Mothers’ Day

Mothers’ Day

Silly me, I thought Dia de Las Madres in Nicaragua would kind of be like Mothers’ Day at home, some phone calls, dinner for Mom and a few gifts.  But where in the States Mothers’ Day is supported by greeting card manufacturers and has the feeling of obligation weighing it down, here the government is all over the holiday and yet families embrace it, too.

I’ve been hearing about Dia de Las Madres since the first of May.  The day itself is May 30 and the month builds toward it.  There were three public Mothers’ Day celebrations in my town, the first put on by a NGO which supplied actual printed invitations, a glossy magazine styled booklet condemning domestic violence and praising mothers and a gathering in the sports stadium which was  attended by about 20 dignitaries in seats at the front, and about 45 spectators although there were chairs for 200.  All the dignitaries got slick diplomas—not the photocopied kind.  I don’t know why this event happened.  I’m sure the organizers had a goal, but judging by the turnout, despite the slick invitations, they must have been disappointed. The second event for mothers was in the same place but this one was mobbed.  It is held every year and there are give-aways, big baskets of food and colorful items distributed  by lottery, all paid for by the mayor’s office.  There was an MC who kidded with the ladies, made them dance or compete for a date with him.  The moms, there in droves with their kids, loved it. The third event happened at the high school.  School was not closed for the day but there were only a few teachers in classrooms. The rest were preparing for the event which included the teachers cooking lunch for the moms, a poem recited by a member of each class and dances.  The moms came to that, too.

But the real Mothers’ Day is at home. The day before the 30th, I came home from school to find that my host-mom redecorated the front room, by which I mean she changed the slip-covers on the chairs to one with a bright red and coral print, changed the curtains from white to red, got out her red artificial flowers to fill containers and put up old Mothers’ Day cards and gifts.  All this was in preparation for the events of the next day.  Early in the morning she was cooking rice and chicken for expected family who did indeed show up, some with gifts, but all to wish her a happy Mothers’ Day and spend time with her. This day was very important to her as it was to other mothers.  All day long you could see people walking in the streets dressed up, carrying packages to visit a mother or beloved grandmother.

It’s easy to be cynical about Mothers’ day here or in the States.  The government here often doesn’t have much in the way of good news for its citizens and so celebrations of one thing or another serve to keep spirits up. But in my view the mothers of Nicaragua deserve all the celebrating and more.  Here mothers run the houses, raise the children, take care of the elderly are the social security system when the kids can’t live on their own.  They often do all this without the help of a man. I mean often, not always.  There are some really good men here, but there are a great number of households headed by moms.  How women do all they do given their lack of financial support and few jobs is a mystery.

To put a face on it, let me describe my host-mom who I called Indiana in an earlier post (not her real name). She’s 71. She had six children who lived, two who died.  She never married but lived with the same man, the father of her children, for 30 years. He worked on farms.  He left her for another woman. They are amicable now.  He visits often.

Indiana bought the house we live in with the help of her parents and a bank which partially financed it.  To start it was a simple two or three room house with a large horno (beehive shaped oven) outside.  Indiana began making rosquillas to sell.  She was a dependable worker and found a distributor to buy her rosquillas.  She employed 8 other ladies to help make them.  Her days were amazingly long.  She got up at 1 or 2 in the morning to get the oven going and begin the preparation of the dough.  She worked long days, also caring for children, and then 2 days a week, Wednesday and Sunday, she loaded up huge bamboo baskets with bags of rosquillas, got them stored on the roof of the 4 a.m. bus for the 3 ½ ride to Managua where a taxi took her and the rosquillas to the distributor who paid her in cash.  By 9:30 in the morning she was back at the bus station for the 3 ½ hour ride back to town.  She told me that she slept on the bus, her money hidden in the band of her underpants and her hands folded over her stomach. She did this for decades.

I am not clear on why she stopped making rosquillas.  What I do know is that a time came when she couldn’t pay the mortgage.  The kids were grown and so she got work in Miami caring for an elderly Cubana.  She worked for 3 years, paid off the mortgage, got rid of the horno, and added on to the house.  She made three more trips to the U.S., each on 6 month visas, caring for children of Cuban businessmen.  She returned for good to live in her house and retire.  That was 6 years ago.

Indiana has a third grade education.  Of her 6 surviving children, all but one studied after high school.  All take fine care of themselves, a couple of them do pretty well. She is devoutly Catholic, but open to new things.  She has a cell phone and a gringa in her house. I think she secretly hopes I’ll convert, but she is never pushy.  I go to church with her once in a while to be companionable.

What a woman!  And there are a bundle like her.  Mothers to celebrate.