Jornada de Vacunación – The Great Vaccination Campaign

Well, I’ve arrived in my “site” for the next two years, and what better way to be welcomed into a community than with a Tetanus shot?? Not for me, but for all the youth in the municipality. Every April marks the annual Vaccination Campaign in Nicaragua, something that the Ministry of Health despite its lack of resources and organization, does quite well. The Health Center staff is divided up into groups of two to four and “take-on” each small village at a time. There are 24 communities in my municipality, so they do three to four villages a day. After the past nine days of doing this (there are still two more to go), I am exhausted – and I’m not even vaccinating! The Ministry of Health workers have really amazed me with their energy every day, their care in giving the vaccines, and their attention to detail. The records system here consists of old notebooks marked with faded pencil. The dates of past vaccinations are frequently illegible, and often we come across a child whose mother doesn’t remember when he was born, or a child who has not been recorded in the national census. These health care employees have been working for this Health Center for years, if not decades, and they practically can recite the names of all the children in the surrounding villages; no small feat in Nicaragua where women have children almost annually.

So every day, starting promptly at 8 am (in “Nica time” that means about 8:45) all of the workers fill up the American Red Cross donated coolers full of anti-polio drops, Tetanus, DPT, dT, MMR, Rotavirus and Pentavalente vaccines, grab a disposable cardboard sharps container (donated by Norway), paperwork listing all the children and “MEFs” (women of “fertile” age), anti-parasite pills and Vitamin “A” drops. We all climb in the back of the Health Center pick-up truck and take-off for that day’s communities. As we weave along the dirt roads up into the mountains of the north of Nicaragua, we all find ourselves clutching to whatever object is closest to avoid falling out: a shoe, a leg, a shoulder, a vaccination cooler… Crossing small rivers, stopping for cows to cross, and occasionally picking-up a hitchhiker, the trip is anything but uneventful. I really enjoy looking around and seeing all the flora of Nicaragua. Mangoes, bananas, coconuts, limes, oranges, and corn abounded. If we were lucky, some of the mothers or village health care volunteers, “brigadistas” would gift us some of these summer treats. Note from my experience: mango can be a very messy fruit that permanently tints anything it touches (face, hands, clothes) bright orange. Should be avoided when one does not have soap and water…
We are gradually dropped off in our vaccination teams, and we head to the house of the brigadista who is in charge of that year’s vaccines. Ideally, ideally, that brigadista will have already notified all the parents in the village of the date and time that they should come to the vaccination house, and the parents will arrive punctually and with their child, who is no doubt, ecstatic about the thought of receiving his vaccine. But of course, being the real world, sometimes parents wouldn’t come to vaccinate their children, because they forgot, or also because they, like their children, don’t like vaccines. There is a lack of education about preventative medicine in Nicaragua, and most parents avoid the vaccination campaign, not knowing that they are ultimately hurting their child. My role during the vaccination campaign was to support the nurses and doctors doing the vaccinating and tabulating of children. I gave out anti-parasite pills, handed out balloons, helped hold down screaming children, explained to parents what each vaccine was for, and also gave mini-talks about diarrhea, malaria, purification of water, etc.
After we had spent the morning at the designated vaccination house, it was time to track-down those children who hadn’t come to receive their vaccines. This wasn’t always easy since streets here don’t have names, houses don’t have numbers, and people are more peripatetic (yes, I used it in a sentence!) than Humpback whales. This was the part that wore me out usually, since we had to hike up and down windy roads in the 94F heat to search out a lone house which contained perhaps just one four-year-old child who needed her anti-polio drops. However, as one of the nurses told me as we hiked, “We have goals to complete!” (Each municipality has Ministry of Health determined numbers of vaccines given they try and reach). Often, we found ourselves wandering the village, asking passing children if they knew where “Doña María González” lived, and if they knew if her “niño” was with her, only to be met with blank stares or a shrug of the shoulders. We usually ended up returning to the Health Center at 4 pm or so, to do the entire process again the next day in another far-flung village.
Although the heat and the long hours of waiting for mothers to arrive with their children took a toll on me, I really enjoyed getting out into the small communities to see how people live in my municipality. There are 6,000 people living in the immediate town where I live, and 16,500 in the entire municipality. What I saw and heard during the vaccination campaign really helped me gauge the health of the municipality. In some communities, people barely had latrines, and pigs and cows wandered loose, their feces littering the yards of the houses, causing danger for the barefoot children who constantly played in the dirt. Other health volunteers in the villages told me of contaminated well water which they believed was making the children sick. They said that people were bathing in the well and washing clothes, infecting the water. In other communities however, I saw glimpses of hope: mothers that were “planning” (using a method of birth control), children who looked healthy rather than hungry and full classrooms at the elementary school.
I’ve yet to tell you though my favorite memory of the vaccination campaign. One evening, I was at the Health Center making a bulletin board about vaccinations to put up in the Center, when my counterpart realized that we had yet to announce to the city that we were vaccinating tomorrow. “I almost forgot!” she exclaimed, “Let’s get the megaphone quick!” I would have burst out laughing, but I was already familiar with what was coming. In Nicaragua, when you need to announce something to a large group of people (say, a town of 6,000 like mine), you do so not by radio or poster, but by a huge megaphone strapped to the roof of a vehicle with a microphone attached, and you drive all over the city saying what it is you need to announce. “Come on Penny, I need your help.” She beckoned towards the truck. Her voice was almost inaudible because of a bad cold, so I knew it would be me who would be doing the announcing. Great.
We hooked up the microphone to the Health Center pick-up and started sounding the emergency alarm of the vehicle to announce our presence as she pulled us out of the Health Center and down the streets of the city. She had advised me on what to yell: “Attention! Attention! Mothers of children! Tomorrow we will be vaccinating all children under 5 years old at the brigadista’s home in your sector, the house of Don Luis Cruz. After 9 am bring your child with their vaccination card to be vaccinated. There will be candy, clowns and balloons! If you do not bring your child, we will come and find you!” It’s a pretty funny, but actually a very successful way of getting a message out, since most Nicaraguans are always at home with the doors open, chatting with neighbors or watching TV. I can just imagine them thinking, “Where did that gringa come from and where is her voice coming from?” as we drove around the city for about an hour, my voice becoming hoarse by the end.
I’m looking forward to sleeping-in after this whole campaign is over, but I feel pretty satisfied, even if I’m just borrowing the glory of the dedicated Health Center employees. If there remains any child in Nicaragua who has yet to be vaccinated by the end of this campaign, it won’t be because we didn’t try!

Officially Volunteers!

Last Tuesday “Nica 49,” as my Peace Corps group is called, (the 49th Peace Corps group in the country) was sworn-in as official volunteers. We are no longer trainees! Our two years of service have now begun. The ceremony was very nice, held in the best hotel in Managua, with all of our host families present. The U.S. Ambassador Robert Callahan was present to lead us through the oath in English, and the Director of the Nicaraguan Ministry of Health Dr. Solis was also there to do the oath in Spanish. The Peace Corps Country Director, George Baldino said some wonderful words, talking about the number of children who die each day in the world from things like malnutrition and preventable diseases. His words were sobering, but he told us that the only way we can react to shocking statistics is community by community, person by person. This is why, he told us, we are here as Peace Corps volunteers in Health. These behavior changes and community education are often the most successful when done on an individual basis. The U.S. Ambassador also told us that we are the real face of the United States that Nicaraguans will see and know. We aren’t Hollywood actors – we are real Americans who will exchange our culture with Nicaraguans. The three goals of Peace Corps are: To impart technical skills to countries that request Peace Corps services, for Americans to learn more about other cultures, and for the host country nationals to learn about the U.S.
As I start my service, I will keep these three goals in mind. Part of that, actually, is this blog you are reading. I know that friends and family back home in Alaska, and perhaps in other states and countries may read it, and they might learn a little more about Peace Corps, public service and Nicaragua. I am also participating in a Peace Corps program in which I periodically correspond with an elementary school classroom in the U.S., telling them about my daily life, projects, etc.
Our swearing-in ceremony was bittersweet, since it meant that the twenty volunteers in my group finally had to say goodbye to each other. After three months of training, we have become rather close, and we are each other’s sources of comfort when we’re going through tough times or just need to talk. Now, we are going to be spread out across the country, some volunteers being placed up to 10 hours away from Managua by bus. We will see each other periodically for Peace Corps trainings and conferences, but I was definitely sad to see us all split-up. However, no one is more than a phone call away, or a weekend visit perhaps. We all made the best of swearing-in day; dressing up like it was senior prom, and going out dancing afterwards. It will probably be the last time we get dressed-up for quite a long time.
And so it begins. Another plus: now that I’m officially a volunteer I start accruing my two vacation days/month!

To be or not to be (a tourist, that is)…

This past Thursday-Sunday was the famed “Semana Santa,” or “Holy Week” for many Latin American and Catholic countries. What this translates to in Nicaragua is a long weekend full of cooking, going to the beach with family and friends, watching religious processions, and basically relaxing. The tourist hubs in Nicaragua (León, Granada and San Juan del Sur) apparently spill over with visitors from both Nicaragua and abroad. My host family didn’t have anything very special planned for the weekend, and I finally convinced my partially introverted, quiet, yet very sweet 22 year-old host sister, Mercedes to accompany me to visit the city of Granada. She had only been there once previously, for a school trip, although the picturesque church-filled city is just a 45 minute bus ride from her town, situated on Lake Nicaragua. Granada is supposed to be “the oldest city in Central America,” and is famed for its colonial atmosphere, the 364 little islands “isletas” that are right offshore, and also for its many cathedrals and churches. I had heard of Granada from fellow Peace Corps volunteers and other tourists passing through and knew that there were some nice hostels to be found there (with free internet, hammocks and coffee) and also a delicious restaurant with the inviting name, “Kathy’s Waffle House.”
Mercedes and I planned to stay just one night in Granada, and we stayed at a nice hostel called “Hostel Oasis.” She was the only Nicaraguan in the entire hostel. We met some of the dirtiest backpackers I’ve ever seen (no wonder people from Central Americans think that us Westerners don’t shower). They hailed from France, Denmark, Poland, Russia, England, and Panama. Hostels were virtually on every corner of the city, and I felt myself walking around and seeing more “gringos” than Nicaraguans - for the first time since I’ve left the states! It was a surreal trip, and it was quite a contrast to the “pure” Nicaragua that I have been experiencing during training, and the living conditions that I’ve been used to. I overheard Americans complaining about the horrible diet of Central Americans, how Nicaragua was just like Costa Rica (they obviously had not been outside of Granada), complaining about the heat, the beggars, the men, and also marveling over how cheap everything was. This was pretty funny to me since now as a volunteer, I am paid in córdobas, not in dollars, so my view of money and reasonable prices has drastically changed. The prices in Granada were astoundingly higher than in most of Nicaragua, although to an American they would be very thrifty: $10/night in a hostel, $4-5 breakfast at that Waffle House, $1.50 iced coffee, $1 for a loaf of whole wheat bread.
However, despite the huge differences, it was clear that I, as an American who is used to traveling, staying in hostels, and meeting people from different countries was without a doubt more comfortable in Granada than my host sister, despite being in her own country. When we first arrived at the hostel, I had to explain to her how to use the luggage locker, and also how to climb up and down her bunk bed since it was her first encounter with one. “It’s so weird not to hear my own language in the streets here…” she mused as we walked down the street, being passed by Americans and Germans talking animatedly about a boat tour they were planning on taking later. For the first time, I felt like I knew more about our surroundings than she did. I found myself, for a change, doing a lot of the talking and business transactions wherever we went, while she simply gazed around, wondering, I think, if she was still in Nicaragua.
This says a lot about Nicaragua. For one, most Nicaraguans don’t travel much outside of their home town, because of money, and lack of curiosity. Mercedes has all she needs in her home town, attends the university once a week in a nearby city, and in her spare time, she helps around the house and gets ice cream with friends. None of her friends were doing anything as “adventurous” as us for Semana Santa. Secondly, Nicaragua has not yet felt the shock of mass tourism. This is supposedly one area that the government and universities are trying to push in the future, especially “eco-tourism” which is so popular in Costa Rica. Travel here is not popular due to safety and security issues, lack of transportation, and frankly, an environment that is not always welcoming to the westerner. It would also be very difficult to travel down here without knowing the language.
Although Mercedes and I were both “tourists” this past weekend in Granada, I, strangely felt more at home than she did. I came away from the weekend feeling refreshed after speaking a little bit of English, eating some real granola, and not being the only blonde in the city. I think our little trip disturbed her a bit, making her feel out of her element, and “different” – something that most Nicaraguans never feel in their own homogeneous culture. However, I think the trip has sparked her interest for traveling more in her home country, and opened her eyes to the fact that these foreign countries that oftentimes feel so far away and separate from Nicaragua, are actually more accessible than once imagined.
I am reminded, as I write this, of a man that some other volunteers and I met in a café one evening a few weeks ago. He was English, and alone, and as we started into conversation, I was shocked to find out that has been traveling with his wife and three children in Central America for the past three months. The children’s ages were 12, 9, and 1. (Wait, it gets better) And they didn’t speak Spanish when they came. Yes, he was backpacking with a one-year-old infant in developing countries. He was extraordinarily nonchalant about the whole thing (as English people tend to be), saying that the trip has been pretty uneventful in the sense of emergencies; that they had only been robbed once, and the baby had only suffered a minor rash for a few days. The other volunteers and I were left with our mouths open. Was he crazy?! This country felt dangerous enough to us at times, let alone traveling with children. In one sense, I simply shook my head and wished him luck as he winded-down his trip, but also I was left with a sense of jealousy. What did he have that most people didn’t? He and his wife seemed to possess some sense of adventure, of wanderlust, or perhaps craziness that the majority of the world doesn’t. I really admired their attitudes and also their determination.
So, on one extreme we have my host sister, Mercedes, and on the other, this English guy and his wife. Where do I fit? Somewhere in the middle, although unquestionably more towards the adventurous couple…

Alaska and Nicaragua: Could there really be similarities?

I know what you’re thinking – Alaska and Nicaragua couldn’t appear to be more different places. In one, some schools in the north don’t cancel recess until the temperature reaches below -20 F. In the other, people refer to the weather as “freezing” when it dips below 70 F. However, during my approximately two months here “in-country” I have been noticing too many similarities between these two places to not write a blog entry about it. Overlooking the many nuanced differences in culture, demographics, government, physical location, climate, etc. I have observed quite a few similarities between my home state and my host country.

The first similarity I noticed was in the rural life and remoteness of many Nicaraguan and Alaskan regions. Some Peace Corps volunteers have been placed in sites that are up to 12 hours away (by bus or boat) from the capital of Managua. Even in my own site, in the north of Nicaragua (and readily accessible from Managua) people often must travel to the Health Center from the surrounding communities, walking up to three hours on foot or by horse. This instantly reminded me of Alaska. I was born in a community that only had float plane access and weekly ferry service. In the “bush” of northern Alaska the situation is much worse, especially in the winter, and snowmobile and small plane use is often the only means of transportation. In both Nicaragua and Alaska, residents of these rural, small villages need to buy their groceries and daily necessities during bi-weekly or monthly trips to the regional hub – a trip which may take up the entire weekend. Although I don’t think that Nicaragua has a Costco or Sam’s Club to stock up on bulk items like we tend to do in Alaska :)

Alaskan pregnant women who live in the isolated small communities have to come into the larger city where the Health Center or Hospital is located weeks before their due date to ensure a safe delivery, as the medical personnel and supplies are limited in their home village. My own mother had to first travel by float plane out of our small fishing community with a population of a few hundred, and then by jet to give birth to me in Washington. I was surprised to learn when I arrived in Nicaragua that they actually have special “Maternal Houses” in most departmental capital cities where these pregnant village women can live while they are awaiting a birth for free. (Maybe this is something Alaska could consider!)

I’ve also noticed that in Nicaragua, just as much as in Alaska, people in these small, remote communities have very strong ties to one another and their family and friends are held close and relationships are not superficial or sporadic. People have known each other’s family’s for generations. There are no secrets in small towns, as we Alaskans well know, and perhaps even more so in Nicaragua this is true. In Nicaragua, families often are “extended” to the point of up to twelve people living in a two-bedroom house. Children are raised just as much by their Aunts and Grandmother as they are by their Mother or Father. Cousins, second-cousins, adopted brothers and sisters of all ages are common and the word “family” often includes half of the town you live in. I think this is true of some Alaskan villages just as it is here in Nicaragua. Since isolation and lack of stimulation are common to both places, it is logical that family members would support and be involved in the lives of each other.

Another similarity I have noticed is in the economic situation of the rural communities. Alaskan villagers are struggling to heat their homes as the price of fuel rises, and this affects everything else that is brought in by barge, plane, or vehicle to the community including food. Nicaragua is a poor country (2nd poorest in the western hemisphere I believe), but in the Nicaraguan rural villages, this poverty is augmented by a lack of job opportunities, limited access to electricity and running water at times. Compared to those who live in the larger cities, such as Managua in Nicaragua, or Anchorage in Alaska, the economic situation of rural villages is strikingly different. The health of the community is correlated with this, and more respiratory illnesses, diarrhea, maternal and infant mortality, etc. is seen in the rural areas.

Nicaragua, like Alaska, has a strong presence of Non-Governmental Organizations (NGOs) that are doing the work the government cannot or will not. Alaska has the highest per capita number of NGOs per person, and in Nicaragua I see a similar situation. Development workers from Japan, Spain, Germany, United States, and Denmark are the most common. Unlike Alaska, many of the projects are infrastructure-related rather than socially-oriented. However, the culture of development, the target-audience in the small communities, single mothers, and homeless persons, are the same.

The diet in Nicaragua also resembles rural Alaska. Junk food and soda replace fruit and vegetables more than they should (although they are readily available here in Nicaragua). In both places, Type II Diabetes rates are high in both places, and childhood obesity is rampant. And in both Alaska and Nicaragua, this disease has disproportionately higher levels in the Indigenous populations.

Some of these comparisons should be taken with a grain of salt, since I realize that Alaska is part of a developed nation and these similarities may be more superficial than I have seen them to be in the past two months. Being able to see these similarities has helped me tie my work here as a Health Volunteer back to my previous life experiences, and I can think of strategies and reasons for behaviors that may be similar. When I go out on a “salida al terreno” (a visit to outlying communities) to go house-to-house to administer health surveys, it helps me to think of the family I talk to as being not that different from an Alaskan rural family. Replace the chicken and cheese they are eating with moose meat and herring eggs. The chickens running around the yard with sled dogs. The horse grazing nearby with a snowmachine (as they both are used for transportation). While some Nicaraguans must collect their water from a community well, many Alaskans who live in “dry” cabins without running water must do the same, although they usually haul it in their pick-up truck rather than by donkey. The husband who works seasonally in the coffee here in Nicaragua could be an Alaskan man going to fish, or to work in the oil fields on the North Slope for weeks at a time.

So it seems, although I’ve traveled halfway across the Americas, I can see glimpses of familiarity in my new country.

HIV/AIDS breaking down my reservations

Before my Peace Corps training here in Nicaragua, I wouldn´t have been able to summarize with much eloquence what HIV/AIDS was. Thanks to hours of training in just that topic however, I have made leaps and bounds in my comfort level in talking about these subjects and have even done things, (in the name of education) that I would never thought I would do in my life.
When Human Immunodeficiency Virus (HIV) enters the body, usually through unprotected sex (at least here in Nicaragua), it begins attacking the body’s immune system. The white blood cells are overtaken and slowly killed as the virus multiplies, and over the years debilitates the immune system and develops into Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome (AIDS). Once a person has developed AIDS (it can take anywhere from 5-15 years from the initial infection date), they are easily susceptible to opportunistic diseases such as tuberculosis and pneumonia, or even the flu, which attack the greatly weakened state of the immune system and cause death.
The past week, my training group was immersed in five days of intense HIV/AIDS training. We began learning about NGOs present in Nicaragua and their diverse target audiences and mediums. Some NGOs were funded by USAID and had different agendas from, for example European, or World Bank-funded organizations. We saw NGOs using soap operas and radio shows to get out the information, youth groups, conferences, health care worker trainings… For all of this training, my group traveled to the Department of Chinandega, which is in the north of Nicaragua and due to its border with Honduras and port location, this department has the highest rate of HIV/AIDS in the country. Despite being in the north, it is also famed for being the hottest department of Nicaragua, and after sweating constantly for the entire time we were there even after taking two showers a day, I can now attest that that is true.
Our training group was split up into teams of 3-5 and we gave educational talks at high schools on STDs and HIV/AIDS prevention, and also to a much more intimidating audience; sailors at a naval base. Men are the “target” audience here in Nicaragua to talk about HIV/AIDS since they are the transmitters of the virus. They are the ones having extramarital relations and bringing HIV back to their wives. They are the ones who refuse to wear condoms, and don’t believe in getting tested. At the naval base, the sailors were full of machismo, scowling, wearing their uniforms, and not excited to hear what we had to say. Needless to say, it was a tough crowd.
Talking to these men about the difference between HIV/AIDS and how to avoid infection is one thing, but then there is the practical application piece of the presentation. Could I stand up in front of a group of people and show them how to use a condom on a wooden dildo? No thank you… However, it’s not really a choice in Peace Corps. This is practical information that these people need to have. If they saw embarrassment or unwillingness on my part, they may be less likely to use one themselves. We have been told that many Nicaragua men and women simply don’t use condoms because they don’t know how to use them, and they are too embarrassed to ask. If these demonstrations will help reduce the number of STDs, HIV/AIDS infections, and unwanted pregnancies….well, then I guess I can do it.
After observing quite a few demonstrations by other volunteers and staff, and memorizing the “seven steps to using a condom,” I finally felt ready during our Chinandega trip to give it a try. What the heck, I’ll probably never see these people again, right?
The first one I gave was actually an impromptu decision I made to get it over with while we were at a billiards tournament aimed at increasing HIV/AIDS education in older men. It was held at a billiards hall (picture this: florescent lighting, smoke, beer, rum, and men of all ages yelling and laughing over pool. No women in sight.) Sort of like an Alaskan bar actually… All of us trainees were gathered there to observe a pool tournament that a current Peace Corps volunteer was organizing. He would give talks about HIV/AIDS in between the rounds of pool, and when the final two players were left, they had to answer questions about the previous presentations in order to win. A local NGO had agreed to donate the prize money, which was USD $100 - more than most people make here in a month. Needless to say, the men were all riled up about the tournament and really engaged in the talks that were being given and in the games that were being played. During the last round you could hear a pin drop in that room of 100 drunk men as they stopped their yelling and listened intently to as the Peace Corps Volunteer asked “What are the four fluids that transmit HIV/AIDS?” The winner was hoisted on men´s shoulders and the noise was audible for blocks, I´m sure.
At a nearby table, there were some representatives from a Nicaraguan NGO helping younger men learn how to put on a condom using a wooden dildo (an integral part of our Peace Corps tool kit). I walked over to observe and realized that they were doing it “wrong.” After a minute or so, I guess they noticed my puzzled expression as I watched them, and they asked me if I could show them how to do it better (in a sarcastic tone of course). I don’t know what got into me, but all my fear about working with machisto, cat-calling, intimidating Nicaragua men disappeared as I proceeded to go through each of the seven steps. From what I hear from the other trainees who were watching, it got quite a bit of attention, and surprisingly, the men didn’t give me a hard time, but they actually gave me a big round of applause when I had finished the demonstration and the NGO representative turned to a few of them and challenged them to do it as well as I had.
Sometimes, I wish I was a male volunteer here since they get more respect, people are friendlier, they are gossiped about less, and women come over to cook for them and do their laundry. However, this past week of HIV/AIDS education and practical application helped me not fear being an American woman and attempting to work with Nicaraguan men. I realized if you are professional and confident, they will listen to you, and with time, maybe respect you as well.
As our week of training went on, I could feel my reservations and nervousness about these intimate topics being broken down slowly with the support of Peace Corps staff, my fellow trainees, and hands-on experiences. As I acquire these skills, I also feel more self-confident, sure of myself, and empowered to facilitate behavior change in others. If I would have been told I would be doing a condom demonstration in a smoky bar, or talking about the female reproductive system in front of a group of middle school students before I came here, I probably would have laughed at you. However, I am in the second poorest country in the western hemisphere, surrounded by different problems, and I have realized that these problems are bigger than my embarrassment. If the end result will help this country to improve their health situation, then that’s my job as a health volunteer. Soon, I too will be the proud owner of a wooden dildo to give condom demonstrations to women and men, and will be talking about other embarrassing or sensitive topics such as puberty, spousal abuse, sexual rights, and adolescent pregnancy. If I can do all these things without blinking at the end of two years, then I will be ready for anything. Wish me luck!

A Better Oven

This past week, week number five of training, I had the opportunity to visit a current Peace Corps (PC) volunteer here in Nicaragua. The visit was supposed to serve many purposes: allow us to see what sort of projects PC Health Volunteers are involved in, their struggles and successes, what they spend their days doing…basically what life as a PC volunteer is really like. I visited a girl who has been placed in the department of Nueva Segovia which is in the north of Nicaragua, next to the border with Honduras. The trip was about seven hours total in bus from the town I am currently living right outside of Managua.

The buses were an interesting experience to say the least. They were packed full of mothers, babies, children, farm workers, students…and then almost the same number of vendors as there were passengers who walked up and down the aisle (more like squeezed in and out of miniscule spaces they could find) selling mandarin oranges, salty crackers, empanadas, apples, and water in plastic baggies. None of the food was “safe” enough for me to want to buy it. I’m a little more paranoid now that I have recently been diagnosed with parasites. The bus did not stop at all in their long trips of up to four hours, so I didn’t drink or eat anything except for the multiple medications I’ve been given to kill the parasites (it’s a 13 day process to kill the adults and then the eggs).
I really enjoyed Nueva Segovia and my few days there with the volunteer who goes by “Lucia.” The landscape reminded me a lot like the Pacific Northwest of the U.S. There were green mountains, pine trees, rivers, and even rain! It was a nice break from the dust, wind and noise I have become used to further south in Nicaragua.

Lucia’s town has 6,500 and is surrounded by many smaller communities, and there are also three Peace Corps agriculture volunteers who leave close by. Lucia takes advantage of this to organize fruit and vegetable markets with them - involving local farmers, and she also helps out with a PC agriculture project where volunteers help Nicaraguans make hornos mejorados or “better ovens.” These ovens are made of brick and mud with a large steel barrel inside. A fire is built underneath the barrel, and the food is placed inside. Hot air circulates around the barrel to evenly cook the food. The oven is “better” because it uses less wood, and also has a chimney to disperse the smoke. Most stoves and ovens in Nicaragua use burning wood and the kitchen area is constantly filled with tear-causing smoke. Lucia told me that many Nicaraguan women have small hairs on their eyeballs as a result of all this smoke exposure.

One afternoon, Lucia and I decided to help two laborers make one of these ovens in the house of a woman who has wanted one for a long time. She bought the materials (barrel, bricks, steel rods) and paid the two laborers 50 córdobas each (USD $2.50) for the day of work. When Lucia and I arrived, the men had already built the base for the oven, and were working on constructing the layers of bricks (about nine in total) which would surround the barrel. Trying to stay clean was useless, and soon we had mud everywhere – in our shoes, on our faces, in our hair… I would have taken more pictures of the process and we progressed, but my mud-caked hands made that a little difficult.

With four people, the work went fast. Soon we were ready to place the barrel inside, and then we started the more careful work of ensuring that there was always at least a two inch space in between the barrel and the brick to make sure air could circulate. As we started to curve the bricks inward to cover the barrel, we had to measure each side to make sure they were even, and use pieces of steel rods to balance the bricks on. Each of the four of us had different duties. One man made the mud (yes, there is actually a method to making mud. You first build a mini-volcano out of dirt and fill the middle with water and then you slowly cave in the sides of the volcano to mix in the water with a shovel). The other laborer, his son, was the brick-cutter. He cut the bricks into the different shapes we often needed: triangles, round shapes… He did this using a machete knife which is apparently something that every respectable Nicaraguan man with at least an ounce of manliness knows how to operate quite skillfully. Lucia and I were the ones who were making the layers- first placing a layer of thick light brown mud, then fitting the bricks, then sticking more mud in between each brick. The barrel that was used had previously held gasoline, then beans (hopefully it was washed in between…) and the chimney was made out of cement and we fitted it on top and it was held in place by of course, more bricks and mud.

It took six hours total to finish the oven, and I think that was relatively fast since there were so many of us, and all three of them had been through the process before. After eight days of drying, the oven will be ready to use! For all our efforts, we were given a free lunch of rice, beans, and a sweet oatmeal-like drink. I felt extremely satisfied to have done something with my hands that had a real impact on someone’s life. It was obvious that the woman we made the oven for spent most of her day in the kitchen, and she was already talking about how she would use her oven for: bread, chicken….she even was joking that she could squeeze an entire pig in the barrel and cook it too!

I can’t wait to return to that village to visit Lucia in the future and go see the finished and working oven and try some of the bread made in it. Although this “better oven” project wasn’t necessarily in my official “sector” of health, I really enjoyed getting dirty and helping people in a tangible way. Sometimes, as a health volunteer, you may wonder if people are really listening to all your educational talks, or really taking your advice about family planning, malaria prevention, and HIV/AIDS. With this project, I really felt like a real PC volunteer. This was the sort of project I had always imagined volunteers doing – getting dirty out in the country alongside host country nationals.

While I can’t always play in the mud every day as a health volunteer, hopefully I will have a chance, like Lucia to work with volunteers and projects from other sectors. Maybe I will start a community garden to improve nutrition. Something I really took away from my volunteer visit was that every volunteer’s service; their projects, their counterparts, their living situation, how they choose to spend their time, etc. is as diverse as every volunteer. I can focus on maternal health, HIV/AIDS, adolescents, parents, nutrition… My service, which will officially begin in mid-April, can be however I choose to make it. Hopefully there will be a little dirt and manual labor thrown in there to make my service “better” as well.

A Day in the Life...

To give a glimpse of what life is like here, and what I see/hear/do every day, I thought I would go through aspects of daily life piece by piece and describe what it is like to live in Nicaragua:

Food: One word: carbohydrates. All meals contain rice, potatoes, tortillas, or white bread. Simple starches abound, as do plantains and bananas. Bananas used to be my favorite fruit, but I think that could very well change at the end of these two years. Did I mention that bananas and plantains are constipating?? Well, they are. Nicaraguans also like to fry everything. People here mainly opt for the cheaper food options, and those aren’t always the healthiest. I have yet to see wheat bread, or a child eating something other than saltines or cookies for a snack. As a vegetarian though, I’ve been pretty happy: beans, mangoes, papaya, melon, tomatoes, cucumber, pumpkin, squash… My host family has been very accommodating; some families have no fruit or veggies in sight from what I’ve heard. Despite Nicaragua being a prime coffee growing spot, instant coffee is what everyone drinks. I can’t describe how much I am craving a 20 oz. drip coffee from the US… I have been dreaming about coffee beans (perhaps effects from our Malaria medication which induces dreams). Lunch is the biggest meal of the day here, and food is always prepared by the women (including me!)

Weather: Not as hot as I had imagined, actually. I think it has been somewhere in the mid to high 80s F most days. The one thing that I cannot stand however is the WIND. The wind has been so intense the past few weeks that boats have been advised to not navigate on Lake Nicaragua, and some small cars have had accidents crossing long stretches of freeway. I’m not sure what speed the winds have been exactly, but in Alaska terminology, they are at least “gale force.” The ground here is so dry that dust, or “polvo” is everywhere. And I mean everywhere. In my ears, in my eyes, my hair, in my suitcase, on my clothes, on my books, on my shoes… Cleaning it all up makes no sense, because a few minutes later, it will be covered again. My room has lots of wind and polvo blowing in and out since there is no glass over the window, and a large space between the roof and the walls. When I go running, going against the wind is also a challenge, and I’m afraid of being hit in the eye with a large rock (yes, it happens). I think I’ve already lost a sock to the wind. The clothespin holding it on the line lost the battle and I think my sock is now in the neighbor’s yard.

Clothes: As I hinted above, clothes are washed by hand and hung dry. My host family washed my clothes the first week, but now I have chosen to take over. These Nicaraguan women don’t know the meaning of “delicate cycle.” We use a big bar of blue soap to wash, which smells sort of like some sort of ointment you would put on a rash… The other day, I took a towel out of my suitcase that I had brought from the States, and it smelled like Tide and Downy, and I almost broke down…haha Not really…. I actually really enjoy washing clothes by hand. You can pay attention to where there are stains and make sure to get them out, and it’s really much more satisfying than simply pushing a button on a machine. The outdoor sink area is also a great place to hang-out for 45 minutes washing my clothes from the week. It has a great view of the sky, and I can see all the stars if I wash them at night. I have never seen stars as clearly as I can here. Also, a few notes about Nicaraguan clothes. The majority of the clothes are the t-shirts that didn’t sell at American second-hand stores. It’s actually pretty fun walking around and seeing the different t-shirts which often say something hilarious in English (“Best Grandmother Ever” on a teenage boy, “Made in America,” “Harvard University” on a homeless man…) My host family also has a mini-store in the front of their house, and they sell some of these old second-hand t-shirts. I went through and folded all of them the other day and about died of laughter. There were lots of University t-shirts, 5 and 10K run t-shirts from some random NGO in Vermont, church club t-shirts from Ohio, a breast cancer fundraiser one from Florida… But the funny ones were a few with words in English: “Naked and Hungry” (???) and another that had a picture of a rocking chair, then a caption that read, “I rock.” If I could take pictures of these people when I see them, I would start a collection.

Sleep: I am exhausted all the time here. I don’t think Nicaraguans ever sleep. It is such a contrast to Spain where getting up at 8 am was “the crack of dawn” and the siesta nap was almost mandatory. Here, rising at 6 am is normal, if not sleeping in a little bit. Some people only have running water for a few hours very early in the morning, so they (aka the women) are up from 3 to 5 am collecting water for the day. There is so much to do right when you get up: collect water for the day, heat water for coffee, sweep, start breakfast, shower… My family also rents out their large empty lot as a parking lot for neighbors, so they are up to let the first car in at 6 am. I get up at 5:45 usually to go running before P.Corps class at 8. No one takes naps here, not even my four-year-old little host sister. I crash at usually around 8:30 or 9 pm. I don’t think I’ve done that since I was in elementary school. All the other P.Corps trainees do the same. One of the things that I am SO happy I brought with me is earplugs. They are a necessity here since the street outside is filled nightly with honking, noisy cars, loud music from the neighbors and passing cars, fireworks, barking dogs, and worst of all – whistles. There are night watchmen here that patrol the streets all night long to watch out for suspicious activity. They each carry a whistle and they blow it in a certain pattern to communicate with the other watchman ALL NIGHT LONG. And they are not shy about it. I can’t count the number of times I have been woken up (earplugs and everything) at 4 am to the sound of an obnoxious whistle going off directly outside my window. Looking on the bright side, I guess I know my street is safe…

P.Corps Training: We are about to enter week four of training, and the language “facilitators” that were giving my language level classes, are now leaving us on our own (yes!) We now get to plan our own weekly schedules, and as long as we still get done what we are supposed to (a certain number of educational talks in the health center, schools, and with our youth group) then we are on our own! It’s going to be really nice to have our own time to work on assignments, do readings, and explore the town. Today we had a large P.Corps session on culture shock. I think that the culture shock I’m experiencing here is much different than what I experienced in Spain. The initial “honeymoon period” did not exist for me here in Nicaragua – it was more of an initial shock. I have slowly been adapting ever since, and am feeling pretty comfortable and happy in my routine so far. I know the far greater and more intense transition will come when I finally am assigned to my site and settle in for two years…

Fun fact No. 1: today I met a fellow Alaskan here in Nicaragua! She is also a P.Corps volunteer who has been here for some time. She is an environmental education volunteer from south central Alaska. Small world! Fun fact No. 2: Valentines Day here is not just for lovers, it’s known as “Love and Friendship Day.” Much more inclusive holiday. Hasta pronto…

Nicaragua Week 1

I have only one word to say right now: WOW. I have only been in Nicaragua one week, and so much has happened. I think it’s the busiest week I’ve ever experienced, and I’ve learned more than I ever thought I would. P.Corps Nicaragua likes to call itself "The Ivy League of Peace Corps," and they’re not kidding. In so many ways, this is a no-nonsense, get-to-work job, but at the same time, we have freedom to organize our own activities during training and learn about the culture and people.

Last week we arrived in the capital of Managua – just a 2 ½ hour flight from Miami! There are 21 volunteers total in my group of Community Health Care Volunteers. We stayed in a hotel the first two days, receiving some training there, last minute vaccines, and getting a (as we liked to call it), an easy introduction to "rustic living" – aka no hot water, bugs everywhere (mainly ants), little air conditioning, off and on running water, etc. Then, we were tested in our language level. I was placed in the Advanced Group, along with four other girls. We were then assigned our "training towns" based on those groups. I will be living in the small "pueblo" for the next three months with my language group, undergoing technical, cultural and Spanish language training. The town is about a 45 minute drive south of Managua, and is home to about 40,000 people (so they say), but you can walk across the entire town in 15 minutes…

I am living alone with a host family here. There are six family members (grandmother, 60 year old wife and husband, their 22 and 33 year old daughters, and the 33 year old’s daughter who is 4 years old). Their "house" consists of two main structures with a yard/patio/parking lot area in the middle. My room is the largest (I think it’s required by Peace Corps that we have our own rooms that are secure, separate, etc.) and one big room that is divided by curtains, etc. which holds all of the women’s beds in one room and then the father sleeps separated by a curtain. Also, the bathroom is in that room, along with the kitchen area and their sitting room, which consists of a few plastic lawn chairs and an old (but functioning!) television. The family’s main source of income is a small "pulperia," or "corner store" in the front of their house, where they sell beans, rice, t-shirts, shampoo, toilet paper, etc. The 80 year-old Grandmother or the mother mans the store most of the day. The father had a brain tumor from what I gather, so he is not mentally able to work. I think that is part of the reason why my family is so poor. After seeing the other four host family homes in my pueblo, I realize that mine is by far the most poor. They barely have silverware. However, the 22 year old goes to the University here to be a Psychologist, so I think that is where a lot of their money is going.

My bed and mosquito net

Although the living conditions are not "superb," and the adjustment was (and still is) a big shock, I am slowly becoming accustomed to washing my clothes by hand, boiling my water before I drink it, using bleach to clean my vegetables, being dusty all the time because my room has no glass in the windows and the door goes directly outside, and being prepared for the running water to go out at any time. The thing that keeps me here, and keeps be focused on my work is the family I live with, and the people I meet at places like the "Centro de Salud" (Health Center). My family is amazing- they are so friendly and understanding. As we gain "confianza," (trust and respect of each other), they open up more and more with me, and I’m enjoying spending time with the 4 year old. Today I taught her how to wash her hands properly with antibacterial hand soap. She usually just goes to the bathroom wherever she pleases, and doesn’t always remember to wash her hands. Hopefully my good habits of cleanliness are rubbing off on her. I also taught her a bit of Yoga today

They are also teaching me things; the difference between the MANY ways of preparing banana/plantains…. How to make "gallo pinto" (red beans and rice), and the meaning of the Patron Saint festival dances. The city’s Patron Saint is Saint Sebastian, and the day we arrived here was the kickoff of four days of partying which lasted all night and all day. And as luck had it, there just happened to be HUGE street dances happening right outside my window every night. The first four nights I slept very little, but it worked well to get me used to the noise and lifestyle here. There is always noise at night; dogs barking, noisy motorcycles, whistles of the security guards who watch the neighborhoods and whistle to warn the others of danger… After the first night, I was able to fall asleep just fine to the noisy Reggaeton music, salsa, merengue, and booming voice of the DJ on his microphone….

Traditional costumes for dancing. The masks are supposed to make fun of the Spanish who colonized the area.

Today, the entire P.Corps Health Care group went to Managua for more training. For our lunch break, we were driven to a nearby mall which reminded me of a normal mid-sized U.S. city mall. There were stores like Payless Shoes, United Colors of Benetton, Department Stores, Quiznos Subs, and McDonalds…. It made me realize that those things are accessible here in Nicarauga – but we haven’t seen them in our host families, etc. because their cost, while "cheap" for us, perhaps, is actually extremely expensive for most Nicaraguans. The only people who shop and eat at this mall are the rich. The majority of Nicaraguans cannot even afford apples, let alone a brand new pair of shoes… I also have seen this inequality in the Nicaragua health system during our training activities. There are those who can pay for private medical service, who have insurance. The others however, have to wait in day-long lines at the local Health Center, stepping around human waste, dogs, crying children, pregnant 11 year-olds, and tired nurses just to be seen. For this reason, not many actually go to their local Health Center unless it is an emergency. While patients wait, they become an audience for "charlas" or educational talks, which P.Corps volunteers/nurses, etc. give regarding hand-washing, diarrhea (a leading killer of children), or Malaria. Next week, my training group should start giving some of these "charlas."

Our first meeting of our youth group.

Right now, I’m still in a little bit of shock, but the support system of the other volunteers in my group of "Nica 49" (the 49th P.Corps group in Nicaragua), has really helped. We are all going through the same stressors: new host families, lack of our normal creature comforts we enjoy in the U.S., communicating in a new language/culture, and trying to learn about the health system of Nicaragua. It’s very frustrating at times, and I think that some in my group are already considering going back to the U.S. (for a variety of reasons), but I know I will stay here. After meeting children like my little host sister, and seeing how her face lights up when I teach her how to brush her teeth properly, or teach her how to exercise with jumping jacks, I realize that two years isn’t such a large sacrifice to do my part and help others.

I can die happy now

Well, "Christmas break '08" has officially drawn to a close (almost). I'm at my final stop of Sitka before taking off for Miami, then Nicaragua with Peace Corps. I've had an exciting whirlwind of a break, using my four weeks of "down time" to visit practically every person important to me before I take off for Central America for the next 27 months.

Let's start at the beginning, shall we? Mid-December found me on an Amtrak train for the first time taking the 9 hour trip from Washington, DC to South Carolina (see previous blog post).

From SC, I went home to Sitka, Alaska, but not before being delayed in Seattle, WA overnight due to their horrible pre-Christmas snow storm... I had a busy week at home; working at an outdoor gear store during the day (and perfecting my present-wrapping skills), and hanging out with my brother, his wife, and their 11 month old baby who were visiting from Kotzebue, AK. My 89 year-old Grandma was also in town from Portland, OR to see us and the baby.

From Sitka, I accompanied my Grandma back down to Portland where I hung out for a week. I got to see two of my good friends- Katie from Sitka, and one of my old roomies, Bri from Fairbanks. I spent the week with them being a nomad; sleeping on couches, showering when I could, and hitting up happy hours and shopping in-between. We had a good New Years Eve altogether with a big gang of Bri's friends from Ketchikan, AK. We also enjoyed Portland's wonderful vegetarian and vegan breakfast scene. On New Years Day we all went hunting for a good breakfast spot, and were not too surprised to see that all the ones in East Portland had lines out the door... We finally hit-up a place called Paradox, which was essentially vegan....yum! My favorite breakfast place came a few days later- Genie's Cafe (I think that's how you spell it). I tried cheese grits for the first time, and had wonderful sweet potato french toast. Hey-if you're leaving the USA for the next two years, you've gotta live it up with American food while you still can! (Or, at least that's what I've been told to do...) The rice/beans ("gallo pinto") and plantains of Nicaragua sound pretty good to me though...

My most spontaneous moment of the Portland trip came when I decided to get my eyebrow pierced in an awesome tattoo/piercing shop called Robot. Bri was there along with her sister getting a nose and cartilage piercing respectively, and after hanging out for a while waiting for them, I couldn't stand it anymore and had to get my own (after checking with some returned Nicaraguan P.Corps volunteers first to see if it was okay in-country). It didn't hurt or bleed much at all! I think it's because I'm so used to tweezing my eyebrows... :)



After Portland, on January 8th, I made my way to Granby, Colorado to visit my family's old Chilean exchange student, Paula, who we hosted in 2001-02. This is her second winter working at the SolVista Ski Lodge in Granby, on a student work visa. There's about 100 Peruvians, Chileans and Argentinians working there (or at least it seemed like it). I hadn't seen Paula in six years, but she'd kept in good touch with our family, and I had such good memories with her, I really wanted to see her again. Granby is a two hour drive northwest of Denver, and at 8,000 feet above sea level (I could feel the elevation a bit the first day). I spoke nothing but Spanish for those four days with all the other South Americans who worked at the lodge. They made fun of my accent from Spain (the Spanish "lisp" certain words), and I made fun of the Argentinians habit of turning "ll" into a "j" sound, ex. aja instead of alla. While Paula worked, I got a free lift pass and signed up for my first ski lesson! I had a two hour private lesson, and then I was on my own!! It was pretty nerve-racking, even though I was only on the "green" aka "easy" trails. I fell a few times - most of them on purpose since I was going too fast, and I was still working on slowing down properly. No big injuries though (my life did flash before my eyes a few times as I went over some bumps, or narrowly avoided a tree...if not my entire life, then at least I imagined my Peace Corps experience in crutches...) The nice thing about skiing alone, however, is that no one sees you fall! Except if you count the few dozen people who passed above me on the ski lift when I took a spill right beneath them... At least the big snow goggles blocked my face from being seen, so I could be recognized later in the lodge...

Paula and her friends treated me to some real South American hospitality, and I enjoyed seeing Colorado "through" their eyes. For many, it was their first time to the US, or even out of their country! And they were missing out on a hot and sunny summer back home to come do hard work teaching kids how to ski/snowboard, rent gear, or cook food in a frozen tiny town... And they loved every minute of it- who could blame them, though? They got off work around 4 pm, and the dorm-style housing they lived in was perfect for partying and socializing after-hours...

After Granby, I had to change some of my flight information back home to Sitka- and to make a long story short, I ended up having an overnight layover in Fairbanks!! (It was either Fairbanks or Seattle). Since a lot of my college friends are still in Fairbanks, I was psyched! I hadn't been back to "the banks" since graduation in May, and didn't think I'd see those friends for a looong time. I called one of my old roommates, Lexi, and she was able to get the day-off, so I spent the night at her house, and spent the day with her-running around to my favorite Fairbanks coffee shops (where I randomly saw my Spanish university advisor! we talked Nicaragua and future travel plans), drove out to North Pole, AK to take some pictures at the "Santa Claus House," and even Fred Meyer! (The Fairbanks social scene... :) I got to see a couple good friends, and spend some quality time with Lexi and discus our respective life plans (which are pretty darn ambitious right now)-I swear, that girl will be a news anchor on a big network soon if she keeps it up. After a very bumpy ride from Fairbanks to Sitka (some schools were closed due to high winds even), I'm finally back to Sitka- where I started my journey. The excitement never stops, however, and I'm busying myself tackling the enormous mounds of my stuff that seems to have grown exponentially since the last time I saw it... I'm doing some big runs to the thrift store with all of my junk, trying to consolidate and organize. Peace Corps sent me a list the other day of things they recommend I bring (headlamp, money belt), so I'm making sure all my boxes are checked, my power-of-attorney is signed over to my parents, oh- and that my hair is cut one last time by my favorite hairdresser :)

I take off on Monday for Miami for Peace Corps "staging", the inauguration is on Tuesday, and I leave for Nicaragua Wednesday!

As I like to say- if a rolling stone gathers no moss, I think I'm a pretty shiny clean rock!

As I prepare to leave though, I'm looking back on this past month and I am so grateful for all the luck that has come my way- randomly seeing my good friends Tiffany and Jake in the SeaTac airport, being able to go back to Fairbanks one last day, being able to go to Portland and Colorado to see good friends and family. As my friend Abby told me today, "Well, now that you've seen me, you can pretty much die happy, huh?" I laughed- I guess she was right though. I've seen the main people in my life and my heart this past month as I criss-crossed the US, and although it was bittersweet saying goodbye, I hope these people realize how important they are to me, and no matter where I go or what language I speak, they will always be my shining lights-keeping me connected to what's real and important in life.