Estelí

Although bus rides are sometimes long and tiring, I always find them exciting. There’s something about being in transit that is thrilling, that I’m going to arrive in a new place with an entirely different feel to it. While it’s new to me, the people who live there don’t think anything of it, immersed in their daily lives. Watching the countryside roll by and change dramatically from one minute to the next. The mountains rise soon after traveling north from Managua. Although we were sweating horribly in the bus (a school bus!), the mountain landscape was a welcome change from the smog of Managua. With one piece of my IPod headphone in my ear, I listened to Jill Scott, Silvio Rodriguez, Interpol and Etta James. Halfway through the trip we realized we’d taken a regular bus rather than an express, which takes twice as long… Instead of 2 hours, it was four. We passed through towns, dropping all the passengers who started out with us in Managua and picking up new ones. The produce in the markets looked freshly picked from nearby farms. The sunset was even more impressive over the mountains than in San Juan del Sur, lighting up the clouds in pink and purple.

We finally got into Estelí at 7:30, dropped our bags at the hotel and went out to dinner at a Cuban restaurant. There seemed to be a significant Cuban population in Estelí, possibly because of the revolutionary history of the city, being in the north where most of the war played out… The next day when it was light out, we walked around the Parque Central, ate breakfast in a fritanga and were able to appreciate the murals that paint both the history of the Sandinistas and the current work that people are doing, particularly with women and children. A collage of brightly colored figures in primitivist style, working in the fields, wielding guns, holding signs, children playing, arms and legs contorted like in waves and heads at awkward angles.

We decided to take a hike to the Salto Estanzuelo. It said in my guide that it was 5 km from the road, but it ended up being a bit more than that, with lots of inclines. My friend was sweating horribly by the time we got to the point where all of Estelí spread below us, couched in dry deserty mountains, the ring of cicadas and the breeze, much cooler than that of Managua. The falls were less impressive than I though, but nice and cool compared to the dusty walk in direct midday sunlight. Unfortunately we didn’t make it to a norteña bar where all the men wear cowboy boots, cowboy hats and big leather belts with silver buckles and settled for a Managua-style disco playing mostly reggaeton. The only difference was the cool breeze coming off the mountains rather than the oppressive humid heat of the night in Managua.

A very cute exchange

Cultural exchange between an American Jewish girl and a Nicaraguan girl.

Dear Silvia,

Hello, my name is Hannah Verman and I would love to be one of your friends in the United States! I am ten years old but will be 11 in April. I live in River Forest, Illinois and go to school at Roosevelt Middle School. I have one older sister named Rachel and one younger brother named Zach. It is funny you are learning English in school because I am learning Spanish in school. I do not have a favourite type of music, but I do like to listen to pop. Another thing in common that we share is that we both play soccer. I play on a team called Strikers that travels around Illinois. I also like to hang out with my friends when I have free time from playing soccer, volleyball and tennis. I am so excited that I have made a new friend so write back soon! Adios amiga!

Hannah Verman

Hi Hannah! Thank you for writing. I liked your letter very much. It surprised me that you like pop music too! What is your favourite group? I like a group with two singers named William and Fergi. They sing a song called “My Hump.” Do you know a group called Rebelde? I like them very much. They also sing pop music and are very popular in Nicaragua.

My birthday is December 20th. I will turn twelve. I want to eat pizza on my birthday with my family.

I would like to be on a soccer team like yours. In my neighbourhood we have a team called el Arsenal. They are very good and win a lot.

I would love (little drawing of a heart here) it if you write me again. Me gustaría mirarte algun dia.

Adios amiga

making a phone call

Walking during the daytime to Huembes market is a challenge, but at night it’s even worse. Let’s just call it an adventure. First of all, rounding the first corner to the main road of the Fuente, which is the road that goes to my house, there’s a man selling pastries out of a wide wicker basket set up on a stand, swatting flies away with something that looks like a pom pom with strands of straw. Squeezing between the basket and the lamp pole, you immediately come to a hamburger joint that sets up it’s grill on the sidewalk. You have to slide by the grill and the chicken rotisserie without burning yourself, and emerge on the other side covered in sweat, like you’d just been put through the oven. Next door to the rotisserie is a bar, so the stumbling drunks smelling of Toña beer are the next obstacle. At this point in my journey, I noticed that it was particularly dark… No street lights, no lights coming out of people’s houses…a power outage, so I could only see the sidewalk when cars passed by. There were no shortage of cars and buses, but they tended to blind me first before illuminating the sidewalk. I slipped past commuters on their way home from work, vendors coming home from the market, and teenagers walking home from school. But it was virtually impossible to see the sidewalk so I was at risk of falling in the huge holes in the street that people mistake for garbage cans, cracks, and places where there simply was no sidewalk. The advantage to the darkness was that I received fewer catcalls of “chela” (gringa, essentially), because no one could see me. So aside from tripping a little on a crack in the road and almost running into a woman and her kid that I didn’t see coming, I made it home fine! And this was all so I could make a phone call to the states!!

Barrio parents

Not only the youth in the barrio are in need of support, but their parents as well. On Sunday the youth team did a workshop for parents. I wasn’t actually there, but from the evaluation yesterday, it sounded like a lot of important issues came out. A lot of the parents ended up crying when talking about their kids and the difficulties they have with them. Doña Sonia was there, and her son dying so recently was still an open wound. During the workshop she asked him for forgiveness for the hardships he had to live through. I think this got everyone crying. In the evaluation, the team was mentioning how normally adults are hesitant about unloading all of their burdens with others because they don’t trust the people they’re talking to, think they might judge them or spread rumors about them or are scared to start the process of healing. Many of the single mothers here live under enormous stress and pressure. Even though many don’t have jobs and are bored being in their houses all day, they don’t actually relax at home. They have to do all the housework, deal with fighting children and problems with husbands or partners. Also, Doña Esmeralda said that there’s not a woman in the neighorhood who hasn’t experienced violence. Maybe not just getting a black eye, but having a husband come home drunk and yelling at her and her kids, or having him spend all of his income at the bar. Oftentimes, not dealing with their own trauma results in them taking things out on their kids. I think that this guilt was coming to the surface during the workshop on Sunday.

The staff thought there were a lot of successes… That the participants began to ready themselves for talking about the problems they have with their kids and the burdens they have been swallowing their whole lives. They also developed solidarity among each other, supporting each other as they spoke about their problems and consoling each other as well. Participating in the evaluation also made me want to go to Social Work school again, to be able to learn more therapy skills to be able to bring back here.

Emily & I in San Juan

I think the pictures speak for themselves...

Workshop

This Sunday I participated in my first workshop with the youth in the youth group. The theme was personal responsibility and meeting your goals. I helped to plan the workshop with the other facilitators during the week, where we had a long argument about the difference between a goal and an objective. In the end, it didn’t really matter. We had the kids write down a goal that was specific, achievable and personal to them. They did a meditation activity where they laid on the floor and listened to a Pablo Neruda poem about how people shouldn’t feel bad about who they are, everyone has problems and difficulties to overcome to reach their goals and that people improve themselves by learning from their mistakes. Gustavo sang a song about the challenges of being a youth, and gave a motivational talk about how they had to determine small steps to take in order to reach their final goal. At the end we split into small groups and they discussed specifically what their goals were with each other. In my group, many had the goal of finishing their studies. One is studying accounting, a few were finishing high school, and one is in medical school. Nancy already finished high school and university and is focusing on finding work. A couple of the guys have started studying auto-mechanics and had the goal of finding work in their field when finished. Jania, one of the youth, facilitated the small group, and did a fantastic job! I was really impressed by her ability to keep the discussion focused and ask questions to deepen their exploration of their objectives. To evaluate the workshop, we played a fun game called Pass the Balloon. We blew up balloons and put little pieces of paper inside with questions written on them. Hidden among the regular evaluation questions like how were the facilitators, were things like Do the funky chicken dance (see photo). We had a good time and the youth seemed to get something out of it as well…

Death in the Family

Last week Doña Sonia’s son Danilo died. Doña Sonia is the teacher of the sewing workshop and Doña Esmeralda’s sister. I was staying over at Tere’s house the night before, and at 6am Fatima came by and told us the news. He was only 26. He had some problems managing his alcohol use and did not take very good care of his health. But everyone commented on how he was a sweet guy and never bothered anyone. Traditionally when someone dies, the family holds an all night vigil (vela) that evening. Family and friends come and sit with the bereaved, sharing food with them, comforting them, praying and making sure they’re not alone. Maria and I walked together to the vela which was at Doña Sonia’s mother’s house in Reparto Schick, a neighboring barrio. They had set up plastic chairs on the front patio, which were mostly occupied by children, one of whom was Doña Sonia’s 10 year old daughter. As the sun set, people continued to join the vela, greeting Doña Sonia and offering condolences. The chairs overflowed onto the sidewalk and the house next door. The 108, 109 and 164 buses rumbled by periodically and groups of men hung out in front of their houses chatting and playing cards. Doña Esmeralda arrived soon after in a truck with the food that they’d been preparing all day. Doña Thelma and Sonia served all the guests a plate of food and a cup of Coke, and Doña Sonia’s mother delivered food to the neighbors on a platter. The guests sat chatting with each other quietly. After the food had been served, Danilo’s father arrived. He had been working in Panama and had to fly in. Everyone quieted down as he greeted his mother, sisters and Doña Sonia, and proceeded to go into the house. They had set up the casket inside for viewing… It was surrounded by elaborate flower arrangements. I left at nine, but people stayed all night. Doña Sonia is still grieving, but when she comes to the centro during the day, there's many people here to console her.

International Women's Day

(picture, left to right... Doctor Eduardo, Maria, Sonia, Tere and Doña Thelma)

I don’t think I’ve ever participated in an IWD march before. Fitting that my first one would be in Managua with it’s strong feminist legacy. Every year, women congratulate each other, like it was their birthday, wishing each other a Happy International Women’s Day. Radio DJ’s send out special messages to women as well and banners hung up all over the city celebrating the day.

Doña Esmeralda mandated on Wednesday that all the staff would go to the march. At 8am we waited for the bus sent by the Collectivo Feminista Xochilt to pick us up and take us to their office, which was the point of departure for the march. About 10 of us went, sporting our new AMUCOBU t-shirts. When we arrived, hundreds of women filled the street in front of the office. They wore t-shirts that said Movimiento Feminista on the front and a message about abortion on the back… Prosecuting abortion is illegal, unconstitutional and immoral. We then walked to the Supreme Court building along the Carretera Norte, shutting down traffic in our wake. This is one of the main arteries of the city, so it caused some disruption. A small brass and drum band walked with us, and a few women led chants on bullhorns. The point of the march was to advocate for reinstating therapeutic abortion (for only the most severe cases of rape and danger to the life of the mother) which was made illegal in October. There have been many women who have died since the law was put in place in a political maneuver by Daniel Ortega to win the favor of the powerful Catholic authorities before the election. Although various groups have been fighting to reinstate therapeutic abortion, it’s still illegal.

Jews in Nicaragua

My friend Karina and I discovered a part of the small Jewish community in Nicaragua on Friday. Although we've both noticed small signs of Judaism here and there (for instance, the presence of the Star of David in strange places like auto garages and the tiles in the floor of my friend's house in the barrio) I had yet to encounter any Jews, aside from other expats like myself. Karina found out about a Shabbat dinner that happens weekly at the home of an elderly Jewish couple. Max and Sarah reminded me of my grandparents, except that they speak Spanish and were born and raised Nicaraguan. I still don't know what the story of their family is, but am very curious. Others who came to the dinner were a Russian woman and her son, 2 Israelis, and a Nicaraguan couple who seemed to be in their 30's. It felt good to come together from all different cultures as Jews to chant the same prayers, eat the Nicaraguan version of Jewish food (egg salad with lime and avocado, rice and beans, fish, salad, candied plantains), drink Toña (the national beer) and talk about politics. Karina also went to the Purim party on Sunday, which I didn't end up going to, where apparently they were going to serve kosher hot dogs and Hammentashen!!

Mom and Dad in Managua

These are my mom's first impressions of Managua from the party we had last week, and some pictures too! Gustavo playing guitar, us in San Juan del Sur and mom and I dancing at the party...

Our first day was a trip to the barrio and Maddy’s “centro”. We drove out of the city, at first glance it could have been any city, and into a third world country with corrugated steel houses and dirt roads. There was to be a party to celebrate our visit, but first a trip to the market to buy more yucca, vegetables, flip flops, toothbrushes and a tee shirt (our luggage was held up in Houston). Therese led us round and round the market looking for the best deals, an opportunity to see the real Managua not open to most gringos. Back in the Centro it was time to join the women and prepare the yucca and vegetables. With Maddy translating, I settled in with the women and felt less like an outsider. I understood well enough as they chastised me for holding the knife the wrong way-it sounded like “oy vay”. A cake mixing machine like my father (the baker) once used was whirling in the corner of the room. The finished cake was a work of art and delicious. We enjoyed a full day of eating, drinking and dancing. Despite the hardships and lack of resources, these good people made us feel so welcome, worried about our comfort and so clearly watch out for Maddy. I will carry the memories of this day forever.