Short Stories

A Good Thursday

Wednesday night, I didn’t sleep much again. Instead, I spent the night in-and-out of sleep, pushing our little stray kitten off my bed, convincing myself that I could feel the fleas in my bed biting me and trying to drain out the snorers in my room with The Beatles and Johnny Cash. For waking up cranky and not knowing if I actually slept or not, Thursday turned out to be a great day. Six hours of cement mixing flew by to the tunes of Snoop Dogg and the Doors and before I knew it I was stuffing my face full of rice, beans, and a saucy chicken dish at lunch. After, I had my first ‘intercambio’ (English-Spanish exchange) with Silvia, a teacher in the school in the first housing project. My Spanish came back, I enjoyed tutoring her in English, and she promised to teach me how to ride her motorcycle. On the 10 minute walk back to my volunteer house, I heard the unmistakable crack of a wooden baseball bat. I ran behind the church to the mid-sized dirt soccer field surround by brush, trees, and barbed-wire fence to find a group of guys taking some batting practice and fielding. I took the field in my sandals and didn’t stop smiling as I chased after the floating “baseballs” – a homemade combination of tightly wound string and red tape. With the bat in my hands, I kicked off my sandals and dug my bare feet into the dirt. Looking down at my dirt-covered toes, I thought of watching the MLB growing up and seeing clips of kids playing literally wherever they could in the Dominican Republic, Puerto Rico, and the like. Hitting balls under the setting sun with people who loved to play that much is something I will never, ever forget.

Kids’ Day at the Beach

At dinner, Pato – our most devoted volunteer here – announced that on Friday there was a trip to the beach and that she needed every volunteer that could come to do so. Nobody seemed too upset. We pulled up to the glistening waters of Lake Nicaragua, the only thing obstructing the view was the perfectly shaped volcano Concepcion. We were all silently disappointed that we weren’t at the ocean, but within minutes both kids and volunteers had stripped down to their swim trunks and were splashing around in the tiny waves of the lake. Before long, there was a vicious volunteer vs. kids game of keep-the-ball-away they dove, jumped, and fought to get a hold of the coveted tennis ball. We lost ourselves to the kids still living in each of us and the kids loved the game even more as we refused to hold back on our pint-sized opponents. I hadn’t laughed and let go of my “mature self” like that in quite some time. It reminded me of something my dad told me once. He told me when he turned 18 he thought, “Oh shit, I’m 18. I don’t feel like an adult.” Then the same thing at 25, and then 40, and so on. It was good to see I could revert back to “Little Tommy” when the moment called.

Baseball

Friday night, Granada played Leon at home in the 5^th game of their national baseball championship. After waiting for the habitually tardy Spanish girls, we got into town to try and snag one of the few remaining seats in the stadium. We pulled up into the parking lot, and the crowd was deafening. There couldn’t have been more than 5,000 people crammed into that stadium, but it seemed louder from the outside than I ever heard at Shea Stadium. The game was sold out, so we decided to go watch it at a bar in town. Before we left, however, we saw them “deliver” the beer into the stadium. The video will say it better than I ever could, but just keep in mind he did this at least 50 times.

Granada ended up losing the series and we ended up having some Flor de Cana rum, the internationally renowned Nicaraguan rum that goes down smooth even on the rocks. Aside from us stuffing seven people into a taxi on the way home, the night was pretty uneventful.

Not being able to get into the game on Friday left me itching to watch a game. Luckily, I found out that the department of Granada had its own baseball championship on Sunday and that a La Prusia local, Luis – or as they call him, “Aleman” (literally, German) – was the star of the team. With the other volunteers I had hung out with Aleman a couple times, once at the Laguna, once out on the town, and through randomly seeing him around the barrio. At the lagoon, we were throwing rocks and suddenly all you heard was a whoosh and saw a tiny rock getting smaller and smaller. The lanky six-foot Aleman has a cannon for a throwing arm. I needed to see him play.

We showed up at the vacant stadium on Sunday morning in time for the first game of the double-header. Aleman’s team was down in the series 3-1. Having gone out the night before for his birthday, he showed up late for the game and the coach benched him. The one-level stadium with seats extending only to first base was speckled with people quietly observing the boring match. The teams dressed in recycled jerseys, including an old Mika Piazza Mets jersey, quickly rotated on and off the field as base-runners were few and far between. Finally, in the bottom of the 11^th inning, Aleman’s team had a base-runner in scoring position. With one out, the next batter cracked a single into left field and, just like that, the boring game was over. Baseball can be one boring game, but God I love it.

They went on to lose the second game of the double-header and the series as well.

A Birthday Party in La Prusia

I mentioned that Aleman had his 22^nd birthday the day before the game, and on Saturday the volunteers baked a little birthday cake and brought it down to his family’s house by The Rocks. We got down there around 8pm, and spirits were high. Aleman, Danny (another one of the guys who regularly hangs out with the volunteers), and Alex, another one of the guys, were standing in the street, ripping on each other as always and laughing their asses off. A couple three or four year olds ran around tugging on our shirts and showed us their bachata dancing skills. A group of men hung around a table playing cards while the women chilled out on hammocks and rocking chairs, taking a break from their relaxation to fetch us plastic cups of soda and cut the birthday cake.

Aleman and the gang are all 21 and 22 years old, but we all might as well be 15 again when we hang out. They’ll sneak around, tapping someone’s shoulder or find creative ways to give each other the middle finger or make a bunch of “maricon,” gay, jokes about each other. Standing in the street, talking and doing nothing and everything, reminded me of being at home with my friends and just standing in one of our driveways, talking about nothing and everything. It was no different here, minus the bachata beats coming out of the speakers.

Ant Attack

There are lots and lots of ants in La Prusia. Ants on trees, ants on the ground, and ants on any piece of food that's left unattended outside for more than five minutes - they're everywhere. On Sunday, we were attacked.

During a game of Catan (or Settlers), a few of us felt a few extra critters crawling over our feet. We looked at our house wall and there were literally hundreds of the little black creatures scaling it, some going in and some coming out carrying little treasures from inside. Then we noticed they were everywhere - on the columns, on the patio, on the ceiling - and there were more and more coming. It took several minutes of intense spraying by Anna for the invaders to redirect their course.

On Friday, the other volunteer was attacked, but much worse. There were literally tens of thousands scrambling away from the house by the time I got there, and a mound of casualties a few inches thick. They retreated in three files, each about four inches wide, and it took 20 minutes for them all to evacuate. If you lied down in there way they probably could have eaten you alive. Or at least carried you somewhere. Nature is impressive, sometimes scarily so.

The Essentials in La Prusia

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.

Who I'm Working for and What I'm Thinking

Angel and Las Casas de Esperanza: The History

The four of us sat on the benches of our wooden dinner tables – James the Scotsman, Chris from South Carolina, Angel our director, and I – as the Spaniards on the opposite side of the three juxtaposed tables chain smoked cigarettes, laughing chatting, and swinging on the worn but trustworthy hammocks. We had just finished our communal dinner – two delicious Spanish dishes, one of cauliflower oven baked chicken and veggies – and it was time to relax for the night. Angel had asked us three newcomers if we wanted to hear a bit about the history of Las Casas de Esperanza and we all said, “Of course.” Here’s what he told us.

In 2005, Angel came to Granada to work with La Esperanza Granada, a group that works with local schools and usually has scores of volunteers at their disposal. Angel found that there were many communities where the paved roads from the city stopped that desperately needed help but were not being reached out to by La Esperanza.

Partnered at the time with that organization, Angel started the project in La Prusia in 2006. He bought some acres of property on which people living in chavolas, the shacks lining the dirt roads, would be able to help build their own houses and later pay off a miniscule loan without interest over the course of the next several years or decades. There would be no gift-giving in the usual sense; the people who would benefit would have to invest themselves in the project. Like most good ideas, it was easier said than done. Many people were either skeptical to the idea, confused by it, or downright opposed to it. Once solid houses were actually being built and people could see results, more Prusians wanted in. Today, the community consists of 36 houses, a playground, an adult soldering workshop, a women’s shelter, and a school. There are mini-roads, mini-yards, and plenty of kids running around at all hours.

They achieved the goal of giving people better houses, but problems remained such as unemployment. A disturbingly low number people – something like three or four – have secured full-time jobs in the community; the rest work part time, short-term, or not at all. They are trying to create jobs, but it has proven more difficult than expected.

They are looking ahead, however, and are just about ready to begin the second housing development. First, we are going to be building a house with a set design and afterwards the rest are going to follow that design and help build their own houses.

As far as getting money goes, they have a couple generous friends in the States, including Angel’s son. He works for Microsoft, donates $12,000 a year and Microsoft matches his donation. Not a bad deal.

Angel finished up his talk by saying there are thousands upon thousands of people in Nicaragua who live like the people here in La Prusia. The problem can seem overwhelming, if not irreparable. However, you’ve got to start somewhere and Angel hopes that these communities here can find some way to become self-sustainable and that they can serve as role-models for future ones to follow.

Some Personal Thoughts

Like I said last post, coming down the dirt road, seeing the houses, barbed-wire fences and skinny calves grazing, and seeing my new home which is smaller than my room at home, I felt a bit anxious. I’m already feeling good about being here and can tell it was a good choice. My hands are already torn up from carrying cinderblocks and digging holes, but it’s going to be worth the pain. I’m with chill, easy going people from the States, Spain, and Scotland in the volunteer houses. It’s amazing how much easier it is for me to talk with the Spaniards. It’s mostly due to the accent and the way they speak traditional Spanish – the Nicaraguans have a Spanish all their own – but I fear it’s also because we share similar personal histories: university experience, interest in traveling, trying to find to enrich our lives and put off working. In the coming days, though, I’m going to make more of an effort to meet the families living in the community outside of our barb-wire-fenced area.

It’s odd how comfortable I feel here already in a setting that should be very uncomfortable for me. Most of the people here speak Spanish, there are plenty of bugs and geckos crawling around the house, my bed is a single without sheets or a pillow, I’m in the woods, the occasional scorpion in the bathroom, etc. Already, however, I’m finding myself making more of an effort to appreciate simpler things. Swinging on a hammock with a book after several hours of digging, talking to people when I’d normally be doing something else, walking a half hour to a secluded volcanic lagoon and swimming in its warm waters, just staring at the clear sky at night and realizing how many stars we don’t get to see at home. We’ll see what I’m saying in a week or two when I’m covered in mosquito bites and blisters, but I have a good feeling about this place.

My New Home... La Prusia, Nicaragua

"Tom, follow the road by the cemetery to La Prusia if you want to go by foot. If you'd prefer a taxi, call Ernesto," this note from Angel, director of Las Casas de Esperanza, was left for me in my hostel. Two hours later, Ernesto showed up and I hustled to get my cositas in the trunk as traffic beeped at the stopped cab.

We chatted as we drove through the old colonial city, and as we drove out of it, and even as we suddenly turned off the paved road onto a dirt path cut out from a field of grain. Where the hell am I going? I wondered, watching all signs of human life disappear. The road was bumpy, but Ernesto assured me that it was smoother than the road I would have walked down. I trusted him. Suddenly, there were trees and barbed wire fences. Then there were a couple calves camouflaged by the shade and the brush as they grazed alongside the road. Then, there were a couple shacks made from rotted pieces of wood and tarp. "This is the community, but the volunteers live further up," Ernesto commented in his thick Nicaraguan accent.

We pulled up to the barbed wire fence and he said we were there. All I could see in front of me were three brightly colored boxes with roofs. This is where I'm going to live?, I joked to myself, getting a bit nervous. It seemed so empty, so lifeless, so remote. Suddenly, there was a man about 6ft in height with eyes of blue and amber and ashy gray hair parted to the right walking toward me with a smile. It was Angel.

He walked me to my house, the orange box on the left. There was a wraparound porch with a few tattered hammocks dangling along the edge. He opened the door. In the back left corner was the kitchen area complete with two fridges and a tabletop stove fueled by propane. On the opposite side of the room were four sets of bunk beds, each with its own respective mosquito net and naked, beat-up mattress. To be honest, it was much more modest than I had even expected. I got a bit anxious.

There were nine other volunteers there at the time, seven of which were living in the other house a few yards away, but they were not around. I met Mitch and Julio, volunteers from Boston and Spain, respectively. They both had crazily overgrown dreds, but seemed like cool enough guys.

Angel came over and gave me the tour of the place, explaining the projects. Next to my new house, the empty and heavily forested plot would be the site of their second development. We would be building the model house for the inhabitants to follow in a few days. We walked down the street on which I arrived, past the shoddily built houses and their residents happy to greet Angel as he passed.

We reached the first community, and suddenly everything seemed different to me. The 36 houses were built along a mini street inside the community. They were made of concrete and cinderblocks and had actual floors. One even had nice tiling. Children were in the schools built by the Casas project and families chatted in front of their houses as the evening settled in. Angel explained that we were about to start to building the second of these communities, but that if I didn't want to help with construction I could teach, help in the women's clinic, in the health center, or I could start a new project if I had something in mind. Suddenly, despite the clouded sky, the sky seemed a bit brighter.

Back at the houses, we were getting ready for our nightly community supper. We all sat at the wooden tables outside of our house. The tied up guard-dog looked on with jealousy as we sank our teeth into the pizzas cooked by another one of the volunteers. We were from the US, Spain, Canada and Scotland, though mostly from Spain. I suddenly found myself getting excited. The house was feeling bigger, my bed more comfortable, the geckos running around the house more quirky than disturbing, and my insecurities about speaking Spanish were vanishing. I'm still not sure exactly what I'll be doing - whether it's taking a class or constructing, or both - for the next two months, but with my new community I already felt like I was at home.

On a side note, getting into town to get online is going to be tough, so posts will more than likely come about once a week with maybe two or three at a time from now on. I'll be able to gauge it better in the coming weeks, so keep on checking!