Reflections

It is Sunday and it is 7am and I am tired. I lie in bed and listen to fireworks being shot off less than two blocks from my house. As much as I love and respect Nicaraguan culture, at this moment I wanted to curse whoever it was or for whatever reason large, loud explosions were going off in what seemed like was my bedroom. It is Sunday and it is 7am and I am tired. I close my eyes and go back to sleep.

I can barely open my eyes. I was in darkness, but now all I see is bright sun. All I feel is hot sun and the sweat beginning to cover my skin. I walk out of the national cathedral after Sunday mass and am literally blinded by the light of the sun. I follow many others leaving the mass, and we bottleneck at a gate we must pass through to leave. I wait about a minute for the crowd to fade, wipe the sweat off my forehead then step through the sheltered gates of the cathedral and into Managua. Lined up in perfect single file outside the gates where seventeen homeless men and women each one with a hand stretched out and a face asking for help. Words weren’t necessary: their shoeless feet, dirty faces, ragged clothing, and missing teeth spoke for themselves. I took a deep breath to muster the strength to walk past them. I knew I didn’t have a single cordaba on me and that I wasn’t going to be able to fill their empty hands or stomachs, so I compromised and decided to walk by slowly and at least look each one in the eyes, and by the time I passed by the last set of sunken, sad, desperate eyes, although it was a span of less than a minute, I was completely exhausted. Any feeling of hope and strength the mass had left me was completely gone, and I felt tired and mad and frustrated with the problems of the world.

I walked a little faster and tried to release my anger. I wasn’t even off the cathedral’s property before I received my first “chelita, linda, preciosa” (a call given by some Nicaraguan men which literally means “beautiful, precious, little white girl”). I crossed the street and hear my name being shouted by neighborhood friends as they pass by on a motorcycle. We smile and wave and say “adios,” and some sort of comfort and hope is restored in me. I take a few steps and pass by a man sleeping on the ground at the bus stop, then receive two more separate calls and whistles from different men. I begin to walk a little quicker and to my left is a man sleeping in a sewer resting his head on trash. How have we let the world become like this? I feel anger and sadness. I feel frustration and despair for all my contribution this injustice. It is ugly.

By the time I arrive home, eleven different men have made some sort of comment or whistle. One of which came from a man that looked about 65 who called me a doll and asked me where I was going and if I needed him to take me there. I could be his granddaughter! But during all these comments, I keep my head down. I don’t look up to acknowledge; that is what they want…for me to acknowledge their comments, and I won’t give them that.

Three hours later I am in a crowded, humid room filled with about thirty young children screaming, laughing, fighting, crying, and slowly emerging from the chaos with handfuls of candy. The piñata at Doña Carmen’s grandson’s first birthday has just broke open, and I am praying no one gets hurt. We were lucky to make it safe out of the actual breaking of the piñata. Imagine thirty children in a small, crowded room blindfolded and swinging with all their strength at an object they couldn’t see. The DJ shouted into the microphone offering meaningless advice and directions of where to swing, but from my position in the room there seemed to be a few close calls between the bat and people’s faces. The entire party was such a beautiful representation of Nicaraguan culture: family and friends together on a Sunday eating delicious arroz con pollo listening to overly loud music and enjoying each others company. We talked about the recent power cuts, the rain, how pitaya is the cheapest juice to make right now, and watermelon only cost 6 cords. The entire party we were waited on hand and foot by the family: filling our drinks, introducing us to friends, etc. They had arranged for us to sit at a private table in the back of the house that is normally reserved for family. And above everything, I was reminded of my favorite thing about Nicaraguans: they are always so willing to share with you whatever it is that they have to give. I knew that the grandmother who was hosting the party had just been left by her husband a few weeks earlier and that they probably didn’t have money to be throwing such a huge party, but I saw it as their way of celebrating the first year of Eden’s life and sharing with their friends and family what they had. Very beautiful.

If I haven’t mentioned this already, we are have a severe energy crisis. The power generally gets cuts everyday for hours and hours at a time making it hard for me to have time to write much, so I will end this entry with a few short stories and reflections.

Reflections for the past few weeks:
- Walking home from work the other week, I passed three boys playing with huge blocks of Styrofoam about the size of baseball bats. They were dismantling the blocks by breaking off little pieces and throwing them into the air on the street with out any intentions of picking up the remnants and throwing them in the trash. About ten days later I was still seeing the pieces on the street.
- On Wednesday, the strong afternoon storm arrived right at five o’clock as I was just about to walk out of library and to the bus stop to head home. My co-worker and I decided to wait a few minutes to see if the heavy rains would pass because neither of us had umbrellas. We sat together sheltered from the rain under a pavilion at the project looking out on the cancha, which is the basketball court that doubles as a soccer field. There were two boys who were maybe 3 or 4 completely naked playing in the rain. As puddles would form they splashed themselves and each other. They threw dirt and bathed themselves in small streams of runoff that were forming. It was a moment that was sad and beautiful at the same time. Without really thinking, I asked my co-worker why they weren’t wearing clothes, and she responded by telling me they probably didn’t have any. Oh right, why else wouldn’t they be wearing clothe. But in that moment I didn’t think it made a difference to them; they were happy and content where they were.
- When I took the trash out, as soon as I set it on the curb a man without hesitating approached to break it open and look through it. Unfortunately, the first bag he broke open was the trash from the bathroom.
- For the first time in my life, I saw a family of four on a motorcycle. The dad drove holding a small girl in front of him. The mom rode behind him with another daughter sandwiched in between. No one was wearing a helmet.
- We had an hourglass timer sitting on the desk at the library that belonged to a board game. So many kids were completely fascinated by it. One afternoon a girl asked if she could borrow it, and I told her of course. She brought it back to the table where she was sitting and for about forty-five minutes she and her friends each took turns turning over the hourglass and watching the sand seep out. They were guessing if it was made of sugar or salt and timing how long it took to completely empty. It was as if they had never seen anything like it…well, they probably hadn’t.
- A man named Henry stopped by the house one morning just as I was about to walk about the door to see if we could help him out. He spoke perfect English and told me that he was exported from the US and that he was HIV positive. He was very honest and looked me straight in the eyes the entire time he spoke telling me that he unfortunately had been unfaithful to his wife and contracted AIDS and without knowing passed it on to her and later their baby daughter. He asked for anything I could help with, so I ran back to the kitchen put some powered milk into a bag and gave it to him along with a few pieces of fruit. His seemed more than grateful, and repeatedly thanked me.
- Maria, a young girl who comes to library frequently lost one of two front teeth, and the other is well on its way to falling out also. Her sister, Itaty, tried to talk me into puling it out for her, so I half jokingly suggested tying a string from her tooth to a doorknob and then slamming the door. They rolled around in laughter in response to my suggestion and the tooth fell out on its own, therefore, evoking more laughter. There is no sign yet of either front tooth growing back, which leaves Maria with a beautiful smile!