Falling face first into a pile of dung **Note to Reader: regrettably (for me), this title is not being employed as a metaphor

¿Que Pasa?

Minor injury: I lost my thumb nail, which presents a slight problem when washing clothes and dishes. Quite frankly, I am just glad it is growing back… slowly but surely. Not sure how I lost it in the first place, but I suspect one of my many bike crashes to be the culprit.

Mop up that mess: I came home from a weekend away and the minute I opened the double door to my house (reader beware random tangent coming: in reality, I fumbled for my keys that are attached to a rusty-red chili shaped key ring, which people often mistake for a real chili pepper and frequently question why I have decided to attach keys to it instead of eating it...this happens at least once weekly, let me just say on their behalf that it is a very realistic looking wooden chili…kudos to the artist. So I began to unlock the first door into my house, a clad iron door that I am forced to squeeze my hands through while twisting an upside down padlock right-side-up in order to unlock it with one of my 4 keys…sometimes the lock rusts shut and I am unable to open it on my first try…and yes, it is a brand new padlock… next, I unlock the wooden double doors that lead directly into my house…both doors are secured with giant padlocks, which take me way too long to open…and it is at that moment of frustration… when the pain being issued from my contorted right hand currently struggling with the lock conjures up a distant memory …my electric garage door opener…just one click, I am shedding tiny tears just remembering this modern convenience and the fact that with just one click access is granted). Sorry, I had to get that off my chest. Anyhow, the minute I opened my door, my neighbor showed up right behind me, causing me to startle, with a mop in hand. She said she wanted to help me clean, since it is now summer the dust is starting to consume my house. Anytime someone offers to help me clean I gladly accept, and this is just another example of my helpful Nica neighbors!

School is in session (almost): The new school year is about to start in Nicaragua on Feb. 4^th and I cannot wait to work again with my forth year students (who I worked with last year when they were in third year). I am ready to get going again; however, I am not ready to ride my bike in the summer heat. Although, I did have a water bottle holder recently installed on my bike, which will prevent me from foaming at the mouth while the afternoon sun looms overhead threatening to dehydrate me further.

Current side project: Since school has been out, I have been working with the local library in my town with kids ranging in age from 6 to 12, it has been amusing. They especially love to play games with me. I tend to lose the games and suffer the punishment (aka ridicule). As punishment, for losing, I am expected to sing or dance…if I sing, I sing in English (which the kids LOVE), but I have found that, oddly enough, I also enjoy singing in front of this hyper active bunch. Por que? (why?) Because I am horrible at remembering lyrics, but when I sing an English song in front of kids that only speak Spanish it doesn’t matter what I say…so there is no pressure. So I belt out songs (such as: We All Live in a Yellow Submarine, Raindrops Keep Fallin’ On My Head, Bye Bye Miss American Pie and the occasional Irish lullaby) that are littered with lyrical mistakes …so I just sing my heart out…who knows maybe Broadway awaits? After singing I like to mix in a little dance such as the “the robot” or “sprinkler” or the ever popular “disco”…have I found my true calling? I sure hope not.

Popular fresco of the week: Piña con arroz (pineapple with rice)…still not sure if I like this one…enough said.

Funny (at times ironic) T-shirt phrases: 8 year old girl wearing a t-shirt adorned with the English phrase “I drink until he looks good” (She didn’t know what it said but still YIKES). Also spotted, a teenage boy wearing a “Sorority Sisters for Life” t-shirt…I will keep my eyes peeled for more.

The World Map Project, hopefully coming to my town soon...this is a map another volunteer painted in their community (with the help of local community members). I hope to paint the map in my local town´s library.

Today I participated in a four hour bus ride. I was crammed in the second to last seat located in a tiny, microbus that insisted on passing cars on blind turns while the noon sun blinded the driver’s vision. I knew the bus driver was “blinded by the light” (thanks Manfred Mann) because he wasn’t using a sonar radar navigational system…like that of other mammals such as whales and bats. Alas, and sadly for all bus passengers involved, my driver was unmistakably marsupial and therefore had no sonar radar navigation capabilities. But anyways, I am getting off track already and so early on in my Blog, all the windows were rolled up so that hairdos remained motionless but sweat dripped freely on the foreheads of everyone inside the “moving oven of fun” (nope this is not a new amusement park ride…it’s just the bus). Unlike my fellow passengers, I worked up an “afternoon glisten,” because I don’t sweat I only glisten. I made it back to my town (glistening) only to find that my street was sin luz (without light). “Why, is only our street without lights?” I questioned my neighbors. And their reply was plain and simple…the evangelicals. Now I was a bit confused at first by their response…were the evangelicals masterminding a plan to put the Catholics in the dark (until they converted?). Or maybe the evangelicals were just sick of watching all of the Catholics drinking and dancing freely (since evangelicals are not allowed to participate in either) and they decided to smite the Catholics…finally, sweet revenge? Well, while all of these scenarios seem very possible in my mind…the truth is that the power went out simply because the electrical wiring was overloaded when the Evangelicals decided to have a giant church gathering on my street. They made the mistake of plugging in 1 too many giant speakers and microphones …the result being a power surge…and boom, the electricity went out for the entire block. Anyway, all of the “power overloading” explanations were revealed to me at a later time. Because when I came home all I knew was that I had no electricity. I didn’t know there was an evangelical gathering 3 houses away getting ready to sing religious music so loudly that I would be forced to stuff cotton in my ears just to get to sleep later that night (but like I said, this was all revealed at a later time). So fortunately (which later turned out to be unfortunately), 10 minutes later, the lights were back on when someone switched the circuit breaker. However, I quickly realized that there was a diabolical plan working against me, I would not get to rest peacefully that night or subsequently for three nights following this fateful day. Because the second the electricity came back on, it brought with it…the Evangelical’s worship service. The worship service involves the “worshipers” sitting as close as possible to giant 5-foot wide speakers as someone “sings” (subject to opinion) music into a scratchy microphone. Then I realized…in a moment of weakness I wished the lights back on giving the Evangelical gathering, a mere 3 houses down, “the power” to blast music and sing off key into a static filled microphone. As I went in search of food later that night with my neighbor, we both walked by the gathering and looked into each other’s faces and without saying a single word I knew what we were both thinking, “I wish the electricity would go out again.”

Growing up I always had dogs, there was Zach my Scottish terrier, Oliver the Wheaten Terrier and Zoie my Golden Retriever. Needless to say, I like dogs, always have. Therefore, yesterday when I saw a small puppy wondering dangerously close to a busy highway road, my instinct took over and I reached out for the puppy, no bigger than my hand, to “save it.” I cradled and cooed my way to friend’s house where I thought I could drop off the puppy for safe keeping. A meager 10 minutes passed, of puppy cuteness, and I realized and commented shortly thereafter to my friend, “This was a mistake.” I can remember Zach, Oliver and Zoie all being irresistibly cute when they were puppies but I have obviously repressed all of the negative memories such as, their nonstop noisiness and whimpering. Not to mention, it is a big responsibility caring for a dog/animal. So after unwittingly rescuing the puppy from the side of the road and bringing it into my friend’s house, I knew I couldn’t handle the responsibility of owning a dog in Nicaragua, although many volunteers can and do. I knew I traveled too frequently to ever be home for the puppy. Therefore, there was a decision to be made…what to do with the dog? I didn’t want to put the poor thing back out on the street, and I came up with only one possible solution…and I fully admit that it’s a bit (ok extremely) childish but in my defense, it was late at night and I didn’t know what else to do…so….gulp…I took the puppy and dropped him off at the richest house in town. Yep, I gave the puppy to the rich people in town (childishly thinking that they would properly care for the dog). In defense of this decision, at least the dog isn’t wondering the streets where it was highly likely to get struck by a car.

I tend to always be on my guard while walking in the more urban areas of Nicaragua, due to the fact that there are uncovered manholes everywhere (which I have thoroughly written about in a previous blog entry). Today I am unhappy to report that like a ignoramus, I fell into a manhole (only my right leg, and thank goodness it wasn’t that deep of a hole, only 1 foot deep). Still, there I was walking along, saying adios to someone and BOOM; I instantly shrunk a foot in height as my foot sank into the uncovered hole. I nervously looked around to see if anyone else saw my blunder. Of course, I picked that day to wear flip-flops as well. I didn’t think anyone saw but just in case I thought I would try to “play it off” as natural (I know, this is ridiculous, but it was an unconscious reaction to cover up my mistake). I am happy to report that I did not fall over; I just pulled out my uninjured foot and gave a slight chuckle while shaking off dirty stagnate water(to demonstrate to anyone watching that…hey, look, I can laugh at myself) and then I quickened my pace into an awkward jump/jog…as if to further show anyone watching that, yep I meant to fall into that hole, in fact I purposely fall into manholes as often as possible to increase the difficulty-level of my cardio workouts?? I know, I know, who would buy that excuse. Word to the wise, watch out for manholes because they are just lurking, watching and waiting to grab onto a foot and suck it into the dark abyss.

A week ago, I joined my neighbors to watch soap operas in their impeccably clean living room (mopping 5 times a day would have that affect, unlike my house that gets mopped 1 time per week). Everyone was staring into the television waiting for the big plot twist to be revealed (that the two lovers are in fact brother and sister…or maybe just distant cousins…I don’t quite remember the details…I only remember that there was incest involved…channeling Oedipus). After 2 hours worth of nonsensical soap operas, the news was scheduled to come on, finally, what I was waiting for ACTUAL NEWS! The soap operas all ended with enough of a cliff hanger to get the audience to tune in again next week… and then the news was about to start…here it comes…I held my breath as the first story was about to be revealed to my intent ears…but then, the screen turned black, just like that…nope, it wasn’t a power outage, not this time, my neighbors apparently aren’t the “news watching type.” I put in 2 solid hours worth of soap opera viewing with the intention of watching the news at the end… 2 HOURS and THE MINUTE the news appeared on the T.V. it was turned off… NOOOOOO….I was really looking forward to an update on world, local, and statewide events…but all my wishing was to no avail. My neighbors ushered me into another small room, which contains a computer (by the way, very few people actually own computers and those who do cannot afford an internet connection). Anyway, they started up the computer, because they had some things they really wanted to show me. I waited, not sure what to expect, and then there it was: On their computer was a “My Documents” folder containing hundreds of email forwards, which they saved onto a floppy disk at the local internet café and transferred onto their home computer. Hundreds and hundreds of cheesy email forwards promising things such as “eternal happiness if this email is forwarded onto 10 other virtual friends” and of course if the recipient decided not to forward these messages…they will have bad luck for 20 years. At the end of the night, my neighbors requested my email address (and I told them I didn’t have one) because I didn’t want my inbox to be bombarded with the dreaded junk mail that they seem to love.

Riding along on my bike one day, fancy free, I turned the corner of the dirt road that stretched out before me and found myself in a slight predicament. An ox cart lay 20 feet in front of me blocking the road. I looked to my right and then to my left, there was no way out, surrounded by trees and farms the only way through was bypassing the ox chart. The driver heard me approaching and turned, looked me in the eyes and acknowledged the predicament. I’m sure he was thinking…what the heck is the gringa doing way out here on her bike. As my bike came to a grinding halt, the ox cart driver attempted to maneuver the giant animal to the side of the path, in order to make room for me to pass. After a few attempts, the ox complied and I was able to safely slip past waving goodbye to the driver and thanking him repeatedly. Just as I thought my worriers were over I was hit with a whole new obstacle…mud…and lots of it. I quickly analyzed the situation because I knew I didn’t have a whole lot of time (as the ox cart was approaching behind me and I didn’t want to be stuck behind it again). So I made a split second decision, which turned out to be poor judgment on my behalf, I backed my bike up 10 feet to get a running start…and I charged through the mud on my bike, peddling at full speed. Regrettably, my bike toppled over and brought me with it…there I was face first in mud/cow dung. I was unhurt (except for my ego, which was badly bruised). My face, hands, legs and side were covered in mud. I didn’t expect to be receiving a spa treatment that day and forgot to pack my fuzzy slippers and Egyptian cotton spa robe. I contemplated sitting in the mud for a bit with the intension of taking advantage of the mud’s mystical healing properties (does cow dung have healing properties too? …doubtful). I decided to haul myself out of the mud, I threw some water on my face and hands to wash off (meanwhile my clothes, arms, legs and shoes remained covered) but I didn’t have time…the ox cart was coming! I hopped back on my bike and rode home a muddy/smelly mess. Only to immediately jump into a cold shower and wash off the mud. As I watched my hubris being washed down the drain, I knew I learned another important lesson: when faced with a giant mud pit, and the possibility of being stuck behind a slow ox, ALWAYS pick the ox…and remember patience is a virtue.

Flash a pose, work the runway: Firecracker Headwear (dangerous or dangerously stylish?)

¿Que Pasa?

Why not make a fruit basket: The current seasonal fruit is cantaloupe, and I just cannot seem to get enough of it…sweet and juicy! As well, we have mandarinas (mandarins).

Blood hound: Yes, I now have a new skill that I will undoubtedly place on my resume. I am like a blood hound in the sense that I can now detect the faint smell of … (wait for it)… dead rat (gross, I know). It’s a musty sour odor that permeates through the air and wafts into my nostrils. I can even detect the time of death (no I can’t, that is an exaggeration). But this skill has its benefits, because it enables me to detect and therefore remove dead rats from my house ASAP. Yesterday, I did just that, and another one bites the dust.

Weather report: Cool and windy. I am having trouble housekeeping due to the wind, every time I sweep my house the dust just flies back into my house (into my eyes and face).

There’s a hole in my bucket: That’s right, my trusty bucket now has a hole, and I am too cheap to buy a new one. Water transfer has become a speed race, fill the bucket and quickly pour the water before it leaks out the bottom of the bucket. A new bucket is an investment that I currently cannot finance, don’t worry I am raising funds for a new bucket…hopefully next month I can buy one. The funny thing is a new bucket isn’t even that expensive, I am just that cheap.

The fiesta band...live singers that moved to the beat!

In my state of sleep deprivation it is difficult to even remember the events that occurred the previous 3 days. All I can say is: fiesta, plain and simple. Yes, this past weekend my town celebrated their patron saint in an all out extravaganza that included a Ferris wheel, live music, FOOD, carnival games, carnies, and all sorts of debauchery. Preparation for the fiesta started early last week, with the assembly of rides and food tents. By Friday, everything was setup and people were ready to let loose and party. The first night, I went to sit under a tent and simply people watch. The streets were crowed; the smell of carne asada drifted through the tent and created a smoky cloud that reminded me of the 4^th of July, and Colorado summers. People of all shapes and sizes were pushing their way through the throng of bodies, some with deliciously sweet candied apples in hand, others with flashing toys and laser beams pointed on the foreheads of innocent bystanders. The scene was far from quiet, as fireworks were being continuously shot off in the sky and music was blasting its way through 40 loud speakers. And then it happened…a tidal wave of children and adults were rushing in towards the tents where people were eating, conversing, and drinking. The screeching sound of their voices permeated through background noise and I heard “EL TORO, EL TORO.” What? I didn’t know my town did the running of the bulls, I thought to myself should I get up and move away from the ”danger zone”…all of the people around me seemed panic stricken, and I didn’t feel like being impaled, so I arose and attempted to look over the crowd (which wasn’t difficult as everyone is rather small in stature). And there in all its blazing glory was “el toro.” El toro, is a man with a box on his head, and sticking out of the box are fireworks (bottle rockets, sparklers, aka dangerous projectile objects). And this crazy man was lighting the fireworks (that are attached to his head) on fire. CRAZY CRAZY CRAZY. To boot, he is pointing the projectiles towards the kids, which made them run towards the tented area in the first place. Apparently, the crazy man with fireworks attached to his head is not allowed into the tented area, but I have to make a slight observation, would a man who willingly stapes fireworks onto his head consciously stay out of the tented area? I mean, come one, he has FIREWORKS on his head, is he going to even remember where he can and cannot enter. I think not, and therefore the fear in the children’s eyes was warranted, as they ran from the crazy man. Also, can this man see or hear, after having fireworks coming out of his head? Anyway, to my knowledge no one was injured, or impaled, but nevertheless, I kept my distance.

I am beginning to feel like a broken record lately, because over Christmas my little neighbor (who is 5 years old and as cute as a button) received a tricycle, which she rides past my house hours on end. Every time she passes by my house she says “Adios” and I respond “Adios.” This continues on and on, and I mean hours, I am hardly exaggerating. Adios, Adios, Adios, Adios, Adios, Adios. But I continue to humor her because she is just so darn cute. Of course, in turn I feel foolish for saying Adios 15 trillion times, but that is the price I pay for cuteness.

Sitting under the tent people watching...

Exciting news I have a new lawn ornament, kind of like a lawn gnome but not quite as colorful. In fact, a lawn gnome wouldn’t be quite as exciting as what I have…a drunk camped out on my street corner. Yep, he sits there all day long, drunk as can be, teetering back and forth on the front stoop calling out unintelligible things at passersby, occasionally throwing things and always slurring. However, having a drunk on the corner has its benefits too, they keep people away. Also, when they are awake and not slumped over in a drunken stupor, they act as a security alarm…yelling and keeping people off my stoop. Toss them a few cordobas, and they have now become a hired watchman, reporting all news and keeping shady people away. The drunk is friendly and not dangerous because his family lives in the corner house and they keep an eye on him, and in turn he keeps an eye out for the entire street. However, he does present a minor problem, when I walk outside of my house I don’t always enjoy walking past him because he’ll try to engage me in a conversation, but with his slurring I just cannot understand a single word he says…to avoid this I trying going to opposite direction down my street, but this presents another problem because when I go the opposite direction I run into the 30 year old bachelor who apparently is my one true love (prince charming, in fact). So I am left with a difficult choice, walk by the desperate bachelor man or walk by the drunken slurring man, 9 out of 10 times I pick the drunk!

Four days ago I went to yet another children’s piñata party. As a gift I brought chica fresa (a small little strawberry shortcake doll) for the birthday girl. I came to the party fashionably late, because I had already eaten dinner and wanted to avoid being fed twice, but it was to no avail, because even though I had come late the hosts still insisted on feeding me! So I ate two dinners that night. The nicas are very gracious hosts and would never let a guest go unfed. Second dinner consisted of rice, with veggies and chicken with a slight BBQ flavor, it was very good. The decapitation of Winnie the Pooh (the piñata) happened earlier in the night and I had missed seeing it because I had arrived late (but just in time for cake). In the corner lay a piece of Winnie’s torso but amazingly his head (although apart from his body) remained unharmed, which presented an opportunity…kids started passing around the giant Winnie piñata head and placing it on top of their own head. As music was blasting from a small portable boom box kids danced, their bodies moving to the beat and the Winnie head staring expressionless into the distance. And then it was my turn…yep, I did it too…I put a Winnie the Pooh piñata head over my head. There are pictures too, but I have made an executive decision to not post them, why, because I am trying to forget this lapse in judgment. There I was sitting in a chair doing a mini dance with a piñata head on! Finally, to culminate the absurdity of this night, I dance to “It’s raining Men” (sans Winnie the Pooh head) and taught the YMCA dance to a cluster of niños (kids).

This is a vendor selling toys at the festival.

Since the month of August (the month I arrived in my site) my counterpart kept talking about her town festival, and how excited she was for me to attend. She even brought out her photo album with pictures of the festival. To my untrained eye the pictures all seemed to be from the same event but I was carefully informed that the pictures were taken several years apart at each different fiestas (apparently the decorations stayed the same from year to year…tradition). Well, in the month of December, I attended the festival and I must report that it was nothing less than extravagant. As always, we left late (just the way things are done, no one is ever on time) and made our way to the festival in the back of a truck. I was sitting in a plastic lawn chair that was positioned precariously in the back of the truck and in my lap sat a 6 year old child. I thought to myself, if we hit one bump, me and the kid are flying over the side…and as a precaution I gripped the side of the truck until my knuckles turned white and my arm ached with pins and needles (like my own super human strength would save us if we crashed). I am happy to report that I did arrive safely to the festival. Since we were so late, I was made to walk awkwardly in front of the entire town to the front, where I was seated and then serenaded by a local band that sat a foot away. Halfway through the celebration fireworks were shot off overhead and instinctively people rose off of their white plastic lawn chairs and placed the chairs upside-down over their heads (protecting themselves from the fiery flames falling onto the crowd from the fireworks being shot off above). Alas, I didn’t immediately put 2 and 2 together and I thought the crowd was taking part in some kind of ritual “The plastic chair over the head dance.” I was 2 seconds away from raising my own plastic chair and taking part in the “ritual” when I was politely informed that because I stood under a tin roof awning there was no need to put a chair over my head….”oh, of course” I said. At the end of the festival my counterpart passed out 1,100 nacatamales served on glass plates (she gave me 2 extra tamales and some ground up pork meat as well). The night ended well, full from nacatamales and fresco I fell asleep on the way home. However, I was seated safely inside the truck this time around!

Alvin and the Chipmunks are playing LIVE in my backyard (“Yippee!”…tinged with a hint of sarcasm)

¿Que Pasa?

Back from break: Not like it was any surprise, but when I opened up my house after coming back from vacation I found several dead rats strewn across my floor. Nothing that a broom and a little bleach won’t fix!

Another moment of feeling totally ridiculous: Oh the head lamp is a wondrous thing (thanks again Whit). What is a head lamp exactly; well to put it simply it’s a hands free devise that straps a flashlight onto the wearer’s forehead. It sheds light upon things that I once awkwardly stumbled over, while simultaneously making me look like a total idiot/miner searching for gold. The good news is I have fewer bruises; the bad news is my neighbors mistook me for some kind of ghostlike apparition…BOO!

Music of the moment: The always popular Celine Dion “My Heat Will Go On,” from titanic (maybe it’s finally time to let go of Jack).

Insightful thought (which consequently lacks insight, and therefore is merely a thought): Looking back, the month of Diciembre (December, in case that was unclear) was speckled with fiesta after fiesta...it started with La Purisima celebrated on Dic. 7 followed by el Dia de Guadalupe and concluded with a brief trip back to the United States where I rang in the nuevo ano (new year) with friends and family.

My neighbor came over to my house with fresh coconut and a pot of white beans (which are rare because Nicas always eat red kidney beans). She asked me a simple question, “Do you like these (as she pointed her nose towards the pot).” Like a dimwit, I responded, “I don’t know? What kind of beans are they?” She looked at me… and then looked at the pot…then looked at me again, and responded curtly, “White Beans.” I answered with a quick “oh, yes” (as I felt the stupidity swell up inside of me). Her eyes gave it all away because I knew immediately that she was thinking: you nincompoop, what do these look like… they are white things shaped in the form of a bean. Later that night I ate my frijoles blanco (white beans) with a few chilies, red peppers and onions thrown in the mix (I call it white bean chili, I know… original). And for the record, I knew they were white beans, I was simply making an inquiry into what variety of white beans they were…and I still haven’t found out, because I am afraid to ask my stupid question again!

What happens when a virus is transferred from a local internet café onto a perfectly reliable computer?? It wreaks havoc destroying all music and photo files one by one before finally finishing off the computer by flashing the ominous ERROR 11 warning. Unfortunately, I know this warning all too well because my computer was attacked by the deadly internet café virus…and was accordingly shut down. On a good note, I was headed back to the U.S. in 1 weeks time…land of computer geeks galore. The end of the story is that my computer was out of commission for most of December (hence the lack of blogging) but now it is up and running again. Be forewarned…always scan flash drives before transferring data from a café onto a personal computer…

My counterpart and I at a fiesta

About a month ago, I was on a bus headed back to my town and a lady (who also happened to be from my town) plopped down in the seat beside me. We were talking for a while and as we drew nearer to our town I remembered that I needed to buy some cheese to accompany my dinner for that night. However, as the sun had already set and the moon could now be clearly seen overhead, I was faced with a predicament…who sells cheese this late at night? I know, extreme crisis! As a momentary panic set-in, shortness of breath included, I asked the woman next to me if she knew of any cheese vender that stayed open this late. She looked at me (seeing the pain in my eyes due to lack of really salty cheese) and respond “Si, claro.” As we exited the bus she beckoned me to follow her (using the popular shoo-away hand gesture…which I refer to in an earlier blog accompanied with an easy to follow picture diagram). I quickly stood up from the sticky plastic vinyl bus seat, which always manages to leave unsightly crinkle lines on the back of my legs. I stayed by her side as we approached the house of cheese and she shouted in “Hay queso fresco?” (is there fresh cheese?). I held my breath for the response, and then it came, “Como?” (“What?”). Apparently the T.V. was up too loud, and the family inside didn’t hear the question. As my companion shouted again “Hay, queso?” I impatiently waited for an affirmative response, and finally it came, those lovely words that I wanted to hear “Si, hay queso” (yes, there is cheese). I hurriedly bought 10 cords worth of cheese (or approx. 50 cents worth) and started my walk home (of course not before graciously thanking the women who led me to the cheese vendor). Dinner was splendid, rice and beans with a side of really salty (but fresh) cheese.

I have been in Nicaragua now for 9 months, and this longevity has enabled me to subsequently distinguish and clearly identify certain sounds that when I first arrived in-country seemed to be just background noise. But now I see that they represent certain cultural aspects of Nicaragua that are unique and intriguing. I will now proceed to describe the noises I hear and although I cannot post clips…I implore the reader to use their wondrous imagination to conger up the sounds! Every morning at 4am the “noise” starts, and no it’s not just noise, it’s in fact a CD. A very popular CD, that happens to be played at every child’s birthday party I have ever attended. I call the CD “Jammin’Jams to listen to while eating corn flavored birthday cake and watching children practically maul one another over small pieces of candy that are flying out of a Strawberry Shortcake shaped piñata.” If this title is a bit confusing, I will try to break it down another level. At piñata parties there is inevitably a piñata shaped as popular cartoon character (chica fresa aka strawberry shortcake seems to be pretty popular right now on the party scene). Also, after the kids swing at the piñata and dance the traditional piñata dance (that involves clapping and twirling…far too complicated for me to perform…I am still searching for my inner-rhythm to emerge triumphantly). Finally, cake made with corn flour is served to all the guests. Now note that while all of these things are taking place a CD filled with 22 tracks of birthday songs (including tracks from The New Kids on The Block, which was a popular 80’s boy band group, and ever so popular Simon and the Chipmunks). Yet, the scariest solo rendition of happy birthday is sung by a man with a deep tenor voice, who pronounces Happy Birthday as Happy BIRDday. Now I can tolerate this CD at kids parties but my neighbors apparently really love the birthday songs and they insist on playing this CD EVERY morning (starting at 4am) until around 11am. Yep, the “Birthday Remix CD” is played on full blast EVERY morning. And as much as I like waking up to Simon and the Chipmunks singing their remix of the classic happy birthday song, I would much rather wake up to…well, silence…yes, silence would be wonderful. I am curious as to what CD the neighbor’s play during fiestas, because it seems like they would want to switch it up once in a while! The next noise that I am now able to recognize on a whim is the sound of the “Giant Tall Things.” I need a photo to accurately depict their true size/appearance, but I will briefly describe the costumes: There is a person that stands under a large giant woman costume (complete with a head made out of newspaper and painted into the likeness of “a woman” and a large rippling skirt made of various colorful fabrics, which acts to hide the person underneath that is touting the giant woman doll). I would venture to guess that the giant tall thing stands about 10 feet. Next, there is always a kid standing nearby with a giant head placed over their regular sized head (yep, just a giant head made from newspaper and painted). And finally there are the kids with the drums. They bang their drums around town (signaling to everyone within earshot or a 10 mile radius that the giant tall thing is approaching. What next? Nothing, that’s it, the kids march it around town! But the scary thing is I now can recognize the distinct sound of the “Giant Tall thing” march…I can in fact discern the sound from just normal drumming or various marching band drumming. It is music to my ears.

These are nacatamales (chicken or pork mixed in corn stew)

A few weeks ago I was dog sitting, and decided to take the dog for a walk. I put Clavo, the dog, on a leash and prepared to venture outside. Clavo is a very popular attraction in my town (perhaps because he is a novelty…a dog not roaming free… and a dog that likes to give big kisses, without trying to bite or bark). So there I was, walking through the streets with Clavo, people yelling his naming (and totally disregarding me!!) …he’s like a celebrity. About 5 minutes into the walk I came across some local kids and they were looking at me and then at the dog, then back at me, and at the dog (this awkwardness continued for several minutes until I finally asked them “What was up?”). Apparently, they thought Clavo had died (not sure why or how) and that he had been brought back to life…miraculously. In other words the kids thought they were staring at a ghost-dog. I tried to explain that Clavo had never died, but they couldn’t be convinced otherwise. Finally, I gave up and decided to let them believe whatever they wanted to believe!

My trip back to the USA (and more specifically, Colorado) was fun but short. It was nice to have regularly running water and lights (although now that I am without these modern conveniences again, it’s not that bad). While in Colorado, I found myself missing: the sound of the roosters in the morning (and come to think of it, all throughout the day because they just never stop squawking), the sounds of my neighbors yelling my name, “Brik/Bris” (well, it’s not exactly my name, but close enough, right?) and the warm tropical climate of Nicaragua. The most exciting thing I did during my trip back home was EAT! But it’s good to be back in my little town, in my tiny house, surrounded by all the creepy crawly things that keep me on my toes.

Acclimating back into life in Nicaragua, after spending 16 days with my family and friends during the holiday season, was interesting. I was yelled at (cat-calling) by two guys in the airport parking lot and then 10 minutes later I had a man ask me to be his girlfriend (yep that’s right…he didn’t even know my first name but apparently it was love at first sight and we were meant to be together). So, of course I accepted and now I am dating someone I know nothing about, so far I think our relationship is off to a good start, I know absolutely nothing about him and he knows absolutely nothing about me, ignorance is bliss. Now back to reality, I have not completely lost my mind…so no worries, I am not dating a random guy I just met. But that run-in did remind me to put my guard back on…because in my delusional state I forgot that I have a boyfriend already (yep, my imaginary boyfriend). However, I have noticed that sometimes the mention of a boyfriend just makes guys more willing to fight for my love, so I think I am going to say I’m either engaged or married.

As I got onto the big yellow school bus I was immediately snapped back into reality. Crowded seats and vendors selling jugo(juice), dulce (candy) and anything and everything else! About half way through my bus ride I was rudely awakened from my catnap by a bunch of tomatoes falling onto my head. In my daze, I was confused at first, and mistook the tomatoes for apples, but once I came to I realized that they were in fact red tomatoes…that had rolled out of their bag, which was conveniently placed directly over my head in the baggage rack. They hit the top of my head (bop, there goes tomato 1, bop, and tomato 2…bop, bop, bop add 3 more to the mix) and then I was forced to collect them and re-bag them for their owner. Following the tomato incident, the two women sitting in front of me were hit in the face by a mystery liquid dripping out of another produce bag. I am just lucky that the tomatoes that hit me weren’t very ripe. However, the women in front of me were not very lucky, and not too happy either, the owner of all the produce had to gather their numerous bags and put them of their lap for the remainder of the bus ride.

This is the virgin guadalupe

I felt the excitement brewing as the bus slowly approached my town, and as I peered out my window I saw people carrying buckets filled with water, which could only mean one thing…the water in my town was out. And therefore I arrived home to find my house a complete dusty disaster (from being left 16 days without cleaning) and there I was, standing in the doorway knowing that there was no water to use to clean my house. I found several dead rats, which I swept out the front door. And for dinner I ate tuna in a can, so I wouldn’t dirty any dishes. Now I am sitting in the semi-dark, the room being illuminated by a single flashlight, but tomorrow is another day (thanks Scarlet) and hopefully it will bring with it water!