¨Sweet Sixteen¨ - oops, I mean ¨Fifteen¨

For me, one of my biggest accomplishments since I have begun my service is the creation of a girls’ youth group in a small village nearby my site. The creation of and education of youth groups are one of the main goals for Peace Corps Community Health Volunteers. There are about 12 off-and-on members, and during our weekly meetings we address topics such as self-esteem, life goals, peer-pressure, family relations, puberty, teen pregnancy… We also have had “fun-days” where we go to a field and play volleyball, or paint our nails or make pudding. The club has been meeting since June and I’m slowly grooming them to be “youth promoters” – selected youth who will give talks to other youth about topics such as HIV/AIDS, teen pregnancy and STDs. It’s a slow process since you can’t just walk in and expect these girls to open up to you and talk about delicate topics. They are from a very small village (about 80 houses in total), they are more shy and slow-to-participate than the “city kids” from the main town where I am currently living.
During a recent meeting, we were talking about birthdays, and we realized that two of the most participative and outgoing girls in the group (aka some of my favorites) were both turning 15 within days of each other in September. For those of you who don’t know, in Latin culture, when a girl turns 15, it’s a big deal. If there is money available, the family usually throws a huge “coming-out” party complete with a ceremony in the church with the birthday girl decked out in a pink dress specially made for the occasion. In the United States, we celebrate “sweet 16,” but in Latin America, they celebrate their 15 años. My college roommate back in the United States was of Mexican heritage, and she had a large 15th birthday party. I watched the video of the event, feeling like I was watching a wedding. There were elaborate decorations, dresses, attendants (like bridesmaids), flowers, a catered dinner, dancing… Even a Congressional Senator was invited.
So, now that we know how big of a deal a 15th birthday party is, you can imagine that I was a little surprised when both of these girls told me that they didn’t have anything planned for their special day. “There’s no money,” they explained to me. The sad part to me was that these girls didn’t seem very upset by this – they were used to it. Why should they expect their family to spend money on a frivolous thing like a birthday when they had to worry about putting beans on the table?
I decided that something had to be done. After asking permission from their mothers, together we planned a joint birthday party for the two girls, Leticia and Olania, that would be held at Leticia’s house with the girls’ families and the whole youth group invited. Sparks lit up in the girls’ eyes as they explained to me everything that they would have to do: make paper decorations, music, pin the tail on the donkey, eat cake… As they mentioned cake, they looked around nervously. Cakes were expensive, at least $15/pound. I quickly offered to bake two cakes since I love baking and had recently bought some cake mixes while I was in the capital city. We made invitations that very day, cutting designs and drawing hearts and flowers into construction paper. “You are cordially invited,” they invites said, “to celebrate with Olania and Leticia their most special 15th birthdays. Your presence would be eternally appreciated.”
The date was set, and I would arrive with paper, scissors and markers (courtesy of the Health Center) to make decorations, the cakes and some enchiladas to give the invitees (it’s customary to eat a small meal then cake). Since the enchiladas only cost about $7 for 20, I decided to donate those as well. (Yes I know, this is all very opposite to my previous post on development work…I should have had the girls raise their own money for the food, but we had little time and I feel like these girls really deserved it)
The day before the party as I made the cakes using a friend’s oven, I started getting a little nervous about the party. It had been over a week since I had last seen the girls. Did they still remember the party was tomorrow? Were the invitees going to show up? Were they going to value all this time and work I was putting in to get them food and decorations? Would their families even come?
All my fears were put to rest the day of the party. I arrived a few hours early to see Leticia and Olania doing their hair, and even wearing new clothes! They had both traveled to the bigger town nearby to buy new shirts, pants and shoes. This was really touching because I know their families don’t have a lot of extra money, but they must have realized that it was these girls’ special day and it’s an unwritten rule that for your 15th birthday, you have to estrenar, or “wear new clothes.” They had already put up some balloons around the living room area and set-up some plastic chairs. A few invited girls had arrived early and quickly got to work making decorations. “Congratulations on your special day, Leticia,” and “Your family wishes you all the best on this day, Olania” their signs announced.


I had also brought a special surprise for the two girls; two crowns that I had decorated with their names and glitter. In my family, we used to be an “extended family” to a group of kids a local boarding high school, and we would have dinner with them once a week. When it was one of their birthdays, we would make a special crown for them to wear. Cheesy? Yes. But definitely fun. Olania and Leticia loved them. They thought it was the coolest idea ever and they pranced around the living room showing them off, and rubbing some of the glitter from the crown on their cheeks and foreheads.

Slowly, the invitees trickled in, to the sound of deafening reggaeton and bachata music. In Nicaragua, if the music is too loud to hear the person next to you talking, then it’s perfect. All the invitees came, and even Leticia’s mother came for the day (Leticia lives with her grandmother and her mother lives about 3 hours away. They rarely see each other). I was really touched when Leticia’s mother came up to me to introduce herself and to say how thankful she was that I was a friend to her daughter and that I had helped them organize this party. She said that she wouldn’t have missed out on this event for the world. Leticia had an extra glow about her that day, always hovering close to her mom and making sure she was comfortable and had a glass of juice at all times. This is her and her mom and brother below:

First, the enchiladas were served with mango juice – reggaeton music still serenading us in the background like a jackhammer… Then it was time for pastel – cake! I had made one chocolate and one vanilla. They had never seen a chocolate cake before, and after we sang and the mothers said their respective congratulations to their daughters, they tore into the cakes.
Then we played pin the tail on the donkey (apparently you’re never too old for this game) and then it was dancing time. A few awkward-looking teenage boys appeared out of the woodwork and the girl who was serving as DJ for the day started in with salsa, hip hop, oldies from ABBA and Air Supply, and Celine Dion. Midway through, Olania and Leticia found a microphone that hooked into the speakers and stood up in front of everyone (about 20 invitees in all) and said thank you to me for helping them have this birthday party that they wouldn’t have done without me. As the other girls around the room nodded in agreement, I got a warm feeling. I felt appreciated and I felt at-home with these girls, two things that have been somewhat lacking since I have arrived in Nicaragua. After taking probably 100 photos on my digital camera (they just couldn’t get enough), they continued dancing.


As I was heading out, going to catch my bus back home, Olania’s mom came up to me with tears in her eyes. “Thank you so much. This has been such a special day for Olania and I know she won’t forget it,” she said, pressing a tamale into my hand. It was the only thing she could offer me as thanks. I took it gratefully and said goodbye to all the girls (who were still dancing, having been joined by more boys), reminding them of our meeting the next week. I came back to my house that night feeling very satisfied. We had actually done something here in Nicaragua that went as planned! It even started on time! It was nice to know I had had a positive impact on the girls. I know these will be the moments that I’ll remember in the future as I look back on these two years.

Mini-Vacation

A friend of mine was passing through Nicaragua last week, and I decided to take a few days off to travel to a few places that I hadn’t been to yet, but they have been on “my list” for a while.
First, we went to Ometepe Island. The island was in the running for the recent selection of the new “7 Natural Wonders of the World,” but since the winners were chosen by electronic voting and given that Nicaragua has spotty and sparse internet access, sadly Ometepe get enough votes to make it to the semi-finals. The island itself is, nonetheless pretty amazing. It is located in Lake Nicaragua, the largest lake in Central America (1/3 the size of El Salvador) and located on it are two Hershey kisses-shaped volcanoes, “Concepcion” and “Maderas.” The volcanoes are connected by a small isthmus, forming an hourglass shape. The island’s 35,000 residents as well as visitors must come and go by a small boat or ferry in a one-hour trip.
As we crossed the brown and windy lake traveling to Ometepe, the two volcanoes loomed closer upon us. The tops were shrouded in pillows of white clouds, which is typical, especially since it is rainy season.


I was very surprised at the lack of development on the island. I had expected to see a very touristy and commercialized area, but was met with a typical rural Nicaraguan environment. I found the cheapest hostel (aka a family’s home) I’ve ever stayed in there for just $3/night! The residents seemed like a very tight-knit community and were very hospitable. It made me think of my hometown in Alaska which is also located on a small island in the shadow of a volcano. When tourists arrive on cruise ships to visit our town, it’s not uncommon to hear the complaints of locals lamenting the fact that these foreigners come and “take” our fish, crowd our streets and in general, ruin the ambiance of small island living. The residents of Ometepe however did not seem jaded by all the light-skinned, backpack-lugging foreigners wandering around their little oasis. Most were very friendly and hospitable. The majority of the roads are unpaved and as we walked around the dirt streets past dozens of adobe homes, I saw that people still lead traditional lifestyles despite the thousands of tourists who come to this tranquil place each year. Most people made their living fishing, growing corn and beans or bananas. The island itself is still very undeveloped and wild.

We climbed Volcano Concepcion (1610 meters) which is the larger of the two volcanoes. Its last activity was in 2005. The climb took us six hours round-trip and we went with a guide and some other tourists. The trail was surprisingly well-kept, steep and surrounded by green vegetation. Along the way our guide pointed out several species of insects, butterflies, flowers, trees and we even saw (and heard) a few howler monkeys lurking in the trees above us. The trail was pretty tough at times, and another girl on the hike who had a bacterial infection (aka lots of diarrhea) didn’t quite make it up to the top (we started worrying about dehydration when she stopped sweating). She stayed behind as the rest of us trekked on above the tree-line and were rewarded with a beautiful view of the lake and the island beneath us. It was a rare day with few clouds, and we enjoyed the surprisingly cold breezes that refreshed us at the top.



Another afternoon in Ometepe we rented kayaks and paddled out to “Monkey Island” and got up-close views of some relatively tame monkeys that permanently lived on them. I think they used to be old pets and they must be fed by island residents, but we also heard numerous warnings about their sharp teeth and short tempers, so we didn’t get too close.


Being out in a kayak also gave me a great look at the symmetrical Volcano Concepcion.

After returning to “mainland” Nicaragua from our peaceful time in Ometepe, my friend and I decided that one volcano just wasn’t enough and we decided to climb up Volcano Masaya, which is right outside of the capital of Managua. The active volcano is located inside of Masaya Volcano National Park and last erupted in 2001, spewing hot rocks 500 meters into the air. Masaya was a much easier climb than Concepcion (the paved road might have had something to do with it) but the heat was scorching. There were few trees since previous eruptions had destroyed the forest and we had to hike in the hot midday sun. No matter how much sunscreen I applied, it was immediately sweated off.
Our work was rewarded at the top as we viewed the Santiago Crater, the main attraction; a smoke-emitting, gaping wonder. The smell of sulfur filled the air and the park guides warned visitors to stay at the top for no longer than 20 minutes because the toxic fumes. There is also a cross located at the top of the volcano, placed there by the Spaniards who viewed the active caldera as the “entrance to hell.”



To end the trip, I had to stop at the famed artisan markets of the city of Masaya, right outside of the Volcano National Park. Most of the markets are tourist traps with high prices, but I was able to get some “inside information” on where to buy cheap hammocks (a must-have souvenir from Nicaragua). After perusing numerous colorful woven hammocks of all shapes and sizes (some “family-size” hammocks could fit up to seven people!) I finally picked out a comfortable-looking striped hammock that should be the perfect place for lounging on the front porch of the house that I plan on moving into.
HAMMOCK
Yes, that’s right, at the end of this month, I should finally be moving out of my host family’s place after five months with them and into my own house! It’s a simple, small house, no toilet (just a latrine) and there are quite a few improvements to be made (such as putting in a fence to keep the neighbor’s chickens out and a good paint job), but I’m excited to have a place to call my own. More updates on that to come…

Children of the Corn

Hijos del Maíz is a term you’ll hear Nicaraguans proudly referring to themselves by. “Children of the corn.” Corn is the traditional staple of their diet and literally in every bite they eat. The harvest time is approaching (late August to September), and the whole community is involved. Men and boys are out in the fields planting and harvesting, the women and young girls are cooking, cleaning and sorting the harvest, and everyone participates in the eating. The corn harvest is probably the most important of all. It is often only done once a year (while red beans, the other main food, are harvested twice). The corn crop is dependent on the rains that fall during the rainy season here (May-October). Too little rain can mean that some villagers go without food for part of the year. Because of their shallow roots, too much can also spoil the crop. Agriculture work (corn, beans and coffee) employs the majority of men in the small villages here.

My town held their annual Corn Festival this past weekend in honor of this important vegetable, and I was blown away by the sheer number of foods that you can make with corn. There is at least one if not more corn products included in every meal here.
As part of the festivities, a “Corn Queen” was selected. Eighteen young girls from the surrounding communities paraded up on a stage decked-out in dresses and hats fabricated from corn husks and kernels, dyed different colors.

The contestants had to perform a traditional dance and also were asked to name the ingredients in several typical Nicaraguan corn foods as a test of their corn knowledge. What did the winner receive? You guessed it: corn (and some makeup products).
There were vendors at the festival from all the 24 surrounding small communities selling just about every possible food made with corn known to man. I’ll show you a few.
First, tamales. These are probably familiar to many Americans, since they are also part of traditional Mexican food. These tamales pictured below are sweet- mixed with sugar and cream. Other variations include adding beans, pork, chicken… They are wrapped in corn husks.

This is another variation of tamale called nacatamal. It has the same corn meal base, but also contains rice, tomatoes, onions, potatoes and pork (or chicken). They are wrapped in banana leaves and cooked in a large pot over a fire. The final product is an entire meal in a little leaf-wrapped pouch. They are sold for about 50 cents.

This dessert is called atol. It is basically a corn starch pudding with cinnamon and sugar. It is usually served chilled.

This food below is very similar to atol and is called atolillo. It is thicker and served in squares like a brownie.

This food is called buñuelo (boon-way-low). These fried corn meal and cheese balls are soaked in a sugar cane and cinnamon sauce. They’re best when they’re hot and fresh.

This pink drink is also made from corn (just one of many corn beverages here). It is called sosolca or chicha. It is made from ground corn and sugar and a hot pink dye gives it it’s color. Most drinks here are sold in plastic baggies like these; you tear a hole in a corner and suck out the contents. Another popular drink here made from corn is called pinol and is made from toasted ground corn and cocoa and cinnamon. Nicaraguans also refer to themselves as “pinoleros” – strongly identifying themselves with this national drink.

And of course we can’t forget tortillas. There are two main types of tortillas made from corn here- the more prevalent ones are made with mature corn and most households make at least 30 a day as they are eaten at every meal. However, the tortillas pictured below are made from baby corn and are called guirila (wee-ree-la). They are thicker and have a sweeter taste. They are eaten with a white fresh cow cheese called cuajada. It’s similar to mozzarella, but a little more salty.

And good old corn-on-the-cob made from corn picked that day. The easiest for on-the-go eating, it’s often sold by walking vendors on buses.

These are corn meal and cheese baked rings called rosquillas. They are typical of the northern region where I live in Nicaragua and there are hundreds of little rosquillerías - rosquilla shops - that compete to make the best ones. They are made in the salty version and also made with a cane sugar topping to make a sweet treat. They are eaten with coffee – you’re supposed to let the rosquillas soak in the coffee to soften them, eating them when you’ve emptied the cup of liquid.

Indio viejo (“old Indian”) is also a traditional Nicaraguan dish. It’s a cheese and corn meal-base soup with chicken and vegetables. It’s very thick and filling and very salty. It’s often made in very large pots to serve many people (such as at a party, funeral or wedding).

I hope you’ve enjoyed this little tour through Corn Country. This list I’ve created of Nicaraguan corn foods is certainly not comprehensive. Who would have thought that all of these things could come from one plant? While my job here as a Health Volunteer is to advise Nicaraguans on a balanced diet that includes fruits and vegetables (as you can see, their diets have a strong base of carbohydrates), it’s hard not to appreciate the sheer variety of foods they can squeeze out of this simple grain.

Another fun fact: I am often called "pelo de elote" (hair of corn) for my blonde hair which bears a strong resemblance to the hairs on a stalk of corn...

When I grow up...

Back when I was in the 2.5 month-long Peace Corps training, I was required to teach at least five classes to primary and secondary schools. The classes would be over health-related topics, but starting out simple, since we were still getting our footing here in Nicaragua. It was more of an opportunity to work up our confidence leading a classroom in another language and becoming familiar with the education system here.

One of the classes that I gave was to a group of 10-13 year-old kids about self-esteem and life goals. Although it sounds like a somewhat mundane topic and maybe even unnecessary, it is exactly these simple ideas that need to be imparted to youth here. Low self-esteem often leads to behaviors such as drug use, teen pregnancy, HIV/AIDS infection, dropping out of school… All the same things it can cause in the United States, however since we are in a developing country, the effects are augmented. As for life goals, most kids here don’t plan if they’re even going to go to class tomorrow, much less what they want to be when they grow up. It is important to get these children to cultivate a high self-esteem and keep their life goals in mind as they develop.


The class went well – I worked in some fun games like hot potato and musical chairs to get the message across. The kids loved it. The education system here is very formal and usually consists of the teacher writing up on the blackboard and the students dutifully copying down word-for-word. Sound like fun to you? Kids love it when Peace Corps volunteers come in and bring new ideas and games to them, although sometimes it can be difficult to get them to participate. Some kids get shocked when I ask them to draw a picture of their favorite animal, or to act out a role play. They withdraw into their shyness, not knowing what to do. It usually takes a bit of time before kids will open-up to more non-formal education methods.
When we were talking about life goals, I had each of the kids take out a piece of paper and write on it what one of their goals in life was. I said they could write whatever they wanted – it could be about their future career, their home life, their friends, their physical abilities, their education… They carefully concentrated on their work, barely looking up. When they started passing them in to me, I saw that many had decorated their papers with little drawings and used different colored markers to elaborate the words. Some had even folded up their papers into little designs. As I walked home that day from the school, I started reading through their goals. What I found really surprised me and made my day (actually, my week). I’ll give a few examples below of what they wrote, in their exact words, to show you a glimpse of the youth of Nicaragua 
-I want to be a Doctor. I also want to be a Secretary.
-I want to be a worker.
-I want to be a singer. (this one was surrounded by flowers with the girl’s name written above)
-I want to be a firefighter, no… policeman (complete with a drawing of a policeman and a gun).
-I want to be a doctor. Or if not, a teacher and carpenter, also I want to be a secretary and a baker.
-I want to be a professional (there were lots of this one).
-I want to be a professional lawyer.
-I want to get my bachelors degree and work as a cashier. (?)
-I want to get my associates in nursing.
-I want to be official.
-I want to work in Spain to give money to my mother.
-I want to be responsible.
-I want to be the boss of a military base.
-I want to have a good family and be a good mother and a good cook.
-I want to study.

I hope some of those made you smile; it made my heart smile to read those sincere and ambitious responses. It made me realize that these children have actually thought about their future, and they desire more than perhaps their parents or grandparents did (who are often illiterate or have no formal education or profession). I just hope that most of them will be able to realize those goals.

Working with youth here is often a Peace Corps volunteer's main focus. In any given culture, it is the youth that are more open to new ideas and are more likely to change negative behaviors. They also accept us foreigners just as we are, whereas in the adult population, we might face scrutiny or mistrust. I’m going to have a meeting with my town’s mayor next week to discuss youth group possibilities in the future. I’m hoping to secure some funds. I envision reactivating the youth group program that was once vibrant in this community. (A previous volunteer in this community installed a “Teen Center” in town for the youth to use). Wish me luck as I go forward with this!

Danger!!

Today was an exciting day. While most days here in Peace Corps Nicaragua are relatively uneventful, with plenty of time for reading, chatting with neighbors and sleeping, today was a little more action-packed. One could even say… dangerous??
I accompanied a group of three nurses and a doctor out to a nearby small village which is part of my town´s municipality. I wasn´t sure exactly why we were going – they just told me that we were going to see a few patients. I didn´t have anything planned that morning, so I decided to tag along. As we rode along in the ambulance, speeding down the Pan-American Highway, I noticed that one of the nurses had some posters which contained information about Tuberculosis (TB). ¨What are those for? ¨ I asked. ¨Oh, I´m just going to give a talk about TB to the people there…¨ she said absentmindedly.

I came to find out, as we got to the community and started hiking up the mountains to where the houses were located, that we were doing a home visit to a family that had had a positive TB case. The patient, an older man was currently in the hospital, but had had contact with people in the house before he was admitted. ¨Oh great, ¨ I thought to myself, ¨Infectious disease, here I come.¨ We carried no gloves, masks, hand-sanitizer… just a few plastic jars to take saliva samples and the wordy Nicaraguan Ministry of Health official guidelines on Tuberculosis.

After walking in the 95F humid weather for a good half hour, we reached the house. Despite the desired shade that the living room provided, we entered a bit cautiously. I could almost hear the others holding in their breath, or was it my imagination? We looked critically around the house, as if searching for the TB germs that would suddenly go floating by, like the large flies we were constantly swatting away. We were met by an older couple- the TB patient´s parents. They were the only ones who lived in the house, but of course there were neighbors and small children constantly filtering in and out as well. We began our interview, asking when the patient´s symptoms started, where he lived, who slept in the room with him, who had had contact with him after he started becoming sick… Writing down all the details in chronological order was a difficult and long process. The information did not come easily. The older couple got confused, kept changing the dates, left out important details. The TB patient, who lived in another town by himself, had come to his parent´s house when his symptoms started. He lost his appetite, was tired, had a fever, night sweats, and a strong cough accompanied by a clear liquid. They had cared for him for four days in the house, everyone sleeping the same room.

Tuberculosis is a infectious disease that spreads through saliva (through talking, coughing, sneezing...) The chance of being infected is increased in poor countries like Nicaragua, where sanitation is substandard and many people live under one roof and sleep in the same room.

As the interview progressed, I found myself taking part in it as well- asking questions, and giving general information to the older couple on what TB was, how it was spread and how it was treated. I was pretty surprised that the doctors and the nurses let me do this – in fact, they seemed relieved that I stepped in and explained some of it, since it had been a while since some of them had brushed up their TB trivia. Not that I do either. Most of my limited knowledge about TB comes from the book I recently read, Mountains Beyond Mountains by Paul Farmer (a great read about public health in Haiti, Russia and Peru), or from reading the pamphlets and small booklets about TB that I´ve seen here while in Nicaragua. Needless to say, I´m no expert, but this older couple really listened to my advice, as simple as it may have been. Maybe it´s because I´m from the United States and look different from them. Maybe they thought I was a doctor… In any case, I´m glad I was there, because through some of my probing questions, we found out that there were actually young neighbor children the man had had contact with that could also possibly be infected. This information was not immediately given, and I had to dig for it. We ended up taking saliva samples from those children as well as the older couple.

After we had talked to everyone that had contact with the TB patient, we started to return to the ambulance to head back to town. At this point, the second exciting event of the day occurred. This community we visited was right along the Pan-American Highway which runs from North America to South America, cutting Nicaragua in half. My municipality is located in the north of the country, right on the border with Honduras. If you have been watching the news lately, you may have seen that in Honduras in late June, a military coup overtook and kicked-out (literally, out of the country) the President, Manuel Zelaya. Zelaya is a leftist leader and ally to the Nicaraguan President Daniel Ortega, Venezuela´s Hugo Chavez and Cuba´s Fidel Castro. Zelaya has been unable to re-enter his country since the coup, his plane not being allowed to land on Honduran soil. I saw on the news yesterday and was alerted by Peace Corps Nicaragua safety and security staff that Zelaya was planning a land-invasion of his own country via Nicaragua. Specifically, he was planning on undertaking a forced entry of Honduras at the border crossing which is about an hour north of my community by car.

As we walked towards the ambulance, suddenly a caravan of police cars and large pick-up trucks filled with people – some of them with television cameras, others with guns – flew by, headed north on the Pan-American towards the border. They were about 20 vehicles in total. This was obviously the Zelaya caravan – apparently he had announced that that morning around that hour that we happened to be walking along the highway, he would be heading to the border. A few minutes later, large trucks filled with Nicaraguan soldiers also sped by, heading in the same direction. Were they sent by the Nicaraguan President, heading up to be support staff of the Zelaya group? Or to calm the riot that was sure to ensue? ¨Those men are going into a war¨ commented one of the nurses about the caravan. ¨That Zelaya is crazy to do this.¨ Reports from the Honduras side inform that hundreds of Zelaya supporters have moved to the border area to meet the ex-president and protect his re-entry from the military. The government “de facto”, gave the military and the police force the order to apprehend Zelaya if he crosses into Honduran territory.

A shiver ran down my back. I wondered what would happen in the coming hours at that border. I knew the place they would try to cross – I had recently bee there helping with the Human Influenza border checks. The crossing was a relatively small area with a dilapidated customs building and a pathetic duty-free store (blenders, irons, towels…yeah, that´s about it). Many Honduran and Nicaraguan citizens cross each day to work on the other side, to visit family and friends, and do their shopping. Was this the place where we would possibly see a military stand-off? Would people be hurt?

I´ll have to check the news tomorrow online (probably when I´m posting this blog) since the local available news here on the radio and TV is highly biased and un-reliable. Only time will tell whether Zelaya will return to power or if the coup will keep holding him off. Apparently, one of the motives for the coup was Zelaya´s recent desire to pass a law which removed term limits on his presidency. On a similar note, the Nicaraguan President Daniel Ortega last week declared this was his desire as well. Hmm.

So, since my morning included both a communicable disease and a military coup, today is a little more eventful than most that I´ve had here. I mean, the most exciting thing that happened to me in the past week was the fact that the local cyber café got a new fan installed (so I won´t boil to death when I´m getting my internet fix), oh- and the fact that the little store on my street started selling Diet Coke. Yes, I live on the dangerous side here in Peace Corps.

Development work

Although I have only been in Nicaragua about 5 months, I feel like I have already learned so much about international development work. Before I came here, I always thought that the money that Westerners donate to those “save-the-children” funds, traveling brigades of doctors, church mission groups, and Non-Governmental Organizations (NGOs - referred to as ¨non-profits¨ sometimes in the US) always went directly to where the need was, and it was used just as they would hope. With these donated funds a village would have new latrines built, a child would be sent to school, a woman would have a tumor removed…and their life would be great. The Westerner could then feel a little better about themselves, feeling as if they had really done something.
When I first arrived at Peace Corps and we began our development training, we were told that as Peace Corps volunteers, we were different. Rather than coming in from the outside and handing out money and resources sporadically, we were working from the bottom up. We began to learn about the importance of community integration, learned about community analysis tools to decipher what the community actually wanted, needed, and could make happen. We learned that our Peace Corps service is not about us. It is not about accomplishing something that looks nice on a piece of paper or on a resume, rather it is about giving Nicaraguans a hand-up, not a hand-out.
As I’ve been in my site for the past three months, I’ve seen several development projects from foreign countries pass through, and I can’t help but see them through my new “Peace Corps lens.” Is what they’re doing sustainable? Is it what the community really needs? Does this really help the citizens advance and develop or does it just further reinforce the fact that when foreigners come to visit, they arrive with full pockets to disperse their riches among the population? I am often approached in my site and throughout Nicaragua being asked for money, or when I am involved in projects, people think that I magically have the power to produce funds to make it happen. I feel like most Nicaraguans have a little speech memorized in which they go on and on about how they come from a poor country, they have little education, they need our help…After explaining to them that Peace Corps give technical rather than monetary assistance to its countries of service, they look at me with a rather confused and non-believing stare. What? An American without money? I don’t have much patience now for their practiced “sob story.” That may work on someone who doesn’t live here, but I know better now. These people may be poor, but that does not mean they are helpless. I have met some of the smartest people I know here in Nicaragua- they are a loving, hard-working people who do not deserve our pity or our hand-out. They deserve our cooperation and respect.
I have seen many medical brigades, student groups, church missions, and NGOs come through Nicaragua. They are usually here between 1-4 weeks, building latrines, seeing patients, giving out soccer balls, building basketball courts… They come, they see, they build/see a few patients/teach a few kids how to play volleyball, and they leave. Although I don’t want to sound like a complete killjoy since these groups ultimately do good work and many Nicaraguans benefit, but ultimately they are not sustainable and do not train or involve Nicaraguan nationals as much as would be desired. If Nicaraguans were educated in how to raise money and carry out these projects, perhaps these foreign brigades wouldn’t be necessary.
I don’t want to make Peace Corps and my role here seem superior to what others here are doing- it all has the same goal in mind: development of Nicaragua as technically capable and healthy country.
Now that I’ve been here some time – being the only Westerner in my town surrounded by Nicaraguans, it is quite easy for me to also look at these traveling development groups from the perspective of a Nicaraguan. I can just imagine them thinking, “Have you gringos gone crazy?? Go home to your nice carpeted, air-conditioned house… get some pizza delivered! Why would you ever want to waste your time down here helping us poor Nicaraguans when you have a way better life back there?” I vaguely remember why those gringos do it though- a feeling of satisfaction from the work done, perhaps a feeling of guilt for all that they have in life, a true passion for helping the less-fortunate…. After all, it was some of those very feelings that prompted me to join the Peace Corps. How is it that I have changed?
Well, I’ve realized that not all development work is equal. Conducting a full community needs analysis is really necessary if your project is going to have the desired impact. Sometimes, just giving someone a hand-out actually hurts them in the long-run. They learn that money and resources will just come to them if they wait long enough and look poor enough, rather than striving to become educated, involved, or employed, effecting positive change in their community.
I’ll give you an example from my life here. All the girls on my volleyball team (there are 12 of us) do not own tennis shoes or anything resembling them. Most of them practice in sandals, flip flops, or slip-on plastic shoes. I desperately wish that we all had good shoes since this would make practicing less painful for them and also help us play better as a team. Extra-curricular activities are non-existent in Nicaragua, so for many girls this team is the highlight of their day and their only reason to leave their house. I could probably write a letter to Nike or some other sports supplier to request that they send us some shoes or funds, but on the other hand, that could have negative repercussions. I would be looked at from that moment on as the American who got free shoes for her volleyball team (and this wouldn’t be a good thing). I would go from being Penny the Peace Corps Volunteer to Penny the Walking ATM. Nicaraguans wouldn’t understand that Nike feels it should give these shoes out of the goodness of its heart (not to mention tax breaks). They just see a rich Western corporation giving hand-outs again; and they are not shy to open up their hands. In my town I would be hassled, gossiped about, and solicited until I gave out more shoes to every child in Nicaragua. A better way to go about this I’ve realized would be to have the girls raise their own money for the shoes: selling food, putting on a dance… Or show them how to write their own letter to Nike requesting money. When they have ownership of the project, it is more meaningful for them, increasing their self-esteem and self-respect.
So, while I do value the hard labor that these traveling groups and NGOs do in Nicaragua, I’ve also realized to look with a more critical eye at their projects. Are they seeking sustainability? How do they decide on a project? Who does the actual work? Is their host country involvement? Is the host country paying part of the cost? If I donate to any NGO or charity in the future, it will also be with this in mind.
On that note, if any of you reading my blog enjoy donating to a development organization, I suggest that you check out the Peace Corps volunteer projects that you can donate to through the Peace Corps website. It´s called the Peace Corps Partnership program. (see website at - https://www.peacecorps.gov/index.cfm?shell=resources.donors ) Peace Corps volunteers from all over the world can solicit funds through the website for their local projects; HIV/AIDS programs, deforestation education programs, adolescent clinics, seed banks… As I mentioned before, Peace Corps gives us no monetary support, so we have the option of using this tool, Peace Corps Partnership, to help raise money. These projects are being undertaken by volunteers who have integrated into their communities, live among the populous and have chosen the project with the help and support of host country nationals. I strongly encourage you to check out this website, since in my view (biased as it may be) I think that these grassroots Peace Corps volunteer projects are some of the best places your money can go to.

Homebody

In the United States, the word “homebody” is often used with a negative connotation. I have heard it used to describe (in varying degrees) someone who chooses to not leave their house, doesn’t socialize, lacks the desire to explore and learn new things…basically someone with no ¨life.¨

In Nicaragua, the opposite is true.

Nicaraguans have a word - vago/a - which is used for people who are constantly out and about in the street; traveling, walking, chatting…basically being anywhere but their home. If one is called a vago it is not a compliment. It is usually a term used for men, since women are rarely vagas. (They are too busy doing chores of the home).
The family home in Nicaragua is really the foundation for life here. Often up to 12 people live in a single house, and that is where you can find most of the family members all day, unless they happen to be at school, work, or running an errand to the nearby store to buy a few eggs.
On any given night, anywhere from two to five people sleep in any one room, or even in any one bed. Nicaraguans find it odd that anyone would ever want to sleep alone. A fellow volunteer in Nicaragua told me that her neighbors were worried about her when she recently moved into her own house. ¨The who do you sleep with? ¨ little neighbor girls asked her anxiously.
Houses here are like the worn clothing that Nicaraguans wear: used in multiple generations, washed frequently, but ultimately very poor. The house and its contents are well known and well cared for. Houses are small and the amount of people living in them large. These small spaces have to be maintained with the organizational skills and dedication required to maintain a spaceship I would imagine. The inventory of the house (amount of food, number of chairs, amount of laundry to be washed, how many brooms/mops there are and where they are located, the amount of dish soap left…) is known by most members (the women) of the house. Wrath will ensue if the mother of the house realizes that a pound of beans or a piece of cheese, or something more valuable such as meat or fruit have gone missing. The day’s consumption by every single member of the house will then have to be retraced as she searches for how this could have gone awry. Who took it? Who got greedy? Food is a commodity in many areas of the country and people in my site are not quite as generous with it as the Latin stereotype would have us believe.
In my host family’s house in any one day, every dish and utensil is used (often more than once), every surface touched, cleaned, and used…Every chair sat on, every floor swept, walked on and swept again. The common areas are always being rearranged for a different use. One day the living room serves as a mini-movie theatre for Spanish soap operas, the next it is a workspace to make piñatas, and the next, 30 chairs have suddenly appeared for a neighborhood committee meeting. There is constant movement in this limited space.
When there are rare moments of rest, rather than choosing to leave the home to socialize or participate in community events, the family settles themselves in their finest plastic chairs to cultivate the fine art of watching. Nicaraguans are expert sitters and watchers. They observe the world going by them, usually from their porch or from inside their house with an eye out the closest door or window. Friends are greeted, food bought from walking vendors, weather commented on, and gossip exchanged - all from the comfort of one’s own home. Why leave your chair when there is a man who will come right to your door selling fresh vegetables, warm tamales, or even children’s clothing? Why be a vago when all the people you really want to socialize with (your family) are all right here?
But this culture of homebody-ness also brings annoyances. Every word, conversation, argument, piece of gossip, or question uttered in the house is heard by all members of said house. Walls are thin if nonexistent and everyone knows everything that is going on in everyone else’s lives. Privacy is a foreign word here, but it is not missed. A large part of how Nicaraguans define themselves is based upon their family. It is not seen as intruding when, for example, a 24-year-old man’s mother demands to see his cell phone to read the text messages exchanged by him and his girlfriend the previous night (yes, this happened in my host family). Why not? He might think. My mother has just as much of a say in this relationship as I do…
I´ve been struggling with this homebody concept, and sometimes I feel as if the house is suffocating me. (I have yet to find my own place to move into). There are only so many times you can look at the same people, walk over the same surfaces and discuss the same topics (how many beans will we buy today? What time do you think it will rain today?) before you can begin to go a little stir-crazy. Although hey, I am from Alaska. I´m used to being pent-up indoors for literally months at a time avoiding sub-zero temperatures, but at least then I didn´t have a choice in that matter. Here, where the weather is in the high 80s F every day, I feel guilty when I´m not out enjoying it.
When I am inside my home, I often ¨fake¨ my homebody-ness to blend-in; while pretending to sit and watch life go by, I am internally planning a training on HIV/AIDS in my head, or I steal away to a corner to read a book while they think I am napping. This undercover productivity keeps me sane.
Right now, I am at the local high school using their computers to investigate some health statistics and write in my blog. I´m going home for lunch in a few minutes, and will probably return to see the mother of the house and her daughter seated in the exact same positions that they were in when I left them four hours ago. We´ll all be happy about our respective morning’s activities, but of course for different reasons.

Volleyball: same game, new country

It’s been a while since I have been able to write an entry. This has been due to a few things, some good and some bad. For one, I was very sick at the beginning of June (on my birthday nonetheless) and while being treated, was in the capital of Managua where the Peace Corps office and our doctors are located. Being sick is never fun and this was augmented by the fact that I am in a foreign country. Although I’m careful about what I eat (not eating street food, only purified water…) I’ve had parasites twice and this recent sickness was a bacterial infection. Let’s just say that when you become a Peace Corps volunteer, your recent bowel movements or lack thereof become a perfectly acceptable topic of conversation. The good news for my lack of blogging is that in my site I’ve been almost too busy (relatively speaking…this is Nicaragua) to blog. I’ve been “in-site” for two months now and I’ve started a youth group, have begun giving classes in the high school on health related topics, and have been facilitating meetings of a pregnant women’s group. I’m also busy getting to know my host family more, learning how to cook some regional dishes, finding out the best place to buy tomatoes, what times the bus passes through to go to the capital city, etc. Although I’m struggling with the Nicaragua work ethic and its many differences from my own, I have been feeling satisfied with my progress.
I’ve also been busy because for the past month and a half I’ve joined an intramural volleyball team! One afternoon, I was walking back to my house from the health center and saw a bunch of girls around my age setting up a volleyball net. I played volleyball in high school and on an intramural team in college, and since I’ve been dying for outdoor exercise and some stimulation, I immediately asked if I could play with them and before I knew it, I was a member of team “Gemini” and attending daily two hour practices. There are about five women’s teams and six men’s teams in the city intramural league, and we play two games every weekend. Our practices are held at a coffee production plant in town. Since coffee is not in-season, large concrete lots which are usually used to dry out the beans now lay unused. We’ve rigged up a net using old tires filled with cement to hold it down, and we have two balls to practice with.
Nicaraguans can sometimes be known for their tranquil and non-hurried demeanor, but in volleyball it’s a different story. Although it’s almost certain that practice will begin about 45 minutes later than the said start time, we do work hard. There is even a man who comes a few times a week and acts as our “coach” running drills. Our team also has a little following of young children who come to the coffee plant while we’re practicing to cheer us on while we run laps or fetch our lost balls. They are there every day without fail. Despite the exercise, my main motivation to join the team was to meet more people in the town, and basically get more into a routine in my site. I love recognizing those girls when I walk down the street. “Penny!” they will yell, “See you at practice tonight!” Inadvertently, being on the team has also made other townspeople more aware of me, and become a way to meet people. I am often approached in the corner store, the cyber café or the health center as someone asks “Don’t you play volleyball?”
Although it’s been a rewarding experience, it has also been challenging. The first few games my team played, we lost horribly. We didn’t have confianza or trust in each other. I think this was mainly due to the fact that I was the “new kid on the block” and rather than treating me as just one of the girls, they often tip-toed around me, refusing to get angry if I made a mistake, or sometimes the opposite – looking at every move I made as if it were done under a microscope, judging me more severely than they did the other girls. It was and sometimes still is stressful. Already I feel like I am living in a fishbowl in this town, and I didn’t want to attract more attention. I just want to be accepted. However, as my brother told me the other day, being totally accepted by my host country is probably impossible. I am “fundamentally different” because of my home culture. Although that makes sense, I still am going to try my best to integrate into my community.
As time has gone on however, the girls have gotten to know me more and have opened up. They treat me more like one of them (although not completely), and last weekend they even chose me to say the ritualistic pre-game prayer (a big honor). Although I may still be treated differently by other teams (I am always the target they aim the ball towards) I am feeling more accepted on my team. When we put on our yellow and white uniforms that say “Team Gemini” on the front and our names and numbers on the back, I can’t help but feel a little camaraderie. And although games can be annoying - sometimes they try and “protect” me I think by not giving me as much playing time as the others - I am not giving up and I am continuing to put myself “out there.”
We’ve started winning games now. A lot. Team Gemini who was once the underdog because of lack of team spirit and cooperation is now beginning to get it together. And every day at our practices I am a part of that. The twelve of us cheer each other on, scold each other, and work together. The line between the Nicaraguan girls and the ¨gringa¨ is slowly disappearing. Teamwork is a word that often doesn’t need translation.
The intramural league championships occur in August during the Patron Saint festivals of my town, and I know for many of the girls this will be their highlight of the summer if not year. Although being on the team can make me frustrated, singled-out and sometimes angry, overall I’m happy to feel like I’m part of something here. It makes me feel like I’m an actual community member. And that’s what Peace Corps tells us to do: become a community member first then from there do your work. Although complete integration or acceptance is not possible, I’m not going to give up - I’ll at least try for some teamwork.

A Woman´s World

When I studied abroad for two semesters in Spain, I thought that I was getting a real taste of a “machismo” culture. I’ve come to realize that Spain has nothing on Nicaragua.

Men have control here in virtually every facet of life. The man is usually the sole breadwinner, decides when and how many children the family will have, and makes all important household decisions. Men are allowed, even encouraged, to drink publicly and the only bars in my town are men-only pool halls. Men drive buses, make laws, build cities, plan community events, and are more often elected officials. Coming from an egalitarian American culture, some days I can become furious just walking down the street, having to either ignore or confront the whistling, catcalling, and just plain rude vagos (men who just sit around with nothing to do on the streets).
In my host family’s homes, the household has surprisingly been absent of dominant male characters. The men either having died, or run-off a long time ago, I have been able to witness strong Nicaraguan women who raise their sons to be respectful, hardworking men who are not afraid to wash their own clothes or help out in the kitchen.

A typical day in the average Nicaraguan family would go something like this: The mother gets up at 5:30 am (or even as early as 3 am) to collect water in large containers, as it frequently goes out mid-morning, and she has to collect enough for the day’s washing, cooking and drinking. She washes dishes, starts the fire in the kitchen stove, sweeps and mops, takes a shower and prepares breakfast. During all of this, she also wakes up the children and gets them ready for school, which usually starts at 7 am. This means she has to iron their school uniforms and prepare a snack. The husband may get up a little later (however if they live out in the village, he may get up early as well to go out to the fields), eats a breakfast of rice and beans, cheese and tortillas prepared by his wife, and leaves for work (perhaps he is an agriculture worker, policeman, bus driver, truck driver, construction worker…) Throughout the day, the wife stays at home, usually accompanied by two or three small children who are not yet old enough for school. She takes care of them; washing the family’s clothes and the baby’s cloth diapers, constantly sweeping the floors since there is a thin line here in Nicaraguan between “inside” and “outside” and dirt, mud and trash are a constant nuisance. She begins to prepare lunch early; sorting and cleaning beans, cooking rice, cutting chicken…all of this she makes over a wood stove which constantly funnels smoke into the kitchen, her eyes, her lungs… Since the older children are gone at school, she will need to run to a nearby pulperia or tiny convenience store to buy daily necessities (matches, cheese, tortillas, bouillon cubes, toilet paper), and this can be done up to five times a day. The husband and children will come home at lunch time, and she will be expected to have the food ready and waiting for them, and also do all the clean-up (unless of course there is an older daughter around to help her). Then the whole process begins again for dinner. If she’s lucky, she’ll have a few spare moments in her day to visit a relative, play with the baby, listen to some music, or watch her favorite telenovela.

And this will be how she lives out her life. And this life starts early, as soon as they’re old enough to help run errands or cut vegetables. I’ve talked with Nicaraguan women who were married at 15 years old, their husband being twice their age. Teenage pregnancy is also common, with girls as young as 12 or 13 walking around with large pregnant bellies, their skinny frames barely supporting the extra weight. When these adolescent pregnancies occur, the father of the child usually doesn’t stick around, and the job of raising this child will be even more of a challenge. The girl will probably live with her own mother, relying on her monetary and child-raising support.

I recently saw an article about a man from the department of Rio San Juan, Nicaragua who claimed to have 30 children in four different countries; Costa Rica, Guatemala, Honduras, and Nicaragua. What shocked me wasn’t the actual number of children (I’m sure it was exaggerated, right?) but the fact that he seemed to be bragging about it, and about the fact that he had no contact whatsoever with these children or their mothers. It’s perfectly acceptable here for men to shrug-off a pregnant girlfriend, claiming that “It’s not mine” and ride off into the sunset. It is also the man here who decides how many children he wants to have. Getting women to use family planning methods to avoid having up to 10 children is still a battle since men often refuse to use condoms, and don’t like the fact that their wife might use another method of birth control behind their back.

When hearing all of this, it becomes immediately apparent that it is a man’s world here in Nicaragua. Or is it? As I learn more about the culture and witness more interactions, I am becoming to realize the power and strength that women possess.
This realization occurred to me during the annual national Vaccination Campaign. I tagged along with my Health Center staff giving educational health talks and helping to give out anti-polio drops and anti-parasite pills to the children. What surprised me was the that little boys cowered in fear, sobbing relentlessly and clutching to their mothers at the thought of an injection or even just oral anti-polio drops, whereas the little girls were the bravest ones, putting on tough faces and squeezing their mother’s hand tight, but never making a peep. There was one case of a tough-looking boy who was 15 years old who was so scared of having a Tetanus booster shot that he retreated to the back of the classroom (we were vaccinating in the school) and refused to come close to us or even make eye contact. Despite multiple pleadings on behalf of the nurses and myself and even his classmates, he still flat-out refused to get the shot. After we waited for about a half an hour, we had to eventually give up on him and move on. Once again, he was 15 years old.

I thought this was pretty strange, but after talking to fellow Peace Corps volunteers who had also been working in the Vaccination Campaign, I found that our experiences were actually very similar. They too had seen more wimpy boys than girls, and often had amusing stories to tell as well. Wait a minute, weren’t the Nicaraguan men supposed to be the tough ones??

I started thinking about this phenomenon and realized that little boys are brought up by amazing, caring, nurturing Nicaraguan mothers, not having much contact with their fathers until they are older and big enough to help out in the field/shop, etc. These little boys were so dependent on their powerful mothers, who took-on the lion’s share of raising them, that they didn’t know how to be “men” yet. Howerver, I can even see this in older men (especially those who still live with their parents, which is common). One of my 33 year-old Nicaraguan male friends was complaining the other afternoon about being hungry; apparently he hadn’t eaten all day. “Why not?” I asked him, “Go eat something!” “My mom is out of town…” he replied rather sheepishly. Apparently this grown man was incapable of fixing himself his own meal in his mother’s absence.

What would happen if all the women in Nicaragua suddenly disappeared for a few days? I really think the country would fall apart. Despite all of the country’s machismo tendencies, it is really the Nicaraguan housewife who holds it all together. She cleans, washes, cooks, feeds, keeps in touch with relatives, comforts sick children - and she does it without stopping. Mother’s Day in Nicaragua is May 30th, and the whole country refers to May as “The Month of Mothers.” They go a little crazy down here for their Mothers, and now I understand why, and I’m glad they do. Behind every macho, tough-guy, Nicaraguan man’s man, there is a sweet, hard-working mother, someone who will gladly drop everything to wash a few of his clothes or heat up a plate of beans and rice whenever he decides to drop-in and visit. So, who wins the battle of the sexes in Nicaragua? Well, I think the women just like to let them men think they do.

Peace Corps as seen from the U.S. and the host country

What is the first thing you think of when you hear the words “Peace Corps?” If you’re like most Americans, you picture a dreadlock-wearing, Birkenstock-clad, shower-hating, peace-love-and-harmony hippie walking the streets of some tiny African village helping them build latrines. This is not unlike the view many of my friends and family members had when I announced to them that I was really joining the Peace Corps and would be serving in Nicaragua. “You mean, you’re joining the hippie corps?” one individual (who shall remain nameless) from my family asked me in a surprised tone when they heard the news. While I have always enjoyed being environmentally conscious, am a vegetarian, and have volunteered at various organizations over the years, the word “hippie” is definitely not a synonym for my own name. It may have surprised people that I joined, and I have to say that I was surprised when I finally met the other volunteers in my group since many of them didn’t fit the mental mold that I had created for the typical Peace Corps volunteer. The answer is; there isn’t a typical volunteer.

There are about 180 PC volunteers in Nicaragua, and every one of them has a different story of how they came to apply to Peace Corps. They range in age from 22 to 61 and come from a variety of backgrounds: farmers, married couples, single 20-somethings right out of college, teachers, biologists, aspiring med students, business majors… I have yet to see a dirty hippie (except for the European and American backpacker tourists you glimpse on the buses and in hostels every once in a while. They give us “gringos” a bad name. I have been asked before why we westerners don’t like to shower…) The Peace Corps requires quite a commitment; both of time and of effort. We have to community-organize from the grass-roots, and those roots can be difficult to find and hard to hold on to in a developing country like Nicaragua. While there are some volunteers who manage to waste away their days and slack-off more than they should, the majority that I have met are dedicated and professional, and are doing some amazing projects in their communities of service.
The Nicaraguan (or arguably any country that hosts Peace Corps volunteers) view of Peace Corps is quite different from the average American view.

Every Nicaraguan I have met who is familiar with the Peace Corps, from my Health Center Director, other counterparts, NGO directors, host families, bus drivers, and even waiters have practically hugged me and started regaling me with a story of a previous volunteer they met or worked with and how they collaborated together, how the volunteer showed them some pictures of their family in the U.S., how they chatted away an afternoon talking about Nicaraguan recipes, or how the volunteer still remembers to call every once in a while to say a quick “hola.” I even met a Nicaraguan Señora who had hosted a Peace Corps volunteer in her home in the 1970s. She remembered his name and his home city, his family’s names, and even what he studied in college after all these years had passed. The Peace Corps has had a remarkable impact on these people. The Nicaraguans I have met all view Peace Corps volunteers as very professional, motivated, inspiring, creative, and friendly people who are all undertaking a very challenging task in order to help out the people of Nicaragua. Often, our ideas and projects, being seen as ¨foreign¨ and somehow ¨better¨ are taken more seriously, and we are thought to have a world knowledge beyond most of the people that we work with. We are looked at as professionals, not as lazy hippies looking to take two years off to play around in the jungle.

Most people I meet here in my site can’t believe that I’m 22 years old and live so far away from my family, or that I went to college so far away from them in the first place (I did go to college in-state, but since Alaska is so large, it took about a half a day by plane to get there). Nicaraguans can’t understand why we as Peace Corps volunteers would all want to leave our comfortable, washing machine-and-dryer lives to come down to a developing country and get dirty making a brick oven, talk about diarrhea, get bitten by scorpions (yes, that happened to me last week), live on a couple hundred dollars a month and go without hot showers just in order to help them. Although they might think us Peace Corps volunteers are a bit on the crazy side, they see no “hippie” or “slacker” in us. To some people that I meet, especially youth, I may be the only American they have ever met, and I may be the only educated female role model that some of these young girls that I work with have ever had.

It can be difficult at times ¨fitting in,¨ things like my height and blonde hair certainly don´t help. Some people may feel threatened by an American presence or intimidated, so right now at the beginning of my service, I´m working at trying to integrate and make as many friends as possible. It´s hard to balance my ¨American personality¨ with the ¨Peace Corps image¨ that we have to project as well. You definitely have to watch what you say and do here since you´re constantly under a microscope.

The contrast between how many Americans view the Peace Corps and how the host countries do is often diametrically opposed. However, I think that this view is changing. There are the many returned volunteers who have gone on to complete higher education, obtain successful jobs in the government and private sector, and establish their own foundations, NGOs and activist projects. These volunteers are highly respected and seen as adaptable and talented individuals. Another bright spot: the Obama Administration promised to double the size of the Peace Corps in an effort to improve our international relations and to instill the spirit of service in more Americans. I can’t think of a better foreign policy.

Mango Land

“Nope. Worm-infested” pronounces my nine year-old host brother, Kairo. I sigh, defeated and drop the yellowed mango to the ground. I have not yet mastered the art of picking out mangos. “Here, just wait. I’ll find a good one!” he exclaims, and before I can say anything to stop him, Kairo has scurried up the mango tree in our backyard and is balancing his 70-pound frame (which he sustains with a balanced diet of tortillas, cheese, potato chips and sugared-down juice) on a slim branch, reaching out for a mango that he has deemed worthy of my consumption. The mangos that he can’t rustle down with a long stick that he has saved over the years for this very purpose must be grabbed by hand, and he is the only one in the family eager enough to take on this task. I have given him the nickname of “The Mango Hunter.”

My daily intake of Vitamin A has increased probably five-fold in the past few weeks, due my host family’s enormous mango tree. The fruit is just coming into season, marking the beginning of the six month-long rainy season here. Every morning we wake up to a patio littered with ripe mangos which have fallen during the night.
Kairo was my informal mango professor as we watched the mangos ripen, giving me all the Nicaraguan tips. He explained that the bright yellow color of some mangos that fall indicated that they are not ripe, but have been infested by worms and are inedible. Kairo also explained to me how you can tell if a mango is ripe: just look for part of the mango to be a rosy-yellowish-burgundy tint. The ones in that receive the most direct sunlight ripen faster. I can tell he enjoyed sharing this information with me, realizing that he knew more about it than I did. Hunting mangos is one of his favorite hobbies and this is his favorite time of the year. He east about nine mangos a day and can often be bribed with mangos, ex. “Kairo, go take a shower. If you don’t, you can’t have any mangos today!” his mother will threaten. Although he guards these precious fruits close, he is also limitlessly generous, and if he even hears a hint come out of my mouth about desiring a mango, he’s up in the tree fetching down three for me.
Right now, the markets are full of ripe fruits: watermelon, pineapple, coconut, grapes, melon and countless others that do not have English translations because they simply don’t exist in the north. Fruits that I used to eat daily, like apples, are a luxury down here, but I have found worthy replacements.
Although mangos may be more expensive in the states, I’m going to post a few mango recipes my host family has shared with me, so if you’re feeling exotic, give them a try.
Mango “Fresco” (Pulp-laden juice which you can make from just about any fruit or vegetable: melon, watermelon, pineapple, beet and lemon, carrot, orange…)
1. Slice up 3-4 ripe mangos and add one and a half cups of water and bring to rolling boil on stove for a few minutes, lower heat and let simmer for five-ten minutes, stirring occasionally.
2. Put entire contents into blender, adding a couple more cups of water, and blend until smooth.
3. Add more water or sugar to taste. Serve chilled.
Mango Jam
Equal quantities of mashed fruit and sugar.
Juice from one lemon
1.Combine fruit, lemon juice and sugar and boil. Immediately lower heat and simmer slowly for 25-30 minutes, stirring occasionally.
2.Boil glass jelly containers and lids for five minutes.
3.Pour liquid into glass containers while hot and secure lids immediately.

You can also dehydrate mango slices, make a mango cobbler, or put it on ice cream… Also the Nicaraguans like to eat mango slices (and pretty much any fruit) with salt and sometimes with chili powder. Green mangos can also be sliced and eaten alone or with salt.
I hope you’ll try one of these ways of eating mango, if you close your eyes, maybe you can imagine being here in Nicaragua, eating it beneath the tree it came from. Just don’t overdo it as Kairo did the other day…you’ll be in the bathroom for a while suffering the consequences.

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!