Friday, March 20, 2009

When in a desert is it even possible to pee (orinar) in private?

Locked into a small confined space, it’s lucky I’m not claustrophobic: Lately, I have found myself spending a lot of time in the bathroom. I only wish it was because I had a bacterial infection. In fact, I find myself being unknowingly locked inside bathrooms. It has occurred twice, and luckily people have been nearby enough both times to hear my screams for help. Honestly, one time I didn’t need to scream because I was able to “phone a friend,” like a lifeline on the Millionaire show, to help pry open the door. I have lucked out my whole life and never been locked into a bathroom facility and now karma has come around to get paid in full.

Bzzzzzzz’ness, my bee wax candle kids forge forward:
I have some exciting news to report. My school kids from the previous year have decided to continue selling their products (candles). They are currently working on upping the quality of their product, and getting funding to help buy the material they need to mass produce. Therefore, I have been traveling into their town a little more frequently. Two weeks ago, I traveled in to find that my counterpart teacher, who is helping the group too, was suffering from high blood pressure. She had a headache. I told her to take a nap, but that advice wasn’t good enough. Instead she pulls out a long needle, and wants me to inject her with whatever medication was inside the unknown mystery needle. Anyone who knows me, knows that I can’t stand needles (it’s bad enough when I need to get a shot). My counterpart was getting ready for ME to inject her in her thigh; meanwhile, I was trying not to pass out from the sight of the needle. I told her there was no way I could inject her, even through her insistences I refused. She had assumed that because I am “gringa” I went to some kind of shot-injecting class in University. I assured her that was not the case, and that she would be better off taking Tylenol and resting until someone who was properly trained could give her the shot. Instead she opted to walk over to the neighbor’s house to see if they would inject her. I wish this event was an isolated one; however, I find that more often than not many of my Nica neighbors opt to be “injected” vs. having to just swallow a pill. I am the opposite; give me a pill not a shot!

The Cerro Negro volcano!

Jesus Cristo?... Is that you?: I was in the middle of teaching a class, the kids were participating, and ideas were being generated, if fact all was going splendidly. Then I heard an annoying little knock on my classroom door that didn’t surprise me in the least. The knock means that the principal wants to make a “brief” announcement. I smiled and waved her in, because by now I have learned that it is better to just get the announcement over with ASAP. This time around was a little different. She didn’t have to announce anything, she waved to someone else who was standing outside of the classroom, conveniently just out of my view point, to enter into the room. Thus signaled, the Evangelicals entered into the classroom; their arms overflow’ith with bibles. What happened to separation of church and state? While I was trying to teach the kids the concept of “why creativity is essential to use in the highly competitive world of business,” my class was interrupted to preach the good word of Jesus Cristo. This Evangelical group had flown in from the states, however the minister was Nicaraguan, but the bibles were provided by the gringos. The kids (who love getting free stuff) were now talking amongst themselves about the “swag” they were receiving. The church group took up the rest of my class time, and then left.

What’s red and blue and paisley covered all over; hint...It’s not a newspaper:
Getting integrated, involves eating local food, adapting local traditions and customs, and apparently buying a red or blue backpack? The backpack I trek to all of my schools was purchased in the states; it is covered in a paisley pattern, super durable and holds a lot of stuff. I have used the same backpack throughout my 2 years in Nicaragua, but one of my students recently brought it to my attention that because of the backpack I utilize, I am not yet “culturally integrated.”

Here’s the conversation we had:
Student:
“Prof. do you like Nicaragua?”
Me: “Of course I like it; I wouldn’t be here still if I didn’t like it”
Student: “Well if you like it so much why don’t you have a red or blue backpack?”
Me: “What?”
Student: “Your backpack is very different; all the other teachers have either a blue or red backpack”
Me: “So why do I have to have a blue or red backpack?”
Student: “It’s our culture”
Me: “It’s your culture to have blue and red backpacks?”
Student: “Yes”
Me: “So I should spend money on a new backpack even though this backpack is still useful?”
Student: “Yes”
In conclusion, I will not be buying a new backpack, and have come to terms with the fact that I will never fully be culturally integrated without a blue or red backpack. Such is life!

My student and I were a bit dirty after running down the side of the volcano.


Knock, knock, knock: That’s the sound I heard at my door one morning at around 7:30 a.m. I had been up for several hours doing laundry and prepping for my class, but was still surprised to hear someone yelling at my front door. What could they want? I opened my front door to find someone from the school’s delegation office. He wanted to inform me that there was a very important reunion that I had to attend. I said I could attend, but just need to know when and where this “reunion” was going to be held. It turns out the reunion was going to be held in the capital city of Leon, in 1 1/2 hours. I closed my door, as the realization sunk in that in order to make it to this reunion I had to leave my house in 1 minute to catch a bus into the capital. I grabbed my purse and ran out the front door. 1 hour and 10 minutes later, I found myself at the location of the reunion (20 minutes to spare, not too shabby). I didn’t know what the reunion was going to be about, all I knew was that all of the principals from my town were attending, and that they had invited me to attend. I opened the door to the conference room to find myself staring into the eyes of other confused volunteers. It turns out I wasn’t the only volunteer called in for the imperative reunion. Low and behold there had been a mix-up. The reunion was being put on by Peace Corps (not the local ministry of education, as I had been led to believe). As well, the reunion was not for volunteers it was just for the directors that were interested in working with Environmental projects. Apparently, my local principal had received an invitation to this reunion, saw the name Peace Corps, and thought it was for me to attend (while in fact it was just the opposite, the reunion was for them to attend). Since I had already rushed to get into Leon, I decided I could I could at least go and check my mail.

It's really windy on the top of Cerro Negro, we were lucky we didn't get blown away.


El Cerro Negro, the most active volcano in Nicaragua: Behind my town is the infamous Cerro Negro, it is the most active volcano in Nicaragua and the second youngest volcano in the Americas behind Volcan Paricutin in Mexico. Whenever I talk to people about the cerro they inevitably bring up the infamous “gringo loco” that got the bright idea to ride his bike down the side of 730 meter volcano in order to break a world speed record. The fact that he rode his bike down the side of the volcano doesn’t faze anyone, because we surf and run down the side of the volcano without a blink of an eye. The shocking part of the story (at least as the locals tell it) is that he used a bike worth $5,000 American dollars to bike down, only to crash, break his bike and later succeed breaking the world speed record using a local bike worth, at the most, $50 American dollars. “Amazing,” I always reply. Who knows if the story has any validity to it, but they also always assume I know this gringo (that he must be a friend of mine), because they tend to think all gringos know all the other gringos in the world! We must have some kind of vast gringo network of sorts! Anyway, here’s the Youtube link to a video of the crazy biking gringo: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rTfu0hjVtzE. I have made the trip to the cerro before, but this time around we decided to head up to the volcano via a giant commercial truck. We all got into the bed of the truck that was raised about 6 feet off of the ground. The truck started up with a roar and departed the town as a whirlwind of dust encompassed the truck and swirled around our bodies and faces. Without warning, the group that was standing on the right side of the truck bed made a squatting move. “Are we exercising?” I wondered. Then I thought, “Maybe we are doing some morning squats to warm up for our hike?” Next, the people on the left side of the truck, including myself, found ourselves practically doing pushups. We ducked down low and quick, and not in an attempt to warm-up for a hike. It turns out, the truck bed was raised just a tad too far off of the ground, because the millions of tree branches that lined the dirt path we were taking to the cerro were crashing into the side of the truck and threatened to hit us all in the head, arms and body. To avoid being thrown off the truck by a branch we were forced to either do a “squat move” or a “push-up move” if the branches were extra low. Thus went our trip to the base of the volcano. It reminded me of Richard Simmons jazzercise video, up down pushup squat…we weren’t sweatin’ to the oldies but we were sweatin’! We reached a peanut field that marked the turnoff for our journey. The field was right along the base of the volcano and this road was covered with sand like volcanic ash. I thought, “Should the truck being turning down this road? Shouldn’t we just walk from this point forward to avoid being stuck?” But no, why walk when we have a truck…it makes no sense! About 1 minute after turning onto the volcanic ash path, our truck got stuck (I would say I told you so, but opted to keep my mouth shut!). The driver continued to rev the engine, spinning the wheels wildly, and digging us deeper and deeper into the sand (someone had obviously never driven in sand before). The group jumped out of the truck and started to gather branches to put under the wheels to help create some traction to get us out of the hole. After about 30 minutes, we dug out and continued on, only to get stuck twice more! Finally we reached the base of the volcano, as the group realized that they shouldn’t have drunk the bags full of “fresco” (fruit juice) before embarking on the hike. As we looked around, we saw a barren desert covered in black volcanic ash. There were a few sparse trees that can be described as twigs sustained by what little life they could suck out of the ash. I heard someone say, “What, no bathrooms?” The answer was an obvious, no. Well, with bladders threatening to explode people went in various directions to “orinar” (aka squat and tingle) in a very open desert like landscape. I had not partaken in the fruit juice for this very reason, and I didn’t have to squat in public! But when in a group of 30 and in a desert, there is no such thing as peeing in private! With bladders emptied we started to ascend the cerro, after a hike of 1 ½ hours, we found ourselves at the summit. We had a picnic and then proceeded to run down the side and back to the truck! We somehow managed to lose 2 people (the pastor and his wife), but they eventually turned up 2 hours later. Everyone boarded the truck again, we did out squat/push-up moves and made it back into town right in time to have lunch!