Minnesota Nice, Nica Warm

Hello from Nicaragua,

After a brief visit to Minnesota, we are now once again in León. My tail between my legs, I feel sorry I have come and gone from the states twice since I updated you last. Many of my closest friends didn't even get a phone call as a result of my visits to family in Milwaukee, Stillwater, and Minneapolis. You are my priority when I arrive in August. After both trips several Nicaraguans noted I appeared un poco mas chelita y un poco mas gordita (i.e. a bit more pale and a bit more chubby).

Transitions

Traveling to the United States from Nicaragua has been more taxing emotionally than traveling from the US to Nicaragua. After my trip last January we traveled from one shocking extreme (10 below and blustery) to the next (95 and sunny -- feels like 108), but other than that and missing my family, adjustment was fairly smooth. As a contrast, during my time in the US I felt drugged up on Nyquil: languid, spiritless. I also felt peeved and prickly with the noise of the TV, bombardment of marketing by billboards and telemarketers.

Traffic jams, voice mail, mirrors, overstuffed house ... all of this unnerved me. Despite sadness about leaving family and friends, I didn't mind one more escape to a life of abundant walking, a sparsely filled home, and the absence of television. Ahhhh.

During my last visit to the US, while digging through my boxes of clothing for a pair of running shoes, I burst into tears. The excess! So much unnecessary stuff! I cried about the value system that got me there. Though guilt gets the world nowhere, I felt shame. Ninety percent of Nicaraguans will never visit a movie theater or a restaurant, have a new item of clothing, or afford medication to manage their mother's pain as she dies. If they could see how I live in the States, how could they not judge me as harshly as their leaders who hoard the wealth at the expense of the poor.

Minnesota 'nice' and Nicaragua 'warm'

A frequently discussed subject among folks who have traveled to Nicaragua is around the 'essence' of Nicaraguans that draws so many here. My brother Tim once posed the question: "How often do you drop by friends' homes unannounced, simply to say hi?" During the lull, many shook their heads. Few of us could say we made visits unannounced once a month. In contrast, in Nicaragua, most visits are unannounced. Though lack of communication technology in one sense keeps Nicaraguans poor, it also maintains Nicaraguan warmth. After each of my trips, friends and acquaintances stopped by the house to see if we had arrived well. They had remembered my return date though I had only mentioned it in passing. They asked about my mother and if she was healthy, about my brothers, and if Amati had missed gallo pinto (rice mixed with beans, often eaten for breakfast). It is not unusual that a Nica walk 20 minutes to say hello, only to find no one home. Nevertheless, there is no sense that their time was wasted; chances are they ran into a few more friends on the way home. Once, two friends stopped at the same moment, only to find me, feet up, receiving a two dollar pedicure. (I must support the local economy!) Seeing it would take a while, they picked up a mop and broom and cleaned my house. Tears formed in my eyes. How often does it happen in life that two friends gratuitously clean your house for you? Because most cannot afford the cinema or pool, book club, hobbies, or baby showers, entertainment happens within relationships.

I find this spontaneous 'dropping by' very sane. Of course, there is always that initial (so gringo) annoyance of "plans interrupted." But, unlike making plans with a phone call, I don't have time to clean up and to run to the store for a treat. (Less anxiety!) Nicas know, when they stop by unannounced, that the dishes probably will not have been done, the floor will not have been swept, the menu will not consist of more than a glass of water and a mango.

I am a cantankerous student, though. Often I keep my door closed in order to be able to complete my agenda for the day. But when my friend Mercedes lived with Amati and I for a few months, my intensive course in Nicaraguan hospitality began. Folks always stopped by our disheveled house. Unlike me, not once did she apologize for the state of the house. Instead, she shared whatever she was eating and later sat to chat in the rocking chairs in the doorway, greeting other acquaintances as they walked by. She inquired one day "Estefani, I have noticed that you get nervous when people stop by, you become a different person. What is that?" Since then, I have resisted apologizing for the state of the house. I have ceased to pick up in one room while conversing with people in another.

Taxi drivers often provide the most interesting conversation. Sharing with one of them that I considered myself a 'student of Nicaragua.' He said "I never consider Americans to care or be interested in people from other countries. It seems to me their attention is directed to their bank accounts." My mind flashed to an image of a CNN screen with the permanent spot for NASDAQ increases or decreases, and Bush's recent 2004 campaign speech about the benefits of war for the economy and job creation. I shared this with Amati and he grimaced in disbelief. "Really? We are interested in other people!"

Amati

Age-appropriate Spanish flows from his mouth with a delightful Nicaraguan accent. "Adio!", he says. He may be one of those students correcting his Spanish teacher on her grammar and failing Spanish tests because he cuts off the last half of his words!

Socialization with Nicaraguans has increased with his involvement daily in soccer. He made the 4th and 5th grade soccer team as a goalie. His coach, most certainly an ex-Contra or Sandinista, 'inspires' the kids with the most colorful statements. "Hijo de P... (Son of a) you are playing like girls!" When I probe Amati's feelings about his coach he says, "He's good ... and strict!"

Amati is understanding the impact of purchasing a bag of Wonder bread (named Bimbo bread) instead of bread from the woman who sells bread. Without those few Cordobas we pay her, it may mean she does not eat that night. Amati shines when Isabel, the bread vendor, stops at our home. "Hola Buenas" she calls into our open door. Having carried the bread on her head in a wide basket, Amati helps her bring it down to the table. After our purchase, he helps her put it back to her head. "Adio, Isabel." "Adio, amor."

Recently I declined to buy from a woman who had stopped to sell us perfume (Walgreen's brand from the '80s). As she turned to walk to the next home, Amati scolded me, "Mom, we have to support her business or she won't survive!"

I think back to the deluge of anger and sadness that he has experienced during the course of his adjustment. If I had been aware of how tough it would be for him (and me), I would have passed up this sabbatical. Thank God for my ignorance! Perhaps if he had a built-in buddy system with brothers and sisters and a committed dad it would have been easier to adapt. He must have felt completely out of control. No ability to communicate, no independence, no friends, no certainty, no comprehension of the value. I am sure he sensed his 'rock' crumbling at times, as I, too, experienced extreme emotions which isolated and distanced me from him.

As many of you know, Amati is not shy about sharing his position on Nicaragua. Recently at a family gathering in the US someone asked, "What do you think of Nicaragua?" he responded, "I hate it." The conversation halted abruptly.

However, within a day of returning to Nicaragua he asserted, "I would like my friend Matthew to come visit from the states so I can show him my life here in Nicaragua." He also tucked away his plane ticket stub in the living room drawer 'to remember Nicaragua' in the future.

We are faced with a lot of begging. While debating how to handle the situations, often what comes to mind is "WWJD?" ("What would Jesus do?") which is embroidered on the bracelets my students wear. I wonder what Jesus would do if, moments after he offered a hand out, he discovered the beggar smoking pot on his own doorstep! Yes, now and then Amati wakes up in the middle of the night and says, "Mom, our friend is smoking marijuana on our doorstep again." We gently ask him to leave and he says gently, "Bueno adio. Muy buena noche!" before walking off, bare-footed and shirtless. In his case as in many here, the horrors of fighting war prompted drug use and an ensuing addiction. Some say he is a black belt in Karate, an avocation he enjoyed prior to his warrior days.

Recently a woman brought her 10 year old daughter to our home on her shoulders. She lacked resources for a doctor's appointment and medicine. In grave need, her daughter, Mauris, was burning up with fever due to an infection from an appendix operation. She had spent days vomiting her food. At that moment I realized that to deny them a handout would put that little girl's life at risk. We worked out a deal that she would help me with washing to pay the loan. I have been asked for several other loans by her and others since, and have seen them at the doors requesting more loans. When tempted to judge, I remember that her debt for food and medicine is a pittance compared to my school loan and house debt, or debt I may incur for a frivolous vacation. Most in the world don't have the sophisticated luxury of hiding debt and requesting loans in a way that is not publicly humiliating.

The constant in-your-face reality is the catalyst of an informal policy Amati and I have formed around begging. We typically do not give to kids who beg because it deters them from going to school. (For a while I would pull out a story book and read to any child asking me for money.) Giving to the old ladies seems just since chances are they were abandoned by their partners for another woman. Or, there is a possibility that their partners and kids were killed during the decades of war. Imagine being an ailing, abandoned elderly person in a country with no family or social security system? We try to support people in their small street businesses of selling fruit, drinks, or bread. We also invest in projects that make a wider impact than only on one or two people.

Dogs

For a short time Amati and I cared for a precious dachshund-cocker mix named Fibi. At his first game Amati tied a red cloth around Fibi's neck with MI MUNDO written on one side (his school's name). Fibi cheered him on to a win, earning the honor as the team's mascot. Fibi is an exception to the rule about dogs here. Most dogs are ugly dogs who roam the streets with foaming mouths, ticks, and noses in the garbage ... and in more intimate places. This has initiated many birds and bees conversations between Amati and me. When back in the states I will be donating to the local Humane Association.

Nicaragua Tranquility

Maria Jesus, a clothes washer, struggles to pay for a simple wooden coffin for her recently deceased aunt. (No bank will give a clothes washer credit.) Nevertheless, she consistently dons a calm, loving smile.

I, on the other hand, have yet to possess this calm. Though I have more perspective now about what is worthy of stress, I still display distress when I have a lot to do about whether or not I have enough time to do it. My blind friend Narciso says, "Stephanie, tranquila. There is more time than life."

I have often wondered, "Why do folks in León seem so peaceful despite all the hardship in their lives?"

In my reading of the book, The Power of Now, the author answered this question for me. He compares waking up from nightmares to waking up to life. His belief is that when we dream nightmares, we are fiercely motivated to wake up. We breathe a deep breath and sigh. "Thank you, God." (I suspect the non-believers do this on occasion as well.) We feel acutely aware of the beauty of that waking moment, realizing that a loved one didn't get swept away in a tornado, that we didn't drown, or that we really didn't show up at a funeral wearing a wedding dress. On the other hand, when we dream average, not-so-bad-not-so-good dreams, we may spend the night half asleep, half awake.

So it is in life. Those who live nightmares are awake to the present beauty. Those who dream average dreams, live their lives half asleep. Nicaraguans seem awake. They linger in conversation, laugh heartily, and spend two weeks' pay on firecrackers for New Years celebrations. When one asks, "How are you?" most Nicaraguans respond, "Fine, thanks to God." Each moment seems to be the best moment.

Am I living my life half asleep? Are you? Do you spend inordinate amounts of time ruminating about the past or anticipating future events (that rarely turn out as we dream)? Life is right now. When I bring past anxieties into the present, or impose future anticipation into the present, I am only distracted from the life unfolding before my eyes.

Recently, after I had lit my candle and reminded myself to be present to the moment, a hummingbird flew into my garden looking for nectar.

An Enduring Nightmare

Speaking of nightmares: Any recent hope that may have come with the crackdown on corruption by the current administration, is extinguished when Nicaraguans are made aware that 40% of the budget is paying interest to lending agencies such as the World Bank. Recently these lending institutions required that before dispersing any more loans, Nicaragua must rewrite the budget, privatize more of the basic services and lower salaries for teachers and health workers. To give you some perspective on the effects of privatization of basic services: If our payments were proportional to a Nicaraguan's, someone in the states making $50,000 would be paying $400 a month to the light company right now. They would have to take a half day off work in order to wait in line to pay their bill and get a receipt. This holds true with both the water and the phone services. I don't disagree with privatization as long as it is monitored by just, not corrupt, governments. Otherwise there is minimal oversight, competition, and regulation of essential services. Privatization, coupled with a goal of maximum profit, debilitates Nicaragua.

My Work

This latter half of our sojourn, I moved from surviving to thriving. I attribute this to the following: Amati began school in February and we were once again on a schedule. We now have people in our life we trust as friends. I light a candle each morning and take ten minutes to read and acknowledge the beauty around me. (This short ritual wakes me up to present beauty; forgoing the nightmare!) Thus, the past few months have been refreshingly peaceful.

Camp León?

Project Minnesota/León has chosen two new communities in which to focus our resources. They were chosen very carefully so that our donations can incite the greatest impact. Each community has an active and organized community directive board. Neither communities have worked much with international organizations.

One community leader, Rodrigo, says he feels like a one-man show because there is a trend of thought among the people that the internationals will take care of them. As a result there is less community involvement, and only scant youth interest in striving for positive change for Nicaragua. Keeping this predominant attitude in mind, Project Minnesota-León's focus in these communities will initially be on providing human resources to promote development of León's human resources. PML strives to minimize complacency and avoid paternalistic activities.

When Amati was out of school during November and December I felt heavy hearted seeing the number of kids hanging out all day long on León's streets, passing the time with no supervision. These kids will be voting in a few years. These kids will be, and some already are, parents. Thanks to my parents and my community, I spent summers at camp, Wednesdays at Youth Club and Autumns running with a Cross Country team. Though some fortuitous individuals are born leaders and find their way in life with relatively few falls, most people learn to be good citizens through modeling the lives of leaders, developing their talents, and stretching themselves.

So, planning is in full force with the communities in order to implement camps in June.

The directivas of the communities, along with youth aged 17 to 25 who have shown leadership potential, will be counselors. Three volunteers from Minnesota and Gettysburg will also be counselors. Each counselor will undergo training on leadership and group dynamics with a theater group from León called Espiga Nueva. Each day will follow a theme and will include an artistic activity, a recreational activity, and an interactive activity addressing themes suggested by the directive board. Some themes will be deforestation, premature pregnancy, drug addiction, and skills for community organizing.

The beauty is that many people from the communities will be involved in implementation of the camps, creating the possibility for later replication whether with or without PML involvement.

Teacher Trainings

I have recently provided two workshops for about 45 preschool teachers. I enjoyed being in the classroom again and the feedback has been positive. Some student teachers have heard of the trainings and are reorganizing their teaching schedule in order to be able to attend. Last week the focus was teaching strategies involving the 300 books donated through the 550 Books Project. We just may reach the 550 mark before I leave in August. Thank you!

Activism & The Darkest Day

I felt an unusually deep sadness one Friday last fall and remember saying to myself, "I need to hear a familiar voice." I called Minneapolis and understood the sadness I felt was yours, too. Earlier that day Paul Wellstone and his family members had died.

Though she did not realize this, a long time PML council member, Idalia, walked into the office with a plant adorned by a fire-orange colored blossom. "Estefani, I know your garden needs plants. Let's go to your home and put this plant in your garden." We walked home. She grabbed a stick, as I had no shovel, and started digging. She reminded me to water it often as the dry season is coming.

Tears in my eyes, I was reminded of the inseparable nature of light and dark in our lives. "Let this fire-orange flower represent the fire for justice which Paul Wellstone lights within us." I pondered.

Several months later the war in Iraq was launched by the US and allies. León, considered to be the liberal and cultural center which birthed the ideas behind Nicaragua's revolution, demonstrated a quiet submission to the US initiative in Iraq. I asked a taxi driver about this. He sighed and said, "The yanquis are just so big."

This servility, though sad, shouldn't be surprising; historically the US has repeatedly silenced the will of the people in Nicaragua.

Several Nicaraguans expressed flashbacks too, when bombs fell in León's neighborhoods. One friend, Maria Jesus told me, "Stephanie, I prayed for your family in the United States, that no retribution happens to them."

A long time PML friend, Victor, stopped in today. Quickly after our Nica pleasantries, we moved straight into the war talk appearing in the newspapers. We looked at the front page and saw an Iraqi man looking at his babies in wooden boxes, his hands raised to the air. Thirty three civilians died in yesterday's bombing. Victor pointed to the photo and shook his head. "I saw this in Nicaragua. This man lost most of his family, and now he sees the States as the enemy, not the liberator. He will take up arms and offer his life to fight the enemy because US alliance killed what he treasured most in life. These things multiply hate, Stephanie. I want information, but when I see George Bush on TV my blood pressure rises. I see bloody children in the newspapers and I see Nicaraguans. I want to do something, but I feel my words and efforts will never be heard, as if I would be pounding against a cement wall. I am seeing a psychologist because I am taking all this out on my family. My little ones shouldn't suffer, as it is not their fault. I think about you, Stephanie, and I ask that you be careful. We are reliving and re-experiencing our war here. Some of us may go to the extreme and my concern is that if they cannot hurt Bush, they may go after his daughter, you."

Though I feel very safe here, I have felt burdened by my own nervous anxiety. I remembered the lament when Paul Wellstone died. People said, "Mourn, Organize. That will be his legacy."

Two Drops of Water Grow to Fifty

With three days to get the word out, Amati and I planned a peace vigil in coordination with those in two thousand other countries. Amati distributed flyers in restaurants and in the town square. Fifty people attended and we grew to 50 drops of water.

At that vigil, a woman named Gioconda approached me, suggesting we organize a Gigantonas por la paz March with children in the indigenous community of Subtiava. Reporters, poets, musicians, dancers and actors all ended up in my path during the course of the week so the planning was effortless. I was reminded that life flows more fluidly when our actions are motivated by spiritual energy.

We met in El Parque del Indio. Ten Gigantonas towered over Amati, my brother Tim, and me. The Gigantona is the dark skinned, 12 foot tall woman/puppet who dances when her short, big headed friend, Pepe Cabezon vivifies her. Each Gigantona was dressed in vibrant, delightfully garish colors and each accompanied by three children playing snare drums. Amati and other Nicaraguans handed out 150 white flags which had been crafted by the children.

The drums signaled that we were moving forward. A 20 foot banner declared, "STOP THE US WAR AGAINST IRAQ!" Others said "GLOBAL PEACE."

A dozen kids carried signs displaying newspaper clippings showing the smallest Iraqi victims that read "THE CHILDREN WANT PEACE." Though mostly children were marching, journalists and sister-state coordinators from Spain, Italy, Germany, Britain, Holland, and Minnesota joined them. The wall of sound, the commanding presence of the twisting Gigantona puppets, the spirit of defiance to world leaders who ignore the voice of the people, all of it, nearly caused my heart to leap from my body. There were people in the doorways, beside me were my brother Tim and Amati in solidarity; there were adults on bikes and kids on shoulders. There were no rubber bullets and no police. There was no fear and no criticism of anti-patriotism. The stars and the moon shone large. I looked up to the sky and thought, "This is one of the most powerful days of my life."

150 Drops of Water in Solidarity

Upon arriving at the León Cathedral in the center square of the city, our group of 150 was joined by another 150. Some held candles. We heard poetry by local poets and music about solidarity and justice. Some danced on stilts, others performed skits. Flames lit up the faces in the crowd, most of whom were children. The local TV station covered the demonstration and even a national paper, El Nuevo Diario, requested pictures.

300 Drops of Water in Solidarity

At the event, a third person approached Amati and me suggesting we form a committee to plan further activities. It was announced, and the following night Leon por La Paz was born, consisting of students, fruit sellers, journalists, coordinators of non-governmental organizations from other countries of the world, and even folks from the Mayor's office. Each Sunday night people gather in Poet's Park for an artistic program and to read more honest information about war, about who suffers, and who benefits. A few nights ago another gathering took place attracting 300 people. The hope was to educate people about the effects of CAFTA (the Central American Free Trade Agreement) on Nicaragua. León for Peace will be renting busses to transport Nicaraguans to protests in Managua against these neo-liberal proposals. A boycott of the businesses most benefiting from the war is taking place.

Up to now, nearly 1000 people have participated in León for Peace activities. A movement has begun as the result of a belief and two big hands and two little ones. In my garden two more orange blossoms have since bloomed. Honest.

I leave you with this quote by Walt Whitman.

Go freely with powerful uneducated persons, and with the young, and with the mothers of families. Re-examine everything you have ever been told in school, or in church, or in any book and dismiss whatever insults your own soul. And if you do this, your very flesh shall become a great poem and have the richest fluency, not only in its words, but in the silent lines of your lips and face, and between the lashes of your eyes, and in every motion and joint of your body.

I love you,

Stephanie