The List

I know it has been over a month since I last posted anything on this blog. I blame my absence on the fact that I am leaving my site in just 9 days and have been slightly preoccupied. One of the things that Peace Corps recommends we do before leaving is make a list of all the things we are going to miss about our lifestyle in Nicaragua. Perhaps this list will give you all an inside view of what I love about my life here. This is what I have come up with so far:


1. My view and two hammocks
2. The boat ride to my site
3. The pace of life
4. Arctic Victoria beer
5. “Buenas!”
6. The solidarity of the Juan
7. The collective yell heard around town when “¡ya vino la luz!”
8. Jeiner’s bar
9. The flock of white birds flying by my porch each night at sunset
10. Being a member of both the Parrales and the Pilarte families
11. 4th grade
12. Being famous
13. My Nica friends (especially Jaira, Karla, Darling, Johanna, Ruth, and Cecilia)
14. Chocobananos
15. The hotel on Sunday afternoons
16. Being swarmed by children
17. Evening chats with Jhassuha
18. Nica 37
19. Rain on the roof
20. Saying “adios” to everyone I pass
21. Feeling like an integral part of a community
22. Peace Corps medical services and general support
23. Chavalo errand runners
24. Being my own boss and making my own schedule
25. “Ideay?”
26. Buying everything in individual units (just one egg, one beer, one stick of butter)
27. The absence of the concept of awkward
28. The ability to buy something for six cents (meneitos, pan simple)
29. People singing at full volume with no shame
30. How emphatic Spanish is
31. Knowing everyone
32. The sense of joy I get when my clothes dry in one day
33. Walking into anyone’s house at anytime with no previous notification
34. Quesillo, cacao con leche, maracuya
35. Not caring what I look like
36. Pirated DVDs
37. Trips to Managua
38. Granada and the Laguna de Apoyo
39. Calling all small children “pipito”
40. The affability and generosity of Nicaraguans

"Til Death Do They Part (Sort of)

I don’t know the official divorce rate in Nicaragua but I can guess that it is extremely low. This is for one reason only: nobody gets married in Nicaragua. Usually people just juntar (trans. “shack up”) for a few years, have some kids, and then separate when someone else comes along. When people do get married, it is usually a civil procedure performed by a lawyer so that they can still get a divorce when someone else comes along. Very, very rarely a couple will get married in a church and in this Catholic country, this means ‘til death do they part. Of course, they still cheat when someone else comes along. So it is not surprising that throughout my two years living in Nicaragua, I have only been invited to one wedding and it was just a few weeks ago.

Given the rarity of such an event, there was no way I was going to miss it. Moreover, the bride and groom are close friends of mine: Ruth and Martin. They have been “shacking up” for 21 years and have two children together but for some reason decided that this December 26th they would finally be married. The curious part is that after such a long time, you would think they would be fairly certain that they will spend the rest of their lives together. But they still opted for the civil marriage. You know, just in case someone else comes along.

The wedding bore certain similarities and certain differences to the few weddings I have attended in the U.S. There were invitations, but they were handed out a week before the event. There was a time stated on the invitation, but of course the ceremony started two hours later. People came dressed in their best and in Nicaragua that can mean ironed jeans. It had rained all that day but no one was worried about the mud (the party took place outside) and everyone was in a festive mood. I’m sure a lot of preparation went into the event but no one was stressed, just out to have a great time.

There was dinner served but it didn’t signal the beginning of the festivities but rather the end for about a quarter of the guests who left immediately afterwards. And in true Nicaragua fashion that still manages to shock me after all this time and all these birthday parties and graduations, many people asked for plates of food to take home with them. They are served their rightful plate and then ask whoever served them for, say, two more plates for their kids at home who weren’t even necessarily invited! These same people usually ask for some of the balloon decorations to take home as well, which helps with cleanup but still strikes me as slightly out of line.

There was music but definitely not a band or even a DJ really. Ruth’s son just put on mix CDs and let them play. Early in the night, he played a great American 80’s mix. When Guns n’ Roses “Every Rose Has Its Thorn” started to play, my friend Gilberto leaned over to me and commented, “Nirvana es salvaje!” (trans. “Nirvana is awesome!) “Totally,” I responded.

There wasn’t a bar, but there was plenty of liquor. Bottles of rum were placed and replaced on every table where guests sat. This was my undoing. There was dancing and I definitely partook. In fact, yesterday Ruth told me she is glad I am leaving with a smile. When I asked her why in a mockingly horrified tone, she told me, “Because you stole the groom at my wedding.” While I find this to be a gross exaggeration, I did spend quite a long time teaching Martin to dance “gringo style” complete with spins and dips. We would alternately yell “Gringo style!” or “Nica style” and dance accordingly. He told me that “gringo style” is a lot more fun. When it comes to dancing, I have to agree. When it comes to weddings, “Nica style” definitely gives “Gringo style” a run for its money.

A Very Nica Christmas

“Did Santa come to your house last night?” My best friend, Jhassuha, asked. “No,” I told her, “I never left a forwarding address with him so I don’t think he knows I live in Nicaragua now.” “Ah, you’d be surprised,” she told me. “Last night around 1 in the morning, he knocked on my door asking for you. When I told him you lived up that hill, he decided to just leave the presents here. He’s really fat these days, you know.” And with that, I was handed my first Christmas presents: a fake Puma tank top, green pearl earrings to match, and a previously opened bottle of imitation Vaseline hand lotion. I couldn’t have been more pleased. Somehow, even though it was 90 degrees outside and I was already sweating at 8:30 AM, it felt like Christmas.

I spent the rest of the day handing out the small gifts I had bought in Costa Rica for my friends and received several more trinkets including a keychain and a small jewelry box covered in lace and beads. Everything I received was made in China and can be found at the Dollar Store on Maple Avenue in Vienna, but I love every last gift. I was also able to speak briefly with my family in Virginia who had set up my childhood teddy bear to fill my place as they opened presents.

My host mother, Clarissa, invited me to a lovely family lunch and we ate nacatamales, a traditional Nicaraguan food made of pork (or chicken if you’re me), with tomatoes, peppers, and onions in cornmeal all wrapped in a plantain leaf. It was a delicious way to celebrate. Her father, Don Simeon, who is basically the godfather of Boca de Sábalos, was there and I asked him how his Christmas was treating him. He told me, “Every day is pretty much the same for me.” Normally, I’d have to agree with this sentiment but for me, this was an especially good day.

Back at Jhassuha’s we watched “An Eloise Christmas” on television and the house felt very festive with the purple and yellow garlands she had hung next to several large plastic Santa’s. We played all the Christmas classics in Spanish and made dinner. As we settled down to eat and watch a pirated version of Pirates of the Caribbean, Jhassuha commented on how lucky we are to have so much. I glanced down at our plates of rice, beans, plantains, and pasta salad, took in her small, sparsely furnished, wooden house with the funny decorations, and then looked at her sitting with her baby in her lap and her husband by her side and told her, “Yes. Very lucky indeed.”

You're Ugly But I Love You

One of the main reasons I had for not going home this December was my desire to travel and see more of Central America. Most Volunteers in Nicaragua, upon finishing their service, cash in their Peace Corps-bought plane ticket home and use the money to travel back to the United States by bus, stopping in some or all of Honduras, El Salvador, Guatemala, Belize, and Mexico. Since I’ll be leaving a few weeks early in order to attend big bro Jamie’s wedding, this won’t be an option for me. So, I took advantage of December vacation time to check out a new country: Panama.

We all know that I’m type A. I like things organized and planned and could never be accurately described as one who “flies by the seat of her pants.” But for some reason, despite the presence of a Central America guide book on my wooden bookshelf, I did practically no planning for this trip whatsoever. I brought the guide book with me to Managua to show it to my traveling companions but Jessica promptly lost it and it became a joke that we are such seasoned Central Americans, we have no need for frivolities like guide books. And so, without definite plans, tourist information, bus tickets, or fear of the unknown, four of us headed to Panama in mid-December.

Miraculously, we made it there a day later. Our friend Lara had highly recommended the archipelago of Bocas del Toro right across from the Costa Rican border on the Atlantic Coast, so that was our first stop. And our only stop. We loved it so much, we never wanted to leave. So, we didn’t. We just spent our entire vacation visiting different islands in the archipelago, taste-testing the different Panamanian beers (I choose Atlas), eating great food, and soaking up the Caribbean Panamanian culture.

The beaches were gorgeous: white sand and turquoise water. My 25th birthday was spent in a virtual Corona ad (but make it Atlas). Our only obstacle was opening our beers without the aid of a bottle opener. Palm tree bark is too soft to hold the top against and merely bang it off, so we set up an elaborate assembly line: Jessica and I held up the large piece of driftwood with rusty nails poking out, Aimee positioned the bottle with the top just-so over said rusty nail, and Ibert banged the tops off with a coconut. It was a ridiculous scene, something straight out of Survivor and perfect fodder for “how many Peace Corps Volunteers does it take…” jokes (hardy har har) but in the end, we got our beers open and felt an enormous sense of accomplishment. Guide books and bottle openers are for beginners and novices.

One of my main concerns about staying in Central America over the holidays was that it wouldn’t feel like Christmas. Well, no need for that preoccupation in Bocas del Toro. Their small central park was bursting with Christmas cheer. There was a large tree with wrapped presents underneath, gobs of lights covering every square inch of the park, and tinsel arches over every entrance. In the United States, a park decorated like this would come off as tacky, here it was simply endearing. Every day we came back to our hotel, the Panamanian owner was putting up more ribbons, more lights, or more tinsel. On our third night, there was a huge town parade complete with a Santa throwing out candy to all the kids (and us)! I’m not sure you can find this much holiday cheer anywhere else on the planet.

And we loved all the Panamanians we met. We never felt like anyone was out to swindle us, there were no children begging for money, and no men hissing at us on the streets; just really friendly people with beautiful Caribbean accents. The only exception occurred on our last night. As we were walking out to a sushi restaurant, a drunken man stopped me on the street, pointed his finger in my face and told me in English, “You’re ugly but I love you.” But really, because he ended on such a sweet note, could I honestly be offended by the first part? No, no, we loved all the Panamanians we met and apparently they loved us too, despite our ugly countenance.

So, Panama was amazing or at least the part of it that we saw and I highly recommend Bocas del Toro to anyone looking for a new vacation spot. Just don’t plan on going anywhere else in Panama because you won’t want to leave the archipelago.

Vete Papa Frita

Doña Ruth is a true character. She has a successful restaurant right near the dock of my community and what can only be described as a “devil may care” attitude. She likes to drink and doesn’t try to hide it. Her husband is one of my favorite men in Sábalos, a handyman who always helps me out and never charges me a dime. Ruth likes to hang out with the foreign girls (that would be Sanne and me) and always invites us to eat and drink with her.

On Saturday night, we took her up on her offer and sat with her and her husband outside her restaurant, drinking and shooting the breeze. A few beers in, my wooden penis came out. I had it in my bag because I was going to give a condom presentation along with an educational session in the evangelical church that night but in typical Nicaraguan fashion, the charla got canceled. Normally, the presentation includes a power point slide show with pictures of people infected with the STI’s that the doctor describes. In order to present the slide show, the projector is needed and it was locked in a closet in the mayor’s office and the only man with the key could not be found in all of Sábalos (really. we searched for him). The doctor decided it was best that we postpone the charla, so I left, wooden demonstration penis in my bag, and a longing in my heart to spread the condom gospel to somebody, anybody.

Outside Ruth’s restaurant, I got my chance. It was a small audience of three (Sanne, Ruth, and her husband, Martin) but it can be argued that the smaller the audience, the bigger the impact. I also believe the beer improved my delivery and luckily, Sanne had her camera to document the momentous event. Of course, after booze-fueled talk of condoms, the conversation can only devolve so we were left teaching each other vulgar words in different languages. Apparently, in Danish, the phrase, “Vete papa frita, esta es una fiesta cerrada,” translation: “Go away french fry, this is a closed party,” is quite strong but obviously does not hold the same weight in either Spanish or English. We love it nonetheless and as drunken men sauntered up to Ruth’s still lit restaurant in hopes of having a beer, she shooed them all away with a simple, “Vete papa frita, esta es una fiesta cerrada.” They were all a bit puzzled at the phrase but got the gist and stumbled off to the sounds of our laughter.

Viva Daniel!!

Those of you whom follow world news know that on November 5th, Nicaraguans held presidential elections as they do every 5 years. For those of you who don’t know, there were three main candidates. First in the running was Jose Rizo of the Liberales, the party on the right and the party that has been in power for the last 16 years. Second, we had Comandante Daniel Ortega of the Sandinistas, the leftist party responsible for the revolution against the Somoza dictatorship in the 80’s. Daniel (pronounced Danielle) was president of Nicaragua during the revolutionary years and is close with Hugo Chavez and Fidel Castro (read: not the horse the U.S. was backing). Finally, we had an uncharacteristically popular third party candidate, Eduardo Montealegre, who broke off from the Liberales, formed his own party and enjoyed strong support from the U.S. government. All the polls prior to Election Day predicted a close race between Daniel and Montealegre.

There were months and months of preparation leading up to the election. Pretty much every adult I know was trained to run or supervise the election process in various communities in my municipality. People stuck party propaganda posters to the sides of their houses, hung their party flags outside, and donned their party baseball caps. One morning after a night without power, we all awoke to find the entire town (sidewalks, gutters, and the dock) covered in spray painted messages about Rizo and the Liberal party. A quaint touch was that often, Rizo and his vice presidential candidate’s names were misspelled. Nice try, guys.

Many Nicaraguans feel very strongly about their party and as a result, there is high voter turnout. There are also many Nicaraguans who abstain from voting because they say that all the candidates are the same, that is to say, they’re all corrupt crooks who don’t do anything for the people. As Doña Melena, the woman who cooks at my host mother’s house, explained to me, “Politicians are like boyfriends, they promise you everything but in the end, they just fuck you.” Poignant words, I think, from a woman who regularly spits on the kitchen floor.

As Peace Corps Volunteers, we were instructed to stay as far away from the elections as possible. We weren’t to express any political preference or participate at all in the electoral process. When I asked if we could run mock elections (like between chocolate and vanilla) in the schools in order to teach about the democratic process, I was told no. Although the U.S. ambassador was more than vocal throughout the election process, we had to keep mum. That didn’t stop people in my community from trying to assign me a party. Whenever they asked whom I supported, I told them the Democratic party of the United States. They would then ask me if that party was on the right or the left. “The left”, I told them. “Then you’re a Sandinista!” They would tell me, despite my protests of impartiality.

A little more than 24 hours before the election (and for 48 hours afterwards), Nicaragua went dry. The sale of liquor was prohibited in order to prevent drunken violence and keep things calm. I found this to be a little paternalistic on the part of the government, I mean we are talking about grown adults here; arguably they should be able to control themselves. But at the same time I understood. Especially in the rural zones, Nicaraguans like to booze and shoot guns. Not the best combination when political passions run high.

Finally, the 5th, Election Day arrived and…nothing. My town was totally calm and it was like any other Sunday. In all honesty, I was a little disappointed. I was hoping for a little excitement, maybe a fight or two, something. I went up to the polling stations (all at the one school in my town) to check things out. People were lined up outside of the classrooms and some had told me they had been waiting for three hours in the intermittent rain and hot sun. Once they got inside to vote, their thumb was painted with a dark ink that doesn’t come off for days and they commenced marking their ballots with X’s and then stuffed them into cardboard boxes. I’d say it reminded me of our high school student government elections but even then we used scantron sheets. So, in a way, it kind of reminded me of Valentine’s Day in elementary school when we went around putting our valentines in the decorated cardboard shoe boxes of our classmates. But only if you had a valentine for everyone in the class, no one should feel excluded on Valentine’s Day.

Anyway, by 6 pm, the polls closed on Sunday. We had to wait until 6 pm on Tuesday to know the official results. This seems like a ridiculously long time to wait until you take into account communities like La Quezada in my municipality where people had to walk 6 hours just to bring their results to Sábalos where they had to be recounted before they were called in. And of course all the votes have to be counted and recounted by hand, which takes an incredibly long time. Because so many Nicaraguans feel so strongly about their parties, they are a good check on each other and according to all the international observers, it was a very transparent and fair election.

Finally, last night, the results were in and a winner declared. Daniel Ortega! Triumph for the Sandinistas!! My town is pretty evenly divided between Sandinistas and Liberales (Montealegre was supported more by city folk), so there were many very excited people shooting off fire crackers and playing their Sandinista propaganda music: “El pueblo unido, jamas será vencido!” translation: “The united people will never be defeated!” At the dock, all the children of Sandinista families were rounding up the children of Liberal families and throwing them in the river. I guess you could say that party loyalties run deep and start young.

Now, the Sandinistas have another chance at governance. Only time will tell how they perform this time around. One thing is for sure, after 16 years of the Liberal party in power, Nicaraguans wanted a change for the better. I hope they get it.

Attack of the Ants!

First, I feel the need to justify my absenteeism. The electricity situation in Nicaragua is somewhat dire as neither the monopolistic power company, Union Fenosa, nor the central government have done anything to generate power sources within Nicaragua. That means no power plants, hydroelectric plants, wind turbines, solar panel fields, nothing. The end result? All of the electricity we use in Nicaragua is bought from neighboring countries and there is not enough of it to go around to all 5 million inhabitants. So, we have nation wide programmed power outages. Recently, in my neck of the woods, they’ve been cutting the power between 5 pm and 8 pm. Or just when I get home and would like to write a blog entry. So, there’s part of my excuse.

The other part is that my best Nicaraguan friend and her husband now live two doors down from me and they recently purchased a DVD player. So, when the power is not out, you will find me at their house in the evening watching such modern day classics as Snakes on a Plane, Con Air, or any of four Jet Li movies that came together on one pirated DVD (4X1!!!! The disc proudly proclaims). Is it any wonder I haven’t had time to sit down and type?

Aside from all my excuses, life here hasn’t changed drastically nor been particularly exciting. I did get to go on a fantastic vacation for a week with Greg to Costa Rica where we visited two beaches and the Arenal Volcano. I also had the freak opportunity to meet up with my good buddy, Brad Robinson, on that same vacation as he just happened to be in San Jose at the same time. Other than that, it has been work as usual.

There have been some setbacks with the trash project due mostly to the fact that no one in Nicaragua is ever where they say they are going to be nor do they do what they say they are going to do. It can be a little frustrating working under these conditions but next week, we should finally have the household inspections underway after a one month delay. The Condom and STI Awareness Campaign is going well as we just received the boxes of “free demand” condoms that we will distribute to all the bars and hotels in my site. The doctor with whom I work and I will also be giving an educational talk about the campaign’s content to a group in an evangelical church this evening. I am not entirely sure how my wooden penis condom demonstration will go over in a house of God, but when I expressed my concerns to the organizing lady from the church, she said I had the green light to present whatever I wanted.

Also this week, I was invited to be an honored guest (this means they announced my name and I got a special plastic chair at the front) at a ceremony in a nearby school honoring academic excellence. The ceremony was sponsored by a Nicaraguan bank and USAID and consisted in giving a backpack, hat, and t-shirt with the bank’s logo to the ten elementary school children with the highest grades. The boy with the highest average even got a bicycle! My favorite student of all, Deybi, received a backpack and I took pictures like a proud mother. The biggest surprise of the ceremony was the clown that came all the way from Managua to give us a show.

Now clowns are pretty regular birthday party fare for American children and I clearly remember having at least one attend a Gregorian twin birthday party. I also remember another birthday party featuring a folk singer, which was perhaps more than anything an attempt on mom’s part to show that there was still some of that girl who slept through most of Woodstock left in her, I don’t know. Anyway, for Nicaraguan children, the most exposure they have ever had to clowns is on television. So the clown was a big hit and as an objective observer, I can say he really was quite a good clown. The little girl sitting next to me was about six years old and after about a good fifteen minutes; she leaned up and asked me somewhat skeptically “So, that’s a clown, huh?” “Yes,” I told her, “That’s a clown.” She didn’t seem entirely convinced. About five minutes later she asked, “Can’t he take that off?” Referring to his outfit and makeup. “Of course he can.” “And he can walk around like that?” “Yes, he can.” I replied. Incredulously she continued, “With those shoes?” “Even with those shoes.” Finally, she sat back content and enjoyed the rest of his show.

In household news, another rat has taken up residence and I will be forced to cover my living quarters in rat poison and wait for the smell to come in order to remove (or ask a small child to remove) my victim. Also, while watching a riveting episode of Sex and the City last night with Sanne, my little wooden house came under attack. I looked to one end of the floor and realized it was covered in a dark, moving, stain. Upon closer inspection, I came to understand that the stain was actually thousands of small ants marching in to my house. Ants are not an unusual occurrence and often, when a small group comes in to clean up a spill on my kitchen counter, I leave them to do their work. I find them somewhat fascinating: an incredibly organized and efficient army of little maids. But this was different. We are talking about thousands and thousands. It looked like a small carpet. I could not figure out what they were after nor where they came from and in the end, drew a little Raid barrier around my bed, so they couldn’t visit in the night. Sanne filmed a short video with her digital camera because we were both incredulous and wanted physical proof of the time my house came under ant attack. As always, they were gone in the morning.

I suppose now that I have vividly described the ant attack, you all will believe me when I say that life has not been all that thrilling in Sábalos. But we make do.

The Nice Things People Say

Being the fourth Peace Corps volunteer in a community has its advantages and disadvantages, one of the latter being the insecurity that I’m just the last in a line of many, the final American girl to prance around the street of Sábalos talking health in imperfect Spanish. Perhaps I’m making a big deal out of nothing (a storm in a drinking glass as they say here), but recent comments from various people have made me think that maybe I mean as much to them as they do to me. For those of you who are disappointed or angry (i.e. Nick) with me for not coming home until the end of my service, perhaps this will help you understand why I am trying to squeeze out every last bit of my time here with my (occasionally) loving community.

First there are the normal comments, like from Norma, my soy cooking partner, who tells me everyday how much she is going to miss me or from Maria Jose, a member of my youth group, who insisted I write down my U.S. home address now, in case she forgets to ask me for it when I leave (in six whole months). Then last night, I was chatting with my good friend Johanna, the daughter in law of my host mother, and she asked me what I would like for a present. I told her that her friendship was enough but when she insisted, I told her to buy me something representative of Nicaragua, a recuerdo, which means both memory and a gift that inspires a memory. She told me she would buy me a gold ring and when I protested telling her that was too much; she told me she wanted to give me something so nice because she appreciates me so much and because I am her very best and only true friend in Sábalos. As I am slightly uncomfortable around open declarations of feelings (as well as anything involving mood candles or the musical stylings of Enya, which have nothing to do with the story at hand), I quickly told her my ring size so that we could move on. It was, however, a very nice thing for her to say.

Then there is Gino, the absolute worst student in my adult English class, so bad to the point that I think he is either dyslexic or was consistently beaten in the head as a child. In the nine months that he has been in the class, he has made not one stitch of progress whatsoever. But he’s a very nice man and the other week he asked me how much money I needed per month to live in Sábalos. I always try to avoid conversations about money and how much I make, my parents make, how much my camera cost, or how much I can lend to someone, but as I started to be evasive, he quickly cut me off. He told me he was asking so that he could start up a collection in order to pay my expenses and keep me in Sábalos teaching English for a few months after my service is up. I had to keep myself from chuckling at the fact that he thought a few more months might do what the last year hasn’t been able to, but again, it was a sweet sentiment and I was touched.

Finally, during a meeting with the public cleanliness committee, we discussed a plot of abandoned land in the middle of town that has become a sort of impromptu garbage dump and various solutions were proposed to clean it up. Antolin, my neighbor and member of the committee, put forth with a big smile his grand solution: we burn all the trash and then give the plot to Alexis to build a house and that way; she can stay in Sábalos forever! And as tempting as a burned garbage dump is for the site of my future residence, I let him down easily, explaining the necessity of returning to the U.S. to continue studying.

Given all the sweet offers being thrown my way (I know, the torched garbage dump really does top the list), perhaps you’re all wondering how I could ever leave Sábalos. I wonder the same thing sometimes for about five minutes until I find another damn scorpion in my house. I’ve found and promptly killed three in the last two days and the little suckers really freak me out. Then you add in the unbearable heat, the unreliable Nicaraguan counterpart situation, and the mold that has (oh yes!) reappeared this rainy season but this time on my shoulder, and I quickly find my motivation to head back to my homeland come March 2007. Great packages from home reminding me of all I am missing serve the same purpose. Thanks so much mom, Mrs. Jessica Kelley Garrett, and of course the reverend Jamie Gregorian. Early in my Peace Corps service I was given the advice that packages with written messages about God and crucifixes on the outside are less likely to be tampered with at Nicaraguan customs. I relayed this information to my family and they really took it to heart. I always get a kick out of picturing my family members (remember: we’re mostly Jewish and this is why this is so funny), tongues in cheek, carefully drawing crucifixes and inscribing Christian messages on the boxes they send me. However, Jamie just took it to a whole new level, creating his own church for the return address, adorning every flap of the box with crosses, and writing messages in Spanish such as, “No Christ? No Peace.” Sorry Sábalos, but no amount of gold rings, small salaries, or abandoned plots of land can beat a package like that.