Dark Days

When a group of little six and seven year-old, uniform clad first-graders run towards you as you pass the fenced-in schoolyard with nothing but pure excitement written on their faces, screaming your name, and asking, begging to know the next time you’ll be visiting their classroom and you find this annoying because they should know by now that you always come on Tuesdays, it is a clear sign that you’re having a bad week. I usually try to keep an upbeat attitude when it comes to correspondence with home and especially when it comes to this blog, but last week was pretty awful and there’s just no way to sugar-coat it.

Sure, the kids were attentive and participatory during my malaria charlas and the women in the Casa Materna also responded well to all of my charlas there, some even telling me they were definitely going to get PAPs done after I explained the exam to them. We had another successful soy cooking class and I taught my women’s group to knit. My girl’s youth group had another fun meeting and my English students actually did their homework and did it well. The grant check arrived in Managua and we can hopefully start the trash project next week. By work standards, it was a good, if not great, week here in Boca de Sabalos.

But it hasn’t stopped raining for ten days. My clothes hardly dry and when they do, they smell and are slightly moldy. There’s tons of mud everywhere I go. Despite how often I mop my floors, dirty water enters into the space where the walls don’t quite meet the floor every time it pours down rain (several times a day). I’m already sick of the rainy season and there’s 4 months left to go.

From what I can tell, at least two rats have decided to settle in my house. No longer able to deal with their little beady eyes staring at me, the slight heart attack I have every time I see one appear, or the fact that I awoke to one not six inches from my head the other night (I take back anything derogatory I ever said about my mosquito net. It is the greatest fortress in the world and my salvation), I decided to go all out and spread rat poison throughout my house. I did this despite all the stories I received from friends in town about what happens when you put out veneno. “Oh Alexeees,” they tell me, “You’re going to smell the worst smell and then when you find the little rat bodies, they’ll still be moving. Not because they’re still alive, but from the maggots that are living inside of them.” I know that it is a truly revolting image I’ve just painted but I actually recounted my friends’ comments with more tact than that with which they were originally stated. And now you all know how desperate I am to get rid of my new roommates. However, it seems they are intent on staying (and incredibly resistant) because although all the poison has disappeared, they continue to plague my house and my soul.

On top of the rain and the rats, I’ve also been dealing with bouts of nausea (perhaps because of the rats?) and neither I nor my stomach has been quite right for the last few days.

Really, though, bad weather, rodent infestation, and stomach unease isn’t the end of the world. No, the end of the world came on Thursday when I quickly got to check my email and found out some of the most heartbreaking news I’ve received in my 24 years. A week earlier, a friend of mine from college, David Magoon, died tragically when he fell from his apartment’s fire escape in Boston. Even as I type the words, I can’t believe it. And I hate that I am so far away, I hate that I find these things out so late, and mostly I hate that these things happen at all.

So I think that, given the circumstances, I am allowed to feel a little down. Even enough to reveal that life here in Nicaragua isn’t always funny or anecdotal or the stuff that while gross now, will make for funny stories later. Sometimes life here can be tough. I’ll just try not to take it out on first-graders.

It's Baaack

Along with the good times, we volunteers experience a lot of bad feelings while in the service of the great and mighty Corps. Often we feel depressed, lonely, isolated, useless, underutilized, underappreciated, vulnerable (Jess’s word, not mine, and used to defend her make-out session with a married man in her site), and annoyed although not usually on the same day and hopefully not all that frequently. But of all the negative feelings we entertain during our two years, for me the most recurrent and most insidious is disgust. Disgust at people spitting on their floors, at their filthy finger nails, at women cooking without washing their hands, at people defecating outdoors, at the lizard eggs and crap I am constantly cleaning up, and at the cockroaches and large spiders who have made themselves at home inside my house.

I was also pretty grossed out by the biting ants that decided to take up residency in my bed despite the fact that my sheets were only 4 days old and I never eat in bed. I tried killing them all one by one but kept waking up from my nightmares that they were crawling all over me when a new one would bite me. I realized my nightmares were justified the next morning when I found one crawling around inside my underwear. Finding out that your mosquito net is not the asylum, the safe harbor, the greatest fortress in the world that you thought it was is somewhat akin to discovering the truth about Santa Claus or that your parents aren’t the foremost experts on everything (you’re the exception, Hrach).

All this being said; I’m pretty accustomed to being disgusted at this point in my Peace Corps adventure. However, for me, there is no greater disgust than that I feel when I see a rat running amok in my living quarters. And I felt that tonight. That’s right, after a 6 month hiatus, it appears my house is once again inhabited by a large black rat and I couldn’t be more grossed out. I don’t know why the sound wave machine isn’t keeping it out. Perhaps it is just able to dodge the device’s conical sound wave emission. Perhaps the thing never worked, the rodents were just on summer vacation. All I know is that when I saw it tonight on several occasions I screamed so loud that had my music not been blasting, I’m pretty sure my neighbors would have come running. God help me and please strike down the rat.

On a lighter, funnier note, this week I’m talking about acute upper respiratory infections in the schools. The biggest problem right now at the Health Center is pneumonia, so this week’s class was aimed at defining respiratory infections, targeting their causes, and discussing preventions and cures. To do so, I talked with the kids about the respiratory system using a picture of laminated lungs taped to my chest. When I asked the deviant first grade class (there are two, one made of the good kids, the other of the delinquents) what the organs I had taped to my chest were, I got a variety of answers that went something like this: “Kidneys, a brain, kidneys, BOOBS!!!” These kids usually make me laugh but this time I found myself needing to take a few seconds to compose myself. I’m not sure why a six year-old shouting out “boobs” was so funny, but if you had been there and seen the earnestness in his face, you would have died laughing as well.

Happy Birthday America!

Most Peace Corps volunteers never make it down to my neck of the woods, for that matter nor do Nicaraguans. Every time I’m in a large city in the north of the country, I eventually end up talking to some Nicaraguan who can’t believe how far away I live and gasps at the horror of having to travel there. Granted, most Nicaraguans don’t have the money to travel too often but that’s not what keeps them from coming to the Rio San Juan. It’s just too damn far away.

Things being as they are, we volunteers down here decided to start the tradition of a 4th of July party in “the Juan” (as we call it) in order to get our friends to visit us that “maybe one time” they had always promised. This past weekend marked the second annual 4th of July bash in the Juan and it was all we could have hoped for and more. People traveled up to 20 hours in order to make it down.

It started on Friday in my site. 14 friends arrived on the last boat of the day and although I had forewarned my town about the upcoming invasión del gringos, I’m not sure that they were prepared for the sight of so many Americans with backpacks walking down the main (and only) street of Sabalos. We looked like we were on parade and it was quite the spectacle. Everyone came to my house for drinks and snacks and to check out what has been dubbed as “the best house in Peace Corps Nicaragua” mostly due to the incredible view overlooking the river from my porch. We ate dinner at my host mother Clarissa’s hostel and divided between her house and mine to sleep. When we all filed into her dining room, some of my favorite local boys (Deybi, Junior, Miguel, Jeremias) were waiting for us and counted each of us off. They just couldn’t believe how many foreigners were walking in and as the number grew, so did their incredulousness: 12!! 13!!! 14!!! Oh my God 15!!!

The following morning we headed to Monte Cristo River Resort, about 15 minutes down the Rio San Juan from Sabalos and the site of our annual party. We started the weekend off right with Bloody Mary’s and continued on with swimming, beers on the dock, dance party (Gnarls Barkley’s Crazy on constant repeat), horse back riding, trivial pursuit, vulgar never have I ever games, and good food. Once again, it was a hell of a party. Happy Birthday America!

On Monday, half the group headed home and the other half headed to Los Chiles, my buddy Jessica’s site. Jess and the United States share a birthday, so the idea was to continue the celebration in her site with a piñata. The first problem was the lights went out around 6 and didn’t come back on until about 10. The second and much graver problem was that Jess, Christina, and Russell all got violently ill and for a while just sat in a circle outside vomiting until they decided they needed medical attention and headed to the Health Center for IVs. Poor Jessica celebrated her birthday not only throwing up but also having the nurse prick her three times with an oversized needle (they were all out of regular) before finding a vein. Back at the place we were staying, we didn’t want the piñata to go to waste, so we beat it until the candy and shards of ceramic went flying. Yes, ceramic shards. Flying. The piñata, the child’s plaything, had a ceramic dish in the bottom and when it finally opened, the pieces flew out. I asked the owner of the hostel where we were staying what was up with that and she simply replied, “That’s how we make them here. It’s so the piñata is weighed down.” But isn’t that dangerous, I asked her. “That’s how we make them here.” She replied with a tone that invited no further discussion of the safety practices employed by the Los Chiles piñata-makers.

Perhaps not the best way to end a fabulous weekend but definitely a memorable one!

Back on the Chain Gang

After a three week hiatus (immediately upon returning to Nicaragua, I attended a maternal health workshop in the northern city of Matagalpa), I have settled back nicely into my site and my Peace Corps routine. Everyone for whom I brought back gifts was pleased and grateful and of course, some people I barely know wanted to know what I brought back for them.

My house was in good shape although littered with spider webs and lizard crap (amazing how much the little guys can produce in such a short period of time) and surprisingly, no one stole the hammock I have hanging on my porch, although my little neighbor Jordy did steal a plant from my garden. Luckily, another little neighbor, Kimberley, told on him and the plant was quickly restored to its original location.

All of the kids are on their mid school year vacation, which means they are constantly over at my house coloring. I have no problem providing them with a little diversion or at least an activity that doesn’t involve them sitting in front of the tv watching Dragon Ball Z all day but when they start to fight over the crayons, I start to wish I had never let them in. Or smiled at them. Or let them know I was home. I tell them I am not the crayon police and that they will have to sort it out themselves but as someone who was consistently wronged by her twin brother as a child, I know how frustrating it is when adults refuse to intervene and resolve whatever little battle is being waged at the time.

In work related news, my USAID grant has been approved and we are just waiting on the check to start it up. The goal of the project is to increase awareness of the trash problem we have in our community and get the citizens of Boca de Sabalos to start properly disposing of their trash through use of the trash collection service we are lucky enough to have rather than burning their garbage or throwing it in the river. We will attempt to achieve our goal through an education campaign, radio program, clean-up days, and household inspections. We’ll see how it goes. Also, Normita (little Norma) and I gave more soy cooking classes this week at the Casa Materna. Although I’m not sure how many of the pregnant ladies are actually replicating the recipes in their homes out in the further communities from where they come, more and more women from my site are attending the classes and buying soy to cook for their families. So we’ve got that going for us, which is nice.

The new water system still isn’t functioning, hopefully in July what we were promised would be installed by May will finally be operating. Also, the word on the street is that we are still slated to receive a cell phone tower in Sabalos, which would mean I could receive phone calls anytime and wouldn’t have to travel two hours to do so. The problem is that the owner of the terrain where the phone company was going to put the tower died and his widow doesn’t have any documents proving ownership of the land. In the end, getting cell service in my site will be kind of a mixed blessing because I know from other friends who have gone through it that once cell service becomes available; everyone in the community has an intense desire for a cell phone and feels the false need to buy one. Cell phones are out of the price range for most people in my town and cell phones in Nicaragua don’t work on a plan system, they require expensive phone cards. A one dollar phone card gets me about 5 minutes of talk time. This is not an expense most Nicaraguans can afford. But, like DVD players and tv’s before that, cell phones are a status symbol (as they were in the U.S. in the 90s before they became ubiquitous) and will become a priority. A family might have a dirt floor but that doesn’t mean they don’t watch their favorite pirated Steven Seagal DVDs on their LG television every night. They may only eat rice and beans for all three meals but that won’t stop them from using their new cell phones to call neighbors they could just as easily have talked to by walking the one block to their house. That’s technology in rural Nicaragua for you.

Absolutely No Place Like Home

My brief trip back to the United States began oh so appropriately when Hrach picked me up late at night at Dulles airport and we chanted “U.S.A! U.S.A!” for the first five minutes of the drive home. They say that living abroad usually causes a person to have more disdain for the United States as they come to see the country as the rest of the world does: a bunch of obese, ignorant, reality-tv watching, oil guzzling despots who have way too much money and eat way too many hamburgers. Well, if this is the trend, I’ve bucked it. Everyday that I live in Nicaragua, I love the United States more. I love the cultural variety, the carpeting, the road signage, and the hot water showers. I love wireless internet, customer service, Whole Foods, and couches. I love wine, the fact that men don’t hiss at me on the street, washing machines, and expressing myself in my native tongue. I love my motherland and I now appreciate it only as one who has lived in a third world country for a year and a half can. It felt really good to be home again.

I readjusted to my environment my first day home with a haircut, pedicure, and quick shopping trip. Gone were the apprehensions I had about facing the mall in December, bring on the consumerism and the materialism, if it’s part of the U.S.A., I love it. I caught up with my oldest, dearest friends, Emily, Lauren, and Lisa, and prepared to go to Atlanta. In three short days, I was able to catch up with Taylor, Adam, and Katie (and let’s not forget Jeff Dinos!), attend Raine’s gorgeous wedding, spend quality time with Kate, Sara, Natalie, Devon, Mary Stuart, Ridgely, and Keats, and finally fulfill my dream of visiting the World of Coca Cola museum and taste the what everyone claims to be the nastiest coke product ever: the Italian ginger ale, Beverley, which in comparison with the popular Rojita here in Nicaragua, is somewhat enjoyable.

Once back in Virginia, Hrach and I headed to Charlottesville so I could take the LSAT. All of the Northern Virginia testing centers filled up 4 months in advance but I also figured that taking the test where I once flourished or at least passed as a student couldn’t hurt. It had been two years since I had last been in Charlottesville but rather than feeling overwhelmingly nostalgic for my college stomping grounds, I felt completely at ease as if I were simply returning from fall break. Sure, now there is a Target on route 29 and the new sports arena looks awesome but the Corner remains the same as does the Rotunda, which I guess should be expected when you attend a University that is also a UNESCO world heritage site. The test went smoothly enough (still waiting on the scores) and about six hours after entering the Mechanical Engineering building, I reunited with Hrach and we quickly hit my favorite college haunt, the Virginian bar, to celebrate.

Upon returning to sunny Vienna, I was reunited with Greg and for the remaining week I was home, we engaged in various activities (like watching the World Cup and going to the zoo) between meals. Gone also was the food poisoning and general stomach discomfort I experienced in December, bring on the pad thai, the eggs benedict, the samosas, the sandwiches, the paella, the pasta, and the bagels. Classify me as an American glutton. I couldn’t care less. I tried on my bridesmaids dress for Jamie’s wedding and Nick also came home for two days and we had a lovely evening courtesy of Judy on the patio with our oldest pals and for Father’s Day, the entire Gregorian clan was together.

Finally, it was time to depart. It was a quick trip home but it was packed with great visits, catch up phone calls, delicious meals, and quality time with the people I love most in this world. Thank you to all of you who made the effort to see (or at least talk to) me. It made me miss you all even more but I am also grateful for what I have to come back to. And luckily this time, gone were the tears as I flew back to Central America. After all, there’s only eight more months to go!