Closure: Re-entry and my last entry (blogging that is)

Wow! How time flies! I posted my last blog an embarrassingly long time ago. In order to put some closure on this writing experience, what you’ll find below is my final blog concerning our Nicaraguan experiences. I have written over the course of a year (almost) in part because each time I sat down to write there was never a good wrap up point. Something always interrupted the process (technical difficulties) or a sense that I just wasn’t content with how I signed off. Thus, I just kept adding to the same document every three months or so as the “writing spirit” moved me to do so OR I found the idle time and mental space to reflect. This posting starts in 2008 a few weeks after our return and finishes in June 2009, almost a year later. So keep this in mind as you read.

LEAVING ESTELÍ
As you can imagine, saying good-bye and moving out of the neighborhood we called home for the year was bittersweet. The closer we got to departing, the more the excitement to see friends and family in the States mounted. The kids fantasized about whom they would call and talk to first, and plotted what little trinket gifts they wanted to purchase for specific people while we traveled those last few days. I too, would get excited thinking about seeing my good friends, (a group of people I fondly refer to as “my village”). I had SO missed their daily conversation and support, so thinking about having them back in my life on a regular basis made me very excited. And yet, having to leave our newly developed friendships was hard and sad. The last two weeks were filled with “despedidas” (good-bye parties) both in large groups like at the girls school and in more private settings, like me and my friend Indira getting together over coffee to share a final conversation.

A particularly happy/sad despedida took place at the paper factory with Las Mujeres Ambientalistas, the women’s project I had worked with for the past six months. I have stated in previous blogs that this group of women are very poor. They don’t have money for extras. So when we (the whole family) showed up for our despedida and the women had purchased juice and cookies, and had made and bought good-bye gifts for us all, I was particularly touched. Each woman, and some of their children (who I had also gotten to know), gave me gifts and shared publicly how much they appreciated and enjoyed my participation in their project. I, of course, had to remind them that the benefits and pleasure were VERY mutual, and indeed, I felt (and still feel) that despite their generous gratitude for all that they perceived I did for them, I think I got WAY more out of the relationships and experiences (albeit in ways much more intangible and difficult to describe with mere words.)



Our girls also had a very special good-bye party offered to them at school. The whole school halted studies for an entire afternoon to celebrate with special food, parting gifts, banners wishing us a safe travel home, and piñatas made to resemble Jordan and Devyn. (I tried not to think to hard about the concept that the point of the piñata is to whack the hell out of it. ;-) I have always found piñatas made to resemble human beings somewhat disconcerting.)

These are from the despedida (good-bye party) at the girls school



This one is of our good-bye to the neighbors whom Jordan and Devyn played with regularly


In our final hours with all the good-bye parties behind us, we completed the arduous chore of moving out of the house and delivering all the stuff we could not or did not want to take home with us to peoples’ homes. This was no simple task, as we had no car (we had not had a car for the whole year) and thus had to schlep some pretty hefty stuff for several blocks. Not the least of which was the big tub of worms I had told you about in my first couple of blog posts. Anyway, after all the packing and the cleaning, we were finally ready to catch a taxi that could fit all our bags and head to the bus station where we would then head to Managua (the capital) and meet our friend with a truck—so we could dump our stuff at his place while we continued to travel for the next to weeks.

The overwhelming emotion we all felt driving out of Estelí was one of accomplishment. Michael and I looked at each other and gave “high fives,” saying, “We did it!” We lived a year in Nicaragua and thrived. The whole experience was a huge success. Each of us reached personal goals we had set out to achieve and some we had not even imagined. At the end of the day, after all the challenges physically, emotionally and intellectually, we can say with utter enthusiasm, it was worth all the effort!

Once we dropped our luggage at a friend’s house, we packed one backpack and set off to see some of the more remote beaches of Nicaragua. This turned out to be a fabulous way to end our sabbatical year. We traveled high and low, via “chicken bus,” taxi, and on foot, to some of the more remote beaches, and it was worth all the effort it took to try and get there. I have never seen more beautiful beaches, and, (basically) to have them all to ourselves was . . . well . . . let me say . . . therapeutic. Our accommodations were, of course, rustic because these were not your typical touristy areas, but the alone time the trip afforded us as a family allowed us to debrief our year of experiences and prepare our hearts and minds for re-entry into the States.

Some of my favorite photos of our travels the two weeks prior to returning to the States






Would you believe me if I said, it was actually more beautiful than this?




Devyn preparing herself mentally for another ride on a chicken bus ;-)



NOW WE ARE HOME

Back in our “little piece of the pie” home in U.S. we were greeted with many heart warming “WELCOME HOME” signs both on the interior and exterior walls of the house. Once friends found out we were back in country we were given many generous welcome home offerings. We were showered with many generous gifts ranging from being picked up at the airport in our own car, to bringing us coffee and coffee cake the morning after we landed. There were fresh cut flowers in the house, veggies planted in the garden bed out back, kid-sitting for a while we unpacked, and more. All these gifts were above and beyond our homecoming expectations. It felt so good to be missed. We really did feel “home,” not so much in the sense of our location, but instead with respect to where our “people” are. To all of you who were a part of this “little village” of do-gooders (you know who you are), we are so grateful and so fortunate to call you friends. Thank you! Thank you!

AS LIFE CONTINUES

Many people, (many of you readers, in fact) have asked us if we are experiencing “reverse culture shock” since we have returned to the U.S. As you can imagine, our experiences of culture shock are as varied as each of our personalities. Here you will be getting my particular slant on things, but many of them, I think, could be generalized to us all.

I am now realizing (since I have let so much time go between postings) that “reverse culture shock” comes in phases. I don’t know exactly what phase I am in, but I do recognize that my reactions to things now are different than in the beginning months of our return, and as time continues to pass different reflections and challenging aspects surface.

The answer I give to most people who ask the culture shock question is “yes” but to explain all the nuances is complicated and the experience is fluid and changes over time. Thus, the following are a few musings I have had over the past few months on my/our experiences of “reverse culture shock”.

In many ways falling back into our American lives is surprisingly easy. For example driving a car is . . . just as the saying goes, like riding a bike—you don’t forget how—even if you don’t do it for a year. However, getting on Interstate 80’s five lanes of freeway, where everyone is going 75-80 (or more) miles per hour is another thing all together. It wasn’t so much that I forgot how, as much as I wasn’t emotionally prepared. Whoa! I think were the words I uttered. Even now, after several weeks later, with many freeway experiences behind me, I am still amazed that the system works as functionally as it does, and at such high speeds.

I keep having similar experiences (which I have now coined, the “ooh aah” culture shock response) when I go into a big store with literally hundreds of choices for things to buy, or a huge building, or business office, or even drive around my neighborhood. Everything looks so shinning and new. At one point I said to Michael, “It seems like everyone painted their house while we were gone.” The roads are so nicely paved, the buildings have new paint, there is no garbage lying all over the ground, and I am impressed. I guess what I am experiencing as “reverse culture shock” is a wowed reaction to the contrast of the two different worlds. The immensity and tidiness of it the U.S. leaves me in awe and wonder. One day as we pulled onto the I-80 freeway gaining speed (so as not to get pummeled by the speeding traffic already on the road), Jordan said from the back seat, “Wow! This place is big.” So I guess I am not the only one noticing. The immensity also leaves me feeling overwhelmed, and sometimes lagging behind. I had to hesitate at the checkout counter, trying to remember how to operate the do-it-yourself credit card machine. I am getting the hang of it now, but the feeling of being two steps behind everyone else is a reoccurring theme.

I also feel ambivalent about all the “fanciness” of our Western culture. On the one hand, it is impressive, functional, efficient and great, but on the other hand, it also speaks to what is NOT present when efficiency, tidiness and bigness are the priorities. There is a price to be paid for all these things. An emotional tax if you will that’s hard to describe, but it has something to do with expectation, social pressure and generally being wound to tightly. I feel it most when I shop. I get this glazed-over, overwhelmed feeling when trying to choose an over the counter cold medicine from out of hundreds of choices. (I must have that “I am lost”/ “deer in the head lights look” on my face when I go shopping because clerks keep asking me if I need help with something. I don’t remember the customer service being all that good before we left.) In Nicaragua, if you went to the pharmacy you stepped up to counter, told the clerk you needed something for a cough, and she handed you the one type of medicine they had for that ailment. Fewer options, yes, but a lot less complicated. However, despite my feeling overwhelmed while shopping, I like and appreciate many of the aspects of the bigness, the tidiness, and the efficiency in other areas of our culture. For example, I like how clean our pediatrician’s office is, and how everyone (generally) obeys the streets signs and traffic laws. More than anything, I think the culture shock presents itself in how much more attuned I am to these things than I was before because they have not been a part of our lives for the past year.

More recently the “reverse culture shock” is more challenging, albeit in a more subtle emotional way. Our return is old news, the questions about our experience have ceased, and people are back to life as usual (which, of course is appropriate and fine, we don’t expect people to keep our year in Nicaragua on their radar). However, for us, Nicaragua is still very much with us in our hearts and minds, and we still desire to share those experiences. It is also hard jumping back in, especially when a part of us doesn’t want to re-join the frenetic lifestyle that seems to define American culture. For many, life as usual means running around, being very busy with very little time to stop, breathe, and take inventory of whether what one is busy doing is really all that gratifying. It seems as if Americans do everything big. We celebrate big, we eat big, we spend big, we achieve big. While in Nicaragua we lived “small” for a year and we are noticing and feeling the contrast. I (and I will start speaking personally here) feel exhausted trying to maintain the peace and simplicity we had in Nicaragua in the midst of our fast-paced, achievement-oriented American culture. Yet, I want to be clear. There are many things I like (and missed while in Nicaragua) about American culture—AND I still find it exhausting. There are so many great choices here, so many terrific opportunities, so many ways one can find “enrichment,” I now have a heightened awareness that saying “yes” to one thing, is also by necessity saying “no” to something else. We have become much more carefully aware of what we are saying “no” to when we say “yes” to opportunities that come down the pike. For example, the abundance of “enrichment opportunities” for the kids to be involved in is staggering. But if we were to take advantage of more than 2 of these extracurricular possibilities, like sports leagues, art, swimming, karate, choir, et. al, we would rarely have a sit down meal together as a family and the kids would seldom have idle time and space to simply play. Each of us has to decide what things we want to take advantage of and what we don’t. However, I am finding that the frequency with which I am asked (required really) to make the “yes” or “no” decisions about what we want to be involved in, IS in and of itself, exhausting. And that is not to say anything about the plethora of cultural values with which we’re uncomfortable and various activities we have definitively chosen NOT to participate in. It often feels like being pummeled by ocean waves. There is barely time to take a breath before another decision about what to participate in needs to be made. I am aware that the world in America that I left last year didn’t get more frenetic while I was gone, I am simply seeing it in a new light, and have experienced a taste of what fills the space when the frenetisism (to coin a word) isn’t there. It’s actually a nice alternative. I am now a little more aware of a different way of being—an alternative lifestyle if you will, and it leaves me feeling conflicted, misunderstood and self-righteous all at the same time.

And then there is the grief. This is really the hardest part. This is the part where we are just sad that our experience is over. Like all good things, they sooner or later come to an end—and it’s a bummer.

I am not good at maintaining a state of denial about being sad for very long before I am side-swiped by some uninvited insight that the reason I am yelling at my kids, or frustrated with my husband, or unable to focus on a task, is not for any of the reasons I make up to justify my behavior, but instead is because of the sad reality that our time in Nicaragua is over, and I am totally bummed. However, at the same time, I am happy to be back in the States with people I enjoy and care about, and in a culture that affords me so many fringe benefits. I suppose that is how one can identify sadness as grief as opposed to depression or something else. Grief allows you to be happy about your current state of affairs while being sad about your loss at the same time.

So that’s it. That is “reverse culture shock” as I am experiencing it. There are many more nuances to the story, but because of their nuanceiness (to coin yet another word), they are a little beyond my writing capability to explain. Suffice it to say again, “reverse culture shock” is not (in my opinion) a thing that happens once and then ends and you move on. It is a fluid process, if you will, of living within a culture that was once so familiar that it felt like your own skin, only now after having experienced something “other,” it feels like it doesn’t quite fit you anymore. Almost as if you gained some weight and your skin didn’t grow with you, so now everything feels a little more tight and constricting.

WHAT WE ARE DOING NOW

Well, the kids are back to school in a Spanish/English dual-immersion program at Washington Elementary, and they’re thriving. Michael is back to teaching, and although keeping up with his breakneck schedule after having so much independent study time has been a tough adjustment, he too, is thriving. Me, well, I am flailing a bit trying to find my next niche. I want to find work or a volunteership that is separate from family life— Something that excites me as much as the women’s paper project in Nicaragua did—something that will utilize the skill sets I have to offer. Finding this niche is a little more complicated here in the States than it was in Nicaragua. For starters, I don’t have a maid or a house-husband. That should say it all right there. ;-) Yet in addition to that, it takes time to network, scope out what might be available, make the right contacts, allow people to get to know me, etc. Thus, I am still waiting for something to come along.

The first day of school stateside.


We got a puppy shortly after our return. Her name is Toña (named after our favorite Nicaraguan beer).



SEVERAL MONTHS LATER

That something did come along. I got a job as a Student and Family Resource Coordinator at an elementary school in our neighborhood, where my responsibilities are to develop programs and access needed resources for an underprivileged community. I am getting to use my Spanish and am doing very similar work to what I was doing with the women’s project only with much loftier goals. I love it, and am totally amazed to find myself doing work that my experiences in Nicaragua prepared me for.

So there you have it, the closing remarks to my foray into the blogging world. Since returning I have discovered blogging is a completely contextual experience for me. I just can’t seem to find the space or desire to make it happen here in the States. Maybe its because I can speak so freely in my native tough, I have no words left for the page. At any rate, this is my adios from the blogging world for a while.

I also must add that though this blog has largely reflected upon me and my experiences both in Nicaragua and now home in the U.S., I am ever aware that during this time of economic struggle, the people most affected are those who were the most vulnerable before the crisis. This includes many of our friends in Nicaragua and that awareness tends to relativize the small concerns I have about my own re-entry into our very comfortable (comparatively speaking) lifestyle. For them the daily struggle for survival continues, and I suppose the best way to close out this blog is to simply express my deep love, gratitude and solidarity with them. My experiences in Nicaragua demonstrated for me beyond a doubt that serious and lasting change in our world is urgently necessary. I intend to be a small part of that change, and I ask you, my readers, to hold me accountable to this intention.

I very much appreciate those of you who have read this blog over the course of the year (and now two years) and have given me affirming feedback and encouragement. Your support has meant a great deal to me.
Again, thanks for tuning in, CHAU!! (that's chow in Spanish;-)
-Kelli

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