My Pueblo, El Instituto y Mas

I am living the fullest days I’ve ever had.  Nothing in my experience is an intense as all the learning I’m doing about Spanish, culture, teaching English,.  I even use a sheet sometimes.  After a week with little to no exercise I figured I better get some.  So I’m walking in the earliest part of the morning, 6 o’clock, right after I get up.  The breezes blow and there’s lots of shade, but when I return I’m sweating seriously.  Today I walked for 20 minutes, yesterday 15.  I’m aiming for 30, but, who knows, maybe I’ll be managing myself and building relationships.  Some of it is the heat.  The sun is so intense.  In the shade or under the patio roof it’s fine so long as a little breeze blows, but when I have to walk somewhere in the middle of the day, I grab my water bottle and get ready for the onslaught.  The nights are fine.  I sleep hard and well until cock crow, literallyable to do an hour sometime.

I walk through the pueblo in the morning.  It is the smallest Peace Corps training town, set aside for us almost beginners because there are no distractions. The pueblp (there are barrios on the outskirts) consists of about 12 blocks.  The heart of the town is a park, concrete, where the kids play soccer, a Catholic church and the health center.  The streets of La Paz Cento are paved with tiles.  All kinds of animals walk there: dogs, hogs, oxen, horses (these last two attached to 2 wheeled carts), cows on their way to pasture, goats,

My Pueblo, El Instituto y Mas

I am living the fullest days I’ve ever had.  Nothing in my experience is an intense as all the learning I’m doing about Spanish, culture, teaching English,.  I even use a sheet sometimes.  After a week with little to no exercise I figured I better get some.  So I’m walking in the earliest part of the morning, 6 o’clock, right after I get up.  The breezes blow and there’s lots of shade, but when I return I’m sweating seriously.  Today I walked for 20 minutes, yesterday 15.  I’m aiming for 30, but, who knows, maybe I’ll be managing myself and building relationships.  Some of it is the heat.  The sun is so intense.  In the shade or under the patio roof it’s fine so long as a little breeze blows, but when I have to walk somewhere in the middle of the day, I grab my water bottle and get ready for the onslaught.  The nights are fine.  I sleep hard and well until cock crow, literallyable to do an geese, and the ubiquitous roosters, hens and chicks. These deposit nana (pronounced with a sneer) on the streets.  There are farms close on the outskirts of town, but right in town people keep animals.

 Many of the houses are built of concrete, have patios of broken tile set in cement, and porches protected from the sun.  All of these, including my house, are surrounded by walls or fences and gated.  Most house dogs which are tied up duing the day and run free at night to act as guard dogs.  These houses are not grand but considerably more comfortable than some of their neighbors.  I visited one the other day in a family compound.  A very old lady lived there, a relative of my Spanish teacher.  I went there to meet his wife.  When I asked about the  abuela, I was invited to meet her, too.  She lives in a house with a dirt floor,  There is an open kind of wood burning stove (pans on top of fire) and the walls of the house were slats of wood set irregularly at intervals so that the house is open to the outside.  I write this to provide perspective.  Let me say the family was hugely gracious.  I was invited to sit down, to have a drink and to talk (I did my best) and after they offered to help me with Spanish if I returned. (I don’t think there was anything causal going on in that last sentence.  The people offered what they had.)

 There must be 2 pulperias on every block in town, little shops in the front room of a house, including mine, where people buy their necessaries. The town doesn’t have a market or even a corner store.  People shop in Jinotepe, 7 miles away, 15 minutes by taxi or microbus.  I investigated the panaderias (bakeries).  I heard we have two.  The one our family frequents opens for a couple of hours in the afternoon 2 days a week and I’ve yet to see it.  The ice cream place turned out to be an itinerant vendor. All of this is fine.  To help with community integrating, I’ve decided to buy one small thing a day from each pulparia until I’ve met all the owners.  I’ve been to two already.  As a volunteer I have very little to spend on this project, but I don’t buy anything else except some cyber café time so I should be able to afford it if I keep the purchases small, maybe 1 or 2 cords each—5-10 cents.

Peace Corps wastes no time.  I was at the local high school, el instituto, within days of arrival in the pueblo.  The school consists of a central yard surrounded on three sides by single story classrooms.  The school is made of cinderblock painted blue below and white above, just like the students uniforms. There are banks of windows on two sides of the classroom.  These are open for air.  The classes have desks and a whiteboard.  That’s it.  No books, no duplicating capability.  The teachers go from room to room and the students stay put.  Because there are so many kids, there are two sessions, morning and afternoon.  Some schools have a night session as well to accommodate all the students.  For the first 10 minutes of one class I visited, two students (girls) swept and mopped the classroom floor.  Class proceeded while they did this.  Students  were standing outside watching what was going on in the classrooms.  There’s a lot of noise that comes through the windows, most notably a marching band consisting mostly of drumers which was  practicing for the upcoming holiday.  The din was incredible, but accepted by the teacher, I guess, as a part of life.

Nicaragua, or my little corner of it, is noisy.  And people learn to work through the noise.  I’ve heard that it’s rare for any Nicaraguan to ask another to pipe down.  I have seen my own teachers, who hold class in our houses either on the patio or in the main living room,  keep on teaching although a teenager was watching TV in the room or children were running through playing or the band (thank God the holiday is over) was practicing in the street right outside the house.  If you stop for noise nothing gets done.

The skies are stupendous.  I have view of a volcano, Masaya from the streets of town.  I was here two weeks before I saw it.  Sensory overload.  Ans watching out as I walk for the nana.

  

My Pueblo, El Instituto y Mas

La Paz

I am in La Paz for three months of training.  There will be some punctuation difficulties in this blog because the computer I am using is more quirky than I can figure out.  Ill do my best.

First my amazing host family,  I arrived to a warm welcome at their casa.  It is bright yellow.  My room ( I nearly wept when I saw it) is a deep but lively green and feels like a monks cell.  I have a 4-poster bed (to hold the mosquito net¡ and small  desk and a chair.  I have a place to hang my clothes.  We have an in door toilet! But the water isnt on at night so there is a bucket to help you flush.  Of course the shower is cold (bucket shower when the waters off) but its indoors.  The house is very clean. My nica mama is very health conscious and so we have lots of fruit and vegetables.  In the morning there are frescas made from the fruit in the yard. Rice, beans. But no coffee in this house and no dessert.  Im told that although Nicaragua exports the best coffee, most people drink instant.  And so Ive adapted to caffeine.

It{s impossible to describe the warmth of my family.  My Nica mama is a third grade teacher which makes her especially helpful to me who is operating on a sub kindergaten basis.  We only speak Spanish.  My Nica dad(weird becuse both are younger than I am) is studying for his masters.  He likes House on TV.  We watched together.  Last Sunday family visited as is the tradition here. A neice came with her two children, a beautiful 9 month old and an 8 year old who made friends with me.  I knew there was a reason to drag the Wheres Waldo book though hree airports.  Juan is in private school and so has had some English.  We must ahve spent 2 hours with the book, first finding Waldo and then laughing at all the silly pictures on the pages.  I became Juans special project, he trying to teach me new words.  In a few weeks hell be back for more.

As if that were not enough, two of my host mamas sister came to check me out.  Big hugs.  They approve. They are all so warm you just fall into their arms.  Icing on the cake: Sunday was the birthday celebration for my host mama and 2 of her sisters, all of whom have the same birthday.  They are 3 of a family of 8 sibs all of whom live in La Paz.  As do their children, grandchildren everyone.   Our next door neighbors is my mamas nephew.  The party was at one sisters house,  Everyone sat in parallel rows facing each other.  A great deal was made of the babies. We had a long prayer, several songs including Happy Birthday in English and traditional food including vigaron, yucca, carne and salad eaten with fingers. I was made to feel right at home.

  This family thing bears watching.  It looks mighty good at first glance.

I must say the Spánish is hard.  Im exhausted from the strain of listening and trying to speak and understand all day.  I fall asleep at 9.  In the morning the roosters and cows and dogs wake me.  I{m out of time.  Next time I{ll write about La Paz, a story in itself and my visit to a school today to observe and to be introduced to classes and teachers.  There{s a lot to say.  I{m glad to be able to be in touch this way.

First impressions

I am at a training center in Managua after a good night's sleep,  It's early, but I got up hoping to find some cafe con leche to keep me company as I write.  Too early, but the Sandanista ad is running on TV at this hour.

Last Tuesday I flew from Boston to D.C for staging at a hotel, one half day of getting to know the other volunteers and getting a first glimpse of Peace Corps service.  I had worried about being the only "older volunteer" in the group, but, belive it or not, there are 3 of us viejas,  One is 72 and on her second tour.  She served in Latvia 10 years ago.  The other is about the same age I'd guess and is noticably disabled from a traffic accident.  They are pretty amazing women.  I am lucky to have them in the group. 

The younger volunteers are also impressive.  Every one of them has traveled widely. Many speak fluent Spanish.  They are young and mature at the same time.  They are generous is sharing their stories and asking about mine.  In short, I landed in an accomplished group and have no worries about the social issues that concerned me at the start.

Training has started.  Yesterday the PC doctor was here for a brief interview and the dispensing of malaria meds, doxyxycline in my case, taken daily for the next 2 years.  I was issued a mosquito net and medical kit.  The safety director was in to begin the process of sensitizing us to how to behave safely in this culture.

At the end of the day we went to the shores of Lake Managua for a cold cerveza.  It gets hot here sometimes.  Sometimes it rains.  It's always humid.  I've taken 2 cold showers.  No problems with that.  I'm doing fine.

Later, the same day:  Today we got assigned to language groups according to ability.  Not surprisingly, I'm in the group with the least accomplished.  There are three of us. Happily, however, I'm rated a novice-mid, not a novice-low.  I have hope for myself.  My little group is assigned to live in the small town of La Paz,  I'm told there are two panaderias (bakeries) and an esquimo (ice cream vendor--isn't that great?).  The streets are paved, but cattle frequent them. This is all hearsay.  I'll verify tomorow when I get dropped off at the house of my host family.  Thence commences complete emersion with 6 hours of language study daily. I'm really hoping the two young men who make up the balance of my group and I will become friends.

I'm looking forward to this next step.  PC is really good at taking us along step by step.  This is an amzingly well run, thoughtful and committed group here in Nicaragua.  I feel safe and supported.   

letting go

I'd like to reflect for a moment on the process leading up to Peace Corps service.  When I expresed frustration about the interminable wait for an assignment my recruiter reminded me that all over the world people are waiting, spending hours in lines, sitting on buses until there were enough riders to leave,  watching for the rain to end or the rain to start.  The message was that we Westerners need to acquire the patience required to wait.  But there is a use for the time between application and the flight out.  The wait to leave is about letting go.  You can't leave without doing some of that.

Last week I entrusted my 13 year old dog Pete to the good care of my neice. I've had Pete since he was a pup.  Letting go of him is the last in a long line of renunciations, both large and small, which began with the decision to volunteer.  To say yes to PC service is to turn away from the other options which, in my case, retirement offered.  I don't mean this to sound like a sacrifice.  The PC was the best option, as far as I was concerned, and once I decided on it, there was no problem letting go of the others.

I let go of my house when I rented it, let go of the garden I had been bringing along, let go of the rooms I carefully decorated, let go of my kind neighbors, the mailman, the New York Times home delivery.  Surprising how often a leave-taking brought a pleasant intimacy.  The mailman and I had a long conversation about what each of us were doing with our lives.  My tenants, a Rwandan family, and I became friends.  I'm invited to Rwanda after I return from Nicaragua.

I had time for the Rwandan relationship to develop because I rented the house, for reasons too long to go into here, in June and staging is at the end of August.  I left the house with 2 large suitcases, a backpack, a daypack and 4 cardboard boxes.  And Pete.  All this stuff was the prodect of a hurried removel from the house and indecision about what to bring.  Luckily, homeless, Pete and I housesat for a month during which time I reduced my belonings to the contents of 2 suitcases, 2 packs and 2 boxes.  I spent another week housesitting for another friend and after that week, I was down to 1 suitcase, one backpack, a daypack and two boxes. Now, two weeks before staging, I've gotten rid of the boxes.  I'm culling through the suitcase to lighten the load.  I have never felt better.  Letting go is the best.

That's about stuff, however.   Luckily, I don't have to let go of friends and family.  Homeless for 2 months, I've had plenty of time to travel to see the people who matter most to me. They promise to write me.  Some promise to come visit and I think they will.  I don't have to let go of the people.  We're just taking a break.  Pete, however, is another matter.  He's 13. That's a hard one.

Cow Palace 1960

I am reading When The World Calls: The Inside Story of  The Peace Corps and Its First  Fifty Years by Stanley Meisler.  I have 25 days till staging, not that I'm counting, and need a break from the do-it-yourself Spanish, the ESL reading, the books on Nicaraguan history and culture. Meisler's first chapter brings it all back, the germ of an idea Kennedy borrowed from others, notably Hubert Humphrey, and just mentioned at an impromptu talk to students at the University of Michigan, but which became articulated as a full blown policy initiative in a speech he gave at the Cow Palace in San Franciso on November 2, 1960.  That speech is a major reason I'm waiting out my 25 days.  Here's the story:

In the summer of 1960, I was a fifteen year old student at a Catholic high school in San Francisco.  The Democaratic National Convention that year consumed my mother and me.  She was the daughter of Irish immigrants who settled in Boston and she remembered the days when "Irish need not apply" for good jobs in her home city.  John Kennedy and his nomination  validated her, and more than that, thrilled her, and I caught her enthusiasm.  We watched the convention late at night on our flickering black and white TV, late because of the time difference in California, late because the balloting went on and on, quite different from the way it is today, and the outcome was close and in doubt to the very end.  When Kennedy got the nod, the wild jubilation on the small screen was mirrored there in our living room where my Mom and I hugged and jumped up and down.  That nomination so moved me that the first chance I got I went to Democratic Party headquarters and volunteered.

I was assigned to the Youth for Kennedy group.  We mainly stuffed envelopes.  When school started, I kept up the volunteer work.  All those volunteer hours paid off, because when Kennedy was due in San Francisco on November 2, a Tuesday one week before the election (and the day before my 16th birthday), I was asked to come along for the day with the group from headquarters.  My job was to give out material to the press corps.  I met Kennedy at the airport, literally met him, shook hands and then disappeared to  provide the tired and cynical reporters with copies of the speech Kennedy would deliver that night.

 We followed him around the city in the press buses as he gave one talk after another.  I remember being impressed that he said the same things wherever he went--my first experience with the stump speech. The last stop was the Cow Palace.  I was ushered in with the press to a section right below the lectern. I heard him announce the Peace Corps as a major policy initiative.  I still have a yellowed copy of the speech.  He began by promising arms reduction.  He criticized the preparation of foreign service officers, the vast majority of whom had no language skills for the counties in which they served  He then propose a "peace corps" (lower case in the original).

 "...This would be a volunteer corps--and volunteers would be sought among talented young women as well--and from every race and walk of life.  For this nation is full of young people eager to serve the cause of peace in the most useful way.  I have met them on campaigns across the country.  When I suggested at the University of Michigan lately that we need young men and women to give up a few years to serve their county in this fashion, the students proposed a new organization to promote such an effort.  Others have indicated a similar response -- offering a tremendous pool that could work modern miracles for peace in dozens of under-developed nations...."

I was transfixed.  I wanted to be one of those idealistic young volunteers.  It's hard to believe now how positive the world felt in those few years at the beginning of the 60's before Vietnam and Watergate.  Social progress seemed so possible as colonial powers lost their grip in the face of the struggles for independence and the American civil rights movement grew.

It took me some time to volunteer, but now, after a 50 year delay, there are only 25 days to go.

Here I go...

This post is a trial and a homage.  My friends Jane and Wolfgang Muller, both incredibly more adept at things cyber than I,  got me up and going on this blog last night.  Even they would say it was surprisingly challenging.  Why even do it, with so much else important to learn as I prepare for Peace Corps service in  Nicaragua?  Never mind Spanish, my primary challenge, there's so much to read about ESL, about the beautiful, sad and warm country I already love, about service generally.  But I want to have this way to share Nicaragua, or my experience of it, with the people who have been so excited for me and tolerant of my endless preoccupation with Peace Corps over the last 14 months.  So here it starts.