in Missouri. Anyone in my immediate family can corroborate this story. At any rate, I was feeling super drained and had a headache when I got home on Friday evening. I figured it was due to the travel and heat. However, when I woke Saturday morning my eyes were also swollen and my arm presented a swollen, red, itchy welt. I hit the Benadryl knowing that I’d likely pass out while hand-washing clothes but I had to take some steps to control the reaction. Hours later I did have to lie down and take a nap. My eyes are less puffy today though the welt on my arm seems bigger.

As I was saying, we were hustled out of Vista Mar because the roads were already being blocked off in Managua for the Labor Day celebration here in Nicaragua. The president was planning to speak in the afternoon and many workers were going to be released at 3PM from work. It is not uncommon for disturbances, sometimes violent, to occur after presidential addresses. Peace Corps is really on top of this stuff so we were knew at 7AM that the schedule would have to be modified and participants at the workshop would be divided into groups by bus station. At 11:30 the first “microbus” departed the beach and arrived two hours later at Mercado Mayoreo where the vast majority of us made our way to buses headed north (Somoto, Jinotega, Matagalpa) and east (Boaco, Juigalpa.)

In hindsight, I really enjoyed the three-day PDM conference. It’s a great opportunity to learn something new, practice Spanish, make new Nica and American friends, trade music with other volunteers (or episodes of GLEE!), and get inspired.

WHOO! and Phil Collins

Thu, 22 Apr 2010 01:58:31 GMT

Last night I went to La Gallera with my buddy Kelvin for a beer or two and tajadas--fried plantains and fried cheese. It’s become so natural for me to go to “the bar” and play with doggies and kitties and whatever other critter wanders through. Last night a mama cat laid down in the center of the back seating area and began nursing two kittens. It took me awhile to realize that though it’s nothing out of this world, it’s a bit atypical for a bar/restaurant.

I’ve been thinking a lot about what it will be like to be home again even though I’m staying another year. I suppose I’m thinking about leaving my home here in San Jose and being home for a whole month (around August, most likely). It’s both exciting and scary. I had kind of a moment Monday morning with my 5^th year class. We are studying human rights and equality. In class we listened to Phil Collins’s “Another Day in Paradise.” It was interesting to revisit that song and try to explain to Nicaraguans why it was written to begin with. Many people here think that there is no poverty or homelessness in the United States. I suppose they get that from the media or from hearing over and over about the richest, most powerful country in the world. Anyway, there we were listening to the song. The kids were sort of mumbling the words behind me as I stood looking out the window at 7^th graders jump over an outstretched rope in gym class. They were leaping and laughing without a care in the world and so I started thinking about “paradise”—what it is and where it is. You might not think it’d be in the “third world” but it could be. There was a song on the Dumb and Dumber soundtrack called “Where I Find My Heaven.” In that moment I knew I’d found a bit of my heaven here in San Jose de los Remates, Boaco, Nicaragua.

The beloved and infamous TEFL Manual for Nicaraguan English teachers is being revised! After a year of using our one and only “teacher textbook” material we’ve seen areas for improvement and we’re taking advantage of these last few months before the few remaining original authors (from TEFL 47) leave the country to pass the torch to the new group of English volunteers (TEFL 51). Last Friday we had a tedious 6-hour meeting to discuss structural/format changes, additions to the appendices, making activities more communicative, and giving better instructions for all activities. Because I am so serious and orderly, I always assume the role of “scribe.” I prefer scribe to secretary though I’ll also accept “Keeper of the Flame.” At any rate, I take notes, clean them up, and send them out to participants and relevant staff. My role in all of this will be to revise and refresh the design of the manual with whatever new activities and exercises my colleagues create plus some new graphics ideally. It’s so funny how one job leads you to another. The tasks I was doing yesterday to copy all the text out of InDesign into Microsoft Word for my colleagues would have been impossible had I not worked at IPG. I don’t think I would have known where to begin but because of my production experience at IPG, I threaded text boxes, applied paragraph and character styles, and copied and pasted ALL DAY LONG. At first, it was thrilling and I remembered why I was drawn to design. Put on some trance music or anything really, because I literally go into a trance and cannot be pulled away from the computer. That said, six hours later, I remember why I joined Peace Corps. Had to step away from the mouse, the shortcuts, and the back aches!

And some stuff that cracks me up. I was sitting on the patio gossiping with Dona Sonia when she heard a friend call out from the street or the front of the house—hard to be sure. She lets out a high-pitched “WHOO!” to let her know she’s home. I’ve got to start doing that.

“Hola Erin?!”

(from within) “WHOOO!”

On her way to answer the door she complained that her youngest son’s girlfriend is just “a little girl.” She can’t wash the clothes well—the armpits are all dark. I mean, what else would you want in a wife?

Mean People Don't Bite

Sat, 17 Apr 2010 15:32:07 GMT

I started reading Matthew Kelly’s The Dream Manager today after having recommended it to numerous people simply because I liked the idea of it. The idea being that when management takes an interest in the dreams of their employees they see far less turnover and overall business improves as the lives of the employees improve. It matters to us greatly—whether we care to admit it or not—that our bosses or managers recognize us as people and care that we reach our dreams even if that means using one job as a stepping stone to another. It’s no crime to have dreams and the desire to achieve them at any cost. So, I started reading the book thinking I might be inspired by the ideas but what inspired me was realizing how much of it I already know—how much of it I’ve already done. Sometimes it does take a manager or a boss to give us a leg up. Sometimes it’s a life, sports, or financial coach or a sports coach who helps us realize our dream. However, sometimes it comes from within. We are responsible for our choices. My sister says “We are our choices” which is just another way of saying, “If you’re not happy, it’s up to you to change something.”

I spent last weekend on the beach at my Peace Corps group’s COS (close of service). It was my first time visiting the Pacific Coast beach (or any beach) here in Nicaragua and I very much enjoyed it. I shared a sweet little bungalow with two other English volunteers. We opened our 2^nd floor deck door to a spacious deck and water as far as we could see. The conference itself was a bit anticlimactic seeing as how I’m not leaving Nicaragua but in many ways I am finishing my “service” before starting some new projects in a new city in an ever cooler (climate) part of Nicaragua. We can only hope it’s as cool (state of awesomeness) as life in San Jose de los Remates. There were several feedback sessions and some fascinating career development information that I’ll try to remember for next year at this time! One detail I’d like to share with you right now though: 85% of jobs are not advertised. Need I repeat? 85% of jobs are not advertised! So let’s go ahead and emphasize the importance of networking, folks, and building and maintaining solid relationships among colleagues and other business professionals. I’m already pursuing an informational interview with the father of a PC volunteer who works in education for the Federal Bureau of Prisons. Can’t wait to find out what his day-to-day is like.

Anyway, living here I realize how blessed we are to have been taught not only to dream but to realize those dreams. In the last two years I’ve spent about 7 weeks total in the United States. You can tell me anything you want about unemployment but I will only respond with Nicaragua’s own figures: over 50% unemployment and it’s been that way for awhile now. So while I find great satisfaction in the type of work I do here teaching methods and as much as possible connecting with the students, I know that many things have to change in this country for a young person to even feel allowed to dream—instead of memorizing and spewing out the dreams of some historical person they were forced to read about in class.

What else can I tell you? In the morning I drink coffee from the Italian press. In the afternoon I have a second cup from the French Press. The Nica press is a pan of hot water and coffee grounds brought to a near boil. The grounds are given a few moments to descend to the bottom of the pan and the coffee is scooped shallowly from the top. I only drink Nicaraguan coffee and I prefer that from Jinotega or Matagalpa. All of this in contrast to the American way: Starbucks or whatever your brand of choice. Well, that or some sophisticated coffeemaker—the kind I was unable to operate during my last visit home.

Recently the director of my school asked me if, in English, a female dog was called a bitch or a slut. He does speak English pretty well but couldn’t remember the terminology. Kind of depends on the dog, no? I guess I could have answered both but I said “bitch” to be clear about it.

Luis and I spent about an hour explaining verb tenses to each other based upon the following sentence: I would have made lemonade if I had cold water. Hubiera hecho limonada si tuviera agua helada. We are helping each other to understand this complex grammatical construction in the opposite language. From there we practiced, “I could have made lemonade but I made coffee instead. I should have made lemonade but I didn’t have cold water. AND I wanted to make lemonade but I didn’t have cold water.” All of this on our hour-long walk through the countryside for classes in Cumaica Sur. Sounds simply enough but in everyday speech it’s not the simplest to drop into conversation. Luis lately has been asking me about the word “mean.” Does it apply to both dogs and humans? Yes, yes it does, though when we say it about humans we do not presume that they bite. When we say it about dogs, yes, we assume that the dog bites. Luis is anything but mean. He’s a person who I hope I will know for the rest of my life. And so is my friend Celia who at 10:30am this morning offered me some red, pineapple-flavored spiked punch. Shame on her. Oh and my tortilla lady, Doña Gloria encountered a coral snake (most likely poisonous) in her kitchen on the way to brush her teeth last evening. It was killed shortly thereafter with a machete. I think that’s all the town gossip for today:)

Extension

Fri, 02 Apr 2010 02:03:41 GMT

It’s nice to be home! Monday I was in Malacatoya all day at a swimming hole for lack of a better word though the vast majority of Nicas don’t know how to swim. Of the fifteen 11^th graders I was with, I’d say about a third could swim well enough to confidently enter “the deep end.” We had some brief swimming lessons where a few guys and gals first practiced the dog paddle and leg kicks. There were two small waterfalls falling from a 15 foot cliff which the boys took turns diving off of. I’m still really peeved that I forgot my camera mostly because one of my male students wore a girls’ swim suit all day long. Actually, twice he traded outfits with other boys he’d convinced to wear the suit—a lovely red, black, and purple Speedo style suit. The girls shrieked when asked to try it on as if it were a string bikini or something. Must be something cultural that I’m missing. I personally wore a tank top, sports bra, underwear, and shorts—as instructed—even though I have a perfectly good ladies’ swim suit in my house. The water was freezing but the sun was scorching hot. We spent the day passing from cold water to hot sun. There was some Frisbee throwing and napping too. We left on the 7AM bus, walked 15 minutes from the road to the swimming hole, and returned home around 4:30PM.

Tuesday morning at 5AM I took a direct bus to Managua in order to take another express bus to Jinotega, a lush, mountainous department in the north. The thing about express buses is that they will stop to let people off but not to pick folks up along the way. If you want on, you have to get to the bus station, buy a ticket in advance, and get on the bus in number order. When I got to Managua there was an “expreso” leaving in 15 minutes but it was standing room only. No thanks. I don’t know if I was ever very clear about how terrified I used to be to travel in Managua. I never used to travel alone to or in Managua. I think most new volunteers pass through this stage and it’s very healthy to follow all rules until you know what’s safe, normal, expected, et al. Nowadays, I like to think I have it all figured outJ So, once I became aware that I would have to wait two hours in the stifling heat of Managua before my next bus I quickly fashioned a new plan. First I talked to the taxi drivers inside the terminal which are “safer” but slower and more expensive. From them I got the name of the closest air-conditioned grocery store and a price for taking me there. Then I told that guy they charged way too much and marched away to find a cab driver right outside the bus station. I wasn’t able to get that much better of a deal outside but I did find a cab waiting for just one more body to fill the packed back seat. The cabbies like to fit at least four adults into a compact car to make it worth their while. It sucks but it’s life. Anyway, I got dropped off at the closest grocery store where I ate some yogurt, charged my iPod, and used the servicio. And yes, I had the foresight to purchase my bus ticket when I first arrived in Managua so I returned to Mayoreo Bus Station around 9:40AM to await boarding of the 10AM express bus. We arrived in Jinotega around 12:40PM after climbing up and up and up into the central mountains of Nicaragua one kilometer above sea level.

Jinotega has a great coffee cooperative called Soppexcca. Small producers from all over Jinotega, the second largest “state” in Nicaragua, bring their coffee crop to the capital city where I believe it is toasted. There are other steps and processes before the toasting (wet mill, dry mill), but I don’t really understand them . . . yet. Anyway, they say Jinotega produces about 80% of the coffee in Nicaragua. At Soppexcca the coffee is called “Flor de Jinotega.” It is shade-grown at an average altitude of 1100 meters. A bag costs $3 and if you ask me, it’s phenomenal. Anyway, after coffee I decided I deserved to stay in the nicest hotel in town, Hotel Café. For $45 a night, I got a single room (full-size bed), air-conditioning which isn’t even needed in Jinotega, one of the coolest parts of The Nic, cable TV, internet access, a hot shower, and breakfast. Other perks included an evening birthday party in the restaurant in the hotel and two hours of mariachi music.

I did get an excellent night’s sleep, did an hour hike on Wednesday morning and then walked around town for about an hour and half. Again, I went to the bus station to by my ticket in the morning to make sure I’d get a seat. I returned a half hour early for my bus, bought a gray Polo baseball cap for $3, and a CD for $1. I also got my boots shined for a quarter. Man, I get such a kick out of that. The bus was packed but at least I was sitting down. I should have realized what a bad sign this was but I had no choice but to travel on Wednesday afternoon. Transportation stops from Thursday to Sunday so that buses can take people to bathe in the river. It’s what everyone is doing. I’m just glad I got my bathing out of the way on Monday before the waters got too murkyJ Anyway, I paid for the express bus but got off about 40 minutes outside of Managua at San Benito to await a passing bus headed to the east. Finally, I was able to jump into the back of what I’m calling a mosh pit on wheels. I’ve never seen anything like it. I didn’t even have to hold on to anything to steady myself as the bus stopped and started. There was simply no place for my body to go. More people tried to get on and finally we ended up driving down the road with the emergency exit open and people hanging out the back. I rode for an hour this way and finally fought my way out. I proceeded immediately to my final bus which was parked at the entrance to the town of Teustepe, 25 km from my town. I really intended to drink a diet coke but when she didn’t have any I decided beer was my best bet and I downed one fast. Needless to say, I was feeling slightly frazzled and preparing myself to sit through a 90-minute off-road trek into the mountains in a school bus. I don’t know how this all sounds to you but this is what I’ve come to know as “life.” That last bus was packed too. I had a seat, used it for 45 minutes or so, gave it up for lady with two small children, stood for 10 minutes, and then a guy gave up his seat for me. Must have been my gross hair, sweaty shirt, and swampy jeans. We got to San Jose around 7PM and I was in bed by 9PM I think. I found myself wide awake from 1AM to 4AM so I finished a book and wondered from where my anxiety was emanating. It could be from the following detail which is exciting but carries with it some hurdles like finding a new place to live and moving. Moving always makes me nuts.

That said, this seems as good a time as any to announce that I’m staying for another year in Nicaragua. And NO, that is not an April Fools’ joke but it’d be a real good one wouldn’t it? I still have to do some paperwork and go through medical exams to make sure “I’m fit” to stay but let’s say I’m 98% sure I’m sticking around for year three. Peace Corps celebrates its 50^th Anniversary next fall and with our big budget increase, it’s a great time to be involved with Peace Corps. I’ll be a part of our growth here in Nicaragua as I continue working within the TEFL and help train yet another group of new trainees to do what I do: coplan and coteach with Nicaraguan English teachers, make materials for class, and sing lots and lots of solos! The rest of my work plan is under construction but I’ll keep you postedJ

Culinary delights

Fri, 26 Mar 2010 02:05:15 GMT

After almost two years working with Marvin, my more “difficult” counterpart, I’m starting to see some good things. For starters, I asked him who he’d like me to work with—which classes—and I told him who I’d like to work with. He wants me to be with the younger groups which is fine by me. Teenagers can be really awful. I’d prefer to be with 7^th and 8^th graders over 9^th and 10^th graders any day. And once they get to 11^th grade, well, then we can be friends and they can invite me to the swimming hole during Semana Santa like they did. We’re going on Monday. Plan is to meet at Profesora Mirtha’s house around 7AM, hop on the bus, and ride out to Malacatoya. Everyone is supposed to bring their own food for the day. We’ll come back around 4PM. I asked if I should wear a bathing suit and got a lot of snickers and giggles. Then Prof Mirtha said they’d faint if I wore a bikini—which I was NOT planning to wear. Guess I’ll do the shorts and a t-shirt thing like we did back in the 80s?

About Marvin though. I can’t tell him anything directly. I have to hint at ideas and things we might change. He did an utterly absurd oral exam today in 7^th grade. To his credit he told the kids what they should study for: What’s your name? How do you spell your name? and How old are you? But the way he did the test was horrific. Thirty-five kids squirming in their seats waiting to see what he’d was going to say next. His primary strategy seemed to be to keep people off-balance and terrified—not what I’d deem an ideal environment for test-taking. At least no one cried. Of course, I was not consulted about anything prior to this test—it was all Marvin. Some months ago this would have sent me over the edge but now I just sort of take it in and try to help the kids as I can. Then, during the break, I casually suggest a better way we could do oral evaluations. Marvin listens and shakes his head in agreement but I don’t always see improvements.

On the upside, he mimicked something I modeled in class. It’s not often enough that we get the students talking to one another and asking each other questions but really, that’s the best kind of activity we can do. I started out asking people questions and letting them answer me. Then I’d try to get them to tell me what they were hearing or what they know about forming questions. How do you ask someone about their age? How do you ask something where they are from? And then we’d all practice the questions together. Then I’d ask a student a question and when he answered me I’d ask him to “make the question to someone else.” And pretty soon, I was out of the mix and they were asking questions and giving responses with occasional correction from me regarding pronunciation. In the afternoon class, Marvin did it too! He started by asking questions but after a few examples he asked the student to ask another student what their name was and how they spelled it. And so it went.

In a recent culinary experiment, I sautéed in butter some granola, a few pecans from an amazing Archer Farms trail mix that my sister brought me, and ginger. This mixture was the filling for a smallish butternut squash that I bought in Masaya yesterday. I also added some sugar cane honey like I do to everything I eat. It’s just so delicious. Anyway, it turned out pretty well. I’m trying to branch out and make some different vegetable dishes. Of course, I eat beans and rice at least once a day and tortillas and oatmeal for breakfast. Recently I was introduced to the best fruit in the world—the guanabana. It’s like eating a juicy, sweet cloud with just a few largish brown seeds. I have no idea what this fruit would be called in the U.S. or if it could even be found but take my word for it, it’s amazing .