From Managua to Marietta and back

It is an incredible reflection of privilege that in just a matter of three and a half hours, I can get on a plane and move practically effortlessly from what seems like two different worlds. A month ago, I walked out my front door from my home in Managua crammed into a small rundown taxi that was probably over 20 years old. There were six of us in the small vehicle which isn’t an uncommon sight in Managua. We blew through the streets passing women with baskets on their heads selling bread, shoeless children washing car windshields, men shouting headlines from the daily paper, and breaking every traffic law I had ever learned as a 15 year old in drivers ed.

After about a twenty minute ride, we all spilled out of the taxi at the airport gates. I was on my way back home to Marietta to be with my family for my dad’s upcoming operation. He has been struggling with a super rare disease called Cronkite-Canada Syndrome since April, and after much discernment I decided to go home to be with my family. With a small bag and passport in hand, I said by to my community and walked through customs and then onto the coach class of a Delta flight headed direct to Atlanta. Three and a half hours later, I drove into the outstretched, long-missed arms of my family. We climbed into the family’s comfy sedan with leather interior, turned the air conditioning to the exact degree we wanted, and drove through the familiar 16 lanes of traffic through downtown. As we sat in traffic, I enjoyed my family’s much missed company but knew my heart and mind were still marked with the heavy impressions left by Nicaragua.

Of course the 26 days I had at home were filled with too much shock and emotion for me to comprehend. I would go a few hours feeling like it was if I had never left and just so glad to back to a well-known place where I could speak my own language, be surrounded by people who knew me since my childhood, hear country music on the radio, walk around on carpet with my shoes off, and eat turkey and cheese sandwiches whenever I wanted. But not too much time could pass before I would see something that would remind me of an experience in Nicaragua. For example, one morning I went running down Trickum Rd. right by my house (running in general is a much missed privilege I unfortunately rarely get to do in Managua due to time, the heat, safety, etc.) and saw that someone had dumped about six rolls of wallpaper on the side of the road. I wasn’t sure if they were left there or purpose or if they had fallen off of a truck, but I immediately thought that was so strange and knew you would never see six unopened rolls of wallpaper in Managua. First of all, someone would have quickly come by to pick it up, but secondly, they would probably wouldn’t even understand the necessity for wallpaper but find something else probably more useful to use it for. After the run, I opened the fridge and again was reminded of the little luxuries I had available. Right in front of me, in my own house were about 8 different drink options: two different flavors of water, two types of Gatorade, ice tea, diet coke, milk and orange juice. The fridge was also stocked with 5 flavors of yogurt, 2 kind of hummus, grapes, apples, and many other hard-to-come-by foods in Nicaragua, but it wasn’t so much the types of foods that was the shock, but more so the quantities. The fridge was so full…and we had another freezer downstairs filled as well!

The thoughts of the extreme differences between the two worlds never left for much longer than a few hours, and the 26 days went by quicker than I ever could have imagined. I enjoyed my last hot showers, loads of laundry in the washing machine, hours on wireless internet, and turkey sandwich and was filled with much emotion saying goodbyes for the second time around knowing that I wouldn’t be back for another 15 months. In many ways I was glad and ready to return to the simpler life in Managua. But I remain completely awestruck knowing that I walk this thin line between two realities. I knew that no matter how many pictures I could show or stories I could share, I could never accurately portray or get one to understand the reality many Nicaraguans face. Likewise, I was a little relieved to remind myself that many people in the neighborhood where I work will never understand the immense luxury and accessibility to everything we have in states…and if they did, they probably would be absolutely horrified by all the waste.

I made the reverse trip from comfy Marietta to my Managuan home, this time with a little more understanding and a bigger heart for my time here. My first day back to work in addition to about hundred huge hugs and kisses, my co-worker in the library threw me a welcome back party with her and the four high school volunteers that help out every afternoon in the library. They had prepared fried chicken and cabbage salad which we ate off tortillas and sheets of notebook paper for plates. One of them handed me a dryer sheet to use as a napkin, and this time I wasn’t thinking about Nicaragua but was reminded of home…I was probably the only one of us that had ever seen a dryer. Who knows why we had the dryer sheets or where they came from? Either way, I gladly used it as if I didn’t even know the difference. The thought behind the party was so genuine and kind. I am always amazed by the welcome I am given in a country I once new next to nothing about, but I was truly touched as I was welcomed back another time.