Hi folks,

I'm still here, alive and well. Been busy and haven't had the chance to write, nor has anything super significant happened to merit a post.

Will resolve to publish more.

All's good on the Nica front, just lapsed into the second-year-sprint-to-the-finish. Have a couple of humming community classes, am dedicating more time to my rural students (who are gems if you ask me) and as usual there are ups and downs...but the second time around I know how to brace myself accordingly.

More to come later. Hang tight and enjoy the pretty spring weather! It's raining frogs and snakes here i.e. the nica version of cats and dogs.

Liz

Tuesday I marked my last First Day of School in Nicaragua. Yes folks, my time here is coming to a close. With my exit date of November 18th, 2011, I'm embarking on the first of many “lasts” here. It's at the same time bittersweet and encouraging- even the irksome things turn a bit nostaligic when you realize they're fleeting.

That being said, I relished the piñata, reggaeton music and overall disinterest that is the start of classes here. Not only do a vast majority of students not show up the first day, they technically don't even have to register til mid-March to be counted on the roster. So you can imagine the hubbub of the first day of school- buying flashy notebooks, backpacks, shining up shoes, etc- but framed with an alarming lack of participation. I realize the same goes for the States sometimes; there are always some students more interested in the social event of going to class instead of actually studying. But I'd venture to say in Nicaragua it's taken to new heights with the mini fiesta on the first day of school and sparse attendance.

I finally have a schedule, and I'm content with it. Working Monday and Wednesday afternoons with Profe Walter at Anne Frank, a rural high school and Tuesday, Thursday and Friday mornings with Profe Jenny here in Diriá. Heeding the advice of the coordinator of La Casa de la Mujer (a Nicaraguan government-sponsored women's refuge/technical school with branches all over the country) I've decided to consolidate my classes. There I'll be teaching two classes of Beginning English, one in the morning and one in the aftenoon to accomodate those who work/study/tend the household, and a yoga class just for kicks. I'm keeping my English 2 course in a nearby preschool where we meet Tuesday and Wednesday evenings- the first being a theory class, the second conversation only.

It only sounds like a lot. Really, it's a feasible schedule. And when I'm in site, I like to be kept busy. It's not like my town is teeming with recreational opportunities...although I have been making many jaunts to the laguna lately, and I realize how much I love it. In a country that's etched with natural beauty, yet strewn with trash, the laguna is an exquisite piece of nature that in my mind is underappreciated. I for one will never find a swimming hole of equal splendor in the States, so I'm taking advantage while I can.

Likewise, I am making a Nicaraguan “bucket list” so to speak. At the top is learning to ride a horse. Let me preface this by saying that I have a bit of practice under by belt, but only if you count sharing the saddle with somebody else holding the reins. I might or might not have made an epic appearance in the hípica in Diriomo a few weeks back. An hípica is essentially a parade of horses where Nicas convene from all over to flaunt their horses, make them dance, trot etc. They go hand-in-hand with the fiestas patronales of every town, so to the horseowners it's like a year-long sport. It's a spectacle fueled by immense crowds, the occasional stray horse careening into said crowds and liquor all around. Words really don't do it justice, you'd have to see it with your own eyes to fully comprehend the thrilling chaos that it is. So anyways, one of my goals is to ride a horse in the hípica in my town in June. Two students of mine have offered to teach me, but so far no lessons. Vamos a ver.

Also included on the bucket list- climing the Maderas and La Concepción volcanoes, going to Corn Islands, quitándme la pena and actually learning how to dance, going to a quinceañera, making a homemade soup (preferrably sopa de albóndiga) and finishing the upcoming half marathon in Jinotega, among other things.

Today I invited my host family from Dolores over for lunch. They've only heard tell of my casita bonita but haven't seen it before, so I'm excited to play hostess for the afternoon. On Tuesday I'm heading to a Project Development and Management workshop with the Peace Corps. It's basically a three-day intensive grant-writing workshop. The idea is volunteers arrive with an appointed project-counterpart...could be a community leader, mayor, principal or in my case teacher counterpart- Jenny. We're trying to build a virtual classroom at our high school with ten new computers, a printer, internet, headphones/speakers for Skype, a digital projector and an air conditioning unit to keep it all from melting in the ungodly heat here. I'm excited to be onboard for a big project, though I certainly can't say I say this coming. If our training serves us well and we get the grant, it would be 25% contribution from the community (aka our Daddy Warbucks mayor here), 25% from Peace Corps and 50% from Plan Nicaraguan, an NGO.

Also it doesn't hurt that his 3-day training happens to be at the same beach resort PC sent us to before. Thanks again, US taxpayers ☺ I'm reaping the benefits down here.

Will keep you posted on mis asuntos, both work-wise and otherwise.

It's getting HOT here. Enjoy your dewy spring stateside while I'm roasting here.

Liz

Helloooooo long-lost friends!

I relize I'm not the most consistent blogger in the world. My apologies. But for every minute I haven't spent in front of a computer, I have been immersed in the Nica life and gathering fodder to report back.

So December came and went. I gave English presentations at two regional English teacher conferenes, one in Rivas and one in Managua. Two other PCVs and I gave a mini lecture series on how to incorporate positive reinforcement in the classroom. To put it lightly, the typical classroom envirnoment in Nicaragua is not encouraging. Oftentimes in the hustle to cover huge volume of material assigned to them by the Ministry of Education the emphasis becomes not necessarily student achievement but completion of a unit. And in the midst of that, students get overwhelmed, teachers frustrated and the morale takes a nosdive. I was glad to impart an alternative perspective to English teachers via these conferences, and think they definitely saw the value in taking a humanstic approach to teaching.

Then it was time for summer camp! I went to the Mombacho Volcano for a week-long English enrichment camp with sponsored by the U.S. Embassy. Over 80 high schoolers from all over the country came, most from humble means and all extraordinary students. Albeit exhausting as a counselor/teacher/crowd controller/game moderator etc. etc., all of the PCVs who participated, myself included, found the camp to be gratifying to the utmost degree. In case you're wondering if your U.S. tax-payer dollars are well-spent or wasted, let me tell you- the $10,000 pumped into this camp were impeccably spent. To these kids, many of whom had never left their homes much less met anyone from other departments in Nicaragua, this camp was Disney World. Yes, the 17-18 hour-a-day schedule was grueling, but se lo juro they left the camp weeping (and are still little chatterboxes on Facebook about reminiscing camp days.) FYI the U.S. Embassy sponsors several English camps a year in Nicaragua tailored to English teachers, university English students, at-risk youth, emerging leaders, and so on. I had the pleasure of working with the English teacher camp last year.

Then camp two rolled around. For a girl who never really went to summer camp (unless you count Safety Patrol camp, and/or a posh tennis camp...doubtful) I sure have been campified in Nicaragua! This camp was a week-long English camp for high school students in Masatepe, a nearby city. I traveled daily, so it was nice to be home at night and less vaga for a change. This was my second year working at the camp, as it was started by a PCV two years ago. The objective of all PC projects is that they be sustainable. So this would be the inaugural year, sans-PCVs leadership for the camp to spearheaded by Nicas alone. Unfortunately, it wasn't. A group of zealous German volunteers pretty much ran the whole thing. They did a phenomenal job, and with their NGO siphoned bastante money into it much to the delight of kids and teachers alike, but it makes me wonder if...or when the camp will sustain itself. Vamos a ver.

After a whirlwind month of traveling, workshops and a couple Christmas parties thrown in for good measure, I headed back to the motherland for the first time in over a year.

It was SPLENDID. No need to elaborate much here- driving, eating delicious food, seeing and hugging my beloved friends and family- I relished it all. And de hecho, I think sharing my tales with people made me realize how much I really do like about Nicaragua. Not to mention it fulfills the third goal of PC..."to promote a better understand of developing countries on behalf of Americans." Check.

The school year's been pushed back a month, giving me the longest summer ever. No complaints here though. More time to prep for upcoming projects, travel a bit and train for the half-marathon I'm looking to run in March.

Oh and the PC sent us to a beach resort for a week-long training. Those tax dollars were well-spent too :)

Thank you for bearing with me and my irregular posts! Will report back sooner rather than later, promise.

Cheers,

Liz

Trying to bring your holidays to a foreign country is no small feat. Conveniently for me, America is kind of a big deal on the world scene, if not a hegemonic force. Likewise, my holidays are universally known.

But not necessarily understood.

Enter Goal 2 of the three-pronged Peace Corps mission: to promote a better understanding of the American people on behalf of the host country.

The holidays are a great time to bring a little bit of home abroad and share it with my fellow PCVs and Nicaraguan friends alike. Most people here have a vague idea about American culture and customs from exorbitant hours spent watching cable t.v. And they're always down for a party or food-centric gathering, so they make my task of ringing in the holidays in Nicaragua as easy as pumpkin pie.

Halloween was a smashing success. A PCV in Masaya hosted a party at which Nicas and PCVs alike donned costumes, put up decorations and thoroughly enjoyed themselves. I was more than amused at the multiple goth-all-black-studs-and-chains ensembles. Guess some Nicas think Halloween is just a day for people to be freaks in general. Could be.

So then Thanksgiving rolled around. FYI many Nicaraguans lump this together with Christmas. They see families gathered around a turkey banquet in the movies and conflate the two holidays. So it was nice be able to clarify that for them.

I invited two of my community classes to join me in celebrations. In Diriomo, we had a potluck meal at a student's house, replete with fried plantains, rice, barbecued beef, lemonade and a smorgasbord of desserts. I led the giving-thanks bit pre-chowdown, and I'm happy to report that most people had quite thoughtful things to say. Of course the barrio was peering in the house to see a) what the gringa was doing....I'm always on the radar and b) what all the commotion was about. So hopefully aside from my darling class, even more people were exposed.

In Diriá, I give a class on Wednesdays that is primarily composed of single, childless women my age. Needless to say this is my favorite class handsdown, and I was more than elated to pitch the idea of doing a dinner with them. Por lo económico, we could not afford the feast that Dirimo threw. However we did have tasty, if humble little spread of fried plantains (they're a staple here), cheese, ensalada, tea and Coke. Our giving of thanks was poignant, as I would expect nothing less from this exceptional group of women. My closest friend in the community and student told the group she vehemently believes that I am an angel sent by God Himself. There were not waterworks, but I was obviously moved by it all. We are even planning to continue the holiday kick with a Secret Santa gift exchange at the end of December. We drew names and are going to make/cook/craft a gift for another. Considering I live in a land of skilled artisans and deft cooks, I'm not sure how I'm going to fashion something worthy but I'm sure excited to try.

Then on the real Thanksgiving day, I hopped on a ferry to the Island of Ometepe to celebrate with a few PCV friends, their friends from home and a Nicaraguan family. I carted a montón de vegetables there, we bought roasted chickens and even whipped up some brownies and pumpkin pie (thank you Steve's mom for mailing us the goods.) For good measure, and in case the Nicas wouldn't like our sweet potatoes, salads, stuffing, bread, corn, etc. we also ordered two pizzas. Our thoughts were, if you're gonna really go for it, you might as well go for it.

And feasted like Romans we did.

On a final note, at each Thanksgiving celebration I attended I made sure to interject to give a brief history of the day and its significance. Howard Zinn would have my head for the version I gave. (Author of A People's History of the United States and staunch realist about the grim underbelly of American history, in case you'd forgotten.) In my version, the European colonists arrived to the New World fleeing from religious persecution. In the midst of killing of the Indians and civilizing the uncivilized world, they realized they had no freaking clue what they were doing. And they were hungry. Very much so. During a particularly harsh winter the Indians decided to break bread with the poor starving colonists and have a ceasefire. And so it was that both parties laid down their weapons and shared a majestic moment of plenitude together.

Yes, I know the killing and pillaging continued after, but I didn't want to adulterate the pureness of it all. I did tell my students they should Wikipedia the holiday for a more complete (and neutral) version.

The holidays, both at home and abroad highlight the goodness of people. For all the days of the year we grumble, complain, discriminate, point fingers, blame and overall criticize each other, it's refreshing to share a few sacred moments of peace and joy. I am thankful, among many things, to see how universally-applicable the holidays really are.

“Peace on Earth, and goodwill toward men.”

I left my notebook at home. It's raining. Tomorrow is a holiday. Today is a holiday. Two days ago was a holiday. The water went out. The power went out. I have a slight headache. I got sunburned yesterday and am now on bed-rest. I didn't have enough money. My mom's aunt's cousin died. God didn't will it to happen.

It's all familiar to me, ever more so here. Excuses.

The First World likes to criticize the Second and Third Worlds, claiming their minions lack development. However Nicaraguans have honed a few skills for themselves. One of which happens to be the art of crafting fabulously bogus excuses.

Just where does this epidemic come from you might ask. I can pinpoint a few reasons: not wanting to disappoint the other person, saying what you think the other person wants to hear, skirting the issue/ avoiding confrontation, being in denial of the fact that you haven't performed as expected, looking for the easiest way out of the conversation, etc. etc.

I could even excuse the preponderance of excuses by saying that it's “just a cultural thing.” Sorry. Nope. Not gonna do it. I've been wheedled and cajoled into letting every little irksome thing go, by chalking it up to “cultural differences.” Dear Nicaragua, I've let you off the hook before. Refuse to do it this time. Frankly, I think everyone deserves to hear the truth. And any variation from it is a blatant lack of respect. So I for one will not neatly file the Nicaraguan tendency for excuses under the “cultural” category. It's in a class all its own.

What's shocking to me is the tacit understanding of excuses here; it's not like people actually believe them for one minute. Everyday people venture the most obscure reasons for arriving late, not arriving at all, etc. most of which have nothing to do with the task at hand.

For example, a student is absent from school for two days. “My neighbor died,” she might say. We could presume said student went devoutly to the funeral services, shed a heartfelt tear and spent the past two days grieving a loss. Or we could face the reality of the matter- she stayed home to watch cable t.v., was a no-show at the funeral activities and plucked the convenient excuse of death-hit-close-to-home to exempt her from school.

Another example. I canceled a community class last week because the power went out. Granted, the power was out in my town, but not in the adjacent town where class is held. So theoretically I could go to class, no problem. But supposedly thievery heightens during power outages. Don't ask me why, but it's a common fact....supposedly...among these parts. So I had to text my students to inform them I was reluctantly staying put. Had to guard the house. Had to ward off the thieves. Couldn't make it. And as ridiculous as I felt, they were more than understanding about it.

...of course they were. They've been bred to be. Excuses, cancellations, postponements are all part of everyday life here. For every excuse they've accepted, they've become more desensitized to them. For every excuse they've floated- successfully- they've been rewarded with the fact that it's perfectly okay to lie. What's more, for every horrible letdown or time they've been supremely disappointed, they've been taught that it's OKAY to reciprocate the same behavior.

People's expectations are conditioned to be low here.

Which brings me to my point. Yes, life happens. Things happen. There is always an excuse. And sometimes, it's even a good (and honest) one. But when we blur the lines of fact and fiction, or just overtly lie, we sacrifice part of our societal morals. We send the signal that we ourselves should not be relied upon, nor should we seek such reliance in others. We permit ourselves to be unaccountable.

And the more often we do it, the deeper we dig ourselves into the hole. For every excuse we give or take, we undermine the morals of trust, dependability and honesty that are integral to any society.

It may seem like no big deal to fib every now and then. No teacher wants to hear that a student plumb did not do the homework. Neither does a teacher want to hear that a student left the homework at home, as a gossamer excuse for the cold hard truth- it was never done to begin with. The evolution of minor excuses into a society of shattered expectations is real. If you can't count on your neighbors, classmates, close friends then who can you count on?

Excuses are condoned- and legitimized- by not only the people who fabricate them, but also those who readily accept them. Until people have the gumption to reject excuses and demand real reasoning, the web of lies will continue to spawn at the sake of societal morals.

Cheating is rampant here. Good kids, bad kids, adults, students, teachers, principals, employees, mail men, trash collectors, lawyers, doctors, etc.- in Nicaragua, they're nearly all guilty.

Why?

The stakes are high to get ahead. And getting ahead is laudable, by any means necessary.

I realized the culture of cheating here long ago, but its extent continually astounds me. For example:

-The lawyer who “sold me a fridge” which devolved into him absconding with my money and leaving me fridge-less

-The teachers who not only accept but reward good grades for clearly copied homework (directly quoting from Wikipedia = brilliant idea At way to go Jorge!!!)

-The English teachers who not only condone cheating in their own classrooms, but accept sums of money to complete other students' English homework from different academies

-The cobradores who try to charge me double the cost of a bus ride, when I know the real price, hand them the just amount and watch their faces twist up in anger

-The Mayor's office employee who tried to charge me twice for the same month's trash collection. I brandished the receipt of payment and flatly refused to pay double. He slunked away 50 cents less richer, and visibly disgruntled.

-And among many other examples I've neglected to mention, my Bingo debacle last night.

So last night I was scheduled to play Bingo with my children's English class. Around 7 pm I head to class to see 10 beaming children running toward me, Bingo boards in-hand, ready to play. We go to class, review the numbers 1-20 (the current topic) and I set about to begin. The premise is this- we'd been learning/reviewing the numbers for two weeks now, and to conclude our unit would play Bingo. As last week's homework each student had to make a 5x5 Bingo chart and fill it in using the numbers 1-20, with one free space in the center. I gave an example on the board, they copied it, we were all on the same page.

Or so I thought.

My friend and fellow PCV Donna helped monitor the game as I called numbers. At first, just the usual suspects tried to pull the wool over my eyes. The older girl who runs with a rough crowd and the hyperactive bandit of a boy both yowled “Bingo!” way before it was possible to have won. Thinking they were stealthy, they erased numbers and rewrote five in a row of the ones I'd called to try to claim victory. Now I might not be the sharpest knife in the kitchen, but I know that 5 consecutive 13s were not part of little Xochilt's original game board (especially not when they're overtly scratched over the original numbers.)

But what surprised me more than Xochilt or Ricardito's conniving ways was what happened next.

The game continues, I call numbers, we have a few more false Bingo alarms, Donna and I look mildly disappointed that nobody seems to be getting the gist of it, and then-

Ashley, one of my best students in the class (a personal favorite of mine for her diligence, thoughtful questions and overall alacrity) suddenly cried Bingo. She too, had a flawed board.

Donna and I swapped defeated looks, decided to re-explain the rules of the game and call it a night. The students' task- make varied and veritable boards, in ink no less, for next class. I'll approve each board before we commence, then all pencils and pens will be stashed away so as not to tempt any shenanigans. I think this time they understood, although I did last time too so what do I know.

That was the kicker. Ashley cheated. I didn't see it coming. Sure, there are always some wiseguys in any class. I have them in mine, and I've mastered my “you're not fooling me” eye roll in response to their customary tricks. But not Ashley. And then it hit me.

Maybe she was trying to save Donna and I the embarrassment of a Bingo game failure, and give us a winner. Maybe she thought she, the undisputed goody two shoes of the class, could get away with hijinks that the other little rebels couldn't. Beats me. All I know is, I for one was disappointed.

Cheating happens here.

In a desperately poor country, people do whatever it takes to one-up each other. It's a positively Machiavellian society- the end justifies the means. Always. I continue to be baffled by this because it is contrary to the American dream of picking yourself up by your bootstraps, setting out on your own and working exhaustively toward bettering yourself. In America, it's not just the point at which you arrive in life, but also how you got there. Not so in Nicaragua.

Nor in India. Read “The White Tiger” by Aravind Adiga for a better idea of cheating and corruption in the third world. Trust me, it's spectacular.

It's about time I talked about Jairo.

So, one of my four community classes is held in a building called the Casa de la Mujer. Contrary to its name, the locale offers classes for men, women and children alike. Such “Casas” are ubiquitous throughout Nicaragua, with the purpose of making education, or for many adults, continued education, accessible and affordable. For a nominal fee, anyone can enroll in a variety of courses, including keyboarding, clothes-making, cooking and English. I give class on Mondays and Wednesdays.

In the beginning, I was overjoyed with the tremendous turnout of students. We began the course in March, and I'd arrive weekly to see a dozen or more students awaiting me. Then Semana Santa happened. In Nicaragua, vacations are lethal to progress. When, during a holiday like Semana Santa (aka Holy Week, the week prior to Easter) the whole country comes to a gigantic stand-still, momentum comes to a screeching halt. Work lags and morale flags. Although eventually students in the public schools overcome their languor and get back in the groove of work post-vacation, such is not the case with voluntary classes. You'd think that the kind of person who enrolls in extracurricular classes is endeavoring enough to stick with them, but no. My roster was cut in half after Semana Santa.

My once bounteous class has been whittled down to a select few. Every week between three to five tried-and-true students show up. One of whom, has stuck with me from the beginning and whose attendance has far surpassed the rest. I've been meaning to blog about him for a while. He's the kind of person they make movies or pen motivational books about.

World, meet Jairo.

Tall, sinewy, big-eyed and a little lumbering, Jairo is an unexpectedly formidable soul. For months he hardly uttered a word in my class. It pained him to participate, and pained me more so to watch. Worse even, when I would coax him into coming to the board to answer questions, I realized the reason for his hesitation. Jairo is (debatably) dyslexic. I know I'm no expert here, but I interpret his misspellings, difficulty in transcribing from board-to-paper properly and inversion of letters as some sort of learning disability, if not dyslexia specifically. Jairo himself told me he only has a 6th grade education. This is not uncommon in Nicaragua. Nor are learning disabilities, for that matter. What is, however, is somebody so academically disadvantaged bent on learning a foreign language.

As a teacher I'm supposed to be diplomatic and impartial and all that jazz. I'm not. Jairo is one of my favorite students. A teacher's pet without trying, if you will. And here's why.

Jairo's work ethic was apparent from the beginning. While many students would drift in 15 to 20 minutes after class began, he always arrived promptly...sometimes even beating me to class. Furthermore, he commutes by bike from 30 minutes away. He arrives slick with sweat, and likely tired from the uphill journey, but ever-cheerful. He is the only student who calls me when he won't be able to make class, and always explains why. No flaking here. And get this- he's the only student of my small bunch who works full-time. He asks permission to leave work early, come to class, then return to work twice a week. While my other students might be putzing around their houses, deliberating if they want to rouse themselves to come, Jairo takes a pay deduction, makes an onerous commute in all kinds of inclement or scorching weather, and is always the first to arrive. Swoon. A teacher's dream.

Jairo is around 24 years old, has a one-year-old son and a “wife.” (People here have kids and shack up, and take on the names of “husband” and “wife” without formally tying the knot.) He candidly talks about his family, and is proud to mention that he is the sole breadwinner of the family. This is exceptional; hardly any Nicaraguans are fully independent. Most move their spouses in with their parents, and still have their moms iron their clothes and pitch in for food costs. They avoid utility costs, and shirk the idea of independent living altogether. Not Jairo. He lives in a little casita, and from what he tells me everything in it he saved for and bought poco a poco, all on his own. He harvests coffee at Mombacho, a nearby volcano. His work is back-breaking and largely outdoors. His angular features denote years of labor, the dirt under his fingernails as further proof. In two years he has learned the coffee-cultivation process like the back of his hand. Nuances such as soil consistency, texture of the seeds and planting patterns are second-nature to him. He tells me very sincerely and humbly that he is being primed to be the next manager some day. His higher-ups, like me, recognize his unflappable determination and perseverance, and want to capitalize on it.

I interpret Jairo's attention to detail as a byproduct of his learning disability. Yes, he does flub up quite often and mis-copy from the board. But when I gently call attention to this, he meticulously reviews his notes to find the mistake. In my opinion, his tendency to err in English class makes him all the more attuned to the details. Undoubtedly this behooves him in his work. Detail is of the utmost importance in coffee production. Much like cultivating wine, a coffee-grower must know the seeds, the land, the climate, the weather and the harvest so expertly to synchronize them all into a rich crop. One tiny mistake can be costly. Jairo knows this, and is as fastidious about correcting himself as I'm sure he is about reaping coffee beans.

Also, did I mention he's generous? He routinely regales me with fresh fruit, avocados and recently freshly-picked coffee beans. Trust me, when I took them to the mill to be ground everyone was jealous of the unbelievable aroma wafting in the air. Starbucks, eat your heart out. A while back a friend of mine was starting a garden, and looking for worms to irrigate the soil. I offhandedly asked Jairo, figuring he knew about such things. Lo and behold, the next class he brought me a jar of worms from the fertile terrain of Mombacho. He not only saved me the trip out there, but also took the effort to carefully contain and transport live worms for me. Needless to say, I was touched. Sure, plenty of teachers get apples, but how many get a batch of worms? Heartwarming indeed.

One day Jairo was the only student to show for class, and after the lesson we got to chatting. It was in such a context that his life story unfolded, and that I was struck with the inspiration to share his story with you all. A few years back he was injured on the job, and his heft salary was docked significantly. Though his company at least paid him a paltry workman's comp sum, they also demoted his position. He had worked his way up the ladder prior to the accident, but after a year bedridden he returned to work to find that he had to essentially start from zero again. He was still working just as rigorously and with as much finesse as before, but for a fraction of the pay. Unfortunately for Nicaragua there is little power within workers' unions. What in the States would be an outrage, here goes unnoticed. More horribly, the company is fully aware that in the bitter economy a job is a job, and anyone who has one is wildly appreciative. So it is that Jairo, once a hand-picked successor, has been relegated to an entry-level position. Despicable. And conscious though he is of the injustice, he remains mum. Tragic.. And knowing what I do about him, about how doggedly he works, I'm sure his employers are just delighted to have such a fruitful worker at a discounted price. Jairo's a real steal.

At heart, I'm an optimist. I'd like to believe that good people deserve more in life. I'd like to believe that hard-working folk like Jairo who are honest, family-oriented, generous and all-around people of character are entitled to the best that life has to offer. I know this isn't always the case. But isn't it pretty to think so?

While I can't champion Jairo's cause for fair wages, I can give him the best English education I can. I can convince him that he is extraordinary, and to be undeterred in the face of adversity. I can teach him, perhaps more than just a foreign language, to realize his self-worth. More than ever, I've seen the latent advantages of education. Yes, I can teach someone English. You could call that education. But if I teach someone to demand the liberties that are rightfully theirs, isn't that the real pinnacle of education?

In the case of Jairo, I hope so.

Will keep you posted.

I do not, and never will, claim to be a lucky person. Oddly enough, I've been lucky enough to have escaped one small detail of my life.

I have never had to “rough it.”

Throughout my dozen-plus years of Girl Scouting and twenty three years of life, you'd think I'd have plenty of outdoorsy experience under my belt. You thought wrong. My Girl Scout camping trips consisted of my troop renting a cabin, stocking the fridge with snacks and fighting over the air mattresses. In fact, my troop leader deemed hair curlers necessary camping toiletries for herself. My family was one to favor viewing nature at a safe distance, snapping a few shots, then retreating to our room in the Comfort Inn to relax. No camp-outs for the Cole family. Having not cultivated an outdoorsy side, I perpetuated the rift between me and nature by declining friends' camping offers, now too afraid with my beloved modern luxuries.

And then I joined the Peace Corps.

...to live in homes furnished with flush toilets, running water, electricity, the works. Ok well no hot water, nor oven, nor microwave, nor t.v, and plastic furniture...but the third world “works.” As of two weeks ago, I- though by no means a city slicker- had never been plunged into the real wilderness. My world was punctuated by the sounds of leaky faucets, splattering showers and humming commodes. No daily struggle just to scrape by.

And then I went to Chinandega.

Specifically, to visit my friend and fellow volunteer Olenka in her far-flung little site of Israel. She's about to finish up her service, and happens to be in the midst of making a world map (a project I'm tentatively considering), so I figured I'd kiss my convenience goodbye and see how the other half lives. Five hours of bus-riding and 20 minutes of ambling along a dirt road later, we arrive at Olenka's casita.

Let me say that on the whole, I was impressed. Olenak herself had primed me for minimalistic conditions, which my mind translated into a couple trash bags propped up by wooden posts. Well, sure enough there were trash bags involved, but as makeshift shower curtains. Her house is a government-built project house, replete with cement walls, three bedrooms and one main room. The latrine out back is defunct what with the rain and flooding, so one room has been converted into the washroom- trash bags draped over PCV piping and tucked into a bucket form the shower. To get water, she fills a rubber camping shower (think rubber watering can, but more bulbous) with water, rigs it onto a nylon cord and hoists it to hang above the bucket. Then there's the john. Or, shall I say, bucket? Emptied as needed. Yup. Another room is storage, then there's her bedroom...with a real, queen-size bed! You'll find that a good night's sleep is the last thing most people will sacrifice, even in the most modest of conditions. She too has a walk-in closet as sweet as mine- plastic cord strung from wall-to-wall with hangers. And then there's her kitchen, with a fridge, stovetop, mini microwave oven and even (brace yourselves, folks) Magic Bullet! Ah yes, the ever-handy kitchen gadget of a Peace Corps Volunteer. You're never just one click away from rich smoothies, dips, hummus, fruit juices, sauces, purees, etc. If I'm good this year, perhaps Santa Clause will bring me one? ☺

Out in her site, Olenka gets water once a day. Believe me, you'll never truly appreciate running water until you don't have it. Fortunately I've only had to endure outages of a day, but many areas of Nicaragua have scarce access to running water. Olenka gets water once a day, for one hour, and from one source- a pipe sprouting out of her front yard. Every night she leaves the faucet on, and every morning around 5 or 6 am the water comes long enough to fill up a big metal barrel. She utilizes this water throughout the day for washing dishes, bathing, cleaning, etc. and transports it via smaller buckets (she drinks only filtered water, hauled to her site once a month.) She's not even the most water-inaccessible. There are plenty of parts in the rural north, and just down the road where I am, where people only get water every other day. Hence, water is a precious commodity. Every time I turn on the spigot to hop in my shower, I mentally give thanks.

As far as the sink goes, it consists of two buckets- fresh water and used water. Or if you'd rather, you can spit your toothpaste residue into the yard. I was rather fond of that, like a dog marking its territory. Then there's the ribbed washboard, aka the all-in-one washing machine and dishwasher. I myself also have a “lavandero,” or a ribbed washboard, but with a pipe of water and separate drainage pipe hooked up to it. I give Olenka props for all the water-hauling she quite literally shoulders every day.

Though my trip only lasted for two nights, I can say that I adjusted quite nicely. Don't get me wrong- I don't envy the harsher way of life, but I can see how humans adapt to what they need to in order to survive.

Even girls like me can rough it.

I would never wish a more primitive life upon anyone. However, what I perceive as a life of hardship is for many, worldwide, a normal life. Thus arises a key question in the realm of international development; what if “development” is in the eye of the beholder? Sure, I grew up with hot, running water, air conditioning and real toilets. But plenty of people didn't, and furthermore may never even experience for themselves such luxuries. I've met plenty of people who seem content living in what Americans would consider squalor. To them, it works. When I first laid eyes on my current house I was somewhat horrified- the walls were caked in grime, the toilet reeking of another's excrement, the bedroom musty, no furnishings whatsoever. In the span of a month I scrubbed, bleached, dusted, swept, mopped and furnished with abandon. Now, I live in a quaint little home that not only do I feel cozy in, but I'll be sad to leave someday. Granted I made upgrades according to my standards of living, but I'm sure many of my fellow countrymen here would have deemed the house livable with but a handful of reparations.

I guess more than anything what I walked away with from Chinandega- aside from a killer sunburn- was a new-found sense of livability, and skepticism about the efficacy of imposed development. What to some might be a necessity- hair curlers for my Girl Scout troop leader- to others is frivolity. Case in point, you'd be hard-pressed to find a Nicaraguan in Olenka's town who has a washing machine. Likewise, you'd be hard-pressed to track someone down in the D.C. suburbs where I grew up who didn't have one. Who am I, or who is anyone for that matter, to tell another that my ways are superior, more civilized, more developed than theirs?

Maybe, it's all a matter of perspective.

Notwithstanding, I'm already counting down the days til I can soak in my bathtub in the States. Just sayin'.

For a culture that forbids its mention, they're sure having a lot of it- sex.

In Nicaragua, like in many Latin American countries, sex is the elephant in the room that nobody dares address. Pregnant people are everywhere- buses, working, strolling down the street with other toddlers in tow, in the check-out line at the grocery store. I have neighbors on either side of my house. If my alarm doesn't go off by 7 am, the shrill cries of my neighbors' kiddos will wake me up (and rather abruptly, at that.) In parent/teacher meetings at school, it is expected that many mothers will arrive toting one if not too wee ones. In fact, it almost looks odd to see a woman in her late teens/early twenties unaccompanied by a child; like if one kid isn't slung over her shoulder tugging at her hair, the other grasped in-hand, something is seriously wrong.

While in my first few weeks here I gaped at the many mothers-to-be and thought, hmm, maybe there are this many in the States too and I just never noticed before. Nope. 'Twas not the case at all. Be not mistaken- Nicaragua is, and has been, experiencing a tremendous population boom. On record over half of the country's populace is under the age of 25. And from the looks of things, it doesn't look like things will be losing momentum anytime soon.

Now, I'm certainly no sexpert here. But through my Nica friends I've sure gotten an earful. And from what I can gather, for every intended pregnancy there are at least three that are surprises. I use the word “surprise” here skeptically; should you really be surprised that A + B(without a condom) = C (baby-on-the-way) ???

Maybe.

Yes, in the more rural parts of Nicaragua there are plenty of women who know that unprotected sex can lead to their expanding girth, but don't precisely know how. But in my town of Diriá, nestled between the two great commercial hubs of Granada and Masaya, these people are no country bumpkins. In fact, there are brigades of teenagers who give a series of presentations about sexual health and family planning. On their own time, no less. And for fun. I've talked to plenty of my high school students and have divined that all of them DO know about the birds and the bees. And if nothing else, for God's sake everyone one in Nicaragua, no matter how dirt-poor, has a television, and the shows here are nothing if not raunchy.

So this is what really stumps me. People know. I know people know. They know full well the risks of unprotected sex, both in terms of STDs and unwanted pregnancy, and yet they STILL do it and act shocked when somebody gets knocked up. Seriously, I can vividly recall when my host brother found out his girlfriend was preggers. The look on his face was priceless, like it was the curse of the Immaculate Conception. He sank down next to me at the kitchen table at looked simply dumbfounded. I tried to be supportive, but my curiosity happened to get the better of me. I needled him a little with “I mean, you were there for it. You played a pretty active role. How could you be taken off guard by this?????” He was at a loss for words. Hmmmm. I wanted to say that it's not like his girlfriend has a Whitney Houstin-and-ghost-in-The Bodyguard experience, but held my tongue.

If people (presumably) know about the birds and the bees, and don't want another mouth to feed, why don't they take the necessary precautions?

Well, you could chalk it up to a bunch of things. Catholicism- if God wants me to have a child, he will give me a child. Machismo- you'd be hard-pressed to find a male here who would willingly put on a condom. Unlike in the States where plenty of guys are paranoid about potential offspring, here the guys don't give a damn because they aren't ultimately held responsible; girlfriends, wives, grandmothers, even aunts and neighbors will pseudo-adopt parentless children. Public embarrassment- it's not like you can just dash into the CVS inconspicuously and pick up condoms or birth control pills here. There's a saying here- “pueblo pequeño, infierno grande.” It means that in small towns, gossip is rampant. In Niaragua, arguably even in the major cities, everyone knows everyone, all their business, who they're sleeping with, who they're cheating on, etc. Although the rumor mill is alive and well, people don't actually like to add fuel to the fire and own up to any of their baggage. You'd have to twist somebody's arm to get them to walk into their neighborhood pharmacy and ask for a pack of Trojans. Seriously. Nobody wants to be “caught red-handed” here. Same goes for women getting birth control pills or the injection- sure, it'd be useful and they might even secretly want to take preventive measures, but they don't want their grandmother's best friend's uncle's neighbor at the health center to see them ask for it. (Ironically, birth control pills, injections and condoms are stocked in all health centers, and dirt cheap if not usually free. There's really no excuse not to take advantage.)

You could also argue that people sort of know how their bodies work, but are still a little unsure. For instance, your average Joe Schmo can deduce that if his girlfriend gets pregnant, he might have had something to do with it. But he might not exactly know how, and why, and what he could have done differently.

It's a tough call. Some opine that people here really and truly “don't know” and that for their lack of sexual education they end up popping out babies left and right. I think otherwise.

I'll leave you on this note. A student of mine who's a high school senior used to come around my house to chat. To be honest, I'm not her biggest fan. I always found her kind of flagrant, like she knew the rules and pushed them. For instance she would sidle up to me in class and ask for extensions on work, when she knows I don't play favorites. She would ask permission to leave class, I would deny her said permission until she finished the assignment, she would leave anyways. One day she even asked for a sip of my water and before I could answer was chugging out of the bottle. Charming, I know. After her transgressions she would see me clearly riled and bat her eyes saying that “oops!” she just forgot and how “no pasó nada. (nothing happened, it's all good)

Said student recently found out she's pregnant.

Judging by her prior actions, when she knowingly flouted the rules, I have a feeling I know exactly how she got herself into this predicament. Only this time, that “oops” can't quite be rectified with a cute little smile and a “lo siento.”

Maybe Nicas know the birds and the bees, maybe they don't. Who am I to say. I will say, however, that sometimes knowing is simply not enough.

You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make it drink. (But it can make a whole lotta babies in the process.)

I have never been a person to put up a good front.

There are plenty of Peace Corps volunteers who, years after their service, will nonchalantly remark about how breezy their two years were, how splendid the people were, how much they felt right at home, etc. While I don't proclaim myself to be Scrooge-like, I will be brutally honest: two years away from home are are not always breezy, there are splendid people and unfortunate specimens of human beings, and while I have forged a home in Nicaragua, it will never be on the same par as my home country.

As a PCV, an unspoken rule is that you must settle for less, everyday. For instance, I'm fortunate to have travel to and from major cities from my pueblito. That's a huge plus. The “settling” part is that the buses are shoddy, sporadic, and oftentimes crammed to the point of standing...or squatting...room only. Likewise, with cooking you make compromises. In another example, let's say you want to do laundry. First, you have to wait for a sunny day. Then, you'll have to throw your dirty clothes in a bucket or other water receptacle, add detergent, and knead it into your clothes with water until a sudsy froth forms. Then, wait a while, dump out water, refill with water, add fabric softener, repeat kneading process. Finally, rinse out clothes with water (and nix stubborn stains with vigorous dragging across washboard), and hope the sun's still out so your clothes can dry. In my case, add another element to the mix- check on clothes periodically to make sure they're still safely pinned to the line, and that no sticky-fingered fellow has made off with them. And after all's said and done, my clothes lack the luster of being machine-dried and, though clean-smelling, always look a little wilted and droopy for all that effort.

Simply put, every single day in Peace Corps you get by with what is and take your kicks when you can get 'em. And if you set your hopes too high, they will likely be dashed. Everyday is a constant remindr of where you are- the third world.

When I returned from a delightful vacation with my family to Mexico I found my birthday fast approaching. And, as I've grown accustomed, I braced myself for less. Having Christmas and a bevy of other holidays under my belt, I knew that while Nicaraguans sure know how to celebrate, the traditions are obviously different. Not to say that all holidays are necessarily disappointing, but they're just...not the same as home. Obviously. But still, however adaptable and chameleon-like you can claim to be, all human beings crave predictability every now and again. At Christmastime, you'll always see lights, trees, department store Santas, people outside grocery stores ringing the Salvation Army bell, etc. At Thanksgiving, you'll most certainly eat turkey. On St. Patrick's day, you'll see a sea of green-clad people out and about. But living in a foreign country, your traditions tend to be obsolete, and you sort of roll with the punches and eat tacos on Christmas, rally together with other PCVs to eat turkey- a culinary delicacy here- in the capital city, and on St. Patrick's Day, well, do absolutely nothing.

And so it was that I was worried my birthday just wouldn't be quite the same.

And oh how wrong I was.

First, I was invited to a lunch in my honor at my high school. For every teacher's birthday, we celebrate by bringing in a prepared lunch, putting on music, and sometimes decorating a chalkboard. So I knew what to expect. But when I walked in the teacher's lounge, I was really touched- Profesora Janet had taken the time to grace the chalkboard with a glittery, flower motif. (FYI this put the hasty whiteboard-marker-ed decorating techniques of the past to shame.) Then, we feasted on vigorón, my favorite Nicaraguan dish of yucca, pork rinds and salad...trust me, it's more savory than it sounds...and swilled one of my favorite juices here- passion fruit. The teachers, and my counterpart Jenny especially, made me beam from ear to ear.

Then, later on in the day a few PCVs arrived to spend the night and hang out. I'd invited six people, assuming three to four would show up. Well all six did, and coming from far-flung places at that. We're talking eight hour bus rides, and in one case even a boat ride. They came bearing Diet Coke (a rare find here!), birthday cake, balloon animals and hilariously endearing gifts. A couple kiddos from my community class in my town even showed up to bring me plantains and, naturally, stuck around for the balloon-animal extravaganza. When the kiddos went home, we cooked dinner and entertained ourselves for hours eating, drinking, being merry and catching up on each other's Nica follies.

It goes without saying that on my birthday, I surely did not settle. I did not brace myself for the letdown. No, I was positively, definitively, unequivocally, impressed.

And at a loss for nothing. No front necessary, the honest-to-goodness truth.

So, while it's true that there are daily sacrifices to be made, there are also pleasant little surprises tucked into the everyday tedium that throw you for a loop. Those days where I could practically smack myself upside the head and say, wait a minute, am I really still in Nicaragua? Did that mototaxi really just stop for me and not try to run me over? Did my neighbors move my laundered clothes under the roof so they wouldn't get soaked in the rain when I wasn't home? Was my birthday cake actually topped with American-style sprinkles? Is this too good to be true?

No, it's not.

And if you're me, on my birthday in Nicaragua, you really can have your cake and eat it too.

.......before your cats knock the precious leftovers splat on the floor. Sigh.

Trucking along in the daily foibles of Nicalandia,

Yours Truly

It's interesting to observe the housing dynamics of the third world.

For instance, practically nobody lives alone here.

There are a variety of reasons. The most salient perhaps being poverty; obviously when there's a lack of economic resources, people pool together to share what they have and scrape by, housing included. Also, it's uncommon for people to just build their own homes. The tradition is that houses are passed down in families, and so long as the walls haven't completely crumbled the house is livable for generations to come. Case in point, I live in a colonial house that is appraised at being a hundred years old. Another reason why it's so rare for people to live solo is the Latin culture. Families tend to stay together, at not just on a nuclear level- more often than not aunts, uncles, cousins, in-laws, the cousins of in-laws, that ex-husband who still hangs around, his illegitimate kids, etc. etc. ALL live under the same roof. Many Americans like me who prize their independence would find this family-cramming horrifying (and believe you me, I do not find the idea of living with my in-laws pleasant.) But to Nicaraguans, it's the norm.

In fact, they enjoy it. If I had a córdoba for everytime somebody told me “Oh, you live alone...¡qué triste!” I'd be filthy stinking rich. Besides gringos, the only people who live alone down here are widows and widowers, the rich, or the forsaken. Essentially unless you're bereft of a spouse, have the dinero to do so, or your family has disowned you for whatever reason (alcoholism, delinquency, etc.) you live accompanied by your family. This includes newlyweds, and not just until they get their feet on the ground economically, but generally for life. It's common for grandmothers to raise their grandchildren while the moms go off to look for work. College students, too, generally live at home. Room and board is simply an expense very few families here can afford to make. Daily thousands of students who live within a 3-hour radius of Managua or other major cities make the trek to and from class via long, arduous bus rides (and no public bathrooms, I might add.)

Entonces, I am the exception. And for as much as Nicaraguans claim to not mind living on top of each other, I sure do get a lot of eager visitors. I too have taken a liking to the frequent visits. People who come to visit me see my house as a refuge, a place where nobody will nag or holler at them to mop the floor, wash the dishes, etc. There are no ornery grandpas to chide, no screaming babies, no disapproving in-laws. Just the profe and her two fluffy cats.

My house is tiny, but considering it's all mine makes it a castle by Nica standards. Accordingly, my younger students see it as a playground to color and play hide and seek. My counterparts see it as a tranquil place to escape their own chaotic households and take the edge off a long day with a cup of coffee. My former host sisters see it as a place to have sleepovers and stay up all night prattling with me. My older students see it as an open office in which I'm always available to help with English homework. I guess to make a lurid analogy my house is like the Neverland Ranch of Nicaragua- brimming with happy children, fun times, sleepovers...the creepiness factor of Michael Jackson and his fetishes aside.

I'm glad that my casita is not only a haven for me, but for my community, too.

Hi folks,

It has been a while. A LONG while. Well, I can attest that in my two months being MIA I've been busy just trying to keep my head above water. I withheld blogging until the storm passed, lest I be “that girl” posting a flurry of woe-is-me updates. So yes, I've been noticeably absent, and with reason.

The past two months Nicaragua has thrown me a curve ball...or two or three. I'll summarize what exactly transpired, but I'd rather not rub salt in the (still-tender) wounds, so I'll make this brief. Spare me your pity, life has decided to stop shitting on me and things are on the up and up.

I got robbed. Twice. So yes, things bring my tally up to three magical robberies for me in Nicaragua thus far. I know that the most important things in life money can't buy, and that in theory in the Peace Corps I should learn to live with less commodities, but I'll go ahead and say it- I HAPPEN TO LIKE MY THINGS. And I prefer they not be swiped right out from under me. Moreover, I'm living as a volunteer and essentially sacrificing two years of a salary, creature comforts, family, friends, and my country in general for the benefit of Nicaragua. And how does Nicaragua thank me for that? By fucking taking advantage of me every chance it gets. I could so a whooooooole lot more on this note, but I've already spent plenty of time being bitter and spiteful, and I'm trying to be the resilient PCV that Peace Corps wants me to be and let it roll off my back.

In case you're curious, the first robbery was in mid-May, I was riding my bike from Diriomo back to Diria after giving a class when a group of teenage punks encircled me on their bikes, demanded my bike, backpack, digital camera, cell phone, school books, sunglasses, everything and then rode away snickering all the way. I desperately flagged down a taxi driver and between my heaving and sobbing explained what happened and he graciously took me home free of charge. I then proceeded to go to the police station, identify the culprits, and was officiously told that they cops could do NOTHING to help me, because the little bastards were minors. Apparently in Nicaragua if minors commit a crime, the police have to catch them in the act to impose any punishment. I sat in that police station, making a grand show, wailing about the grave injustice of the world and looked this one 14 year-old girl in the eyes and let me tell you, she didn't even blink. Of course the parents of this little gaggle of teenagers took no responsibility, and pretty much wrote-off their own offspring a long time ago, leaving them to their own devices and to roam the streets sniffing out trouble. That struck me as devastating. Still doesn't make me any more sympathetic for their little shithead kids who jumped me. And of course there's no way to press charges for compensation, because God knows nobody in Nicaragua has $70 to reimburse me for my L.L. Been backpack, or my electronics. Nor would the police pursue the case. On a final note of this whole ordeal, I will say that in some twisted way my maladies have made me feel sorry for the heinous lack of justice in Nicaragua. It's not only frustrating, but terrifying and discouraging to live in a anarchic world. Think about it- if you know the police are not going to lift a finger, and turn a blind eye, why wouldn't everyone just go around thieving recklessly? In a sad way, the little punks who robbed me were probably astute enough to realize that they can run amok in their country and nobody will do a damn thing about it. Sad.

The second robbery was much less scarier for me, but left me much more enraged. A cousin of my then-boyfriend was selling a used fridge at a cheap price. I, having recently moved into my own little place, was in the market for a fridge and leaped at the offer. A little necessary background info- everything imported is super expensive here. Not only are import taxes tacked onto the US prices, but because of scarcity of quality products here Nicas pay an arm and a leg for the same things we turn up our nose at on the Walmart clearance aisle. No joke. That cheapo costume jewelry you bought at Kohl's for under five bucks? Yeah that would fetch a pretty penny. Double, triple, sometimes even quadruple the price. So you can imagine how inflated prices are for more costly items, like, fridges. So the deal was for $80 I would be getting a medium-sized, slightly used fridge in good working condition. My error was that in trusting this “friend of a friend” I didn't get anything in writing. But, I was assured, this man is a lawyer, and and upstanding person who if nothing but for his reputation's sake would uphold his end of the deal. Well I paid the money. And waited. And two months later still had no fridge. I went to talk to this man in person in his place of work. He was overly gracious, chatty, gregarious even and I left having banished any of my doubts. How very wrong I was. In a country lacking a wide pool of professionals, the people here who do have letters behind their names think they're hot shit. And, for being the elite who do have an education, they know exactly how to exploit their poorer countrymen. And foreigners, apparently. After my two months of patiently waiting I was told that, oh , wouldn't you know while the fridge was in the shop being cleaned they technicians discovered it had a minor flaw. And oh, dear Elizabeth, can' you just pay me $50 more to fix it up? He said he'd throw in a one-year warranty for good measure. Hell. No. I politely told him that I was no longer interested in buying his defunct fridge, and that I would like him to give me my money immediately. The next day he conveniently “went on vacation” and fled town for a few days. My boyfriend finally tracked him down and fists flew...literally. I'm glad I wasn't there to see the grand show. Of course his cousin denied owing me any money, and my HUGE error was in not demanding a contract upfront. Huge error. I'll be kicking myself for that one for a long time, if not to the grave.

Update: I swallowed my pride, and the steep price tag, and bought a mini fridge yesterday. For the longest time I was up on my soapbox- and up in arms- about how I was going to march to this man's house and demand the justice I deserve. Well if my fiasco with t he thieving teenagers taught me anything, is that there is no such thing as “due justice” in Nicaragua, and if you can't settle things hombre-a-hombre they''ll never be settled at all. So I hauled myself to Managua with a very dear friend of mine and her family, who, knowing the whole ordeal helped me finagle a good price on a good fridge. I have to remind myself that there are good, kind souls amidst this vast sea of poverty, corruption and waywardness.

Ok, so in case it wasn't implicit from the last story, I had a stint dating a Nicaraguan. After three months his true colors really shone through, and I realized he wasn't the man I thought he was. Yes, we did duke it out over the fridge and how he led me to believe his cousin was a trustworthy person, but it was much more than that that ultimately led me to break things off. At the very least he taught me much about the character and quality of people in Nicaragua, and that I'm not such a shrewd judge of it. That and my Spanish got wicked good for bickering with him all the time. No lie. Hey now, if people here want to take advantage of me, my money and my belongings at every chance they get here, I can learn to capitalize a little bit myself. That and he was pretty much free labor and painted my new house for me free of charge while he was still lovestruck. As they like to say here, “hay que aprovechar.” (Strike while the iron's hot, or literally, “one must seize the opportunity.”)

Oh, and in case I wasn't already beleaguered enough with two robberies and a bad break-up on my plate, then I got a parasite. And amoebas. And stomach worms. All at once. I had never felt so disgusted with myself before. Nausea, vomiting, a bloated stomach (full of bugs...ewww!) and fever were a few of the charming symptoms. Even my cats avoided me- they ran away for two days after seeing me violently vomit so much. But I'm happy to report that the Peace Corps issued me some heavy-duty meds, and I have been effectively de-wormed, de-amoebaedd, de-parasited and detoxified entirely. I'll spare the gory details, but let me just say that pooping worms for three days straight is a truly humbling experience that I would never wish upon any one of you reading this.

So on the good news front: I moved into a new house! It was a real fixer-upper, but with my then-companion we fixed it up real nice. It's got a living room, a bar, a tiny bedroom and a bathroom. Modest though it is, it suits me just fine. And I must admit, with my two new KITTIES it is just as cozy as can be. Yep, I adopted to kittens. Tuna and Sparky, respectively. If you never really saw me as I cat person, well that makes two of us, but a turn of fate dropped them into my home and I have been enamored ever since. If you're interested, I'd love to receive cat toys down here. They're obsolete. Then again, if people can't afford to buy their kids toys here, there's no way their poor pets are gonna be regaled anything. They're my new cuddly little friends :)

Speaking of friends, throughout all of this nonsense life has thrown at me as of late I have had EXCELLENT friends to lend me a hand. Nicaraguans and PCVs alike, you know who you are. In the Peace Corps, when it rains it truly pours. The beautiful thing is, there's always somebody to share their umbrella with you. My host family, Elba, Alex, John, Meg, Steve, Donna, Zeneida, my students, counterparts, etc have been a great scaffolding of support for me here.

Well folks, as you can see I'm thinking things can only get better from here. In two weeks I'm heading to Mexico on a cruise with my family, so if that's not a little R&R to look forward to than I don't know what is. So excited for scrumptious food, hot water and Starbucks!

I'm going to make a concerted effort to blog more regularly. I cringe to write tediously long posts like this, because in condensing so much of life into so little text I know I come off as dramatic. Well, that I'm not, but a lazy writer I am. So I'm going to resolve to pick up the slack on that. Before coming to Nicaragua I remember scanning blogs of PCVs already here, and was aghast to read one post that simply read: “Yes, I'm still alive and I'm still here.” Well joke's on me now, but yes I am alive, and still here, and still have no intentions of packing up and heading home despite recent hardships. It's true what they say, Peace Corps people are a hardy bunch.

A final note- After my series of unfortunate events, and with living in my new house and all, I've been super paranoid about locking up at night, not opening the door for anyone after 7 pm, hiding valuables when I'm not home, etc. Well this past Wednesday at 9 pm I hear a rapping on my door and debate grabbing my butcher knife and bracing myself for the worst. I ask who it is, hear broken English, and warily crack open the window. It was two of my students bringing me a hot sugary drink and looking to stop by and chat. Heartwarming. So you see, I'm renewing my faith poco a poco. As much as I bitch and moan, I must also acknowledge the outstanding people that are here too.

Elizabeth

So...your formerly itching-to-start-work PCV has converted herself into a workaholic.

And she likes it. A LOT.

I went from working 0 hours a week in December and January to upwards of 30 hours a week. That´s a whoooooole lot of English, and Spanish, and the precarious balancing act of drifting in and out of languages.

In a nutshell, as I complete my 7th month in Nicaragua I can finally attest that I feel at home. Case in point- last night I had a strangely real dream that I traveled home to America. But when I got to my bedroom, it was my room in Nicaragua. WEIRD. Additionally, I think for better or for worse I´ve finally disassociated myself with the everyday happenings of America. Once upon a time I could pore over news, write leisurely letters, overall be in-touch with the good ole US of A. Not that I´m renouncing my patriotism or anything (far from it!) but well, I sort of feel like for the time being, Nicaragua is my country and its people are my people.

Sappy? Yes. Trite? Perhaps. Poignant? For me, everyday is.

So folks, in my glaring absence from the blogging world I´ve been busy frolicking about, teaching lots and lots of lots of English, making real Nica friends (exciting!!! I am no longer the socially awkward ¨new kid in town¨) and slowly but surely becoming a little more Nica everyday. As they people here proudly proclaim, they are ¨puro pinoleros¨ aka fanatics of pinol, the chocolately national beverage of choice. Believe you me, the integration was not seamless, nor was it altogether pleasant. But integrated I have, and well, it´s a little euphoric.

I tend to think in Spanish.

I (occasionally) dream in Spanish.

I look forward to hearing friendly hellos on the street.

I look forward to laughing at the lewd remarks machista bastards (still) hurl at me.

I have landed, planted my feet, and am wobbling less and less everyday.

I am a pro at winding through 200 sweaty bodies packed into a school bus.

I can adeptly translate cordobas into dollars, and vice versa.

I can bargain with the merchants who give me a run for a money.

I can terrify said merchants when I bust out ¨Estoy encachimbada!¨ y ¨Que jode!¨and other colorful language when they try to rip me off.

I am learning not to roll my eyes when people (still) ask me if I´m a tourist.

I can identify and appropriately peel or eat a variety of tropical fruits.

I can flush a toilet when there´s no running water. No small feat.

I can effectivlely teach English grammar.

I am unafraid of ferile street dogs.

I can promptly hail a cab, with hardly a flick of the wrist.

I am pura pinolera.

And I am happy.

Hope you all are doing well! Be not mistaken- while I´ve ceased to constantly think about life in America, I do think about you all, my treasured friends. And often at that! I will absolutely make a point to notify you when some day I make a trek Stateside.

Hasta luego y con todo mi carino,

Elizabeth

Things I'm Used To:

-Gallo pinto every night for dinner. It's delicious and I savor every morsel of it.

-The constant smell of burning trash.

-Washing my clothes by hand.

-Sweating while sitting still.

-Sweating at 7 in the morning.

-Sweating all-day, everyday

-Trusting nobody on public transportation. Small talk = they're probably trying to kidnap you.

-It being socially appropriate to blast Lady Gaga at o'dark thirty of the morning.

-My creepy neighbor named Chago who spies on me from inside his house. I'm half-tempted to give him a copy of my schedule to save him the trouble of keeping track of my whereabouts 24/7.

-Being watched by everyone in my small, small town.

-Outrageous questions about America. If Nicaraguans saw it in a movie somewhere along the line, God knows it must be true for all of America, right?

-Drinking beverages out of plastic bags.

-Mice in my room.

Things I'm Getting Used To:

-No tact in conversation, EVER. “Wow you've really put on weight!” “Wow you've really lost weight!” “How much do you weigh again?” “Do all Americans have occasional acne, or just you?” “You should keep your hair long. You looked uglier with shorter hair.” And the list goes on and on...

-Being served piping hot food on piping hot days

-Dirty feet. Streets here are rife with murky water and, if you're lucky, raw sewage.

-Broken promises. Unless they sign their name in blood, nobody has any obligation to you whatsoever.

-Saving face. While nodding encouragingly that yes, indeed they will help you, people are really just trying to avoid the fact that there's no chance in hell they'll actually come through.

-Being able to tell when somebody is saving face, and calling them out on it.

-Waiting. Punctuality is still a foreign concept here.

-In exchange, adopting “Nica time” and assuming if they're going to be late, I might as well be too.

-Rapid fire cell phone conversations. The pay-as-you-go minutes here are outrageously expensive.

-Flitting in and out of Spanish and English during class, and rather seamlessly at that.

Things I'll Never Get Used To:

-Tarantulas.

-The national obsession with bad 80's music from America. Case in point, Air Supply.

-No public bathrooms.

-It being socially appropriate to pick your nose- and your zits- in public.

-The dichotomy of being devoutly Catholic and a believer in witchcraft. My town is famous for it.

-Bombas, bombas, bombas (aka fireworks) in homage of saints

-Bombas at 3 a.m.

-Did I mention the bombas????

-Going to bed late and rising early. They scoff at me when I hit the hay at 10.

-Abuse of hair gel. Apparently I missed the memo- helmet head is so en vogue here.

-Women sporting three-sizes-too-small clubbing clothes as business attire.

-Prioritizing having a flat screen t.v. instead of putting food on the table

-Mangy street dogs wandering the pews during mass.

-People sweeping their yards into a nice, arid dustbowl devoid of even a single blade of grass.

Hey folks,

It's been a while, to say the least. And let me tell you that's a good sign...I've been busy! At long last the vacuous days of being unemployed are long gone. School is in full swing, as are my community classes and NGO projects, and I (finally) feel like a real Peace Corps volunteer. After two dragging months of summer vacation it's gratifying to make myself useful in my site.

A dear friend and fellow PCV Donna sent me a text message that pretty much sums up my thoughts on Peace Corps life, and might perhaps help you better identify with how I live here. She said that there are very few “normal” days in the Peace Corps; days are either really super awesome or really God-awful, and hardly anything in-between. In fact, most days encompass both extremes. That's not to say that we all become unhinged living in the sticks for two years. It's just that life here is, well, extreme.

For example, the mototaxi drivers always harass me on my walk to school. They not-so-stealthily vroom up behind me, slow down and the drivers shout to something to the effect of “come on pretty gringa, you know you want to let me drive you to school” with the added effect of a lip-smacking kissing noise. Kind of makes me feel like a little kid avoiding strangers doling out candy. So I steel myself, give a curt “No, gracias” and march forth. On the few occasions when I do find myself in the farther-flung areas of Diriá and Diriomo, I hail a cab and brace myself for the usually creepy conversation the ensues from the driver. My favorite is when they ask if I'm married, or if I have a boyfriend before they ask for my name. Well, at least they make the point loud and clear. To say the least, I guard my distance and brace myself for the barrage of personal questions.

Then one day I get in a mototaxi and lo and behold, the driver starts to chat me up. Surprise surprise. I reply in clipped responses to discourage the banter, but he pursues and turns out to be shockingly non-creepy. He was friends with the volunteer before me, and is a cousin of a friend of mine. Moreover, he didn't charge me for the ride. “Somos brothers” he said, which is a phrase used to convey camaraderie between two people irrespective of gender. The next day he sees me walking to school and says “vamonos” and he takes me to school, again free of charge. And two days ago he saw me walking and did likewise. Always friendly, never pressing with the personal questions, and after doing a little research through the rumor mill I do believe he's a credible guy. If there are other passengers in the moto he'll drop them off first so they don't him waive my fare, and so we can make small talk en route. I know what you're probably thinking, be careful Liz. And trust me, I am. He's given free rides to my host mom plenty of times too, so I'm not the only recipient of his generosity. Suspicions aside, he has proven to be a refreshing anomaly amongst the smarmy mototaxi driver coterie.

So you see, life is extreme here. Just when I think I have this country, and its people, figured out I am proven wrong.

The same can be said for the cobradores (translation: men who collect money on buses) who used to hassle me, and who now know me on a first-name basis and cut me a break on the bus fare. After my friend Allison humored one particular guy with conversation on Friday- Julio- he said he is going to buy me a Hannah Montana CD. Haha how did he read my mind and think of my dream gift??? Haha. The way I see it is this- for every disgusting and morbid Nica man that I have to put up with on a daily basis, I'll gladly accept a little preferential treatment here and there. Really, it's the least they can do.

If I have to live in an overtly machista country for two years, you bet your bottom dollar I'll capitalize on thinly-veiled attempts to woo the gringa at every chance I get.

In yet another example of extremes, I am continually frustrated and pleasantly surprised by my students here. I'm co-teaching 15 hours a week in a high school. As a first-time teacher, I am quickly learning to be domineering (and think of witty comebacks in Spanish to get the little chavalitos to hush up...no small feat!) I'll devote an entire blog post to the utter lack of classroom control in Nicaragua at another time, but suffice it to say that every class is a maelstrom of students walking out, chatting no their cell phones, carrying on side discussions, putting on makeup, shameless flirting from across the room and a myriad of other distractions. Every time the bell rings to signal the end of class I feel like I've fought a war, and in many ways I have. An egregious lack of discipline aside, I am wading my way through the treacherous waters of public education in the third world and mostly enjoying the challenge. For every 10 troublemakers in any class, there are at least a handful of little angels whose zeal for learning English thoroughly delights me. Today I spent two hours sifting through the homework I collected from my classes of seniors. While I was devastated to learn that more than a few high school seniors will graduate being illiterate in their own Spanish, there are several who are well on their way to becoming bilingual.

So you see, life in Nicaragua- and while I can only speak for myself but I'll dare to speak on behalf of all PCVs worldwide- and life in the Peace Corps in general, is like riding a stomach-dropping roller coaster again and again and again. Just when you think it can't get any lower, it climbs right up. And just when you think you're living the good life, it plummets back down again.

I'll wrap this up by saying this- good or bad, I laugh every day here. I keep things in perspective, realize that fluctuation is natural, and I'd be experiencing ups and downs no matter where I was right now, at home or abroad. With my 6-month anniversary of arriving in Nicaragua pending, I am seeing my world through wizened eyes and taking life with a grain of salt. Duh, the Peace Corps is not meant to be some happy-go-lucky carnival ride. Nor is it meant to be the bane of my existence. I am living, I am learning, I am shouldering the (expected) burden of living in a third world country.

Yesterday was the first day of school. In a lot of ways, it encapsulates the way of life in Nicaragua. That is to say, in a lot of ways it was a circus.

For starters, the teachers, principal and Ministry of Education staff make a grand point that the opening ceremony begins at 7 on the dot. Knowing better by now, I arrived at 7:10, twiddled my thumbs for a while and waited until the festivities actually began at a quarter til 8. All of the students arrived meticulously groomed, ironed, polished shoes and all, but were careful to curb any enthusiasm they had about actually being there. It's that whole “I-obviously-went-to-great-lengths-to-put-my-best-foot-forward-yet-I'll-act-nonchalant demeanor, as always.

We all stand in lines, turn toward the Nicaraguan flag, lift our right arms to our chests and squeak out the himno nacional, the national anthem. The Peace Corps was indignant that we all commit it to memory as a sign of respect, but even in a crowd of hundreds like today I feel like I'm singing a solo given the lack of participation. On a side note, the slightly militaristic 90-degree arm bend during the himno secretly makes me feel hardcore; it induces an awe-inspiring effect that almost makes me feel like a true compatriot.

Then the principal says a few words, alternately welcoming the students in a buoyant, laughter-tinged banter and threatening them with a stone-cold austerity in her eyes. Then the teachers are introduced. If you're one of many untold Americans sitting on an unused liberal arts degree, you need look no farther than Nicaragua for an ego boost. Here, upon receiving your “licensiatura” (college degree) you are forever addressed with a title. For example, “la licensiada Elizabeth Cole.” That is, unless you're me. Having a degree here is a big deal, considering that only 11 out of every 100 students graduate from high school and 3 of 100 from college. My principal, who is “licensiada” in English likes to conveniently forget that I too am licensed, make that double licensed, in English and Spanish. Well at the risk of sounding hateful, she sure had me fooled with that English degree of hers.

After the introductions there were are, teachers and staff fanned out on the stage before the students. Bear in mind that they students are standing the whole time, in orderly lines, as is the case with all “actos civicos” (civic acts) that convene several times a month. A bigwig with the Minster of Education gives a rousing speech to students, nodding fervently that not a single child will be left behind, not a single class failed this year. In a gust of passion he shouts “Raise your hands if you're making it a point to come to school every day this year?” And, unsurprisingly, only a quarter of the students hesitantly raise their hands. Although I'm facing hundreds of my soon-to-be students, I cannot help but laugh literally out loud onstage. Well, at least the little chavalitos are honest, if to a fault.

Then the principal proceeds to tell the boys that wearing earrings or long hair to school is verboten, not to mention a clear undermining of their masculinity. Pulling the machismo card goes a long way here. As my dear principal so aptly put it “Dios les hizo como hombres y hombres son. No tienen porque negar la sexualidad que Dios mismo les dio.” Translation, “God made you as men and men you are. You have no reason to negate the sexuality God himself gave you.” Possibly more so than the machismo card, the religion card too has its sway. Then she implied that girls who wore dangly earrings and heavy eye makeup were sluts-in-the-making and cautioned against it.

To top it all off, the “discomovil” (literally, mobile disco, but more like a deejay service) sends Lady Gaga, Eminem, Soulja Boy and other boisterous music blaring through speakers to signal the piñata presentation. About this time a sorry-looking Santa Clause piñata that is clearly damaged goods from December is strung up in the pabellon. The kids take turns suggestively dancing with a broomstick then beating poor Santa to a pulp. I was beside myself, and my counterpart teacher was over it, so she whisked me to the computer lab to spend the rest of the brouhaha helping her online shoe-shop. I won't even get into the fact the school allots inordinate amounts of money for a disco service every year but can't seem to find it in the budget to give needy kids a lunch.

I feel like everyday I could write a similarly lengthy post about the bizarre happenings of this bizarre country. My tone is not meant to be spiteful, but to convey how flabbergasted I am on a daily basis. I may never understand why people here unplug their refrigerators to save electricity but keep the television running nonstop. I may never understand why my family sips coffee to put themselves to bed. I may never understand why plenty of families go malnourished, meanwhile their televisions, stereos and home entertainment systems are always top-of-the-line. And I doubt I will EVER understand how walking barefoot in the house puts me on the fast track to a UTI.

But I will laugh, and listen, and try to love the people here for who they are- just as they are- and hope they will do the same for me.

It occurred to me that I spend far too much time talking about myself on this blog. If you want to know how I'm doing, and what I'm doing, and how I'm doing what I'm doing, you'll have to know a little bit about the prominent people in my life right now. So I hereby dedicate this post as a sort of character map for the ongoing plot-line that is my life in Nicaragua.

La Familia Hernández. You've already heard me gush about them enough, but they are my original host family from training. Comprised of Cristina (the mom), Guillermo (the dad) and Cristian, their 18 year-old son, they three live tucked away in Dolores, Carazo...amongst their many pigs, parrots, dogs, fish, roosters, etc. Though I now live an hour or so from them, we still keep in touch and I even returned “home” to spend Christmas with them. They are a legendary family in Peace Corps Nicaragua, having hosted eight volunteers before me, and now are on their tenth as we speak.

La Familia Arévalo. My current host family, here in Diriá, Granada. Upon arriving at site all PCVs must spend the first six weeks with a host family to set down roots in the community. Most opt to live alone after their obligated home-stay, but some choose to spend upwards of a year, and in some cases the whole two years with their families. In theory I rent a room and pay a monthly fee that includes water, utilities, food and any other expenses I consume. In practice this means that my family has taken me under their wing as a genuine daughter (to Marina, my mom), granddaughter (to my abuelita Mama Mila), little sister (to Yasser, 25), big sister (to Marina Amparo, 18 and Blanquita, 12), niece to Tío Domingo,Tío Chicho and Tía Rosa, etc. etc. My family is BIG to say the least. I joke with them, but I really am serious when I say that I'm convinced their related to half of my town. Unlike my first host fam in Dolores, this family had never hosted a PCV before. At first it was a little awkward integrating me into the family, and I do still get unnerved at their unflagging hospitality at times (life will still go on if they don't change my curtains every three days, I swear) but poco a poco I am beginning to love them as a true family as well. I've even gotten pity-invited as the third wheel on Marina Amparo's date with her boyfriend haha. If that's not looking out for me I don't know what is. I traveled one weekend and came home to find my ratty old Nikes clorox-ed and scrubbed to perfection, courtesy of my mom's meticulous cleaning habits. In Blanquita I've discovered the little sister I never had, and I must say I do enjoy her company! To lift the title of a Speechwriters LLP song, she will be a “classic, heart-breaking bitch” someday (pardon the language.) Not only is she beautiful...think a younger Rosario Dawson...but she is the head of her class, a dancing fiend, a formidable cards player, clever, funny and all that comes with. So to sum it up, my family here takes MORE than good care of me and I am starting to feel at home.

Jenny, my counterpart. She's the English teacher I'll be working with for the next two years. She worked with the volunteer before me, so she already has a good idea of what we'll be doing. A follow-up assignment like mine works like this: the first volunteer forges a friendship, coaxes the teacher into trying new teaching techniques, introduces many of their own, basically gives exposure of new methodologies. The second volunteer (me) and anyone thereafter also forges a friendship, proffers ideas but moreover strives for a classroom where the Nicaraguan teacher takes the reins and implements new methodologies on his/her own. My goal is that by the end of two years our co-teaching will evolve to the point where when I leave, she sustains the diversified classroom that we will develop together. Vamos a ver. Although school doesn't start til February 2nd, teachers went back to school last week and I've gotten to spend time with her and the other teachers at my school. I have a feeling we're going to jive well. From the affable gym teacher Arturo to the kindhearted civics teacher Janet who shares tangerines with me, so far everyone's been welcoming. Because I only have one counterpart, as opposed to the majority of volunteers who have two, three, four and even five, I am looking to take on a heavier workload at my school. Lucky for me I've been invited to enroll in and help with folkloric dancing as an extracurricular activity!

And it goes without saying, but my fellow PCVs. I cannot tell you how relieved I am to know that I have at least 8 volunteers within an hour's radius. I'm collaborating with Alex from Masaya an Claire from Nandaime with our project to give English classes to local volcano guides. To be honest, it's a project I'm not sure I would have embarked on alone. We went to Megan from Diriamba's house a few weekends ago to paint and help arrange her new furnishings. Last weekend we convened at Alex's new place to “garden,” which ended up being a cooking and poker marathon. The day hasn't come yet, and I'm crossing my fingers it won't, but if I'm ever in despair, in tears and in a PC slump (they invariably happen), I have plenty of people I can turn to. Even the farther-flung ones are just a phone call or text message away. Donna lives on the Island of Ometepe, which by Nicaraguan standards is like living in Guam, but despite the distance we keep up a running dialogue daily via text messaging.

And then there are the countless acquaintances I've made, but devoting a paragraph to each might well turn into a novel. Maria Conchita is my 5 year-old neighbor who pops in to bring me stolen fruit. She always asks if we can play jacks or cards. She also likes to ogle the wall of photos of I've arranged, so if you're reading this she might already know your face already. And then there's the sweet ladies who work in Casa de la Mujer, an NGO for women's development, who are new friends and future work partners. And Carlos 3, a mototaxi driver I met at a wedding a while back. Yes, you know you're in Nicaragua when you have three friends named Carlos...And let's not forget the rest of my town, who know what I'm doing, and when, and with whom, and why every second of the day. People here like to pry, and “chismes” aka gossip is nearly a national pastime. So I am always conscientious about leaving the house well-groomed, freshly ironed and with a smile on my face, as do all Nicas, to avoid nasty rumors. Trust me, I'm not paranoid. Strangers routinely tell me they saw me walking down a certain street, at a certain hour of day, wearing a certain outfit and ask what I was up to. I can't say I like living in a fishbowl, but at least according to what people say, and to err on the side of being overly trustworthy, most people here look out for your best interests. So better to steel myself and force a smile when the drunks hoot and holler at me at 7 am on my walk to school rather than have them turn on me.

Así es que aunque ustedes me hacen falta, estoy rodeada por buena genta por aquí. Es cierto que no son sustitutos, igual me hacen reír, pensar y disfrutar la vida como hacían ustedes. Se lo juro- me cuidan bien.

(So it is that although I miss you all, I am surrounded by good people here. It's true that they aren't substitutes, but all the same they make me laugh, think and enjoy life such as you all did. I promise- they care for me well.)

I feel like it's been years since I last wrote, but it's only been a few weeks.

An environment PCV showed me around Catarina and San Juan de Oriente, nearby towns that I had yet to explore. Catarina is famous for its lookout of the lagoon (mirador, en español) and San Juan for its pottery and handicrafts. Alex and I met a family who teaches pottery classes, in particular using the wheel. I might try my hand at it some day! The wheels here are manually powered, and though the artisans here can spin and mold pottery with finesse, I am none too deceived about my own humble skills. Perhaps in two years' time I can churn out a piece or two of ceramic artwork of my own.

New Year's Eve was great. A group of us went to the lagoon for the night. Highlights included cooking brick oven pizza, marathon games of Apples to Apples and a comical game of water volleyball (whose most salient moment involved me being clocked square in the head haha.)

After a day of recovery post-New Year's I packed my bags and headed to Managua on January 2nd. Four other TEFL Peace Corps volunteers and I were commissioned for a US Embassy/State Department-funded English camp. As part of the teaching staff the PC asked us to come a day early for planning in Managua, then the next day we met up with the chosen Nicaraguan English teachers at the US Embassy, packed on a bus and headed to the camp. It was quite nostalgic to be back in Managua, in the same hotel we stayed in for Swear-In with a few of my closest PC friends. That and the hot water, air conditioning and wireless isn't so bad either...Don't get me wrong, Managua itself has few charms with its rampant crime traffic, pollution and utter chaos, but its hotels (especially when on the tab of the US government) are rather posh. So it was that we spent a luxurious night before embarking for Mombacho with a bus-full of enthusiastic teachers of English.

The camp was fan-freaking-tastic. Despite a grueling 14 hours-a-day schedule, the teachers maintained a morale and good-natured humor that was second to none. After a month and a half of idling my time away in site without tangible work to do, the rigors of the camp wore on me. However the motivation of the teachers sustained me, and I walked away having danced, sung, laughed, and connected with Nicaragua's best and brightest teachers of English. Let me just say that certain brands of humor are universal, especially if you're a typical Nica man and your mind is perpetually in the gutter. Also I'm pretty sure all six of us gringos that were there are on our way to becoming minor celebrities; all 40 of the teachers took many, and frequent pictures of us with their cell phones and cameras. Not to mention some of us received love notes, phone numbers, invitations to visit and some bolder propositions. I'd like to think that I walked away with a cluster of new Nicaraguan friends (at least in terms of the women, the men's intentions are always ambiguous at best) even if the text messaging from enamorados has already commenced. All in all, it was refreshing to see a good use of US taxpayer dollars, in that the Nica teachers gushed that it was “the best week of their lives” and a Disneyworld-esque adventure for them.

My favorite parts of the week:

-we hosted a simulated cooking show and my group of teachers opted to wear scarves on their heads and claimed to hail from Africa and Pakistan (apparently political correctness is a bygone concept here...)

-watching and dissecting the movie “Freedom Writers”

-getting unsolicited advice on how to snag a Nica boyfriend

-performing “Crank Dat” by Souljaboy at the talent show with my fellow PCVs plus Henning

-my guest-spot on Steve's rendition of “December 4th”

-daily clothing-swaps with Laura and Donna, and feeling like I was back in my sorority house

-hearing the life stories of Nica teachers and their sincerest appreciation of the Peace Corps

I am really really really glad- and thankful- that I had the opportunity to go to the camp. At times it's easy to wonder if my work here is actually making a difference, or if people really care, and an endless string of other doubts. Well after having worked with a superb group of Nicaraguan colleagues and received their utmost praise I left the camp feeling renewed and re-inspired. It sounds cliched, but although we directed 5 hours of class daily, I learned far more than I taught that week.

After the camp my friend and fellow PCV Donna stayed with me in Diriá for a few days. It was lovely getting to pasar un rato with her, especially since she lives on the Island of Ometepe and is far less-accessible than most of my peers. I went to the first-annual Día Nacional Educativo (National Education Day) The event consisted of a band accompanying a procession teachers to my school, a few awards being doled out and teachers dancing with a stick before whacking a Santa Clause piñata. Strange, all in all, but then again the omnipresent “actos” (patriotic ceremonies) never did make much sense to me. At least I did score an invitation to a wedding this weekend! My second wedding here thus far. The first one I went to, on Christmas day no less, resurrects images of voluptuous women dancing suggestively while their drunken family members cheered them on. I'm hoping this time around will be a different story...

Still living with my family in Diriá and loving them immensely. I am really lucky in that not only was my original host family magnificent but my second one is as well. The way I see, my families here have played a huge role in keeping me in the Peace Corps, and in Nicaragua. Recently I've visited my peers who have moved out of their families' homes and into places of their own. While I definitely do envy their privacy and free reign, I don't think it's for me. For me personally, living with a family for two years- though not what I envisioned as a Peace Corps experience- bears many pluses: my Spanish improving by leaps and bounds, instant friends and family in the community, safety, cleanliness, enjoying a pet but not having to worry about it when I travel, sharing a fridge/tv/water/electricity/other amenities without having to buy my own, etc. etc. I've mulled this over long and hard, and I am ultimately content staying put. A final factor: I will always have my PC friends scattered throughout Nicaragua that I can visit whenever. One thing I might not necessarily have are Nicaraguan friends. From what I've seen, volunteers living alone tend to spend more time with gringos than with Nicas. I'm sure I'd fall to the same temptation too, and I'd rather not. Even though some days my brain is on Spanish-overload and I get frustrated and just want to be alone, I think living with a family will be a good challenge for me.

And let's not forget that living with a family means there's always somebody in your corner. This is especially helpful when you have leering neighbors such as Chago, who with a wife and two kids is still adamant on inviting me out for pizza. Alone. Gross. Good thing I have a pistol of a host mom to chew him out for such brave propositioning! ¡Qué mujer más brava! Y hecha y derecha at that!

Teachers go back to school next week, so I can kiss my lazy days of summer goodbye.

Hasta pronto,

Liz

Nacatamal assemblage, Nica wedding, cheesy Christmas pictures, Chanel our rotweiler pup and her Christmas bell, etc. etc.

Hello friends!

With a few lagging days between Christmas and New Years, I figured I'd fill you all in on how the holidays are done down here in the tropics.

On 21st I met up with Meg, Jocelyn, Alex, Claire (all other TEFL 51ers like me) and our German friend Natalie and spent the day traipsing around Granada. I've mentioned before that Granada is the tourist, and moreover white-people mecca of Nicaragua. Well, when in Rome...do as Romans do. We dined on American cuisine, sipped mocha lattes and pretty much lapped up the luxurious richness that is the city. I admit though, it is bizarre to hear English buzzing around me and to actually be able to eavesdrop for a change. Though I love the occasionally indulgent trip to Granada, and though it's only 15 minutes away, I restricting myself from going too often. Not only does it put a major dent in my humble Peace Corps budget, but it's also not the reason I came to Nicaragua. If I wanted to be around gringos all the time and munch on croissants in cafes with wireless internet, I could have stayed in America and hung out at Starbucks.

More amusing than the day in Granada was the trip there.

I sat down on a bus and noticed two white girls sitting across from me. On a bus to Granada this is nothing out of the ordinary. By chance I asked if they were from America or Europe. They said America, specifically outside of D.C. Well we get to talking at they were two sisters from Arlington, one of which is in Peace Corps Honduras right now. It gets better- the PC volunteer went to William and Mary and, after asking my name, asks if I was a Kappa Delta. My jaw just about hit the floor. Turns out we have a mutual friend in common who is a sister of mine!!! Our friend Elise and us to each other on multiple occasions but we had never met. I recognized her name, and she mine, and well I just could NOT believe how small of a world we really live in. I'm almost tempted to submit this charming little story to WM admissions as proof that the spirit of service and adventure lingers on after graduation, and that birds of a feather really do flock together. Wonder if they'd actually believe me though? PS my new-found friend's name is Kristin Corcoran, and all of our crazy connections aside she was not only delightful but encouraging; she's already halfway through her two years of service. How's that for a more uplifting bus encounter than my last? Haha oy vey.

On the 23rd I returned to my home away from home- Dolores, Carazo, Nicaragua. It may sound strange, but I really did feel like I was going home for Christmas in a Hallmark sense, except that instead of trudging through the snow clad in mittens and a hat I sweated bullets in the sun and arrived in flip flops and a sundress. Notwithstanding, I had a very pleasant Christmastime spent with beloved people. Highlights include learning how to make nacatamales (burritos of cornmeal, pork, rice, potatoes, tomatoes, raisins among other things,) going to my first Nica wedding, spending lots of time lounging in a hammock and lots of whiling away time chatting with the Hernández family: Guillermo, Cristina and Cristian. I got to play Santa Clause and deliver their Christmas gifts courtesy of the Cole family. They absolutely loved everything, and even had a little something for me too. Also it was fantastic to see most of my TEFL 51 group again because many like me returned to their training families for the holiday. Case in point it was refreshing to be around familiar people during Christmas.

I would also like to give myself a pat on the back for trying 7 varieties of pork over the span of 4 days. Included were pork burritos, pork nacatamales, chicharrones (pork rinds), moronga (congealed pork blood mixed with rice), frito (fried pork fat), pork with yucca and finally barbecued pork. My Dolores neighbors slaughtered a 300-pound pig in honor of the wedding, and we sure made the most of it. Thankfully on Christmas Eve I got a reprieve and we ate chicken ☺

Went to the lagoon again yesterday, it was as majestic as usual. Gearing up for a New Years party at the lagoon with 8 or so other volunteers. It's supposed to be a full moon, and from what I hear the view of the moon reflecting off the water is something to behold. Really excited about that. Then for the week of January 2nd through the 9th I'll be working and staying at a camp for English teachers in Mombacho, Granada. Also excited about that. It's just nice to have things to do honestly. Supuestamente the school year will begin in the end of January, and upcoming planning will commence mid-month. I sure hope so, because the novelty of “integrating” has worn off and I along with all my peers are eager to actually start working in the schools. Two months of no stipulated work and tasked only with getting to know my community sounds enticing, but now I am antsy to get down to business.

I realize I'm verbose at times, so I'll keep this (relatively) short and wrap things up. Shout outs of love to Rosemary, Helen, Colin, Michelle, Lisa, Kendall, Aunt Ellen and my family for the mail! It is wholly appreciated.

Elizabeth

Nicaragua has some great people. Some really first-class, exceptional, sincere, charming people. It also has a lot of shitty people. Allow me to explain.

Yesterday two things happened, the culmination of which broke my heart.

First, I was on a packed bus and saw an old man get pick-pocketed. Well I didn't see it with my own eyes, but I saw his eyes, pleading as he groped for his wallet to realize it had been lifted from him. Others on the bus searched under the seats, in-between the jam-packed bags but the two thieves had already accomplished their task and gotten off the bus. Thieves work in a myriad of ways, but that day they worked in a pair- two board the bus, one in the front and the other in the back. While standing in the aisle, they make eye contact to ascertain their victim. Then they inch their way closer, sandwich victim, jostle around a bit so victim becomes accustomed to bodily contact (easy to do on a schoolbus filled with 100+ people) then deftly slip a hand in victim's pocket to confiscate goods.

Bus robberies happen all the time. I was devastated, but not surprised. This poor old man had 1,500 córdobas on him. That translates to about $75 US, and is a small fortune down here. His face, streaked with tears and bearing a look of total defeat, will haunt me for a long time. I desperately wanted to give him money because I felt awful, but he departed before I had the chance. My eyes welled up with tears but I did not cry.

Second, a friend phoned me to say that my host father from Dolores got robbed the other day. Then I really did cry. Guillermo is a man of an impeccable work ethic and generosity toward his fellow Nicaraguans. He lends money to neighbors and friends whom he knows will never pay him back. He has shared more of his home, family, food and life with me than the Peace Corps could have ever stipulated. Beloved by many, he and his wife are godparents to countless children and unofficial marriage counselors for struggling couples. Above all, though he makes a good living in construction, he is by no means rich. The last few weeks with them prior to leaving I know money was tight. Like most Nicaraguan families, they had to make sacrifices. I'm not sure how exactly he was robbed, or by whom but I know that the thieves got his cell phone, his cédula (Nica ID card) and his car registration papers.

Like I said before, while this country has some fantastic folk, it also has a lot of sinvergüenzas (shameless people) who steal from their own kind, and from the elderly at that.

I get that I'm a target. I'm white. And when people in the third world see white skin, they see dollar signs. And lots of them. I get that I'm a target, I really do. But to see the poorest stealing from the slightly-less-poor, and from their own countrymen at that just makes me sick. I can't say what I would do if I were starving and barefoot and just wanted a bite to eat. I can't say what I would do in the place of the many thieves who abound in Nicaragua. But I pray to God I wouldn't be so dissolute.

It's a reality that most Peace Corps Volunteers in this country get robbed, many multiple times. If we're crunching numbers, that's about 100 of the 180 stationed here. Moreover, most people living in Nicaragua in general get robbed. To elaborate on a few of the many stories: There was the volunteer who invited her landlady and landlady's grandchildren over for lunch. During the meal the children smiled and politely complimented the volunteer on her beautiful home furnishings. Then not two days later the volunteer returned to her house to find it looted. Happily munching away, the kids were making a mental tally of everything they were going to steal later. Shameless. In my site the last female volunteer was robbed twice. My Nica host brother was held at knifepoint for his cell phone, and after surrendering it the thieves still stabbed him three times. Oh and did I mention the Nicas who have earrings ribbed from their earlobes in Managua? That's just the Cliff's Notes version of thievery here.

What do I mean by all of this moaning and groaning? To draw a few conclusions, Nicaragua is not safe, nor is any third world country. People who are desperate will resort to dire measures. Said desperate people do not discriminate and will steal from whomever, whenever, wherever, however. I used to be a happy-go-lucky and carefree person, and Nicaragua is hardening me to the realities of daily danger. You have to steel yourself before boarding public transportation here. Nobody smiles on buses, nobody chitchats, nobody confides in anyone they casually meet. If you should find yourself in trouble, don't bother going to the police because they probably won't be of any help. Unless you bribe them. Then they might at least hear you out.

A few days ago I finally bought a new cell phone. As you may recall, my former phone was stolen from me in broad daylight. Eventually I had to cancel the number because the thief sold it to a woman posing to be my friend and who fielded many unhappy calls from Peace Corps staff with a sunny demeanor saying “Oh, Elizabeth doesn't use this number any more! Haha she must have forgotten to tell you!” (in Spanish, of course.)

I bought a cheap replacement phone because I am well-aware of the grim reality- it will more than likely end up in the hands of thieves before my two years are up. Such is life here.

Well friends, things are looking up since the last time I checked in with you.

For starters, I have things to do. The secondary projects of Peace Corps comprise one big unknown for me, and for a while it was staring me down menacingly. Well I'm taking the plunge and, lo and behold I think I'm sort of getting the hang of it. Pretty much as TEFL volunteers we have the prerogative to spearhead any sort of secondary project, so long as it benefits the community. Here's what I'm up to between now and when school starts in February.

-summer camp for kids in Masatepe (yes, the seasons are screwy here and it is summertime...)

-one-on-one English lessons with locals in Diria and Diriomo

-training teachers at an English summit for Nica teachers in Mombacho

-working with tour guides of Volcán Mombacho on tweaking their English to broaden tourist appeal

-???

Technically just “integrating” in the community is my job for the first few months. That being said, I'd like to add public prayer and parade-marching to my little resume. I mentioned La Purísima before as a week-long celebration of the Virgin Mary in December. Well I can now attest that is replete with bombs all hours of the day and night, idol worship, parades galore, trumpeteering, abundant free candy and sweets capped off with an endless stream of Hail Marys in Spanish. Suffice it to say that I never knew Catholic festivities could be so...colorful. Depending on who you are, La Purísima is spent either wallowing in a drunken haze, blaring religious music into the wee hours of the morning, devoutly praying novenas, or an amalgamation of all three. And did I mention the bombs??? Many a morning I awoke to the pandemonium certain that civil unrest was erupting. Nope, just boisterous Catholics and their shenanigans.

I'll take this opportunity to give you a brief rundown of my fellow townsmen in Diriá. There's my neighbor across the street who is apparently a really famous baseball player here. Don't get too excited, he still lives in a veritable shack. A two-story shack, but a shack at that. Then mosey on down a ways and you'll find Pedro, a Nicaraguan who spent a decade or so in America and can hold his own in English. Yes he was a promising young chap in Miami for some time...before he got deported for gunning a guy down in a gang-related drug heist. Fine gentleman indeed. Then there's the bajillion grandchildren of my grandmother. I swear they're as numerous as the stars, and though I can't keep their names straight for the life of me they all know my name and smile as the token gringa walks by. Then there's Felipe, the town crazy. Poor thing, he shuffles around cross-eyed, shoulders aslant, oftentimes barefoot and always in an apparent hurry. My family tells me he's harmless and I really do feel for him. That being said, for now I'll keep a safe distance. Then there's the Carloses. Carlos 1 is the fachento one. He's a student of mine and is generous with rides to Granada and Managua in his tricked out Honda CRV, but the journey isn't complete without him donning his RayBans, lowering the windows and blasting Beyonce's “Si Yo Fuera Un Chico” (If I Were A Boy.) He's a fun one. Then there's Carlos 2, a volcano guide whom I met on a bus. Struck up conversation, realized he and his colleagues were in the market for free English classes and thus commenced our acquaintanceship. He's, well, not quite as fachento as Carlos 1. He's had some shoddy dental work done and debatably has a grill. Haha regardless still a nice guy and he took Alex and me on a sweeeeeet 3 hour hike of the volcano, lunch included and paid our entrance fee. Minus his sort of lovey-dovey texting, if I hold my distance he'll be a good resource to have in the community haha. Don't worry, I would never deign myself to date a guy with a grill. Ever. This paragraph is marching on and I still haven't covered all of the lively characters around here, so I'll save their stories for another post. In short, as is Nicaragua a colorful and curious country, so are its people.

In other news, I'm going to COSTA RICA in a week. From what I gather it boasts all the natural beauty of Nicaragua with less poverty, crime, trash, etc. etc. Basically like Nicaragua version 1239897.0. My host mom has a niece who lives there with her American husband. Like every other story I've heard, it sounds a little suspicious to me but intriguing nonetheless. The niece went to the States as a “model” at the age of 18, fell in love with this American guy in his 50's, they married and moved to Costa Rica. She's 28 now and he's in his 60s. Well in a few weeks I'll report back on how fishy (or not?) the whole situation is haha.

I'm learning how to navigate the enigmatic bus system here. Remember those old yellowish-orange junkers of school buses that were too decrepit to pass emissions inspections in the US? Yep Central America is where they are reincarnated into the most common mode of public transportation. Some bus drivers even emblazon them with painted flames, but most opt for the Jesus theme and bedeck the walls with sometimes graphic interpretations of the crucifixion. My town is 20 minutes from Granada, 15 from Masaya and 40 from Managua and Jinotepe. In theory I'm super close to all of these departmental hubs, but because punctuality is a long lost concept here there is no real bus schedule. Well either I've cracked the code, or just gotten lucky but my recent bus travels have been swift and relatively easy, minus being crammed in with 100 or so other passengers, chickens, dogs, etc.

To leave on a high note (I realize my last post was a doozy...) I have seen what is surely the long-lost 8th wonder of the world- the Laguna de Apoyo. It translates to “lagoon of support/healing” in English, and one dip into its turquoise waters and you'll know why. Lucky for me my sitemate Matt knows a Canadian guy building a hostel at its shore. That's an understatement. His name is Shamus, he is quirky, friendly, down-to-earth and owns an immaculate parcel of land that opens up to a view worthy of the gods. He told my friends Claire and Alex that he used to work in the film industry. As Matt understands it, he was a roadie with Avril Lavigne and apparently struck it rich. Whatever the case, he picked us up in his Landrover, drove us the treacherous path down to the lagoon, tossed us some inner tubes and told us to make ourselves at home. Next time he might cook us pizza in his brick-oven. Oh and did I mention he built this entire little compound of his house, the hostel, a store, bar, and brick oven from scratch? Impressive. To my advantage he has forged a friendship with Peace Corps Volunteers in the past four years while he's been developing, and it looks like that tradition is about to continue. As the closest PCV to the lagoon, I plan on taking full advantage of this fortuitous friendship!

If there's one thing I've learned on this topsy-turvy two year adventure, it's that “normal” as a concept doesn't exist in Nicaragua. Good, bad, bizarre, it's all on a whole other level here.

Also, to get you all in the holiday spirit- two of my host mom's former students came by the house the other day. They made her red and green decorative butterflies, shimmering in glitter. I had an inkling that was reaffirmed for me when I found out they're gay. Of course. Also their names happen to be Tito and Julito, so if that's not the most precious thing ever than I don't know what is.

Off now to go sing karaoke and dance with my host mom and family in Managua for the night. I lucked out and got a family with some sass, or so it seems. I'll let you know how the excursion goes!

Liz

They say that the Peace Corps is the hardest job you'll ever love.

As of late, I've seen more of the “hard” than the “love.”

Let me preface this by saying that I saw this coming. The Peace Corps is no cakewalk. Nor is it supposed to be. All the same I've been reeling from a variety of factors working against my favor.

1.I had to say goodbye to TEFL training peers on Friday. We are officially in our sites now, which means we are officially scattered all around the country. I am lucky to have a good handful of people in my vicinity, but it's still not the same as seeing 17 familiar faces everyday.

2.I got robbed on Friday. Walking at 1 pm in broad daylight, with my friend Matt no less, a cursed little 12 year-old took my wallet and cell phone. We all know by now that Managua is a perpetual danger zone, but I figured if I took realistic precautions- walk only during the daytime, and with a guy- that I'd be okay. Also if you remember, there is a rising phenomenon of “express kidnap taxis” in Managua. So if it's not safe to walk, and cabs are at your own risk then I guess I'll resort to using a damn broomstick to fly around Managua. Oh well. Really and truly, robberies are a rite of passage for PCVs, especially in Nicaragua. It was probably only a matter of time before I too was christened into the club. Some volunteers have been robbed upwards of three times. So not to be a Debbie Downer or anything but I am bracing myself for what more may come. Also, TEFL 51 did superlatives and I was voted “most likely to get robbed and/or express-kidnapped” so I guess they hit the nail on the head with that one.

3.It's the holiday season, and I miss you all. I am grateful for a delightful Thanksgiving celebration with other PCVs and staff, and my town is getting decked out for Christmas. Still, it's not the same. Right now all of Nicaragua is celebrating “La Purísima,” a week-long series of fireworks, bombs and parades that pay homage to the conception of the Virgin Mary (not the immaculate conception, but Mary's birth herself.) So when I'm jolted awake at 3 am by bombs crackling overhead...I think of you all and a bit of homesickness sneaks up on me.

4.I am the new kid in town. Just arrived at my site for good on Friday (yes, after a traumatizing day of farewells and petty thefts) and I've been a little blue. Luckily I have a stellar sitemate, Matt, who not only dried my tears when I was a distraught mess post-robbery, but who also has gone to great lengths to introduce me to his friends in the community. As does my host family. Though I do feel really alone at times, I am eternally grateful for the kindness of people in welcoming me warmly.

5.I have no school or class til the end of January, so I'm desperately finding ways to fill my time. We'll see how it goes...at the very least I can start a countdown til Dec. 23rd when I go back to my host family in Dolores...?

Well I'll stop the list there. Not everything is doom and gloom in my world, I just needed a space to vent. A few happy highlights:

-My host family just got a puppy! It is a month-old pitbull puppy named Bella. She is absolutely precious.

-The chismes aka gossip have already begun about me in my gossip-obsessed town, Diria. Apparently they think I'm an evangelical healer and that last time I came to visit I cured the sick. Hahahhaha. As much as I idolize HP, not so much so that I've picked up a few occult practices of my own. I'm no sorceress (yet.)

-My host fam decorated my room with a pink bedspread and matching curtains embroidered with the word “love” in gold. They are a little over-the-top but undoubtedly make me smile.

-My host sister, Marina, wants to “find me a boyfriend.” I am skeptical of this endeavor, but at the very least I want Nica friends.

-I gave my first English lesson on Saturday with Matt. Don't think it was half-bad.

-My host bro Jasser likes to sing Celine Dion in the shower. Loudly.

-Matt's friend Carlos wants to teach me to dance. We'll see how that goes...haha likely with lots of stumbling and tripping involved.

-Went to the All-Volunteer Conference last week, which is basically a summit of everyone in Peace Corps Nicaragua. Took my first hot shower in three months. Played in the pool. Met a lot of cool people. Sang “Don't Go Breaking my Heart” with my friend Chris in the talent show. Lost miserably at trivia night (but it made me feel like I was back in the Leafe!) Overall good times.

Liz

I just posted my new address! It should be the same for the next two years. I will still check my PC address periodically when I go into the capital city, so don´t worry if you already sent stuff there.

Also in two days I will be a sworn-in volunteer!

More to come.

Once upon a time I had time aplenty to process my thoughts and write introspective blog posts. Then November set in. I'll try to recapitulate the whirlwind that has been the past few weeks, extemporaneously. Here goes-

Halloween. Wore delightfully tacky clothing (as seen below) mailed to me by mom mom. Went out on the town with a few friends, one of whom had the brilliance to dress as Sandino, a famous Nicaraguan revolutionary. On the whole a rather uneventful day. Fun fact: Nicaraguans call it "the day of the witch" here and actually believe that when Americans say "trick or treat" that people might trick them. I had to explain it was rooted in tradition more than truth. A bigger deal was Monday, November 2nd also known throughout the Latin world as the Day of the Dead. Families visit the graves of their deceased, leave flowers and some take the opportunity to spruce up the gravesites, trim weeds, repaint, etc. I was stoked to bring food and have a meal in the cementery and was a little crestfallen to realize that only happens in Mexico. Silly me. Still though I really liked the holiday as a solemn way to pay respect.

Site visit. I spent about a week in Diria, Granada staying with my family, meeting my counterpart and on the whole testing the waters of my community members to-be. On the whole I really liked it. For starters I have an awesome sitemate (PC lingo for another volunteer living in the vicinity) and we get along like two peas in a pod. Already my host family has taken a liking to him and I'm pretty sure he'll be pivotal in my integration to the community. He so graciously introduced me to people of importance and the numerous families he's developed a rapport with. Plus he's southern, wickedly funny and well-liked in Diria. An advantageous friendship indeed. Additionally my host family could not be any sweeter. As you know they have pretty big shoes to fill considering the undying love I have for my Dolores fam. Well the Arevalo family might just fill them. When I arrived they had my room set up, replete with a postcard-cum-family tree and a gift for me: a little wooden box painted with the town name. As they say in Nicaragua, the family is "fachenta" (explained in previous posts, means "uppity, fashionable" and I'm pretty sure the Arevelo family is listed under the rest of the definition. The house is small but immaculate- tile floors, beautiful wood-working, real furniture (not plastic, which is more or less the norm) and running water. This paltry description doesn't quite capture the elegance and beauty of the home. I know my standards have changed enormously since being here, but in a word this house is charming, as are its people. I have a host sister who is 18, a brother who is 25 and a doll of a little sis who is 12. She put on a traditional Nica outfit and danced for me at my welcome party. Yes I had a welcome party. So while the opportunity still exists to live along after 6 weeks in my site, I will likely stay with this family longer. The only two complaints I have are the lack of shower (I will be taking "bucket baths" for a while...fun times) and the fact that being primarily comprised of women the family can be a little overbearing. Every little thing has to be perfect, from a candle lit at every meal to the sheets tucked perfectly into my bed to a thorough mopping and scrubbing of the house everyday. Well I can grin and bear living palatially, compared with some of my less fortunate training peers.

Work. Work. Work. This week has seemed sheerly exhausting. Between finishing up with my youth group and filming their final product, turning in written reports and all of the other trivialities of training I am exhausted. Those two months of nothingness when I first get to site are looking all the more appealing. Additionally we have been traveling to Managua, San Marcos and other neighboring towns for the last trickle of our technical charlas. Think I've had enough of those to last me for a while, if not eternity. By the way, we went to the US Embassy on Tuesday and while I forget to bring my war paint I am happy to report I emerged unscathed. Things have quieted down but I still couldn't help but notice the new sign outside...the other one was desecrated with graffiti...

So I have a secret! And you probably know that I am bad at keeping secrets. I have been nominated to give a speech at our Swearing-In ceremony. In Spanish. In regard to our host families and what they mean to us. So in the midst of other PC required shenanigans I've been resubmitting drafts via email with my supervisor to feign eloquence in Spanish. This is really meaningful to me because a) I love my host family and b) I love giving speeches. It brings me back to Speech and Debate in high school, with the poignancy factor increased tenfold. I'll let you know how it goes all in all. One thing I can say is I'm not making any guarantees as to whether there will be waterworks. Anything is possible.

Speaking of Swear-In, it is on November 23rd, followed by the All-Volunteer Conference, followed by Thanksgiving with an ambassador fam on the 26th and then official commencement of service on Friday, the 27th when we arrive in our sites for good. So I'll be in Managua for a week and mingling with 160 or so other PCVs. Oh also, for the Swear-In we are learning the Nicaraguan national hymn and let me tell you my pipes are out of practice. Good thing from what I hear the Nicaraguans don't know it and don't sing it either, so we can all be complacently ignorant together haha.

Well it is getting dark out and you know what that means...danger looms. Well it always looms, but more than usual. If I can leave you with a final thought it would be this- lately I have experienced the "downs" of training more than the "ups." This is completely normal. In fact if everything was hunky-dory I would be unnerved because there are inevitable speedbumps in the Peace Corps- better to face them sooner rather than later. Much love to other PCV friends of mine from high school and college for the words of encouragement!

Hasta luego,

Liz

1. Marina, my new host sister in my site, with the Lagoon de Apoyo in the background. Approximately 10 minutes walking from my house.

2. La Laguna. As legend has it a giant water serpent haunts the water and attacks unsuspecting victims. In reality, many Nicas drunkenly swim in the lagoon and drown to death. The lagoon is deep but surely not as treacherous as the locals claim it to be.

3. Fellow Dolores trainess, Laura, Steve and Megan. I will miss them dearly in two weeks.

4. Happy Halloween, outfit/accessories courtesy of Kay Cole.

5. My family's rotweiler named Chanel (yes, like the perfume.)

Reasons Why Diriá, (pronounced "deer-eee-AH") Granada Will Rock:

-20 minutes from Granada, Granada, “arguably Nicaragua's most picturesque town” (Moon Handbook)

-15 minutes from Masaya, mecca of handicrafts

-30 minutes from Managua, Nicaragua's capital city and Peace Corps headquarters

-accessibility and proximity to other PCVs (5 live within a 30 minute radius!)

-Diriá has a scenic nature trail the opens up into a lagoon

-two nearby volcanoes

-nearby beaches

-nearby lakes

-people tell me the city is clean...I'll believe it when I see it

-1 hour from my beloved host family (read: frequent visits and free meals)

-much more to be discovered on my upcoming Site Visit!

Things really do happen for a reason. Claire and I both had our hopes pinned on Corinto, an island on the western coast. Our APD (director) assured us we were deceived- it's not as charming as the PC literature paints it to be. When you read between the lines of “waves crashing upon ancient rocks” and “thick mangrove forests” the magic fades into the reality of a port town rife with prostitution, drugs and miserliness. Well neither Claire nor I got our “dream site” of Corinto, thank goodness, but we will both be in the same department! She's wonderful, West Virginian and was also in a sorority so we get along swimmingly. Haha we are perhaps the only ones who tolerate each others' tangents about Greek life. She'll be about 25 minutes away in Nandaime, but my closest neighbor will be a TEFL PCV named Matt who lives right across the highway in Diriá's twin city, Diriomo. Then there are two other TEFL PCVs in Granada city itself and another in the Health Outreach sector. All in all there will be a slew of volunteers in the vicinity so I am ecstatic!

In my last post I mentioned how aspects of PC service remind me of the States. From what I gather Diriá hearkens back to my years at William and Mary: I'll live near a beautiful, colonial (if) touristy city, not far from the beach, and what's more in the company of a few gay folk. Some of my most cherished friendships in college were with men of the gay variety, and it looks like I'll have at least three options to do so here. Considering that Nicaragua is a staunchly machista country I was flummoxed to discover how many openly gay people there are. One of my more memorable conversations was with a gay matagalpino who just RAVED about the Twilight movies. Haha. I think Nicaraguans cull references from American pop culture...like flamboyancy...and take it to a whole other level. If you can imagine how ostentatious the gays are here, you would never believe how uniformly black-clad and fauxhawk-coiffed the emo kids are. At times I feel like I'm living among the crowd goers of a My Chemical Romance concert.

Speaking of music, and now that I've entirely diverged from the point of this post (though I really could fawn over Granada all day, trust me) I'll touch upon my musical preferences as of late. A few of us in Dolores pitched in a few córdobas to buy Nica music. I wish I could tell you the names of artists, but there are a few decent ones. That and Akon, 80's music REM, Bon Jovi and other random American icons are hugely popular here. Steve gave me 2 gigs of music to double my meager iTunes hodgepodge. Years after friends in college tried to convert me I have finally embraced artists such as Bright Eyes, The Postal Service, Belle and Sebastian, The Decemberists and others. Thanks, Steve! Peace Corps volunteers are the caring and sharing sort, from movies to music to books to toothbrushes (yes, it's happened.)

Thank you all so much for the mail! Your letters light up my life.

Yesterday the U.S. Embassy was under siege in Managua. Unhappy Nicaraguans shot mortar at the building and launched items such as food and trash. The Ambassador had to be escorted out and essentially ran, flanked by armed guards, to seek shelter at a university. Then he gave a speech at the same university today and was booed by the crowd. Well this sounds promising, heh. If I were politically savvy I could give you a reason for the uproar, but alas I cannot. Anti-American sentiment is not uncommon here and as much as this perturbs me PC staff assures us this is "nothing out of the ordinary" and to be aware, but not altogether alarmed. Elections are slated for next fall and already Daniel Ortega, the current president (dictator?) has begun campaigning. At least my site is near Managua should the PC demand we make a quick exit. So far though things look stable, or at least as stable as the typically unstable politics of Latin America go...

Monday through Sunday I'll be meeting my counterpart and visitng my site! Expect a report back on the crown jewel of Nicaragua that is Granada!

Happy Halloween all, I'll be sporting my glow-in-the-dark shirt and flashing pumpking earrings here (thanks Mom) so I won't be missing out.

Liz

Drumroll please...

I AM GOING TO DIRIA, GRANADA!

Details to come. I have an all-day conference tomorrow to prep for. Be assured I am stoked about my site!

The more time I spend in Nicaragua, the more desensitized I become to its quirks. Already things that used to make my eyes pop out of my head are now seem commonplace, even mundane. Before I get too “nica” to notice, I'll take this opportunity to rattle off a list of norms that strike me as...peculiar, to say the least.-4 people, 1 bicycle, boys perched on the handlebars in a lovey-dovey way...except here it's less about romance and more about pragmatism

-Unconventional breakfast foods (lasagna, Oreos, tamales, rice and beans, etc.)

-Casual littering

-Drunks lounging face-up in the street, mouths agape, undeterred by even the rain

-Spontaneous fireworks, parades and music appropriate for any hour of the day or night

-Fire and brimstone Catholic homilies

-If Evangelical is more your style, church services-turned-Christian Karaoke Idol where impromptu solos are encouraged

-Showers to be taken in the morning only

-Rampant catcalling, hissing and kissing sounds; in general speaking your mind to whomever, whenever, indecent exposure included.

-Machetes carried to school.

-Machetes carried everywhere.

-Eating hot food on a hot day, naturally the best way to cool down.

-Because if you mix hot and cold foods you're just asking for trouble

-Ditto for ever taking your shoes off. Bare feet = serious health hazard

-But if you do fall ill, Alkaseltzer is a cure-all, as all nica mothers will attest

-Zero political correctness aka giving people endearing nicknames such as “little chubby,” “petroleum/oil/asphalt” for anyone of darker complexion and “chinito” for those with squinty eyes

-For men, cologne baths > real baths

-After dousing body in cologne, apply equally liberal amount of hair gel to sculpt tresses into a perfectly congealed helmet. Let dry and harden to a sheen.

-Lack of instrument panels in many vehicles/ you probably wouldn't want to know how fast your cabdriver is going anyway/ hoping you have enough gas...

-Carbo-loading at every meal; pasta, rice and tortillas is the perfect “well-balanced” nica meal

-Jeans as formal attire

-Jeans worn in 100 degree heat

-JNCO jeans, all the rage. Remember those from back in the 90s? They're alive and well here.

-Used toilet paper belongs in the trashcan, never the toilet.

-Pickup trucks with speakers hitched onto the back that go blaring through the streets

-Said trucks announcing anything from sales to upcoming parties to deaths in town

-A late-night cup of coffee to induce sleep

-Personal space as an obsolete concept. A minivan taxi isn't full until you cram in 20 passengers, chickens and a pig or two for good measure.

-Uncensored T.V. programming, fun for the whole family?

-Emaciated horses, goats and other livestock tethered to trees and fences. Baseball fields double as pastures.

-Arriving 2 hours late, if at all, to a meeting...and that's just to name a few ☺Tomorrow all the TEFL trainees are off to visit volunteers until Wednesday. Lucky for me I'm being dispatched to Matagalpa to stay with Anjie Price, a born and raised Mississippi girl who's halfway through her two years of service. I'm more than excited to escape to the cool, pine tree-dotted northern mountains and see how a real volunteer lives (not to mention sample some of the world-class coffee and chocolate for which Matagalpa is known.) I caved in and bought a cell phone this week, as did most of my training group. Figured it was a necessary safety precaution seeing as traveling by taxi in Managua is an inevitable leg of my journey. Like the Peace Corps literature tell us, “IF ALL ELSE FAILS, CALL THE MARINES.” Roger that. First number saved in my phone.Sincerely,ahLEEsahbet (my name according to nicañol phonetics)

There are two types of rain in Nicaragua.

The first being momentary drizzles in the middle of the afternoon, sunlight streaming down amidst the occasional drop of rain. As they say in Nicaragua, “Están pagando los tramposos” or in English, “the cheaters are paying their debts.” Megan, a volunteer from West Virginia, offered another albeit more colorful equivalent- “the devil is beating his wife.” Any way you slice it, all such quips connote the puzzlement of rain on a sunny day.

The second type of rain is rain like you'd never believe. Out of nowhere the sky opens up and unleashes buckets and buckets and then more buckets of rain. Gusts of wind whip the rain into a diagonal slant. The stillness of a hazy afternoon is stirred into a stormy frenzy. Nicaraguans term this “están cayendo sapos y culebras” or in English, “it's raining toads and snakes.” If the weather is looking particularly ominous and/or your mouth is particularly vulgar, you could say “viene Elver” as a cheeky way of saying “viene el vergazo del diablo” or “here comes the devil's (insert expletive here)load of rain.”

Well I have yet to see snakes or toads fall from the sky, nor I have seen the devil himself, but I have seen a wetter side of Nicaragua as of late. And we're but on the cusp of October, the rainiest month. Welcome to the jungle.

In other news, my youth group voted today to put on a rendition of “High School Musical” as their final project. Never thought I'd be casting the next Zac Efron of Nicaragua, but hey, the roles of a Peace Corps volunteer are many and varied. During the course of the next eight weeks Megan and I will meet with the group thrice weekly to cast, choreograph and cultivate a love of the English language, and all things Disney Channel. I'm pretty pumped about this and a little bemused. Imagine: twenty 17-20 year old high school students enthusiastically snapping, grinning and crooning along, in their school uniforms no less. I had forgotten my initial surprise in Argentina to learn that throughout Latin America “High School Musical” carries just as much merit, and gusto, as in America, age demographic aside. I challenge you to find a 20-year old American boy whose eyes light up as brightly as my do my students' at the mere mention of the movie. The other two Peace Corps trainees in my town have a Michael Jackson-crazed youth group. As their project they'll be dissecting the lyrics to and then performing “We are the World” for all of the town to see. I just might pee myself laughing. They originally wanted to perform a “clean” version of a rap song, but jumped ship when they realized that the watered down versions don't quite pack as much punch. Go figure. Who knew applicable English could be so fun? And (relatively) wholesome to boot?

I'm still co-planning and co-teaching with Profe Tania twice a week. I'm quickly learning to have a heavy hand when it comes to discipline. A typical class consists of cell phones chirping, students drifting in and out of the room (attendance isn't compulsory after 8th grade), notes being passed not-so-stealthily across the room, students loitering outside to get a glimpse of the pseudo-celebrity gringo teacher, and distractions galore. Thankfully Tania has few qualms left after 15-plus years of teaching and really knows how to rip into them when need be. Slowly but surely my idealistic vision of waltzing in, a smile on my face and a song in my heart, and rendering my students lifelong lovers of English is waning. In reality, I'll likely spend two years chipping away at progress. But to me a rose is a rose is a rose, and progress is progress is progress, no matter how great or small.

If you really want to see a spectacle, check out my Facebook page for documented evidence of last Sunday's garden photo shoot starring yours truly. My host mom is fiercely proud of her green thumb and approached me with the idea of making a music video. She said I was the perfect little accessory to her prize flora. Deeply flattered though I was, I declined the music video opportunity and scaled it back to a photo shoot. She was overjoyed nonetheless. Like I said before, the roles of a Peace Corps volunteer are MANY and VARIED, my newest being the “garden gringa.” I was happy, if a little skeptical, to oblige.

Lately my dreams have been as ludicrous as ever. Examples include me sneaking out of Nica for a weekend to attend WM graduation, being caught, and promptly dismissed from the Peace Corps. In another I boarded a minivan cab in Managua to find Hulk Hogan and his family as the other passengers. “Kidnap taxis” are an increasing phenomenon in Managua, whereby you get in, the cab driver picks up other prearranged passengers, they hold you at knife/gun/machete point and drive you around to every ATM they can find for you to extract money. Pretty sure if I ever am cursed with such fate that not even brawny Hulk Hogan will be of much use. In yet more dreams I was replaying a cross country race from high school, at the King and Queens ball at WM, watching snow fall from my house in Springfield and trying to arrange a kayak trip with the Faber family. Shoot if you're reading this blog you've almost certainly cropped up in my dreams by now, or it not, soon will! Crazy stuff, that Chloroquine.

As for now I'm off to watch “El Rostro de Analía,” only the hottest evening soap opera down here. As you can imagine it's wildly inappropriate for prime time television- drugs, lies, exotic dancing, liquor and sex scandals included- hence its cult following. My host family is one of the thousands who tune every night to watch the sordidness unfold. I decided it wouldn't hurt to brush up on my Spanish and have some conversational fodder.

Yours truly,

Liz

with my machete.

more pictures to come as i learn this whole picture-uploader gizmo.

After a few weeks of living large on the US taxpayer's dollar, and by “large” I mean earning a hefty $20 US a week, I am finally being put to work. This week marks the end of formal language classes and the beginning of classroom and community immersion. Case in point, I'm no longer being spoon-fed information for six hours a day; it's my turn to take what I've learned, apply it, and prove myself a worthy Peace Corps trainee in the weeks to come.

After much deliberation of selecting an English class to shadow, organizing a time for community youth groups, publicizing said groups, allotting time to co-plan with our Nicaraguan counterpart teacher, and more time for feedback sessions and the ever-present marathon Peace Corps meetings suffice it to say my schedule is looking pretty full!Guess I can toss that half-finished crossword puzzle book aside for a while. (I do think I'll make time for my beloved Harry Potter though.) To give you background as to my duties for the next two years, and therefore the premise for my training, here's a quick run-down:

*co-plan and co-teach English classes with Nicaraguan counterparts

*organize workshops for English teachers in my community

*facilitate community youth groups focused on the proliferation of English literacy skills

*anything else I see fit and the Peace Corps sanctions me to do

A huge part of what the Peace Corps stands for is sustainability. They don't just want us to hustle on in, do a few charitable acts, forge friendships, then up and leave it all behind. Rather they strive for volunteers to collaborate with host country nationals, to better discern their needs and to better serve them in general. Succinctly (if tritely) put: give a man a fish, he'll eat for a day; teach a man to fish, he'll eat for a lifetime. Peace Corps Volunteers are the teachers of teachers, all the while a students ourselves.

My counterpart teacher here in Dolores, Profesora Tania, is nothing if not exceptional. For me she's a great model of how to be an engaging, precise, and moreover zealous teacher of English. It's no wonder for years the PC has utilized her as a teaching tool for novices like me. Every week I meet with her for an hour or so to plan our curriculum for the week's classes, then we part ways, I help develop teaching materials and games to reenforce the concepts, and we co-teach the classes. Tania is a woman who's achieved success in the classroom for years, but lucky for me she is still open to new ideas and quick to offer me advice on how to tame a rambunctious class of 30, and maybe teach them a thing or two in the process.

When I'm not planning, thinking of ways to lure children into my youth group (surreptitiously, and when I'm feeling desperate and/or shameless, publicly) I've been visiting other training towns to hang out with my TEFL training peers. By the way I'm not kidding about the youth group thing: PC mandates that we track exactly how many kids, of what ages, and how many newcomers come to our youth group every week. We need to demonstrate our ability to spur youth into action and to embrace the betterment of their community for themselves. For example, Megan and I are packaging our youth group as a recycling awareness/ clean-up-the-sports-fields/ free-the-emaciated-horses-tied-to-the-sports-fields endeavor. Along they way we'll sprinkle in English vocabulary and hopefully be enticing enough to draw crowds. Back to the traveling, I've been to Santa Teresa, La Paz, and Jinotepe thus far. Still haven't gotten to El Rosario yet, but then again they're still rebounding from a swine flu scare so perhaps I'll put the trip even further on the back burner. While I do like the other sites, I have to say that I prefer my host family and town by far. Nobody quite competes with Doña Cristina and Don Guillermo. Not to mention that never in my life have I had a room so big nor a bed so large til I came to a third world country. Try that for irony.

Every now and then I have fleeting moments when I think about America. Over the weekend a taxi I was in blared “Ghost Busters” and the lady who runs the cybercafe has a penchant for Rod Stewart. My innocent little host brother made an American Pie reference the other day and I just about dropped dead. Also, Nicaragua could take a cue from US leash laws- I've befriended Canelo, my family's cute little mutt (well, as cute as a mutt can be but he is pretty darned precious!) but I have to yank him along lest he be pursued by the many, roaming mangy dogs. I hate getting shots, but seriously that last rabies shot can't come soon enough! So far no doggie scuffles, I hope to keep it that way.

As an aside, you'll never guess what sort of "it's a small world after all" moment I had yesterday!!! I went to Diriambia, a nearby town, to shadow a volunteer named Maria Velez for the morning. She asked me where I was from, I said Virginia nonchalantly. She asked, where, I said Springfild. "Oh, I have some family in Springfield" she ventured. Um...apparently I not only live near but also KNOW her cousins! Alina was in my Girl scout troop, and Brendan and I used to have CCD (Catholic Sunday school) classes together! That's right, the Sullivans are her cousins! Anywho this probably means nothing to most of you, but for those of you from Springfield I hereby testify, it's a small world after all.

That's all for now. It's 8:40 here and I relish sleeping for upwards of 8 hours a night, something so rare to me in America. Then again, America lacks the built-in alarm clocks of roosters, hens, pigs, and parrots that I have here...

Hasta más tarde,

Liz

A brief update: the two boys previously mentioned have since been put in jail. We weren't the only victims that day; in fact we were the last of a series of people to file such complaints. Momentary peace of mind, sure, but I know it's only a matter of time before they're out and about again.

On a lighter note, I'm becoming quite the little “ama de casa” or as they say in Nicaragua, housewife.

My sweet little mother has taught me to wash clothes by hand, which let me tell you, is quite the undertaking. To begin, one sets aside a good chunk of 1-3 hours, depending on how much washing is to be done. Fill the outdoor washbasin with water, plunk dirty clothes in said water, and reach for the soap bar. When clothes are fully saturated with water, treat each one individually with a good, soapy scrub-down. Really put your elbow into it and, depending on the durability of clothing, rub across the grooved washboard as need be to remove any pesky stains. Once article of clothing is fully lathered, toss it aside to let the soap do its work. Proceed with next article of clothing, pausing intermittently to wipe the sweat from your brow. Once all clothes have been scrubbed and rubbed to perfection, rinse thoroughly with clean water. Hang dry. Hope it doesn't rain overnight, or, if you're like me and it does, continue to hang dry til clothes have a starchy, sun-bleached stiffness. Fold and file away in room. Surprisingly I've taken a liking to the weekly washing extravaganza- it's methodical, gives me time to clear my head and has opened my eyes to the daily rigor of everyday Nica life.

In that same vein, I've also begun to learn my way around the kitchen. I still haven't mastered the art of fresh-squeezed juice, but I can make corn tortillas, however lopsided they sometimes turn out. I still have 7 weeks left to fully realize my inner Julia Child and, most importantly, learn to turn simple rice, beans and plantains into the culinary delicacies as my madre here does so deftly.

Domestic life in Nicaragua is neither predictable nor always pleasant. At night I share my room with lizards, wasps, ants, and my most recent roommates, mice. So long as I fall asleep quickly I don't have to hear the creepy crawlies skittering across my walls. That or the cacophony of parrots, pigs and hens will drown out my bedside friends. Overall though my home has a quaint, rustic feel to it and I´ve grown accustomed to our farmyard sounds. So long as the mice don´t chomp through my mosquito net, and the pigs are well-fed hence silent, I sleep like a baby. When I turn off my lights my room is pitch dark, and thanks to the Chloroquine every night is a dreamland adventure. Seriously my dreams alone could spawn their own blog! Just last night I dreamt I was at a Kappa Delta convention hosted in the grandest of locales, Springfield Mall. Additionally I´ve dreamt of missing flights back home (ironic, because I really do like it here and am not itching to get back home), of old elementary school friends and of many other vivid scenes. It´s really kind of fun. Inevitably I wake up under my mosquito net canopy confused as to where I am for a few minutes before haze dissolves into reality. Also I´ve been reading the 7th Harry Potter book in Spanish before bed, so the mixture of magical potions and foreign language likely blurs my dreams a little more than normal.

Just came back from a PC sponsored health forum. We have them every Wednesday afternoon, then all day on Fridays during training. Considering that I don´t have swine flue, dengue fever or malaria I´m doing pretty darn great right now! We had a swine flue scare within my PC training group last week, but it turns out all of the cases tested negative. As they say in Nica ¨toque timbre¨or ¨knock on wood¨ that I keep on a healthy track. Personally I´ve never eaten so much delicious fruit in my life, so I´m banking on the antioxidants to swear off all of these Oregon Trail-esque ailments.

I hope you all are savoring the fall weather back in the states! That´s probably the only thing I´ve been missing out on here- fall foliage, pumpkin spice lattes, apple cider, etc. According to other volunteers, Halloween has been adopted as a commercial holiday here so I´m looking forward to scrounging up a costume of sorts.

Liz

I had every intention of sitting down to write this post in an optimal mood. Tomorrow is a national holiday sans classes, I went to mass in the morning, spent a lovely afternoon talking in the park with friends, what's more I went on my first run in Nicaragua with my friend Steve. High spirits, oh yes.

Then I nearly got jumped.

I wish I was kidding.

Another volunteer, Megan, and I were walking back from the center of town at 6:30 pm. We had lost track of time and were heading home a little later than we intended. Tomorrow marks Nicaragua's Independence Day so as it is a holiday weekend there were plenty of families and children in the streets. I live just around the corner from Megan, but as we are told to never walk alone, particularly after dusk, we decided to swing by my house first to have my host brother escort her home. Though had but a 3 minute walk ahead of us, we deliberately slowed our pace upon seeing a pair of teenage boys rough-housing and carrying on across the street. Better to let them go on ahead of us, we thought. Unfortunately we had to cross to their side of the street to get to my house. And they lingered.

Let me preface what comes next with two points of consideration. 1) Megan and I had been told before, and repeatedly, that we live in what is apparently “the wrong side of the tracks.” Thank you, ever-conscientious Peace Corps for electing us host families from seedy areas. Apparently it's because we live closer to the highway and beyond the bright lights of the city center. 2) My host family was sitting idly outside on their porch awaiting us. Silly me, I was relieved to see them awaiting us, having spied my safe haven ahead.

A sprint to the finish, Megan and I hastened across the highway where she slipped through our gate and I slowed to greet my family, unawares of the two boys in hot pursuit. Megan urged me to run inside too, and luckily I did just in the nick of time. The two boys had nearly crossed the threshold before my host family had a few choice words with them (oh did I mention they were familial acquaintances? How kind of them to pay us a visit!) and they sulked away, but not before shamelessly begging for money. Never have I known such temerity.

My family hoisted their chairs inside, locked and bolted the iron gate and debriefed Megan and me on what exactly had happened. The two boys were neighborhood thieves and gang members, no less. As Dolores is a microscopic town the two gang members were familiar with my host family and in their drugged up state thought they'd raise a little hell and interrupt our otherwise sleepy Sunday evening. I was displeased, to say the least. More irked, in fact, than afraid. Irked at the nonchalance with with such thievery and sordidness occurs in Nicaragua. While my family consoled Megan and I, they lamented our misfortune but were none too surprised.

Which leads me to the point of airing my grievances such as I am: I like the Peace Corps, I like Nicaragua on the whole, and I truly love my host family, but I NEVER FORGET WHERE I AM.

I am in a machista society, in which women are objects whose safety should never be assumed. I am in a third world country where people are so desperate they'll transgress against familiar faces. I am in a place where I'm doubly damned, not only for being a woman and therefore second-class but also for being an American and therefore disfavored by may.

To those of you who are wondering if tonight was a deal-breaker, it's certainly not. I have every intention of persevering for 2 years and 2 months more, of raising my guard, immersing myself in my work and ultimately serving a country that quite frankly, is in dire need. Tonight sufficiently shook me up enough to realize that Peace Corps service, or any service abroad for that matter, is not a fairy tale experience. It's naïve of me to assume that people here necessarily want my help, or even want me here. Yes, those with whom I closely work are upstanding men and women whose dedication to bettering their country inspires me. But they are few among many, as are Americans in this country, and I must take precautions accordingly. All things said and done, tonight was (thankfully) harmless. If you know me well you'll know that I tend to be an idealist, but let me tell you I now know better than to consider everything just rosy. I'll take this as what it is, a learning experience.

Until the negative outweighs the positive, and I hope it never does, I'll continue on in Nicaragua.

So there's a hidden side to the US Peace Corps, something rather peripheral to the whole service experience. Marriage. That's right, the holy matrimony of volunteers to...each other, host country nationals, Peace Corps officials, etc. Even in my modest town of Dolores pictures of PC volunteers and Nicaraguans proudly adorn the walls of living rooms. Apparently it's commonplace. And disquieting for as-of-yet unmarried volunteers such as myself.

The other night I was talking with my dear host father, Guillermo, watching the sun set over Jinotepe. We were musing about life, family, finances, and the like. He conveniently told me that the house is already written in his only son's name in hopes that he'll too stay in Dolores and raise a family here someday. My host mom hinted that Guillermo is overjoyed to host any volunteers, more so when they are female and could (theoretically) marry his son. Ohhhh good. Haha don't worry I'm pretty sure Cristian, my host brother, is more enamored with his beloved soccer teams right now than anyone of the opposite sex. That being said it still is a little eerie when Nicaraguans offer you wedding albums of the most recent gringa-nica union. All will kindly remind you that none of the volunteers were once naysayers such as we are now.

Speaking of familial relations, I've quickly observed that everyone in my town is connected through 3, maybe 4 degrees of separation max. While my family is small and altogether removed from the interrelations galore, the other three host families overlap by way of illegitimate children, marriages and/or step-families. So far I'm disinclined to enmesh myself in the vast and complicated web...

On another note, I´m learning what it means to be patient. It seems like nothing in Nica ever goes quite as planned. The teacher I´m supposed to observe and co-teach with won a grant to go the US for the next 3 months and train with other teachers from all over the world. That´s marvelous for her, but unfortunate for us because there are only 2-3 English teachers total in my town. Not sure what our next move will be, but my PC language teacher is looking into it. Also on any given day the schedule is always tentative...La Hora Nica aka Nica´s famous lack of punctuality and-or any real cohesion to life can be frustrating, but it´s just another challenge of adapting to a new way of life. On the whole I like this whole mentality of never being in a rush! ¨Hay mas tiempo que vida¨ so say the Nicaraguans. Translation- ¨there´s more time than life.¨ I´m inclined to think likewise.

Well this cybercafe computer is pretty rusty and I´m tired of searching aimlessly for punctuation keys that I´m convinced just don´t exist here...haha. That and the gangs come out here at 8 or 9 pm so I best be on my way back home! I write to you from Jinotepe, the urban city 8-10 minutes away from my humble town.

Dale pue!

I write to you from my home for the next three months, Dolores, Nicaragua. Let me just preface this by saying that in terms of host families, I've hit the jackpot.

Here I am in my own room, in my own section of the house, with my own bathroom/toilet/shower/sink and a full-sized bed to boot. I've got it made in the shade! My beautiful family includes my mamá, Cristina, my papá, Guillermo and my 18 year old brother, Cristian. Guillermo works in construction, Cristian is studying at a university in Managua to become an engineer, and Cristina keeps house and dotes on me☺Guillermo's brother lives in New York and often sends the family gifts, so I was shocked to meet my host brother in his Timberland boots and Levis jeans! They serve me freshly-squeezed fruit juice everyday, incredible food and are just as sweet as can be. I met another volunteer at Pre-Service Training (PST) who lived with my family for a week and she could not say enough great things about them. To top it off we even have a mini zoo- two parrots, eight pigs, three dogs, a goldfish tank and a rooster or two. I never realized how vocal pigs could be til oh...3 am this morning...and onward...haha. As you can probably guess, there is no wireless but I'm uploading this post via a “ciber” aka an internet cafe. My house does have electricity and running water though, major pluses!!! You'll recall I was bracing myself for a real survival-of-the-fittest setup here. At least for the next three months I'll be sittin' pretty.

The rest of my luggage finally came! Unfortunately I can't say the same for everyone...

So the premise of being in Dolores for the next three months is training, specifically language training. Today I had my first day of class with my group of 3 other volunteers that live near me, 5 minutes away max. The Peace Corps elects to divide volunteers world-over into small, intensive language groups for 3 months of language boot camp, so to speak, before embarking on their 2 years of service elsewhere in the country. All volunteers are tested prior to training, at the end of training, then at the close of their 2 year service. I was delighted to hear that my first test went well- I placed “advanced-mid” meaning I'm a step below the group of native Spanish-speakers (have have PCVs who are Panamanian, Mexican, Argentine, etc. all of whom are US citizens.) Language training here is hands-on and includes visits to schools, classroom observation, field trips to the market to learn monetary transactions and more. We are also responsible for pairing up and organizing community outreach events in our training towns. Not sure what I have in mind for that yet.

Tonight I'm going to introduce my host family to Boggle! In case you don't know I'm mildly obsessed with that game. We're playing en Español so I'm bound to lose, but I have two years to morph myself into a bilingual Boggle phenom!

I should note that I regaled my family much to their enthusiasm- Cristina loves her American flag-themed potholders, and Cristian was humored by the Hannah Montana playing cards LOL. Obviously he'll be the most envied kid at school now.

Updates from here on out will be less regular, seeing as I´m paying for itnernet now on my meager PC salary. I hope to blog about once a week, mas o menos.

Miss you all! Nicaragua is a gorgeous country with heartwarming people. Needless to say I'm pretty ecstatic about the few months-and years-to come!

So today I felt just a little starstruck.

Aaron Williams, the director of the entire Peace Corps came into our training room and spoke to us! He's doing a tour of countries now to meet with leaders because he was just inducted a week or so ago. Apparently he's tight with Obama and was appointed personally by him.

We just watched a Nica evening news broadcast that featured a half-hour interview with Director Williams in which he expounded upon the virtues of Peace Corps service, and even gave a shout-out to the newly-arrived volunteers, us! It's really validating to have our arrival coincide with that of the Director's, and his White House correspondents to reiterate the importance of our work. Williams himself served 2 years in the Dominican Republic, then extended his tour a third year and married a Dominican woman with whom he now resides in the U.S.

Tomorrow I depart for my host family for the next 3 months. We also get the results of our prelinary language evaluation back...haha hope my interviewer has a sense of huor? Nah it'll be fine, and they expect us to still be jet-lagged/disoriented/culture shocked and all that other good stuff that would deteriorate our language skills right now.

Survived the rabies shot! First of three. Took my first round of malaria pills and am eagerly awaiting the florid dreams I'm bound to have tonight. We're on Chloroquine, the twice-a-week tablets that are particularly known to cause "enhanced" dreams. I'll blog if anything really trippy haunts me haha.

So far my makeshift first aid kit supplied to me consists of sunscreen, bug repellent and the most ominous item, a stool sample cup for the inevitable amoebas, parasites and other intestinal viruses that we'll need to get checked. I'm bracing myself already. So far, so good though.

Well we're about to settle in for a movie night. I've been floored by the amenities of this place so far, but I'm also well-aware that these creature comforts will soon be long-forgotten. Typical host families' homes are modest. At least mine will be duly embellished with red, white and blue potholders and a pack of Hannah Montana playing cards, couresty of Kay Cole: the definition of luxury.

My 40-hour outfit came to a glorious end when a portion of our luggage arrived! That Gap dress is worse for the wear, but served me well.

One suitcase arrived, the other is still unaccounted for...at least I have the one filled with clothes! Some people here are roughing it in their clothes from 3 days ago. Hopefully all of our luggage will arrive tomorrow but I'll believe it when I see it. If not I suppose we'll have some shopping to do.

Liz

So after 17 hours of travel...I have arrived in Nicaragua!

Yesterday I reported to Washington DC for a whirlwind 4 hours of training, followed by a quick dinner and an earrrrlllly morning wake-up call of 1 am. For real. I hit a high point in life while passing out for 2 hours on National Airport's floor, before we roused our weary selves and boarded our plane to Miami.

An unexpected storm hit Miami International so we were detained in the terminal for 5 hours...more floor-napping ensued...then we finally arrived in Nica! Without luggage. That remains to be solved. We're told it's either in Haiti, or "on it's way," or just drifting aimlessly in international luggage orbit. We shall see. As for tonight we're all pitching in to share towels, toiletries, etc. It's a good thing the Peace Corps emphasizes "flexibility" as an all-important virtue!

This post finds me sitting in a Peace Corps Training compound on the outskirts of Managua, the capital city. Amazingly they have wireless here!!! I am told this is a rare luxury and I should appreciate it thusly. I'll be here for 2 more days til I am assigned with/dispatched to my host family for the next 3 months. The language proficiency evaluation I take tomorrow determines with whom I am grouped; groups of 3-4 volunteers are clustered together for training according to their similar Spanish skillsets. This is great in that training will be intimate, tailored to my teaching needs and engaging by necessity. It is bittersweet in that from our group of 38 Environmental Education/ Teaching English as a Foreign Language (TEFL) we'll be partitioned into mini groups...but I'm told we'll all reconvene for certain medical, custom and culture training.

Tomorrow I get a preliminary round of rabies shots. I suppose that withstanding a little pain in my arm far outweighs the prospect of foaming at the mouth.

I posted an address on the lefthand column that I'll have for at least the next 3 months. I promise cross my heart to reply to anyone generous enough to send me snail mail! Hint: enclosing mail in large, yellow envelopes and/or posting ostentatiously Christian stickers on mail will reduce the risk of it being (surrepetitously) intercepted. Sounds bizarre, but it's what I've been told. Also apparently red ink is considered sacrosanct in some parts of the world, so using red ink might not hurt either. That being said do NOT bother sending anything of value because the mail system is prone to fail every now and then.

So far everyone in my group is genuinely nice and surprisingly connected to my friends! For starters I've met a Starbucks professional taste-tester, an Argentine mom-turned-PC volunteer, a girl from Hayfield High School and the son of a Washington and Lee professor! Yes, Rosemary, Beckley's son is here. Small world! Looks like a promising group.

More to come as it all unfolds!

Liz

Hello friends!

On Tuesday, September 1st 2009 I embark on a 27-month adventure of service with the U.S. Peace Corps. I will be teaching English as a foreign language to public high school students.

I've decided to take the plunge into the world of blogging to better keep in touch with the rest of the world. Depending on access to internet and downtime I'll be updating this periodically, and if I'm feeling particularly savvy even post few pictures.

After much research I barely have more than a general gist of what the country, the people, the job and the experience will be like...I'll let you know more as I learn along the way!

Liz