Headed Home from Home

Welp, after 12 days back in NY, here I am in the airport again, heading home from home. It's a weird thought, but I like it.

Being home for Christmas in NY after spending just about 16 months in Nicaragua didn't feel nearly as strange or foreign as I thought it might. Everyone always talks about reverse culture shock, so I had prepared myself for that feeling of being an outsider in my own country, but as I walked off my plane and saw my mom and family (thanks for the surprise pick-up Kim, Christie and Livi!) waiting for me in the airport, I knew I didn't have to worry about that.

These past few days have been a complete whirlwind of visits, holidays, and errands but even though I didn't have endless hours to spend with each of the people I've missed so much, the little time I spent with them showed me that no matter the time and distance between us, I can always come home to my amazing family and awesome friends like no time has passed at all. I felt like I hadn't even left!

Sure, some things have changed...marriages...breakups...new relationships...graduations...apartment changes...new jobs. I had to be introduced to dubstep and learned how to “Just Dance” on Wii. No one seems to be able to survive half an hour without internet access at their fingertips on their fancy touch screen phones...something that I've become so adjusted to living without. And there are seriously 3D TVs now?!? What?!? Other than little things like that though, nothing had really changed. I remember being really worried about that before heading out for Peace Corps. I was sure that everything would change during my two years away and that I'd come home and step into a brand new world where people had just moved on without me. Sure people's lives have gone on without me, but we've also kept in touch and I've found that the ties of family and real friendship can't be broken just by a few months apart.

I guess I've changed a lot too. Being home, I found myself questioning the need for giant houses with more rooms than people. I feel a little nauseous when I see the size of stores like Walmart and Target and wonder what happens to allllllll that stuff in the mall that could never be worn or used before the trends change again. I find the rampant consumerism both disheartening and disappointing. If people knew how much good they could do with just the money that they spend at Dunkin Donuts or Starbucks every month, maybe they'd think twice about their habits and just how much stuff they really need to have. Not to mention the environmental effects that come from such a subconscious dependency on drive-thru s and addictions to (fill in the blank with some mindless new “must-have”)s. I guess it's just that I've truly come to love the simpler life I live in Nicaragua. Waste is just not a part of daily life there, and I guess that's why it was so disgustingly noticeable for me back in the States. People in Belen live full and happy lives without their days being polluted by addictions to technology and information. Free time is spent talking with neighbors or visiting friends as opposed to sitting in front of a Facebook screen for hours or watching reality TV all day. People value hard work, yet they do not let it take over their lives. To quote a fellow Nica volunteer, “Time is different for them. Time isn't money. It's free and it's something they can give.” That seems to sum up perfectly one of the most noticeable differences between New York life and Nicaraguan life.

I found that even while enjoying the time I got to spend with my family and friends, so much of me wanted to cling to my Nicaraguan self. My friends from Belen were amazing and called me pretty much daily. As I was leaving Managua airport, I resented the fact that the flight attendant was speaking in English. Weren't we flying out of Central America? I used Spanish all the way home. Then for the rest of the week, I continued to jump at any opportunity to use it, which was pretty often since I live in New York. I realized immediately how useful my Spanish will be to me when I get back for good.

Well here's to an amazing few days at home, surrounded by the people I love most. It was beyond amazing getting to catch up, laugh about old inside jokes, share stories from the past year, and just soak up each others' presence.

Now that I'm just about back “home” in my little corner of Nicaragua, I plan to focus on making my second year even more productive and awesome than my first! I hope time doesn't fly too quickly, as I'm sure leaving here will be way harder than anything I've ever had to do in my life. Goals for my 2012 here in Nicaragua?

*Give all I can to the people in my town...both professionally and personally.

*Treasure every single day and live in the moment...remember that we only get one chance to live each day to the fullest.

one year in service blog to come...it's on my external hard drive and i unfortunately don't have that with me at the moment.

Day of the Dead

November 2 is the day of the dead (Dia de los Muertos/Dia de los Difuntos), here in Nicaragua – and I have to say that it's really a beautiful tradition.

*Before going into the details of the day itself, I should first explain that here in Nicaragua, the cemeteries are a little different than in the US. Here, the majority of the coffins are placed in cement “bobedas” or tombs above ground. Therefore, instead of walking over the grass that's grown over the bodies that are 6 feet under like in the US; here, one weaves through the giant rectangular cement enclosures to get to his or her family's spot. Once the tombs are closed up, their presentation depends – just like in the US – on the family's financial situation. Many are covered in tile, and some even adorned with cement crosses and flower pots. Most however are just painted, and adorned by a simple plaque or stenciled letters with the persons name and dates. This makes the cemetery a colorful corner of town, with a variety of beautiful ornamental trees and plants that have been planted around many of the graves. **The more extreme ends of the spectrum differ a little – leaving the humblest graves marked by a wooden cross placed over the mound of dirt where the body was buried, and the wealthiest placed among family in private crypts much resembling those found in US cemeteries.

So, before the big day, I headed up to the cemetery with my friend to help clean off and repaint his father's grave. We went early in the morning, a few days before, and he and his friend got right down to machete-ing the few weeds that had grown in around the edges of the tomb. (His father died just less than three years ago, so they still take really good care of the grave site.) After scrubbing the tomb with detergent and water that we carried in a 5 gallon bucket, we ate some bananas and hung out in the shade of a jocote tree to wait for it to dry. Then we painted the entire tomb a bright mint green and painted around the stenciled lettering of his father's name so they wouldn't have to re-do the letters. It was fun getting to help, and I felt so good getting to take part in the tradition.

The morning of the 2^nd, echoes of ladies and children selling flowers in the streets could be heard as early as 5am (maybe earlier, but I was definitely not conscious earlier than that haha). Most of the women headed up to the cemetery bright and early so their loved ones' graves would pass the whole day “afloreados,” or covered with flowers.

**I, on the other hand, had a pretty regular morning and took advantage of a day without classes to wash my mountains of clothes that had piled up during the rains...ugh I fear I will never see my laundry bag empty again.**

Around 9:30am I decided to buy flowers to put on the graves of the tombs of family members of my three closest friends. I didn't head up the hill to the cemetery until the afternoon and I couldn't believe the crowds of people when I got there! Outside, all of the vendors had their tables set up so that the people who chose to pass the entire day there (that is part of the tradition) would have plenty of frescos and enchiladas to last them all day. Inside, families were dressed to impress and sitting on the tombs of their loved ones. The flowers, which ranged from fresh cut, to paper, to plastic, were absolutely gorgeous and the ambiance was a perfect mix of nostalgia and camaraderie. As I made my way through the cemetery with my friends, I stopped to talk with at least 40 of my students and their families. Everyone was there. My friends shared memories of their loved ones with me, and after paying our respects, we just sat on the tombs and hung out. Some families were praying together, others drinking together, others arranging flowers, others picnicking right there on the tombs. It was so cool to just see everyone there taking part in such an important tradition. As my friends told me stories about the people who were buried in the surrounding tombs, it occurred to me that, at least in my experience, I would never be able to do that in the US. Cemeteries in the city are enormous and people that pass each other in the winding roads there are all strangers. The fact that the cemetery here only holds the bodies of people who were born and raised in this little town makes it so much more historical. It was so interesting to hear Cristina telling me about how so-and-so had died, and how so-and-so helped to pay for so-and-so's tomb. So much history in one little piece of land. It was such a cool thing to be a part of.

*Sidenote: for those of you who are keeping close tabs on my life here, you should know by now that I have found some of the best friends anyone could ever ask for here. Here's some pictures so you can place names with faces! (I don't have any pictures of the Day of the Dead because my camera battery doesn't work anymore!!!! AHH!)

This was an awesome day in the river...after classes one Friday, we decided to head out there together and we had sooo much fun...from front to back we're Alvaro, Carlos, la nica gringa de Belen, and Cristina. LOVE THEM! (Oh and Juan took the picture...he's also amazing)

Chillin with the bests in my house...from left to right: Juan, Cristina, Alvaro, Carlos, and yours truly <3

Rainnn

So today marks 12 days straight of rain here in my little corner of Nicaragua...and I actually have to say I kinda love it! Sure it leaves us with having to choose between mud splattered, thrice worn clothes, or “clean” clothes that have been hanging inside our houses to dry for three days but are still damp and have acquired a mildewy stench...but other than that, it's actually really refreshing! I didn't realize how hellishly hot it always was here until it started cooling down. I'm currently sitting here with jeans and a hoodie on and it feels amazing! I have my front door closed to try and keep my house a little warmer (even though that's a joke because my windows don't close and my walls don't touch my ceiling), and I'm drinking my second cup of hot tea and absolutely loving it! Sleeping has turned back into experiencing a little piece of heaven each night as I get under my covers and drift off into dreams to the sound of rain on my zinc roof. These twelve days (and nights) straight without sweating have been such a blessing. Today's actually the second of these 12 days that's a “rain day” from school!! That's right...since the roads have turned into rivers, there was no class today! That might seem a little extreme, but since getting to school here means walking or riding bikes...doing so in monsoon-like rain just isn't going to happen. (There are also tons of students that have to cross rivers to get to their schools, so even on the days when we have had class, we've only had about half of our kids.) My nights have been less social these past few days because the rain literally kills anyone's “ganas,” or desire, to leave the house. Sure my friends and I have braved the rain a few nights to hang out, but my students and random visitors have seemingly disappeared! This means I've had blissfully peaceful noches with my door closed...laid up in my hammock with a blanket, tea (thanks mom), and some awesome movies (thanks Steven and Uncle Richie!). I didn't realize how long it had been since I'd actually watched a movie, and now I'm finding it's my new guilty pleasure.

I guess I should stop being selfish though, and should join the bandwagon of people who are wishing the rain would stop already. I live alone and therefore don't have piles and piles of clothes waiting to be washed from my kids who were playing in the rain or from my husband who was trudging through the mud in his plantain farm. I don't have any crops that are being ruined because of the saturated soil (unless you count my school gardens which have been completely neglected these past two weeks due to the “pereza,” or laziness, that the rain has caused me and are therefore probably destroyed.) I teach indoors, and although I have to bike a few kilometers in the rain to get to some of my schools, I usually dry off during the hours I'm giving class and don't return home soaked to the bone (unlike my best friend who is a landscaper/caretaker at the local convent and had to clean up a tree that had fallen there yesterday). Although my latrine roof leaks enough to make it feel like I'm peeing under the open sky, the roof of my house is close to flawless, especially when compared to the rest of the houses I've been in these past few days, with their buckets scattered around the house catching gallons of water each day. I also happen to live in one of the departments of Nicaragua that isn't experiencing severe flooding. Up in the north, they haven't been so lucky. There are tons of towns that have been completely washed out due to proximity to rivers, lakes, and just general inundation. In the capital city, people's houses have been ruined, and bridges have been overtaken by the rivers they were built across.

So while these past few days have meant relaxation, refreshment, and awesome rain forest-like surroundings for me, they have meant destruction and devastation for some, and just general frustration and boredom for others.

***Gahhhh!*** I just got back...While writing this blog, I decided to run out to the store because the rain stopped and had turned into just a misty sprinkle which has been happening for half-hour stretches a few times a day lately. I needed to refill my oatmeal supply and decided I'd also buy some milk to make “cafe con leche.” Since I'm only a block from the corner store, and I'm an idiot, I decided I'd go quick on my bike and make it back before the rain started again. Apparently I have not learned that leaving without my umbrella and jacket during days like this just makes God (and my neighbors) shake their heads amusedly when the rain picks back up just as Krista's 30 meters from home and gets her once semi-dry “clean” clothes soaked. I should've known better and I can literally hear the umbrella I ignored, mocking me with “I told you so” from it's new home right next to the door.   

"X"

So after talking to my best friend in site, I find myself extremely disheartened although not in the least bit surprised by the situation facing my town and all of Nicaragua. Sure I've known since I got here that “X” is an assembly line style “production factory” that has work sites in every single department of the country. I knew that the jobs they supply are painfully tedious - mind-numbing to quote my friend - and that their buses leave my town at 5:30am for the factory and return at 7:00pm. But I never took the time to talk to anyone about the reality of the conditions that are faced by so many of my neighbors and acquaintances there.

My best friend, Carlos, who upon graduating high school went to a university to study, had to drop out so he could work to help his family get by. He got a job at “X” and was assigned the duty of putting the elastic on boxers. For twelve hours a day, he sat in front of his sewing machine and watched it's 4 needles bob up and down as he fed each pair of boxers into the machine and pumped the pedals with his feet. He worked with his team of 15 coworkers trying to achieve 100% productivity while 4 supervisors stood over them to make sure they were not talking or wasting even a second. 100% productivity would mean a few cents more of pay, so it was something to work towards. He began work at 6:00am and was allowed one 5 minute bathroom break before lunch, and another after lunch. Lunch was 40 minutes of freedom where they were allowed to eat what they brought in with them, and aside from two other optional 15 minute breaks that they did not get paid for, he was not allowed to leave his seat until 6:30 that night. He worked all day with a mask on to prevent inhaling all of the fibers from the material, but he told me that he knows of many people who have had serious respiratory problems due to fibers in their lungs.

I asked him about the room itself and he told me there were two big industrial fans but that because there were no windows, the heat was “sufocante,” or so hot that he felt like he was suffocating. The entire room was drowned in the deafening hum of machines, so they were therefore required to wear earplugs. People worked basically on top of each other, so stressed about making their production objectives that when they walked to the lunch area, they were all dizzy and unable to see straight for the first few seconds away from their machines. He made sure I understood that although they “only” worked for 12 hours straight, it felt like 24. He said the people there work more than “bueys,” which is the Spanish word for the work cattle that are used for farm labor here.

So what is one paid for such labor? Allow yourselves to lower your standards a little since the cost of living here is lower than it is in the US. Even with lowered standards however, this might as well be called slave labor. In New York, one hour of work at the minimum wage of $7.15 will buy you at least a fast food meal at any chain on the side of the street, or even a healthy lunch at Panera. Here though, one hour of work doesn't pay $7.15...it doesn't even pay $2 which is enough for a full plate of the most basic gallo pinto and cheese, nor $1.00 which would allow someone here to buy the Nica version of fast street food...a tortilla with cheese and onions. No. Here, for one week of work (4 consecutive days of 12 hours each), my best friend earned 380 cordobas, which is equal to about $17. A WEEK! That means that for each of those 48 hours of labor, he earned 7.92 cordobas (27 American cents.) That, my friends, is not even enough to buy a pound of raw rice, the cheapest food there is here. Add in the fact that these people have families to feed/clothe, houses to maintain, electricity and water bills to pay, and all the other necessary expenses (diapers, school supplies, uniforms) that we have back in the states, and you'll really see the disparity for what it is. If that's not enough of a comparison, I as a Peace Corps volunteer receive almost three times that amount; I live alone, without a TV or fridge, and my house was basically furnished with things that have been lent to me, and I still find myself waiting for “payday” to come around every month.

What does this say about how we are exploiting the “Third World?” Those boxers my friend was making were for a North American clothing company that I will refrain from naming here, but I know for a fact that everyone reading this has at least one of their T-shirts in their drawers right now. It's sickening to realize that these companies are allowed to completely take advantage of the employment crises in these developing countries. This blatant exploitation allows these disgustingly rich companies to avoid paying taxes (which leaves even more of the tax burden on the middle and lower classes – but that's another conversation all together) and to avoid paying their employees anything remotely close to a living, let alone a fair wage.

Of course the people here rely on their jobs in these factories. That's the worst part. They return to their houses miserable each night, cursing the fact that they're not making anything remotely close to a living wage, spend an hour or two with their families, eat, sleep, and wake up at 4:30am to start again. During their days off they don't even have the options of studying or holding another steady job because they work on an 8 day rotation which means their free days are constantly changing. It leaves many of them to do other work (sell tortillas/frescos/bread/clothes, wash/iron clothes, etc.) on the side to make ends meet. From what I've been told, the current government improved the situation a little by demanding that the workers in the “X” factories receive insurance, but nothing more than that could be accomplished because “X” threatened to leave the country all together, which would leave a sickeningly large percent of the population unemployed. This abuse of power is literally trapping the people of these countries in the poverty that they are struggling to bring themselves up out of.

I should explain that “X” is basically a catch-all work zone that allows for foreign companies to come in and use the space and human labor in their warehouse factories. The workers get paid by the individual companies, rather than by “X,” and therefore some of them actually do receive a living wage. UnderArmor for example, is one of the companies that pays their workers fairly; but unfortunately for the people of the department of Rivas, the only company working in the “X” here, is not the least bit concerned with the incredibly low standard of living it is forcing upon its workers.

In discussing this with some of my fellow PC volunteers, the idea of “free will” was tossed around. Sure no one is literally “forcing” these people to work there. “X” is not entering people's towns and dragging them out to the factories to work as slaves...but I'm not comfortable using the word “choice” to describe the process by which one ends up working for “X.” I have yet to meet anyone who had turned down a different option because they preferred to work for “X.” In fact, what I have encountered is an unsettling amount of people who have applied at twenty other stores, restaurants, carwashes, schools, etc. and who have found themselves with no other option but to join the masses piling onto the “X” buses in the mornings. Saying “they choose to work there” is the easiest way for us to pretend that this is not a problem. It's a quick way to clean our consciences of such messy thoughts about labor laws and hierarchies of power and class. Let's do better than that for the sake of humanity.

Of course this is not a problem that can be solved in one or two steps; it goes deep into the roots of improving education and providing viable work options, etc. But that doesn't mean there is nothing we can do from up in our privileged section of the American continents. I urge you all to consider where you're buying your clothes/shoes/toys from, as a little bit of internet research will let you know which companies state their employment policies in plain English for all to see. Those of you who are willing to do a little more than just shop consciously, start up petitions, email the heads of these enterprises and plead with them to be fair to their employees. We've all got to look out for one another, and those of us with a little bit of power should use it.

Rich? Me??

I have never in my life referred to my family as rich. Sure we always lived comfortably in our happy little suburban world just outside of the metropolitan area of New York City, but I have never considered us to be economically rich. I remember always hearing “so-and-so can go on that trip because his/her parents can afford it...” And I remember being constantly reminded that “money doesn't grow on trees” and that it's important to save up because “you never know what will happen in the future.” Rich to me, were the people who bought brand new clothes or name brand sneakers whenever they wanted, the people with big in-ground pools, the kids who went to Disney World every year, the kids who had their own TVs in their rooms and the newest video games. Rich meant the kids who were gifted cars for their 16^th birthdays and the kids who's parents paid for college and then sent them spending money every month.

I remember learning in one of my Sociology classes that in the “middle classes” in the States, those in the lower middle class tend to thankfully and humbly consider themselves well-off because they compare themselves to the lower class that they have just moved up out of. On the other hand, those in the middle to upper middle classes tended to consider themselves worse off than they are because they're constantly comparing themselves to those that have more than them. I remember thinking about that for a few days after my class, and I convinced myself that I had always considered myself blessed and that I didn't live comparing myself to those who had more than me, but I don't think I was being honest with myself there.

Upon coming here, to the second poorest country in the Western Hemisphere, one of the first things our Peace Corps trainers told us was to prepare ourselves for the widespread belief that all North Americans are rich. I remember being surprised by this and joking that if anyone every tried to rob me, they'd be sorely disappointed. I wasn't one of the “gringos” that was here to spend thousands of dollars passing through the touristy cities and staying in expensive hotels. I was a Peace Corps volunteer coming from what I considered to be a humble family back in New York. I had college loans to go home to, and a laughable savings account that was decades away from ever being ready to put a down payment on a house or anything remotely close to that.

Of course I knew I was walking into a developing country and that I'd be living with a “poor” family with way less than what I was used to, but I never considered this to be a sign of my “high class” in this world. I hadn't given this topic much direct thought until my best friend here said to me last week, “who would've ever thought that a poor Nica guy and a high class New York girl would be best friends?” I literally laughed. “High class?! I'm not high class!” But later on that night I got to thinking about it. It is obvious that my socio-economic status is way higher than almost everyone here in my little Nicaraguan town, but surely I'm not high class. Then I spent last night showing some of my students pictures from home – pictures from Thanksgiving and Christmas – and I started noticing the backdrops of all of them. There we were in my dining room with a china cabinet filled with crystal and china behind us, a giant dining room table filled with plates over-flowing with food, and a row of cars parked in the driveway out front. How can I show them these pictures and then claim to not be rich? Just the idea of personally owned vehicles signifies wealth. Let alone a two floor house, my own bedroom, and family of educated, employed individuals.

Complete extended families live together all their lives here. Guys my age share beds with their brothers and babies sleep with their parents. Many times, one bicycle is shared by an entire household. Living room chairs – always a combination of wooden rocking chairs and plastic chairs – are moved to the table when there are guests to act as dining room chairs, and moved out to the yard as patio furniture when the heat inside becomes unbearable. “Bathrooms” are outdoor latrines and outdoor showers, and sometimes only outdoor areas to bathe with a bucket of well water. My department capital has paved streets and stores and cybers and bakeries etc., but outside of the 5x10 block center, it's all dirt roads out to the “barrios.” People out there have wells instead of running water and some don't even have electricity – in the department capital! People that have land and can afford to maintain it plant rice, beans, and corn so they can eat without having to worry about where the food will come from every month. Others make weekly trips into the market to buy their necessities from their favorite vendors. My friends buy their clothes in cheap stores that sell leftovers from Aeropastale and Hollister. Students in my poorer schools wear hand-me-downs or buy from used clothing stores when their parents can afford the trip into Rivas.

I can't even try to say I'm not rich after considering all of the above. There was never a time in my life when I lived without hot water, let alone without potable water. I've always had electricity, my own room, a sturdy, insulated house with more than enough space for my family and plenty of guests. Carpets and tiles, couches, a yard, a pool, my own clothes, a car, a college education. There was never a day in my life when I thought I might not have dinner, and I'm sure that no matter how hard times got, my parents were never so strapped for cash that feeding us became a worry.

I've tried to rationalize this in my head by reminding myself that things are completely different in the States. That we have taxes and insurance and other bills to pay. Food costs more, clothes cost more, travel costs more. A higher standard of living costs more...period. But there's no way around it. No matter how many bills we have to pay, we are rich beyond what most people here could imagine.

It really is devastating the effect that capitalism and greed can have on a society. There I was growing up in a big house in a clean, safe neighborhood, with a washer and dryer, and a stove and fridge, and way more clothes and food than I needed; going on family vacations in the summers, watching cable or using the internet right in my living room, learning from educated teachers in a well-equipped school...and yet I complained about not having clothes from the “cool” stores, or about not having movie channels or about my parents not giving me spending money on the weekends. And it's not just back in the States where the media and commercialism pollute the minds of any and everyone they touch...here my friends and students fantasize about fancy basketball sneakers and they walk around comparing cell phones and looking for the nicest clothes they can afford. They live in poverty and are still inundated with commercials about the newest electronics and household appliances, and they live watching movies and soap operas from rich countries, talking about how “tuani/salvaje” (cool/awesome) it would be to live like that. It's sickening.

I think I need to take a moment to thank my parents and my family for raising me the way they did. I was always reminded that we had to work for our money and I was never allowed to think that I'm a “high class girl.” I was raised to be humble and to think about how I could use what I have to help others who might not be as lucky as me. Apparently this “humility” that I was raised with is something that my friends here can see in me. More than once people have commented that I'm humble like they are even though I come from a completely different, much richer life in another world. I guess that's because I've honestly never seen myself as rich. The fact of the matter is though, I am rich and there's not a single person in my life back home that shouldn't consider themselves to be so. We have so much in the States – just in terms of material things, let alone in terms of worldwide educational, professional and travel opportunities. When I told one of my students that there is poverty in the States too, he responded, “maybe, but not like here.” And it's true.

So thank you mom and dad for always reminding me that material things were not important, even though you managed to raise us with all the comforts we could've ever wanted. Omi and Grandma, I can still hear echoes of your reminders “you don't know how good you have it,” and “that trip to the Game Farm costs about 5 hours of work at minimum wage.” I always knew that I had it good, but I guess I didn't realize how good until I really started analyzing the situation. I'm so thankful for everything I've been blessed with, but especially for being raised to value family, friendship, and laughter more than anything else. It's obvious that those are the most important aspects of life no matter where you are in the world.

Also, I think this video is awesome...you should definitely watch it and then share it.  Fight the Materials Economy!! We don't need all that STUFF! Let's do what we can to protect rather than exploit our resources, and let's think about what we really value in our own lives.  Don't let the media control your mind!

Watch this vid - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gLBE5QAYXp8

ONE YEAR IN NICARAGUA!!

So here I am, exactly one year from when I left New York to embark on this unbelievable journey of Peace Corps service, and I hate how cliché this is, but I honestly can't believe it's been a year. At times it feels like it's been ages, yet other days I feel like it was yesterday that I was frantically packing and obsessing over “the unknown” that I was about to face. (I guess I just continued with the theme of clichés there, huh?)

It's crazy because there are some days when I ache for home – for lazy days at home with my mom, five minute drives to Tante's and Omi's, summer days at Grandma's in Catskill, Zona's with my dad, holidays with the cousins, camping with the best extended family around, Olive Garden with my girls, Dunkin with the best, movie nights with the crew, college reunions, memories of crisp fall mornings, the perfect warmth that sweat pants provide on wintery evenings – and yet there are some things from home that now seem so foreign to me. Blow driers for example hahaha. Old norms have been replaced by new ones and little pieces of my daily life here have come to make this “home.”

Waking up to the sounds of Nicaragua has become so comforting. From my bed at 5:30, long after the roosters have started cock-a-doodle-dooing, I can hear my front neighbor sweeping her part of the street, while my next door neighbor fills her water buckets and washes some clothes before getting ready for work. Since my walls don't touch my roof, it's as if there were no walls at all; I can hear every rhythmic stroke of her clothes against the cement washboard and I can even recognize the songs she hums to herself as she works. I lay in bed listening to the men go by on their ox-drawn carts, headed out to the campo for a long day's work, and I wait until I hear the first round of tortillas pass by my house. As I hear her coming down the block yelling rhythmically and evenly, “tortillas!!,” I untuck my mosquito net, slide on my flip flops, shuffle to the bag where I keep my toilet paper, and head out to the latrine. On the way back in, I fill my pot at the spigot out back with water to boil for oatmeal (or if it's a morning when I don't have to work early, I wait for Dona Lidia to pass by with fresh milk from her cows so I can make cafe con leche or creamy oatmeal instead.) Then it turns into a morning like everyone else's – shower, dress, prep for work. Of course my showers start with 5 seconds of agony because even though I'm used to cold showers my now, those first 5 seconds (or that first bowl full on bucket-shower days) are always killer.

Walking to work, I chatter quickly with my neighbors about the heat or the rain or the shame that it's only Tuesday – some things just don't change no matter where you are in the world. I don't even notice now how many horses, cows, pigs, and chickens I walk past before I get to work. I show up to school already glistening with sweat, but so does everyone else, so it's nothing to worry about. I teach my science lesson and we play games to reinforce what was learned. I almost forget that things like projectors and worksheets and school nurses exist in this world – let alone classroom TVs, classroom telephones, and Smartboards. After classes, we head out to the garden and my students go attack the weeds with their machetes. Was there a time when I had never seen a machete used to mow the lawn? I know there was because I remember the first time I saw it here and how amazed I was by it...now it's just normal.

So many things that once surprised me or captured my attention have all just become part of the day-to-day.

Not counting any time spent in the capital city of Managua, I can't remember the last time I saw a two story building here. Houses are rectangles made of wood, or bricks, or cinder blocks, or in less fortunate cases black plastic or zinc scraps. They have roofs made of zinc or rounded shingles, and more times than not, they have dirt floors.

I almost forgot that there are such things as basements and garages.

Air conditioning and heat are both non-existent in my daily life, which explains the nasty cough I got after all the air conditioned hotels we stayed in when my family was here. (AMAZINGGG times with my Lendles by the way. Everyone here – especially me – is hoping you'll decide to come back!)

Travel equals public transportation, which means what would be a 40 minute car ride turns into a 2 hour trip with at least two transfers, climbing into the back of packed school buses, awesome bus food from the vendors that get on and off at the big stops, and at least one sermon from a bus preacher.

When it rains, it pours. Streets turn to rivers in seconds, and life stands still for just a little while. <3

Just thinking about the things I've done without all year makes me realize how extravagantly we live in the States. Here, my “kitchen” consists of a two-burner gas camping stove (lent to me) that sits on a table. On that same table I have my sugar, rice, beans, oil, salt, eggs, and fruit and veggie bowls. Hanging on nails on my wall, I have my pots and pans (gifted to me), cat food, and a hand towel. On an old chair, in a big plastic tub I have my plates, cups, and silverware. That's literally it; and it's actually enough! Old memories of refrigerators, cabinets, ovens, indoor sinks, and dishwashers never even cross my mind. Well then again...it would be amazing to have a refrigerator.

My living room consists of a plastic table (lent to me), two plastic chairs, two little rocking chairs (lent to me), and a hammock. Couches? Carpets? What are those? Most people here do live with TVs, so I can go watch one whenever I want, but I honestly don't miss having one at all.

It's gonna be rough for me to go back home and reacquaint myself with all the "stuff."  I've come to love the simplicity I live with here, and I know that no matter where my life takes me after this, I'll never forget the lessons I've learned from the people that have become my dear friends and family here.  Aside from the differences in material possessions and the language, people here are exactly the same as people back home.  There are class clowns, jocks, nerds, town gossips, town crazies, neighbors willing to lend a hand at the drop of a dime, awesome teachers, crappy teachers...I could go on and on.  I've honestly found so many people here that remind me of someone back home.  The similarities in personalities of my friends here and my friends from home are uncanny.  Living worlds apart doesn't change a thing.  People are people and the relationships we build are what make our lives worth living.  All I can say is that I couldn't be more thankful for the amazing people that have welcomed me into their lives here.  I've found true friendship in a country that I had never set foot in a year ago, and that alone has made my service here worthwhile.  

Just about half-way through my service and I couldn't be happier to be where I am.  Thanks again for all the love and support from home.  I could never have gotten this far without you!! <3

Stifling

Indian summer, or “la canicula” is 15 days without rain smack dab in the middle of rainy season, and we're a week in. It is now 1:40pm and I have never in my life experienced heat like this. I just walked home from school and passed a neighbor of mine who looked dead sleeping in the shade on the floor of his front porch, and now I know why. The inside of my house is literally an oven thanks to the low zinc roof, so here I am sitting out on my porch noticing that not a single leaf on any tree is even quivering. My cat has retreated to the shower floor that's still a little damp from my shower this morning, and if it weren't for this last bit of sanity that I'm holding onto, I'd be laying in there with him. The corner of my porch is being hit with the high sun, and I swear I can feel the heat from that little portion even here in my shady section.

The power's out, which not only means no fan, but also no cold drinks in any of the corner stores in my town, and no ice to buy from my neighbor who has a freezer. The water's out too so showering is out of the question and all I have to drink is an emergency three liter bottle of water that's been heating up for the past two weeks or so. I just dumped some of it onto a bandana, which I'm currently waving around in the air hoping to cool it off enough to lay around my neck, but I realize I'm just accelerating it's evaporation.

The people passing by my house are walking slower than usual, literally weighed down by the heat. Women with umbrellas carry their shade with them, while the kids walking home from school turn their uniform shirts into fans or hats or sweat rags. The street dogs that usually ferociously guard their territory have all given up on even lifting their heads when someone passes by. My neighbors kids who go straight from class to playing baseball in the street everyday, are nowhere to be found – surely collapsed in hammocks outback.

It's 1:55 and my bandana is completely dry again; I'm not sure it's a good idea to waste the little water I have just to wet it again. Five minutes until I have to co-plan. I hope we can do it outside in the shade. Then it's off to teach my afternoon classes and English at 6. It's only one block to the school, but there's not an inch of shade the whole way. Here we go.