on the road again....que les vaya bien

(In reality, this post was written several days ago on normal writing paper while I sat on a sandy beach drinking a Margarita. We are traveling with only the bare essentials [we have dumped all our stuff at a friends house while we play] and could not get it onto a computer until now.)

We have moved out of our home in Esteli and have said our goodbyes. As you can imagine, the departure phase is a mixed bag of emotions, both happy and sad. At present, we are taking some time to debrief from our year-long excursion and are soaking in some more of the beautiful sights of Nicaragua before returning home to the U.S.A.

It has been a fantastic year. In many ways much better than we even dreamed. There is much to say by way of reflection on our experiences as a whole, but it will have to wait until I have longer access to a computer. In other words.... to be continued. Looking forward to seeing some of you very soon Stateside. ;-)

Tired— but still trigger happy

Hello again,

We all continue to thrive as we turn the corner on our last month here in Nicaragua. We have begun the process of shifting gears in our minds from being people who live in Nicaragua to people who are now just visiting for a short while.

The kids are holding strong on the health front, despite the fact that they have continued to contract and survive various and sundry viruses. We figure their immune systems are going to be as strong as oxen when we return. At least we are hoping so. I am utterly astonished at their language abilities, AND extremely jealous. Despite the fact that they have enjoyed their year here in Nicaragua, they are very ready to return home to the United States. They miss their friends and are weary of being “foreigners”. I can relate. Oh, what I wouldn’t give to “blend in”!

Michael’s sabbatical studies are moving along really well. He has accomplished a huge amount of research and feels well prepared for teaching with a whole new verve. And the framework and approach of a future book have come fairly clearly into view. Although he can always see a mountain of other books to read, articles to write, and curricula to plan, he considers this year of sabbatical a great success.

I continue to work with the Mujeres Ambientalistas. I have learned since my last posting that there is a word for what I am doing. It is called “development,” and I am really loving it. I have made great strides in my own learning goals as well. I am conversing with them and helping teach some basic business skills—in Spanish. Now, mind you, I didn’t say I do it well. Thankfully, I have my Nicaraguan counterpart with me to round out my basic outline, but I am making myself understood, and I can’t even begin to describe how good it feels to look back on my first few months here (struggling in anguish over trying to communicate) and see how far I have come.

I could write forever about this project. It consumes most of my time and a great deal of energy. Some fantastic things have happened and the women continue to move ahead with hope and excitement. If circumstances were different, I could easily make the choice to stay here and continue working with this group indefinitely. However, there are other things ahead for me back in the States. What those things are exactly still remains unknown, but I am hopeful—if not also a little frightened—as I complete a chapter in my “book of life” and prepare to begin another. That said, I plan to return for a visit, hopefully with a group of others who might like to offer some short-term service to this very inspiring group of women. Anyone want to sign up? ;-)

This month I have spent all my energies elsewhere and have little left for composing even a semi-articulate blog. Thus, I am opting to send you a bunch of pictures with a bit of commentary. I figure those are all anyone really cares about anyway, verdad? (Right?) ;-)

One of our most recent excursions was to a coffee farm with some friends who live in Managua.

The farm also had a few horses. This one had a young colt.




The girls after a hike on the farm. Its pretty humid here. Just in case you are wondering about the big knot on Devyn’s head—she took a header into a wall after jumping on the bed (NOT something we parents gave her permission to do). She is fine now.


In addition to the coffee plants, there were also lots of bananas ready for the picking, and as you can see the girls got their fill.


These were some of my Mother’s Day gifts from the girls. The “puppet show” (box) is a good example of what can happen to a child’s imagination if she has fewer toys. This box had a slit in the top, so Jordan made it into a puppet show theater. Pretty creative, huh?


This is Frida and Devyn showing off their Mother's Day Masterpieces.


This is Yessi and her cousin Maria Guadalupe. They are daughters of two of the women who work for the project. Yessi and Maria enjoy hanging out with me at the project. For Mother’s Day, they wanted to make a special cake for their moms. We had a little baking party at our house, and this was one of the end products.


Here come the puppies. I spend a lot of time at the “paper factory” (where the Mujeres Ambientalistas work), and when the kids are not in school they love to join me and hang out with the director’s daughter and the zoo of animals they have. One of their many dogs just had a litter of puppies, and there is always a new flock of baby chicks wandering around. As you can imagine, the kids are in seventh heaven. (A side note about the puppies: They are cute, but they and all the other stray dogs that wander the streets have reinforced in our in minds why spaying and neutering domestic animals is a FANTASIC idea—for a whole lot of reasons that I won’t enumerate here (some of which might gross you out).








Like I said in a previous post, I have been working with a women’s project called Mujeres Ambientalistas (women environmentalists) While practicing my Spanish, I have been trying to connect these women with services and venders that will help them expand their business and promote their environmental goals. So far we have had “charlas” (classes) related to team-building, accounting and production costs, computer operation, and setting up an email account. We have a number of other classes along these lines planned for the next few weeks. Through some donations from my family, we have been able to employ some Nicaraguans to help us with this process. These pictures are of some of the classes. They represent some of my best moments here in Nicaragua. Helping to facilitate these women with their goals has been and continues to be a terrific experience. The whole process has not been easy—it seems development is a complicated and messy endeavor, but completely worth the effort.

Here I am, introducing the basic outline for the information my cohorts and I would be presenting. If I look wet in this picture, it’s because I am. I got caught in that downpour (see below) on my way to class.


The rainy season has returned. I got caught in this downpour on my way to the project.


This is Melanie. She is a champ of a Peace Corps volunteer. She is an accountant and has been teaching business administration classes to Nicaraguan high school students for the past two years in Estelí. I have solicited her help on a number of endeavors while working with this project.


This is Indira, my language teacher, friend and, now, my colleague in helping to provide these women some new skills. In this picture she is explaining an accounting concept. Indira is a big part of my life here. I could not picture my Nicaraguan experience without her.


I mentioned before that one of the best days I’ve had here in Nicaragua was when we got glasses for some of the women from the Mujeres Ambientalistas project. Here are Doña Cándida and Doña Augustina with their glasses on, ready to take notes for class.


Here the women are familiarizing themselves with an old keyboard before we all headed to the cyber cafe for a lesson on operating a computer and opening an e-mail account.


It was very fun for me to watch these women experience the Internet for the first time.


In this picture we are having a class on the color wheel—how to mix the three primary colors to get all the colors in the world. I am hopeful this information will help them make paper in a wider variety of colors.


These are pitayas. These fruits (aside from making a very tasting juice) really mark the time for us. When we arrived they were in season, then they went out of season, and now they are back again. This fruit signifies we have been here long enough to see seasonal food come and go. Just look at the bright fuschia color. It has got to be packed with antioxidants. I am going to miss them.


Devyn has learned to hang out on the front porch chatting and eating junk food like a true Nicaraguan.


Michael—doing his work.


The girls are watching t.v. and comforting each other while they recover from some virus that really wiped them both out for a while. This experience has really bonded them together.


Remember the “mystery poo?” Well, here is our culprit. I nearly stepped on this guy one night when I had to get up and get one of the girls a drink of water. We showed him to the door and asked him to do his “business” elsewhere, though we welcomed him back to eat his fill of bugs in the house anytime he liked. ;-)


That about sums up what we have been doing since I last wrote. Until next time.
Paz,
-Kelli

A High, A Low, and a laugh

Por fin! (finally) I was able to get some more pix uploaded. Mostly for the benefit of the Grandparents, Aunts, Uncles and Cousins. You know how it is. ;-)

The kids playing at one of the parks in our town, Estelí

Jordan, alive and well! (see below regarding the need for proof)

Here, the girls are hanging out while Michael and I wait in line to renew all our visas at the Costa Rican border. The girls are growing quite accustomed to all the waiting around as we travel around the country. There is a bus and taxi driver strike going on here over fuel prices (thats a very truncated version), so getting back home became a challenge. We made it though, unharmed.

Devyn in her school uniform

This is Elayne, our neighbor and the girls best play mate. They have made a fort. In other words, life as usual around here.

These pix are of that great day at the Optica. They don't quite capture the mood, but at least you can get the idea. (see below)






“High—Low”

Sometimes around the family dinner table, we ask one another about the high and low points of each person’s day. We’ve had a number of interesting conversations inspired by these reflections. As I think about the events of March and April, I realize that within these two months I have experienced my highest and lowest moments since we have been living here in Nicaragua, and I thought I’d share them in this blog. (At dinner, we often start with our “low” moments, and then we end on a “high” note. So that’s how I’ll proceed here...)

My “Low”

In late March, Jordan got sick—really sick—and we learned in a very tangible way how much we appreciate the quality of health care in the United States (despite its often dysfunctional character and inequitable distribution).

Shortly after Michael began improving from his bout with hepatitis A, Jordan came down with a high fever, a very painful throat, and a major headache—all of which seemed to persist. We just figured she had picked up the flu-like virus that had been moving among the locals, and we hunkered down to wait it out. After about a week, Jordan improved for about two days, and we thought she was in the clear. All of a sudden, however, she spiked another high fever, this time accompanied by swollen glands (with lots of pain in her ears, throat and head), vomiting, diarrhea, and lethargy. No longer sure this was just some flu virus, we decided not to wait any longer and we sought medical advice.

After an initial blood test, the doctor (the same one Michael has been seeing for the hepatitis) prescribed an antibiotic for an apparent bacterial infection in her throat, along with some pain relief and anti-inflammatory medications. Another week went by. Jordan was still not improving AND she was losing quite a bit of weight. At the end of the third week, the fever finally left and she was feeling a little more energetic. Once again, we thought we were in the clear, though Jordan’s throat still hurt. Then, all of a sudden the sides of her throat swelled and became very hard to the touch. It was like Jordan had swallowed two golf balls and one was stuck on each side of her neck. We returned to the doctor (with whom we had been in regular conversation the whole time).

It was about 4:30pm when we saw the doctor. After a very brief look at Jordan, she quickly referred us to a pediatrician friend who, after examining Jordan, said she needed to have an ultrasound, and then she would need to be hospitalized—immediately. WHAT?!?!?! As you might imagine, we were asking the pediatrician question after question: Why? Where? What type of treatment? She said that Jordan’s case was very “troubling,” and mentioned meningitis and lymphoma as things they needed to rule out. And, in the city of Estelí, the degree of treatment she needed to receive was ONLY offered in the hospital. Picture me having more than just a little (albeit, internal) cow at this point, and planning ways (in my head) to get another opinion.

We raced across town to the laboratory for the ultrasound. The doctor there knew us well by now after having run tests on Michael numerous times. Although the lab was about to close for the evening when we arrived, the doctor immediately got Jordan on the table for an ultrasound. Since we hadn’t expected any of this to happen when we initially left the house, we hadn’t taken enough money to cover all of these doctors and tests. We were now completely out of cash, and we were supposed to take the ultrasound results back to the pediatrician’s house for a final consultation so that she could write up a referral for the hospital.

When the ultrasound results were ready, the doctor kindly let us leave with nothing more than a promise that we’d return to pay as soon as we could. We got a cab to the pediatrician’s house, and then returned home to gather some things for what was to be a minimum of three nights (and perhaps as much as ten, we were told) in the hospital. In sum, we saw three doctors within two hours and each one took turns freaking out—or, more likely, we were freaking out when we saw their concerned looks—when they noted the size and hardness of Jordan’s swollen neck. Needless to say, our stress levels were off the graph—exacerbated by the fact that we were not entirely confident in the medical information we were getting. Not to mention that this was all in Spanish, and medical vocabulary is not something we necessarily use every day. I was far from being comfortable with the idea that Jordan was to be given even more antibiotics. But I had only my maternal instincts to back up my skepticism, and so we proceeded on to the hospital.

To say that a public hospital in a small city in a developing country leaves a little to be desired would be an enormous understatement. The emergency room itself was a safety hazard. As we entered, Jordan asked in a fear-stricken, yet brave voice, “Is this the best place we can go?” Many people, young and old, were suffering from a variety of medical conditions. Bloody gauze, cotton swabs, and used needles were sitting in open garbage cans. The patients were separated from one another—if at all—by a curtain, which, in most cases, was not drawn closed. The smell of old urine was strong enough to make your eyes water. There were babies screaming, and adults hacking. It was like something out of war movie. When the nurse began to administer Jordan’s IV (for a dual antibiotic therapy), she told Jordan to climb up onto the examination bed. Covering the bed was an old, bloodstained sheet. When I objected to having Jordan on it, the nurse simply folded the nearest bloodstain under and again instructed her to climb up onto the table. (There was still a bloodstain right near where Jordan’s head ended up.) Although Jordan was trying her best to be brave, she was now very afraid and in tears.

I told myself that if the pediatric ward wasn’t much better than the emergency/admitting room, we were not staying. What Plan B would be at that time of night, I still hadn’t worked out in my mind. When we got to the pediatric ward, it was a smidgen better—at least the smell of urine wasn’t as strong. Still, we were escorted to a plastic-covered twin bed with nothing but a holey top sheet in a stuffy room with 10 other sick children and their mothers—with one bathroom. Not much better. This was where Jordan and I were to spend the night.

Of the three doctors we encountered prior to making our way to the hospital, none of them thought to mention to us gringos that the FREE public hospital’s (our only option) accommodations would NOT include pillows, toilet paper, soap, water, bedding, fresh air, mosquito nets, darkness (the fluorescent lights remained on all night), cleanliness, bedside manners or quiet. Not even Band-Aids. All the locals knew this, and thus they came prepared with their own necessities. We, on the other hand—well, let’s just say we arrived ill prepared.

Michael left to sleep at the house with Devyn and Jordan and I stayed in the hospital—a very long, hot, worrisome night. At about 3:00am, I was still awake. (Jordan and I were sharing the twin mattress, just as all the other mothers and children were doing). I was getting eaten alive by mosquitoes, the lights were STILL on, the nurses were laughing and talking in the hall right outside the door, and I was worrying myself into a tizzy over Jordan. I looked around the room at all the other mothers and their children who were sleeping, seemingly calm and unfettered by this situation. (It has been my observation that many Nicaraguans can sleep anywhere and in just about any circumstance).

And then it hit me! Perhaps due to a jolt of clarity or sleep-deprived insanity, it became crystal clear that we needed to get out of there. Prior to this epiphany, I had been telling myself we could handle this. If the Nicaraguans had to endure these conditions, so could we. But the more I assessed the circumstances and saw that every child was apparently receiving the same antibiotic treatment (for what, we still didn’t know), that the dozen or so hygiene infractions occurring in a room of 15 people could put us both at even more risk health-wise than we were already, and that rest was not going to be an option, I decided that the treatment Jordan was getting was in no way therapeutic, and could, in fact, be harmful. So, feeling sorry for all the other mothers who were without the financial resources to do the same thing, I called Michael at 4:30 in the morning and in what we now fondly refer to as my “mommy bear melt down” explained that we were definitely leaving for Managua (the capital city that has private hospitals) as soon as the doctor could call in the discharge papers. I did not care how much a private hospital in Managua might cost.

My next step was to figure out which hospital to go to once we arrived in Managua, so I called our friends, Doug and Penn, who live there. It only took Penn five seconds to recognize a panicked mother’s voice (the fact that it was 6:30am was also probably a clue) and to ask me what was wrong. Without hesitation, she and Doug offered to come pick us up and take us to the best hospital in town.

Allow me to sidetrack a bit here and sing the praises of these two gems of people, who came to our rescue. Doug and Penn are two classic examples of human goodness. Not only did they make a four-hour round trip to take us to the hospital in Managua, they also stayed with us during Jordan’s exams and opened their home to us to spend the night, offering dinner, emotional support, and even entertainment. In this time of crisis, Doug and Penn went way beyond the call of duty. Doug and Penn, you are the salt and light of the earth, and we cannot thank you enough for the kindness and generosity you offered our whole family. Know that in your honor we will make every effort to pass on the goodness you have shown us to others we encounter in need. In other words, you may never need for us to pay you back your generosity, but we will indeed, pay it forward.

Ok, back to my story. We arrived at the (private) hospital in Managua. The stark contrast between this hospital and the public general hospital in Estelí was simply staggering. It is shiny and clean, it smells nice, there are special receptacles for hazardous materials, people are ready and willing to assist you (and to repeat themselves one more time when you’re just not sure you caught that last word), and there are even BAND AIDS!

After a call made on our behalf by Jordan’s school principal (thank you, again, Cristina!), we were seen immediately by a very pleasant female doctor, a specialist in pediatric infectious diseases. The doctor gave Jordan a thorough exam, ordered a few tests, and determined that (1) Jordan did not need to be hospitalized; (2) she did not need antibiotics (note to self—those maternal instincts are often guiding you correctly and should not be dismissed); and (3) she most likely had mononucleosis (“mono”).

Whew! I did not realized how long I hadn’t been breathing until I started again. Oh that wonderful feeling of respiration: In—out, in—out. Repeat. ;-)

After some blood tests, an ultrasound, and a chest x-ray, we were informed that Jordan’s ailment was indeed mono—and not something horribly worse. Given the other possibilities we had feared, mono was not really a big deal. It would only require continued rest as the virus took its course (which the doctor said would last about another week given the fact that Jordan had been sick for three weeks already). We were given an appointment for a check-up ten days later and sent on our way.

The End.

Believe it or not I actually left out a bunch of details. In any event, Jordan is fine now. And I would like to add that in the midst of this whole crisis we were amazed at the overwhelming concern and support we received from the community here in Estelí. Being newcomers, we had to rely on the recommendations of the people we knew to guide us toward doctors, pediatricians, and so forth. Of course this required explaining why we needed the information in the first place and word spread around that we were in a bit of a crisis. As a result, we had at least a dozen people calling us to find out how Jordan was doing, if there was anything they could do to help, and that we could call anytime, for any reason. We were overwhelmed with well wishers offering to help, and it hit home that in just a short time here we have developed a community—a community we are really going to miss.

My “High”

I have already told you about my volunteer work with the women’s project, Mujeres Ambientalistas. I also mentioned earlier that many of them needed glasses. Right from the beginning, it became really evident to me that not seeing would be a huge obstacle to these women’s ability to manage better their paper making business. Few people wear glasses here, not because they don’t need them, but because glasses are way beyond the financial reach of the average person. I had been telling my mom all about the things I was learning about and doing with the women’s project. She was very supportive and right away wanted to donate some money for whatever I thought the women might need to use it for. When the need for glasses presented itself, I knew immediately that buying these women glasses was exactly how we should use my mom’s donation. And by this time, my stepfather and grandmother had also added their own donations to the pot.

So, we picked a day, and three women from the project and I went to the Optica (optometrist) for eye exams and eyewear. This was, for me, the most exhilarating experience. These are women who probably only have two pairs of shoes—flip-flops, and a nicer pair for church. These are not women who shop. They are not the type to go out for the day and try on dresses, window shop for shoes, or spend the day at the mall. Their shopping habits involve getting food, some cleaning items, and maybe an occasional pen and notebook. But on this day, they were like schoolgirls going shopping for jewelry—trying on a pair of frames and then turning for the others to see with a head cock and a hand on the hip, as if to say, don’t THESE make me look glamorous. Each, in turn, would give a nod of approval, a compliment, a laugh—or, a wrinkle of the nose, indicating that maybe a different pair would look better. And I got to watch and be a part of it all! They were giddy with the notion of being able to see their world more clearly, and I was giddy with them. They all finally decided on glasses they liked best—taking their sweet time as they made their choices, in true Nica style. I think we were at the store for a few hours at least. The prescriptions were written and sent off for the orders to be filled, and we all left with big smiles on our faces.

I don’t know who was more thrilled, the women who were receiving the glasses, or me, the one serving as the conduit for their reception. The euphoric feeling that I went home with that day makes me think I got the bigger emotional high. I thought to myself, if one could only bottle this feeling and market it widely enough so that everyone could experience it personally, much of the poverty and suffering in the world could be eradicated given the miraculous generosity that would ensue. I did nothing but connect a generous givers with a few people who could greatly benefit from the gift. Nevertheless, I felt as good as (if not better than) I did when I crossed the finish line of a half marathon, or when I got an A on a test for which I had studied hard. It felt pure, natural—right.

I couldn’t wait to tell my mom and step dad about the whole experience, so that they, too, could share in the emotional high. As you might imagine, they were pleased, and my mom has since started her own little fundraising campaign to collect more funds for whatever other expenses these women may need in order to grow their business. I love being able to thwart would-be obstacles. I also really like just being the conduit and not the purse. The women know that it is my “people” who are giving to them, not me personally, and it allows us all to sidestep a lot of awkwardness. To be honest, simply having the chance to work with these women in the first place is the biggest high of all, and knowing that they can see better now only makes the entire experience sweeter.

Again, and again, I am struck that everyday resources most of us in the United States take for granted—for instance, things as common as a pair of glasses, or adequate health care—are way out of reach for the poor. Poverty, it would seem, involves mountains of small, almost invisible obstacles that hinder real, hardworking people from doing the kinds of things those of us with money take completely for granted. Come to think of it, I suppose that while most of us in the United States can probably find a pair of glasses if we need them, it’s worth noting that somewhere in the neighborhood of 47 million Americans lack health insurance. Hmm . . .



On a less serious note: “The Case of the Mystery Poo”

The mystery poo . . .

Who and what left the mystery poo?
It’s too little to be from a cat,
too big to be from a rat,
but definitely poo.

It was in the girls’ room, near the door.
It wasn’t there the evening before.

At first glance,
we thought it was a slug—in Spanish, “gusano,”
but upon closer inspection—
clearly something’s guano.

But who, rather WHAT,
came ‘round while we were asleep,
and left these remains
that we now peep.

It’s giving me the creeps,
this mysterious “shi-eet.” ;-)

Ok! ok! So maybe all this heat is getting to me, OR I’ve been reading too much Dr. Suess to Devyn. (Let’s hear it for those crazy Sneetches who finally learned that it doesn’t matter whether they do or don’t have “stars upon thars!”)

Thanks for tuning in. CHAO!!
-Kelli

más o menos asi (more or less like this)

The following photos represent bits and pieces of our daily lives here in Estelí.

Me and my composting worms.

This is the entrance to "Mujeres Ambientalistas" --my volunteer site. Below the sign is one of the directors and her daughter.

These two cuties I see on my way to "work" everyday. Its seems they are always outside their front door playing in the dirt.

When we travel, this is our mode of transportation.

We had a small birthday party for Jordan. The experience was very much like any birthday party we have had in the States,-the only real difference was the language spoken.


This is coffee. In our travels we have learned a great deal about coffee—from the dirt it grows in, to the final cup. We now have a much greater appreciation for that morning "cup o joe"! (AND——are even MORE committed to buying fair trade.)




This a the market where we buy most of our groceries. I LOVE it here. This is one of the things I will miss the most about living here——lots and lots of locally, organically (mostly) grown food.

This is my mom receiving a lesson on how to make tortillas

If we forget something at the market then the market comes to us.

The bakery also comes to our door. This is Jairo, he deliveres "pan dulce" to our doorstep every other day.

Watermelon smiles!



Greetings again from Nicaragua,

With more than seven and a half months behind us here in Estelí, Nicaragua it feels we are just now hitting our stride. We are forming friendships and it is now common to see people we know as we stroll about town. In many ways, it is beginning to feel like home. Nevertheless, the fact that we are foreigners is still an ever-present aspect of our existence.

Several things have transpired in the course of time since I last wrote. The following is a brief (ok! an attempt at being brief) recap of what fills our days here in Nicaragua.

The kids:
The girls have returned to school full time, and their language abilities continue to progress. Indeed, they—even more than Michael and I—are truly having an intense immersion experience. We can see in very tangible ways how much more confident they are after successfully assimilating into a new culture.It is a great source of pride for Michael and me. Even with all the mosquito bites, diarrhea, meltdowns, anxieties about the girl’s safety, and so forth, seeing the positive effects this experience has had on them has made our decision to spend our sabbatical in this way entirely worthwhile.

Me:
I continue to teach English to Devyn’s and Jordan’s classes twice per week. Given that I have no formal training in primary education, I have relied heavily on the expert advice of my mother and mother-in-law, both of whom are retired elementary teachers. To say that the teaching process that goes on in my classes is pedagogically effective would probably be an overstatement. I consider it a success if I can keep the kids from wounding each other and running about the room in a chaotic frenzy. As of late, I have discovered that I can keep them remaining sanely in their seats if I keep them occupied with arts and crafts projects (with instructions in English). I also bribe them. Some like to call it a “reward system”. I call it, “whatever works”!! ;-)

I have also begun volunteering with a women’s environmentalist project called “Mujeres Ambientalistas” (translation: women environmentalists). This project involves six women who live in a poor neighborhood on the outskirts of Estelí, making paper from recyclable and organic materials. They also work to educate the community concerning the benefits of recycling and composting—a difficult task in a culture where there are no organized recycling services and throwing your food wrapper on the ground when you are done with it is considered appropriate. With their paper the women make cards, envelopes, notebooks, bookmarks, and the like. With the proceeds of their work, they dream of one day being able to provide sustainable employment to single women who are fighting to provide for their families.

This project started fifteen years ago when a few women decided to clean up an area of unoccupied “green” space their neighborhood was using as a dump. Their goal was to set up a micro-enterprise in order to use the space for making compost—utilizing the “garbage” people were already throwing there—while also teaching the community what could be composted and what could not. Over the years, a few non-profit organizations sympathetic to their cause provided some funding for buildings and composting troughs. One group in particular showed them how to make paper using some of the same compostable materials (e.g. banana trees, vegetable peelings, and used paper products) and provided the paper making equipment. Today, the bulk of their efforts are devoted to making paper, but they still compost as well, using it for the benefit of the trees and plants on the yard.

I first encountered this group when I was searching for composting worms way back in the first few weeks we arrived. I so liked their products and their aspirations that I returned with each group of family members who came to visit us in December and January. During each visit, I learned a little more about their project. I had been looking for a volunteer venue to put my Spanish skills into practice and thereby to improve my language further, sooooo one fine day I mustered up the nerve to ask the women if I could help them with their paper making and educational endeavors. My salary, I explained, would be their conversations as we worked side-by-side and got to know each other. They happily accepted my proposal and warmly welcomed me into their fold. Little did I know at the time that making paper would turn out to be only one small part of my activities with these women and their project.

Shortly after I “became one of them,” as they put it, the women told me how disorganized they were with regard to business management practices. It seems the support they received in the past provided a great deal when it came to developing their business infrastructure, but fell short of providing any education about how to actually run and manage a business endeavor—especially one with the goal of growing its employee base (again, single women). I have since learned that this is very typical of many small “start up” businesses here in Nicaragua. The “managers” of this little enterprise haven’t had the opportunity to become educated about running a business, and thus they have little understanding of how to keep track of their sales and expenditures in a way that informs them about whether they are actually making any money—and how to use the money they do make to further their cause.

Don’t get me wrong. These women are very impressive. They work hard, and not just at making paper! Actually, making paper and compost is but a part-time job. They also care for children and parents, and carry the load of cleaning, shopping and cooking for the family. Most of them have other full-time jobs as well. One, in particular, helps her husband make horseshoes out of rebar—an extremely labor intensive task. They barely scrape together a subsistence living. They live in mud and scrap board houses, live off of beans, rice and tortillas, have no healthcare, and, like I have said, have had little or no opportunity for education. The fact that their paper making efforts are aimed at one day helping single women humbles me.

These hard-working women still hope to improve the productivity of their project. The more I got to know these women and learned about their project, the more invested I became in their “dream”. I suspected that perhaps there might be things I could do beyond just making paper to help them get a little closer to their goals. With their enthusiastic permission, I began to delve into several other activities in addition to making paper. For example, I have been working to link these women with services to help them reach (or at the very least, get closer to) their business goals. I have done some work on the computer, typing up advertisements and organizing materials (like vender contracts, price listings) to help them promote their products and explain their cause to the consumer. I have helped them write a letter requesting permission to sell their wears at the weekly fair. I have also written another letter asking the local government to officially deed the land to them. As it stands now, they only have squatters rights. (I hired my Spanish teacher to help me with this process. It was a great way for me to provide my Spanish teacher with work, receive a Spanish lesson, and get something done on behalf of these women’s project all at the same time). I continue to scout out and make contact with the “touristy” sites in town that might want to purchase their products for resale. And I am working to link the directors of the project with Nicaraguans who can teach them business administration skills, computer skills and marketing ideas. (I could provide some of these services, but I believe it is more important and far more effective if Nicaraguans are assisting other Nicaraguans in these types of endeavors. Wherever possible I sidestep being the person “in the know” because there are just as many Nicaraguans who desperately need the job, who are fully capable of offering the same information.) . In the words of my South Carolinian friend Bob Morgan, “I am just happy to be here, and God will’n I can help the team.” ;-)

As we plug along and I become more aware of the obstacles (almost always related to their poverty) to their business’s success, I realize again and again the need to “address first things first”. For example, before we can link these women with someone who can teach them some basic business administration and computer skills, we will have to schedule eye exams for at least two of the women—and then find them glasses. For the longest time I thought they couldn’t read. After a little time, and a bit more directness on my part, I found out they can read—they just can’t SEE!!! And they can’t afford to seek treatment. (Like I have said in previous blogs the poverty here is great. One of the everyday consequences of this degree of poverty is that the poor are forced to choose between food OR medical treatment. Eye care is considered a luxurious extra.) I am also talking with the women and gathering as much information as possible about them and their project in hopes of one day writing up a grant proposal or micro loan application. I have already located a possible grant source, but like I said before, first things first. First, they need to be able to see; second, they need to be linked with education and services; and third, we need to get better organized—and so on and so forth.

These are just a few of the examples of where my volunteering with these women has directed my energies. I really enjoy working with such people who, despite their own poverty, strive to help others they perceive as even worse off than themselves. Needless to say, I am getting far more education than just conversational Spanish. I have no idea how much I can accomplish with these women and their project in the next four and a half months, but I do know my life has already been enriched far more than anything I have or will have offered them in our short time together.

Michael:
For the first six months or so, all of us were relatively healthy. We should have knocked on wood or something, because that came to a screeching halt when Michael got very ill and was diagnosed with Hepatitis A. He is now doing fine and on the mend, but it took quite a bit of effort to get from doctor to laboratory and back again several times—and to understand what they were all saying to us. It was an extreme form of “learn your medical Spanish,” we’d rather not have to repeat. The confusing part of all of this was that Michael had been diagnosed with Hep A nearly twenty years ago. Presumably, the disease is a once-in-a-lifetime deal, and therefore Michael had to undergo many more tests than otherwise might have been necessary while the doctors tried to figure out what he was suffering from. In the end, all that anyone could figure was that either he had been misdiagnosed years ago—odd, since the symptoms and lab results were exactly the same—or that he was in fact a strange case in which the disease had occurred twice.

We feel very comfortable with the quality of care Michael received during this time. In fact, our own HMO in the States would probably never have authorized the numerous tests ordered and the amount of face-to-face contact time we had with the doctor. Moreover, Estelí is something of a Mecca for homeopathic medicine. Medicinally speaking, there is no cure for Hep. A; one must just wait it out. Having said that, our doctor here recommended some dietary alterations and homeopathic herbal remedies that we believe have sped Michael’s progress. (Again, we learned first hand how prohibitively expensive medical care is for the poor.) Again, we’re grateful that he is doing much better and, fortunately for Michael, his job is to sit around and read all day, something he can do with Hepatitis or without. ;-)

Well, that about sums up the gist of what keeps us occupied these days. When we are not doing the aforementioned activities we are hanging out with friends, playing games, strolling about town, cooking, cleaning, reading, traveling, and studying Spanish (me). As always, thank you for your interests in our journey this year, and we very much look forward to sharing all the nuances and details with many of you upon our return. Until next time! (Hasta luego!)
-Kelli

On Apples, Denial, and More . . .

Laguna de Apoyo, near Granada -- this old volcano crater lake makes for picturesque and fantastic swimming "hole"


The water's warm!


Hiking up Volcan Mombacho -- the clouds were really thick, but they opened up for us at the top just long enough to catch a breathtaking view of Granada and Lake Nicaragua


Marketplace in Granada


Sunset at San Juan del Sur -- we couldn't get Jordan out of the water all day


"Looking" for baby turtles trying to make their way to the ocean


I found my turtle!


Michael's Jan Term class in front of Laguna de Apoyo


The beauty of the mountains around Matagalpa (we spent a few days on a coffee plantation/farm called Selva Negra) inspired the girls to paint


Devyn has learned to sleep -- and even snore! -- on the bus, just like the locals. This picture was taken on the way back from Costa Rica, where we had to stay for two days in order to renew our Nicaraguan visas. Two twelve-hour travel days with long lines mixed in!



Hi all!

It has been a while since I have written. The silence is not due to the fact that there is little to say; in fact, the issue is quite the opposite. There is so much I could say that it is difficult to select what is most blogable. I struggle with how to convey all that we experience here in this country. So, in an attempt to ease into it, so to speak, I will first tell you about what we have been doing for the past month.

For all of December and January, the girls have been out of school for their second “summer” vacation. (Of course, they do not call it that here. The school year runs from February to the end of November.)

During this time, we were fortunate to have many family members come to visit. In addition to showing them our home in Estelí, we traveled around the country to some of the more “touristy” areas. It was great to share our experiences with family and it was especially great for the girls to see grandparents who dote on them like no one else does. The pictures (above) help to capture some of the adventures we experienced during our “vacation time”.

All of our language abilities have improved. The girls are speaking in complete sen


tences and communicating quite capably with friends, teachers and neighbors. As their mother, this thrills me to pieces! It was a great feeling to be able to let the girls walk around the town with my mom and sister (who don’t speak Spanish), knowing the girls were fully capable of managing whatever language skills were necessary as they shopped, ordered food, etc, without me. In fact, Devyn later recounted that at one point in their amblings they needed to order something from a market vendor. My mom picked up Devyn, who is perhaps only 3.5 feet tall, and placed her at the level of the ordering counter so she could tell the woman (in Spanish) on the other side what they wanted to order. Devyn, in turn, translated for my mom how much money she needed to give the woman. Devyn is 5!

January was also an interesting month because Michael was co-teaching (with Margaret Dick) a travel class (“Nicaragua and El Salvador: Religion and Politics in Conflict”) for St. Mary’s College of California, and thus was away from the girls and me for the month. The trip (15 days in Nicaragua and 10 days in El Salvador) was intense, and he felt that the class was quite successful. I believe there are 15 more “conscientized” (a la Paulo Freie) college students in the world.

So, with Michael busy elsewhere, the girls and I held down the fort and had a few adventures of our own. We traveled to the southern Pacific Coast—to San Juan del Sur—and then later in the month, to the mountains of Matagalpa. I enjoyed the extra challenge of “flying solo” in a foreign land, and the girls seemed to realize that they only had one parent for the month; if they “used” me all up (with too much crazy misbehaving), they would have NO backup. I’m happy to say that they rose to the behavioral challenge. In other words, they went to bed when I asked, and kept the whining to a minimum.

The musings in my head continue. Some people might call them rants. I’ll let you decide. It would be difficult for me to explain fully all the things our experiences here in Nicaragua have inspired me to think about, so I will just try to briefly mention a few—in hopes that some day when we return (and if you are interested in conversing more about any of these topics, say over coffee or a glass of wine), we can use the following as a jumping off point. So here goes . . .

More on poverty:

As I’ve noted before, this is not the first time I have experienced abject poverty. Yet this is probably the longest time I have had to digest it. Thus, I have come to this conclusion: It seems to me that the poor have no problem identifying who they are. They know they are poor. They know the world that moves about them does not, for the most part, include them. The process of buying, selling, and living—beyond just sustaining life—is not something they have the opportunity to participate in. The rich, on the other hand, always seem to be denying that they are, indeed, RICH. Ok, I am confessing. I have been one of the “rich” who has been in denial. In the States, it is easy for me to analyze our finances, budget for our expenses, drive a used car, live in a high crime neighborhood, etc., and thus conclude that I am not among the “rich”. But I must now face the fact that this is just not true. The reality is staggering: 1.6 billion people in the world live on less than $1.00 per day. I have observed many of these people as I have had the privilege to travel to poverty-stricken parts of the world (a major indication that I am rich!) and now, due to our prolonged stay here in Nicaragua, I now know some of them personally. This profound realization—that less than half of our possessions and income would rank us among the richest people in the world—alters my perspective about money and “needs” entirely. It changes my feelings about giving money away, how much space I need to occupy, and even how I feel about being robbed. (Our car was stolen from the driveway back home in January, providing us a fairly concrete opportunity to reflect on the actual value of our possessions. Conclusion: How lucky we are to have a car to lose! [The undamaged car was subsequently recovered by some of Richmond’s finest.]).

I suppose a full explanation of the changes that have taken place in our perspectives would be overly lengthy for this forum. In short, I am happy with the changes, even if they don’t make my life any less conflicted.

Question: “Mom, why won’t you buy us apples in Nicaragua?”

My quick answer to the girls when they ask me this question is, “For the same reason I won’t buy pineapples or bananas in the United States.” Nevertheless, I realize that this is not really an answer to their question. The longer answer that I give them, which usually causes them to lose interest before I am finished, is: “I don’t buy apples here because I don’t want to support an industry that wastefully uses up both our human and environmental resources.”

In order to have apples in Nicaragua (replete with “Grown in Washington” [USA] stickers on them), they have to be imported. Such importation requires significant energy, both human and environmental. At a time when thousands of people have died and others continue to suffer in order to maintain our reliance on oil, I do not want to support, even in a minor way, unnecessary usage of this dwindling resource. Not to mention my concerns regarding what the apple pickers may or may not have been paid for their labors.

But that is not the only reason I won’t buy apples. I won’t buy apples because in my opinion they represent humans’ tendency toward greed. (A little ironic if you think about the significance of the apple in the story of Adam and Eve.)

We are in the tropics, and due to this highly conducive climate for growing just about everything, we are privy to an amazing myriad of delectable fruits and vegetables. Just about everything—EXCEPT apples. Thus they are imported, using up valuable resources in the process, just so we can have something we really don’t need. Moreover, the quality of the apples Nicaragua imports pales in comparison to the fruits and veggies that do grow here, sometimes just yards away from one’s door.

This dynamic seems to me a classic example of humans’ persistent desire to want what we don’t have and to want even MORE in the presence of plenty. I am not picking on my new Nicaraguan neighbors here. I could rant in the same way about any number of foods that are sold in the United States. I also don’t mean to convey I am above wanting what I cannot have. I, too, gravitate toward selfishness and greed. Still, “the apples” here in Nicaragua force my eyes to open. They challenge me to see all the other areas in my life where I can choose to support or not to support industries, governments, establishments, doctrines, etc., that continue to cater to my tendency toward greed AND take advantage of our planet and its people. So, I won’t buy apples here in Nicaragua, or bananas in the United States (unless they are fair trade), for that matter. Not because I think my boycott is really going to make a difference to the system at large, but because of the difference it makes in ME: because “the apples” force me to grapple with even larger issues of the world and how I live in it.

Ok. So do you think I am musing or ranting? Maybe both. There are many more topics swimming around in my head, but I should probably pace myself. ;-) It is sort of interesting how this blog writing is working out for me. I will think about something over and over again, and not really know how to best articulate it, and then comes a day when I am compelled to write it out. I have never been much of a writer (though I have always kept a personal journal), so sharing these thoughts with the masses gives me a feeling of solidarity; yet, at the same time, I have a sense of fear and trepidation about how the words might fall on their readers. I hope that as you read this you hear my desire to possess a humble voice. These are the things I think about, struggle with, and share with you in a spirit of hope, as together we strive to live our lives with integrity.

chao,
-Kelli