"There is nothing more tragic than sleeping through a revolution"

The Women's March on Washington was absolutely one of the most inspiring things I have ever been a part of. To be physically present with over 500,000 individuals from all walks of life, to march side by side with indigenous, black, white, Latinx, rich, poor, straight, lgbtq, individuals - a complete spectrum of ages, genders and religious affiliations - was an honor and a privilege.

I went in to the march wanting to be a part of something bigger than myself. I was inspired by the mission put forth by the march leaders. An intersectional feminism...one that fights for the rights of ALL women..A common goal of defending the rights of the most marginalized members of our society...The idea of coming together to fight for all of the people our new "president" has slandered, insulted and threatened...To resist his administration and it's racist, xenophobic, homophobic, non-scientific alternative reality...To fight for mother Earth.  I knew that without a doubt, I needed to be a part of the resistance - and I was. I was one of the MILLIONS of participants who marched worldwide "on the right side of history" because they recognize the travesty that is occurring in our country right now.

Once I got there and the speeches began, I was immediately inspired by every woman on that stage.
Every single presenter mentioned the need to come together and help to fight each other's battles. Our country has been stolen from indigenous peoples, built on the backs of slaves and populated by immigrants from all over the world and unfortunately our government has always been much better at apologizing for past atrocities than not allowing them to happen in the first place. Everyday people are still vilified, wrongfully detained and institutionally discriminated against and we must demand better than that. The speakers put into words all of the feelings I have never been able to express so eloquently.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SpdgPTUGFQw

Make no mistake, I am well aware that as a white woman, I am privileged to not have to overcome much friction on my daily walk towards progress. As a bisexual woman married to a straight male, I do not have to defend my sexuality on a daily basis because everyone assumes I'm straight. I do not have to worry about the future legality of my marriage because the love between a man and a woman has never been deemed unnatural or threatened by the federal government. I have never known what it feels like to be discriminated against because of the color of my skin or because of the language my family speaks. I have never been asked to put "my issues" on hold while the issues of the majority were dealt with first. Being at this march reinforced my belief that if any of us is being held back, we all are.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TTB-m2NxWzA

I was there to listen, to learn, to be inspired by women who have been fighting these battles since before I was born. Women who are fighting battles I will never have to fight myself. Even now, days later, I am still in awe of the strength of the women I encountered there. The mothers of Trayvon Martin and Eric Garner cried their son's names on stage while 500,000 of us screamed back "say their names." A six-year-old girl from an undocumented family pleaded with the crowd to make a "chain of love" to protect families from being torn apart.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qPa464CEbuE

Countless activists who have dedicated their lives to fighting for the people whose voices are so often silenced made me so proud to be a woman. I am inspired. I am ready to fight. I will not sit quietly and watch everything beautiful about our country be torn apart. I will not be silent when an administration threatens the reproductive rights of women around the world. I will not "give a chance" to an arrogant demagogue who dares to openly vilify Muslims and Mexicans, to brag about sexually assaulting women and to pit us against each other. I will not quietly allow people to "express their opinions" without challenge when those opinions only serve to further harm the oppressed and the struggling.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ffb_5X59_DA

We have such a long way to go, but I am so grateful for the experience I had this weekend. I was able to march with some of the most inspiring women in my family - from North Carolina to Canada - and stood shoulder to shoulder with hundreds of thousands of individuals who are not willing to sit idly by while a new regime of ignorance takes over our government. Leaving the march and seeing on the news that worldwide we were a force of over 5 million people on all seven continents marching in solidarity was unbelievable! We are a force to be reckoned with and we will not back down. This is not the time for complacence. "Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere" and we must not allow it.

http://nytlive.nytimes.com/womenintheworld/2017/01/23/i-cant-keep-quiet-im-a-one-woman-riot-song-goes-insanely-viral/

Que Llueva!

As I said in my last blog, the “norm” here in Belen, is to have potable water everyday during rainy season (and every other day during dry season). This “rainy season” however has been, without question, much more dry than rainy. After the first few rains in May, it has hardly rained at all. In a part of the world that relies on a six month rainy season for crops and for general survival, this is a huge problem.

My school gardens have officially dried out because since it's not raining, we've been without potable water as well. Sometimes it comes every other day, sometimes every third. This is not too big of a problem for my personal life, because I have enough buckets and gallon containers to fill when there is water. But for bigger families, it sure makes life more complicated than it should be. The other day, since the wells are starting to dry up, the water in the pipes was coming out dirty....but they seemed to have fixed that somehow. As for gardens and farms, the situation is grave. A close look at the cement-like cracked ground and anyone would guess that we were in the middle of dry season. In those conditions, watering every third day just doesn't cut it.

Being here in a country where people depend directly on the land and their own sweat and labor, you immediately see the effects of a drought. It's a topic of conversation among any two people that happen to be talking. “Can you believe it still hasn't rained?” “I hope God wants it to rain soon.” “We're in the middle of the desert out here.” “We're all going to starve to death.” The heat is unbearable, the sun is just as strong as ever. We can't even seem to get any cloud cover.

What I've found to be interesting though, is that everyone here seems to be sure that we ourselves are to blame. “Well if we keep cutting down all the forests, it's never going to rain!” “All of those farmers sucking water out of the river with their irrigation machines are completely changing the ecosystems that once existed there.” All of these assumptions, while not being told to them by scientists and meteorologists are just obvious enough for them to point out. Never before in the history of our planet, has a species caused so many physical changes to it's own habitat, so it makes sense to the people here, that booming populations, which lead to vast deforestation and re-sculpting of the land itself will change the way things have always been. (The facts about greenhouse gases, while much more harmful to the environment than any of the small scale damage people do here, are lost on countrymen where less than a tenth of the town's population own vehicles, and smokestack factories don't exist.) Meanwhile back in the US, there are millions of people who although they have the facts at their fingertips, refuse to believe that this has indeed been the hottest year on record, and that WE are in fact to blame.

Perhaps it's because the lifestyle here is less pampered and cushy, and more raw and real, that there have been so many concrete plans of action put into place to combat the destruction we're causing. Here, no rain means no water, so it's necessary to take immediate action to fix the situation. The Nicaraguan government has implemented environmental conservation practices into each year of the school curriculum. With each of my classes here, we have planted trees (close to 300 in this year alone), continually make organic compost, have made tons of recycled materials projects, held community trash pick-ups, and made murals to suggest ways to protect the endangered species that live in the forests around our towns. These kids are growing up knowing that every decision they make can either harm or help their environment. And that's just with the schools. In the Mayor's offices around the country, reforestation projects are part of the annual budget. Here in Belen, the environmental sector of the Mayor's office has a project with 2,000 trees that they will be transplanting down by the river to make up for all the trees that are cut down for furniture making in the country.

While there is still much improvement to be made here in terms of trash management, at least they are trying. While I do remember recycling programs in schools back home, I don't ever remember planting a single tree. Sure on Earth Day each year, someone in the school, usually an administrator, planted a tree for good measure; but should we really expect that one little tree to balance out all the environmental harm done by the faculty and students there each year?

Sure there aren't signs and reminders everywhere to “Go Green” here like back home, but really everyone here lives much more “green-ly” than anyone back in the States. Here, everyone hangs their clothes out to dry, people naturally practice the famous Rs (Reduce, Reuse, Recycle, and REPAIR – something that rarely happens in the US where the trend is always to buy the newest version when your old *insert any gadget, appliance, vehicle etc* stops working how it's supposed to). Shoes are shined and re-sown here, clothes are mended, electronics are repaired, broke-down cars and buses are refurbished (and sometimes completely pimped out). People make bird cages out of fan cages, animal feeders from old tires and plastic bottles, baby seats for bikes from scrap wood. Coffee cans are then used as sugar containers and a bottle of cooking oil gets refilled endlessly at the corner store. While poor waste management leaves all the garbage that doesn't get re-used to be found either on the streets, or burning in someone's backyard, there is MUCH less waste here, and I think that's going to be one of the harder things to get used to again when I go back home.

Here's to being more conscious and making the sometimes less convenient choices to bring your own coffee to work, or to walk around the block to the store instead of driving. Let's take advantage of summer sun and winds to air dry our clothes, and for the love of God, let's stop buying bottled water! In a country where clean water flows from every sink in every household, there is absolutely no excuse for that!

Just when I though I'd seen it all...

Yesterday morning, just after snoozing my alarm for the third time, while stretching and trying to convince myself to get up and at 'em, I was called into reality by the very loud and familiar voice of my next door neighbor, Doña Mayra. 

“Kristel, (it’s a much more common name here than my unheard of variation, so a few people have never gotten used to saying, Krista) no salgas al patio jajajajaja!” Translation: Kristel, don’t go out into your backyard hahahahaha!”

I amusedly yelled back from my bed, “Ideay!! Porque no?!” Translation: “Eediay!! (an invaluable sound here used for expressing surprise, horror, impatience, dismay, or pretty much anything depending on the tone) Why not?!”

Turns out the night before, the cow she had tied up just behind the barbed wire that separates our yards got spooked, ran towards my yard, somehow crossed the barbed wire, and in the process of all that, completely took out my latrine.  I mean literally tore it to the ground. (Benefits of sleeping with a fan: relief from the terrible heat, AND from the noises of the night, aka barking dogs, crowing roosters, and demolition cows??) The only part left standing was the “throne.”

As I slowly opened my back door, there it was. A giant cow butt blocking my exit. So I looked through the wooden planks that make up the walls around my washing area and saw my latrine completely toppled. I really couldn't help but laugh!

I didn't have a second option. Unlike some fancier homes here that actually do have indoor toilets, mine does not. So, I wandered over to Doña Mayra's house with my toilet paper and made myself at home in her latrine. It was just as comfortable really. I could still see the outside world through the gaps between the wooden plank walls, could still hear the neighbors' kids getting ready for school, the birds chirping, and of course the roosters, which crow all day and all night here. The seat they have is made of wood, which provided a different texture than my cold metal variation, and unlike my curtain that blows in the wind, there I had an actual door! Hahaha, goooood timessssss.

That same day, they fixed up my latrine, and they've politely decided to tie up their cows a bit farther from my house now. So, all in all, no harm done! (Luckily I wasn't in there when that cow got spooked!)

Shout-out to Andrew!

The following is copied from a blog of a fellow Peace Corps Volunteer and awesome friend of mine, Andrew BoddySpargo. His blog is absolutely worth following and I suggest skimming through his past posts to get a different outlook on life here in Nicaragua, and just on life in general. =) Here he explores the use of the words “developed” and “developing,” which have been adopted to replace the terms, “first world” and “third world.”

Calling Nicaragua a developing country seems very nice because it focuses on the progress that’s being made in economic development, healthcare, education, etc. Still, it hit me the other day that development itself is a loaded term. It implies that there’s some path from one point towards an end goal of being ‘developed.’ As many Peace Corps volunteers will tell you, there are lots of benefits of not being ‘developed,’ too. People tend to rely on each other more and form stronger communities. They also have a closer relationship with nature and the environment. This closer relationship with nature gets to the heart of an important difference of perspectives on development. What if we think of development as a movement from the subjection of humans to nature to the subjection of nature to humans? At some point in our history we must have realized that our brains give us the ability to manipulate nature and make it more amenable to us. Isn’t that what healthcare is? Doctors changing the natural course of our bodies and artificially lengthening our lives? Isn’t that what infrastructure is? Cutting down trees and bulldozing hills so that we can more easily move around? Isn’t that what modern conveniences do? Keep bugs out, control the indoor climate, cook and freeze food to our liking. And modern agriculture? We essentially uproot what was and replant what suits us in row after row of monoculture commercial farms.

What if development is thought of as a move to artificiality? If the dichotomy is natural and artificial, then the value judgment is kind of turned on its head. Nicaragua becomes a less artificial country and the US perhaps the most artificial country that has ever existed. Now, obviously ‘artificial’ has its own baggage, and I’m not suggesting we stop using the word ‘developed,’ but as a thought experiment it helps underscore the influence of language on how we conceptualize our world. If we uncritically use the term ‘developing’ to describe countries that share characteristics like low material wealth and less infrastructure, then we risk stifling the diversity, beauty, and connections that are everywhere in the world. I don’t think we should stop using the word, but I do think we should think beyond it.

I absolutely loveeee this analysis and thank Andrew so much for sharing it with us! Check out some more of his blogs at http://boddyspargo.wordpress.com/ !

Open Minds Open Doors

Me: At one point we went without water for 8 days.

Mom, Omi, Grandma, Dad, anyone from home: WHAT?!?! 8 days!?! That's unimaginable!! But how did you all survive?! What did you do?!

Me: At one point we went without water for 8 days.

Fellow volunteer, Jessi: (Less than sympathetic smile) Umm...yeah, it's rough right?

Living here in Nicaragua for the past two years has brought about a whole new set of norms for me, and while some of them are common no matter which volunteer you talk to here, the variety of “Peace Corps experiences” in Nicaragua is much wider than one might think. Each volunteer is placed in a community, town, or city in his or her own corner of the country. While some frequent restaurants and bars, have internet in their houses, can watch TV while laying on a sofa, and work in Universities; others have no electricity, no water, must travel miles by bus to get to the nearest “ciber” to use the internet, and work in one-room school houses. Some have apartments in the cities with cafes, supermarkets, and movie theaters within walking distance. Others have grown fond of shopping in their “mercados,” or farmer's markets, and have forgotten that movie theaters even exist in this world.

I live in a relatively big town; definitely not a city, but not a tiny community either. Within a two block radius of my house, I have a giant Catholic church, two elementary schools, two high schools, a beautiful central park, a gated basketball court, an ice cream store, the Mayor's Office, a pharmacy, a restaurant/bar/club, two “cibers,” a school supply store, and countless “pulperias,” aka corner stores that people run out of their houses. I feel as though I'm living in the ideal Nicaraguan town. It's not too developed which means there are no draws for tourists and I can therefore have a genuine Nica experience without a bunch of “gringos” wandering around polluting the culture. I'm just a half hour bus ride from the nearest small city where I can sit with my laptop in a bakery and use wireless internet. I can even bus it to touristy beaches when I need to escape and still get back before nightfall.

Finally I just about always have electricity; and during rainy season, there is always potable water in the pipes.* (During dry season, we generally have water every other day.) Who could ask for more?

*See next blog for an update on the water in our pipes this “rainy” season.

Well, the above conversations were had a while back when, during dry season, we were experiencing water rationing that was a bit less reliable that the usual “every other day” rule. At one point...oh yes, I've already told you...8 days. During those eight days without water, people in my town came together like you've never seen. The lack of water made for immediate bonding between any two strangers on the street; it was the perfect conversation starter. People who still have open wells in their yards immediately let it be known that anyone who needed water could show up with their buckets to start hauling. People who own horse drawn carts could be seen transporting giant rain barrels full of water from the well houses to the people who didn't have wells within walking distance. I quickly learned to boil my well water, and was blessed enough to not have to haul it myself. (My little next door neighbor, Carlos Erik, loved to bring me a small bucket each morning and that was enough for me to drink and cook with while my boyfriend, Carlos, (surprise??) made sure I had any other water I might need for washing clothes etc. )

Whenever I mentioned that week to people at home, I was always met with the same shocked disbelief. It was difficult enough for them to imagine even “every other day” water rationing, much less eight long, hot, waterless days. I felt like a survivor when I said that it really wasn't so bad. I was a hero who had braved eight days without a drop of water from a spigot. When I mindlessly mentioned it to my volunteer friend, Jessi, however, I was met with a different reaction. She paused before answering, giving me a moment to remember who I was talking to. In her town, there is never water. Walking to the well and hauling up buckets is part of her daily routine. Just as I've become accustomed to saving buckets for the no water days, she's become accustomed to walking with a 5 gallon bucket on her head from the community well back to her one room house everyday.

It really made me think. We can really get used to anything. People in my town had become so accustomed to having reliable, potable water that when it disappeared, they were outraged. Although it hasn't been many years since they all lived with just well water, the forced regression was unappreciated to say the least. When the lights go out here, people immediately respond with phrases like, “Que problema!” and “Y ahora, que hacemos?” (and now what do we do?). Just a generation back, it was normal to not have electricity, and now people here can't imagine living a day without getting to watch TV and listen to music.

It's the same in the US. Think about it. I'm 26 years old, and while I spent half of my life without the internet, now I can't imagine surviving without it. I made it to 18 years old before they invented Facebook, and now I feel as though I'd have absolutely no way of communicating with all of my “friends” without it. The entire infrastructure of the US would collapse if there were no water for eight days. Latrines don't even exist there, so what would everyone do about going to the bathroom in toilets that don't flush? People don't have open wells, and at least no one in my generation has ever hand washed a load of laundry, much less gone to the river to do so. So what would happen?

Meanwhile, Jessi and her neighbors do just fine with their situation. Sure it's less than ideal, but it's just a different daily routine. People there still have normal lives; it's just that their normal is different than my normal. Just like my current normal is different than my college normal, which was different than my high school normal and so on.

So really, what is normalcy? People for example, who have lived in the city their entire lives, in any part of the world, can't imagine living in the country – and visaversa. They each have such acutely defined ideas of normalcy that their own stereotypes and assumptions about other ways of life are completely exaggerated. City people are viewed by country folk as conceited, rich, anti-social snobs that are too busy to enjoy life, while those city dwellers view country people as uneducated, porch-sitting hicks. Ignorance and close-mindedness are what cause such extreme opinions. People in “developed” countries tend to imagine that those in “developing” countries are starving, hopeless, helpless, and sad, while this is by no means the case. Similarly, people in “developing” countries tend to think that all people in the US or any other “developed” nation live in giant houses, can afford anything their hearts desire, and want for nothing – also a misunderstanding.

I guess I have no real conclusion to reach with this blog. It just occurred to me that by living in our own little bubbles and not ever interacting with people who live differently than we do, we truly limit ourselves culturally, intellectually, socially, and experientially (which a squiggly red line is telling me is apparently not a word). Without even realizing it, we allow our untested assumptions to form our opinions about other peoples, other cultures, and other ways of living. These notions of us and them, and normal and other, while perfectly natural, can sometimes be harmful. We would do well to remember that without diversity of opinions, wants, cultures, languages, lifestyles, abilities, colors, and sub-cultures, this world would be a very different place.

I'm thankful to come from a nation as diverse as the United States, and hope to promote an appreciation for such diversity when I'm back to teaching in good ol' New York, one of the most diverse states there is. But appreciating diversity within my own country might never be enough for me. There is still so much of the world to see. Who knows if I'll ever get enough.

La Vela

It's been a while since I've written about a beautiful Nicaraguan tradition and after last night's “vela,” I realized that I have to share the beauty of this custom with those of you who have been following me on my journey for the last (almost) two years.

When someone dies here in Nicaragua, amidst the mourning and sadness, the family and friends of that person immediately begin the task of preparing the house for the “vela.” I don't want to cheat the word by directly translating it to“wake;” although like wakes in the US, the vela is a chance for the loved ones of the deceased to gather around the body, reminisce, reconnect, and show support for the family. A vela however, is much more than just a wake.

The day someone dies, his or her family must get the word out as they begin to prepare the house and the body for the vela. Here in my town, “getting the word out” almost always means paying the - directly translated - truck of publicity* to drive around every block announcing the death, a verbal obituary if you will, to the tune of a touching song about meeting again some day in Heaven. While this is going on, friends, neighbors and extended family of the deceased do all they can to emotionally, financially and physically help the family with the task at hand.

*The truck of publicity is a pickup with giant speakers on the back that rides around town announcing everything from deaths, to parties, to political campaigns. I've been told that one announcement costs about US$20.

The vela is held in the house of the deceased, which therefore means the body must be prepared, the casket bought, the flowers cut, the curtains hung, the coffee made, and the chairs rented and transported to the house all before sundown. Here in my little town of Belen, people chip in to help each other in any way they can. If the suffering family is very poor, people show up throughout the day with coffee and bread contributions for the night's activity. Neighbors walk around town collecting funds for the chair rental and the few who have vehicles offer their services at no cost. Lunches and dinners are cooked for the suffering, and all the women on the block can be found hanging the curtains, arranging the flowers, and cleaning the street out front.

As dusk begins to settle over the town, chairs are set up inside around the casket and outside on the street. Rows and rows of little, wooden, fold-up chairs face the house, sometimes taking up the entire block. People begin to wander in as soon as the sun starts to set. Some of them enter the house to pay their respects to the body, while others look for seats outside on the street. People show up with any contribution they can make to the family – fruits, vegetables, rice, sugar, oil, or when people have it, just plain cash. Comforting words and hugs are exchanged all night with those in the immediate family. Tears are shed at the casket, and memories are recounted outside on the street in the clusters of chairs that form and reform as the night goes on.

The purpose of the vela is that the body be accompanied until the moment it is buried the next day. This means that some people stay at the house or out on the block all night supporting the family and showing their devotion to the defunct. Men sit around makeshift tables playing cards or dominoes while younger boys gather around them to see who wins. Families and friends grieve, comfort, laugh, and talk for hours in the street. The women and girls in the family of the deceased, serve coffee and bread to their guests all night long. I've been told that rich families also serve liquor to the men.

As the night grows older, some head home, while others wander in for their turn to accompany the family. In the morning, the church service is arranged and after mass, everyone accompanies the body as it is walked on the shoulders of the men in the family, from the church to the cemetery. Last words are said and family members gather around the body to see the face one last time before he or she is laid to rest.

The solidarity and support that flows so naturally into the velas here is absolutely beautiful. Everyone gives what little they can to support the grieving family. Then, in most cases, for nine days after the death, people gather at the same house at noon and at dusk to say the Rosary for the deceased. For nine days after, they continue praying for the peace of his/her soul and for the healing of the family left behind.

Sabados Gigantes

So since most of my posts are dedicated to Nicaraguan culture, my adventures here, and tidbits from day to day life, I decided it's time to finally dedicate a post to a project of mine. I'm going to take a few moments here to brag about a really successful Saturday camp I designed and ran in my town.

Since my idea for a summer camp fell through due to a series of scheduling conflicts and lack of matriculation, I decided that instead of scrapping it completely, I'd find a way to do it just on Saturdays. I wanted to include English classes, arts and crafts, sports, and environmental projects. I figured I'd need 3 teachers plus myself, and then a few counselors. I looked immediately to the kids and friends I give English class to, for support in the “teen helper” or “counselor” roles. I was initially worried when Cristina and Alvaro, two of my older more responsible friends said they couldn't help since they have class on Saturdays, but I was happy to see that some of my 7^th and 8^th graders were immediately excited and enthusiastic to participate. =) Since Carlos has been helping me give my community English classes during the week, he volunteered to teach them on Saturdays as well! I decided to leave two of my 9^th grade boys in charge of the sports department, which left only an arts and crafts teacher position. Since no one seemed to jump at the chance, I immediately said yes when one of my co-teachers from the elementary school, Profesora Josefa, volunteered to teach dance! Things were really coming together.

With permission from my official Peace Corps counterpart, the director of one of my schools, we decided to hold the camp in the school on my block. There, we had access to a boom box for the dance class, plenty of room for the sports and environmental projects, and a pavilion for shade.

Finally, since I've been dedicating most of my Sundays to teaching English to the local English teachers through a non-profit organization here called, Fundacion Uno, the director of the program decided to provide all the funding I would need for the camp!

Teachers? Check!

Helpers? Check!

Permission? Check!

Funding? Check!

All that was left was deciding how to limit the amount of students invited. I decided to invite only 3^rd through 6^th graders, party because they have similar abilities, likes, and dislikes, and partly because I honestly don't have the patience to work with preschoolers or the like. Since we didn't have a million volunteers helping out, I decided to limit the number of kids to 60. I went classroom to classroom in each of my schools with 5 invitations to “Sabados Gigantes” per class. The teachers distributed them to the kids that “deserved them” either for their good behavior or good grades. With 15 kids from each grade, I had my 60 invitees with written permission from parents, and we were good to go!

Each Saturday in May, the kids rotated through the four classes in their grade groups. My “teen leaders” were amazing! It's so great to see how a little bit of responsibility can completely transform a student. I placed two of them in charge of each grade group and they brought them through each of the rotations, and helped with the games and projects. In the environmental section, each kid planted his/her own tree to take home; they planted tomatoes and peppers, also to take home; we had a school cleanup competition; and made some flowers from the bottles we collected.

The last day, we changed the organization a little to have an hour and half for Olympics!!! We broke the kids into mixed groups and let them chose their country names. Then Espana, Paraguay, Brazil, and Los Estados Unidos (US) competed in various relay races, kickball and soccer tournaments, agility competitions, etc. They absolutely loved it!

After the last day, I took all the teen leaders and teachers out to get ice cream to thank them for all they had done. I really wouldn't have been able to do it without them. I threw out the idea of doing it all over with new kids in August and they all said they'd help again. =) Gotta love volunteerism!

                     Profesor Carlos!! The kids loved him! They were all so excited to learn English!

                                            Learning Traditional Nicaraguan Folklore Dances

                                                             SPUD! Yay camp games!

                                                                             Sports

Some of the best (pre)teen helpers I could ever ask for!

Overall I'd say it was a huge success! It was really fun getting to invent and plan something completely from scratch and when one of the 6^th grade girls told me those 4 Saturdays were the best ones of her life, I knew that although she was surely exaggerating, we had done something good. =) Extra-curricular activities don't really exist here outside of sports leagues. That means that after their 5 hours of school each day, kids here are completely on their own as far as entertainment goes. For the girls especially, that usually means plenty of chores in and around the house, and very little time with friends. I'm really looking forward to doing it all again, and I hope to include some more teachers this time to see if I can get some of them to continue it when I leave in November.