The Weather – Whether it’s in the blistering sun of the early afternoon or the dead of night, I’m usually at least on the brink of sweating. The heat doesn’t bother me so much and, since it’s usually cooler outside than in, I’m outdoors from 7 am until I go to bed. Occasionally a wind will come sweeping through and when it does, it’s a true blessing. And a cold shower after several hours of shoveling and stabbing the ground with an iron rod will make you forget about taking a hot shower ever again. Every winter that I can remember, the frigid weather and short days left me feeling cold, isolated, and on-and-offly depressed; not this year. There’s nothing quite like blue skies and a warm, generous sun and I’ll gladly take sweating, occasionally smelling, and having to shower more than I did in Guatemala.
Bugs – If you saw the number of mosquitoes we have in our bathroom in a movie, you’d say the director was full of shit. Nevertheless, almost every time I walk into the bathroom I keep my arm swinging, like a horse’s tail, futilely trying to bat the blood-sucking bastards. Surprisingly, they don’t seem too hungry. Luckily, there are plenty of ants that bite enough as well as a mystery bug – either bed bugs or fleas – that leave a few new red, unitchy bumps on my feet and knees each day. Inside and outside, I’m getting used to little creatures of all shapes and a limited range of sizes crawling, swarming, and pegging me spastically in the face. I’m also remembering to shake out my shoes so as not to find another eight-legged surprise inside. It’s true what they say; in the wild, the bugs rule everything.
The Work – So far, I’ve split my mornings up. The first two hours, I’ve been helping with apoyo, tutoring kids aged 4 – 14 usually in Math. Since their on vacation right now, when the kids struggle with something, it’s a struggle to get them to keep on trying. I can’t blame them, but it’s disturbing that many of the kids struggle with the most basic of skills, like saying what number comes before and after a given number. That’s only for the first hour. The second hour consists of an activity planned by the Spanish volunteers or soccer or baseball. I usually just lend a hand here because 1) my Spanish skills are obviously much more limited than the Spaniards’ and 2) they usually have it planned out. The rest of the morning, I’ve been helping out with the second housing project. So far, it’s been all grunt work: lots of digging, picking, and cutting up roots. The “construction” – right now I guess it’s just kind of deconstruction – is exhausting and slow-paced, but it has to be done. With all the intense physical labor – picking, shoveling, and mixing cement – that I’ll be doing here, I should be coming home in fighting shape… or looking like a hunch back.
The Food – When I came home for Christmas, I learned that I lost 20 lbs since I left in September. You’ll all be glad to hear that I’m getting fed plenty here. Five days a week for lunch we get a large, yet repetitive, portion of rice and beans alongside a variable dish. Four nights a week we have our community dinners. In four community dinners, I’ve had three delicious Spanish dishes that have left me with a food baby. On the weekends, we’re left to fend for ourselves but we usually have enough leftovers from the week to scrape together a meal or two.
The Language – Last week, my Spanish was on fire. Not only was I able to understand what was going on around me, I was making quick jokes and even having full on conversations with little effort. This, however, was only with the Spaniards. The Nicaraguans have their own breed of Spanish and a few of my new Spanish friends here struggle to understand. They drop letters. They invent new words. And they have a flare that I believe is uniquely Latin American.
Something happened, though. I don’t know if I got too cocky. I don’t know if I ran out of things to talk about. Maybe I’m just tired and my mind’s overloaded. Whatever it is, I feel like I haven’t been able to get a full sentence out in Spanish since Friday. Let’s hope that changes soon.
Playing with Fire – “We’re going to the church,” Eader, one of the Spanish volunteers said, but they weren’t going to mass. Most nights of the week, Eader, Sandra, and Anna – three volunteers – want a change of scenery from the usual saggy hammocks and wooden tables of our porch, so they head down the unlit dirt road to go behind the church and practice their poi – fire dancing – skills. We said sure, and that we’d meet them there.
After my Scottish mate James was done with his Spanish homework, we set out with flashlights for the church. Trying to watch out steps and avoid a face plant over a rock, we didn’t notice the dogs blocking our way. We heard them growling and then barking, and their teeth reflected our lights. Then, one barked from behind us in the darkness. We were almost surrounded. They started running closer. Then stopping. Then barking and jumping closer. They were within feet of me, snapping at the air. Ducking, I picked up some dirt and pretended to throw some rocks at them. They retreated just far enough for me to hustle out of their stretch of the street. My heart thudded in my chest. I hadn’t been that scared since my first day in Guatemala with the druggie in the bus station. James was unfazed and kept on walking.
Behind the church, looking out over a mini-soccer field, we found the girls. The sky was clouded, but between the clouds you could see more stars than I’ve ever seen at home. I sat there admiring the sky when Eader came from around the corner, two chains and their flaming ends dangling from her hands. She began twirling them and suddenly there was light. The spinning balls of fire roared as they fought against the wind to stay aflame. We all cheered, the three of us, when the flames went out.
Las Rocas, The Rocks – Between the volunteer houses in La Prusia and the paved roads alongside the cemetery in Granada there is a 40 minute walk along an uneven, dusty and unshaded dirt road. About ten minutes into the walk toward the city, there are five rocks large enough to seat two people. If you walked past these rocks by themselves, you wouldn’t look at them twice. Each night at 5, however, these lifeless chunks of solid earth come to life as they become a hangout spot for the barrio’s young guys. They sprawl out on the rocks like they were couches and the air is filled with laughs as they rip on each other. It wouldn’t feel much different if I were sitting in a diner with my friends or my backyard. To me, it’s further proof that it’s not where you are or what you’re doing, it’s who you’re with the matters.
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