A nice long dose of Nicaragua

It has been difficult posting info on this blog, there is so much happening around me that evades description. At the same time, I have been writing quite a bit about my experience for my academic journal. Thus, I have decided to pull bits and pieces of reflection from that journal and place them here. There is no organization to my thoughts, but hopefully the entries will weave together and create a comfortable Nicaraguan hammock and project some of my thoughts and feelings here in a way that makes sense.
From August 4:
The folks from Witness(es?) for peace were an interesting bunch. I know nothing really about the organization, and was struck by the diversity of constituents representing the organization. During the presentación de cultura I sat next to an old fellow from Indianapolis who's name I fail to remember. We chatted about my work here and he told me that he and his wife have taken multiple trips on behalf of the organization. After their short visit to La Pita, they were headed to the American Embassy. He noted that the embassy always manages to explain situations in a manner the exact opposite to what they are seeing in reality. When I expressed my exasperation towards the media and their assistance in promoting these generally false realities, he recounted one of the trips he and his wife took to Mexico to see the effects of NAFTA on the Mexican communities. He couldn't believe how different things were in reality when compared to what the Embassy was telling them about it. “I'm in the states just trying to make my living, wondering where the jobs are going, then blaming the Mexicans for taking my work. Then I come down here and see that the Mexican people are losing their means of living and trying to move to the states for a better opportunity, blaming us for their problems.”
The group was composed of Americans from various states living very different lives. The best part of the night though, was it's end. Pedro's son, who was controlling the boombox during the presentation, put on “Beat it” by Michael Jackson, and everybody began dancing. The groups oldest member, Bob, a sprightly 86 years of age, was one of the first people on the dance floor shaking his money-maker. Americans, Nicaraguans, everyone was dancing. I couldn't help but appreciate one of the less harmful effects of globalization, smiling as I danced with a Nicaraguense.
From August 6:
I had a great conversation with Vicente last night about his past and the formation of La Pita. He arrived in '85 with his father and brothers and cousin, when the coop was only six years old. His father left with a brother and his cousin to fight the contras. None survived the war. He told me that the land was originally used for growing oranges, on top of it's success as a mining region. When the owners left the country following the revolution, the cooperative struggled for many years to subsist, fighting both land rights and inconsistent membership (many men left to fight in the contra war). Vicente is an adament supportor of the Sandinistas, explaining that the only gains made in relation to social progress here in San Ramón only occurred with the Saninistas in power. When Alemán held office from 2000-2006 (a non-Sandinista), the Sandinista government-sponsered radio program was discontinued. Tomasa, my mother, begin volunteering time for a radio station in Matagalpa, working with other volunteers to maintain the literacy program despite the lack of government support. I also learned that Tomasa was one of the core members in creating the recycled paper plant here in San Ramón. Furthermore, she assisted the group of women from Estelí in the creation of their own recycled paper plant, the very plant I visited one of my first days here in Nicaragua. It's inspiring to see such a network at work within this country, and how cool that I have the pleasure of living with such an influential member of Nicaraguan society. The other night, Selvin was showing me old family photos, and one photo was of Selvin, no older than four years, sitting on the lap of El Presidente Daniel Ortega, Tomasa at his side giving her best expressionless facial-pose. It's a classic photo; I couldn't help but wish I had a photo with our president, and wondered if getting a photo-op with a “President of the people” was easier than one with our commander-in-chief. The more time I spend here, the more I am touched and impressed by the ubiquitous political enthusiasm, respect for and protection of local communities, and general perseverence of society despite their tragic and still very recent past. Vicente, only a hair over thirty, has already lost his father, brother, and cousin to war. His story is one of many that I've heard already in this country, a country with a much more intimate conscience of war and it's ability to tear lives apart and bring people, communities together. It is a reality that few in the states can relate to (including myself, fortunately). If only the respect and care for others that I've witnessed here came at a less violent cost. Many communities in the states would benefit from a little charity, and I'm not talking about Red Cross I-made-a-donation-can-I-return-to-my-life-now charity (note: this form is better than no charity at all), but treating your neighbors, all of them, with respect and helping those around you when they need it, knowing they would do the same for you in an instant if in their shoes.
I'll step off my soapbox now...my thanks to this beautiful country for solidifying my views on true community behavior. I never doubted this trip would be life-changing, but affirmations of this truth still feel great.
From August 12:
This morning on my walk into town, I saw cows grazing in the fields of La Pita and thought about the agriculture here as a system of processes. Aside from the import of fertilizer and export of cash crops, there exists a closed agricultural system. Almost nothing is wasted here. In the case of the cows, they clear fields that have lain fallow, which saves the farmers hours of labor and provides the cows with food. In return the ganador shares a portion of his meat or milk produced with the various families or cooperatives that have lent him grazing land. Such beautiful cooperation within a community is the stuff of dreams in the United States right now, and the more time I spend down here, the more I realize that the US is destroying itself by embracing and supporting all the worst aspects of capitalism. The people here depend on a capitalist system, but lack it's viciously competative nature and socially depricating individualist notions. If I don't end up working down here in Central or South America after college, I will have to figure out how to bring about a new-capitalist system that favors community support and friendlier (more pragmatic?) competition, one that doesn't dismiss social welfare so carelessly.
From August 13:
I've spent a lot of time over the past weeks thinking about religion. Reading about it's past here in Nicaragua, seeing it's effect and how it's viewed here by people, and thinking about how I see religion in the US, I don't know what to make of religion, especially christianity, being the dominant religion of the states. I see religion as an especially touchy subject in the US, so I want to first clearly state that I have no religious affiliation, nor have I ever held an affiliation. At the same time, these last few years of my life, especially my time spent here in Nicaragua, have awakened a religious side of me I never knew existed. I want to read the bible (maybe in Spanish), as well as other religious texts. I don't know if I will ever end up a dedicated religious person, but I believe (hooray for puns!) religious texts have a lot of enlightenment to offer me.
That said, religion here in Nicaragua feels very authentic. I've seen this kind of authenticity in the states as well, but I shudder everytime I find a channel spewing bastardized Christian rhetoric in search of profits from well-intentioned followers. In particular, what impresses me about the Catholic church down here is that it takes pride in it's separation from the State, both historically and now. There have existed religious figures using their religious position to spew political rhetoric, but the most powerful and well respected cardinals have rigidly stood up for their principles, even when such actions brought about censorship and attempted stigmatization from the State. In contrast, it makes me sick to see politicians use their religious stance as a means of pushing their own political agenda. They stand on their religious high-ground and patronize those that don't agree with their morally, religiously sound political stances. It ridicules and delegitimizes the credibility of our political system and makes a mockery of religion. Such a beautiful and spiritually enhancing thing like religion has no place in any political arena, especially the current US government, which is filled with spineless grubs who only care about scratching enough corporate backs to ensure campaign funds for their re-election. Clearly, my faith in US politics is low right now, but I can't stand the manner in which many liberal atheists so hastily place conservative, religiously-driven idiots in congress in the same group as sane, loving, patriotic (don't get me started on the politicization of this word...) conservatives that also happen to be religious. It's no way to go about mending the deep rift that has divided our “red” and “blue” states; making religion any sort of scapegoat in our accusations about conservative beliefs is just ridiculous and disrespectful. My friend Xiomara really drove this point home for me in our discussion about religion, “Here in Nicaragua there's always a place for science and religion to coexist. The Bible talks about science. Belief in God does has nothing to do with your beliefs in science...”. I can't even picture a politician saying something that outrageous in the states right now. Clearly there is a lot about religion I can't discuss since I lack knowledge on the subject, but when it comes to politics, Nicaragua has shown me how easy it is for the two to coexist in a country as separate and powerful entities. It's a shame we're too proud in Washington to learn from our “lesser”, third-world neighbors.
From August 21:
I want to again reflect on my experience here with religion. Clearly my views on religion in the US are strong, and likely misguided in some cases, given that I was born in a very liberal town in Northern California and raised without religion of any kind. Since entering UCSC, these prejudices and misconceptions have been blurred by my education and experience outside of my hometown, and I now have a significant amount of curiousity towards religion. I don't simply wish to understand on a basic level the idea of popular religion, I want to read religious text and try to form an opinion of my own about the whole concept. Ignorance always makes it easier to judge something, but I want to go deeper than judgement.
During my time here in Nicaragua, two events in particular have both separated my concept religion here from religion in the US and fascinated me immensely by their almost contradicting nature given the US worldview of religion. The first occurred a few weeks ago while I was in Matagalpa with Ramón helping him rebuild and paint centrifuges. We had just finished lunch at this mechanics house and were watching the midday noticias on TV. At that moment, I was breaking out in hives from the chicharrones (and learning that I have an allergy to fried pig skin...) but unable to leave the room and figure out what the hell was happening to me because the high priest of the Catholic church was sitting down to make a live statement.
Just the weekend before, there had been a political rally in Managua. Held by a few conservative student groups, the rally had every intention of being peaceful, but an overzealous group of young Sandinistas threw rocks at the buses and started street fires. The police did nothing to prevent much of this from happening, and the Church had some choice words for the government in response to the police inaction. Quoting the bible with more force and relevance than I've ever seen before, this priest ripped into the government, blaming the President directly for this violence and emphasizing the importance of freedom of speech in Nicaragua. Seeing such a clear separation of Church and State is quite shocking, despite Nicaragua having a history of strained Church/State relations. It's almost a joke in the US the way Church and State are supposedly separate, with religion constantly being used in response to political topics and churches telling their congregations who they should vote for.
The second event was todays religious service here at La Pita. Of the few (we're talking less than 5 in my life) services I've ever attended, none were anything like this. The priest was funny, but very loud and passionate with his words. When songs were sang, the mood was celebratory; people would clap and hoot and shout “amen” amongst other phrases. When head were bowed for prayer, instead of one uniform prayer, or a silent prayer, every single person made their own prayer or counted their own personal blessings, the room became a cacauphony of religious individualism. During the entire service, people would get up and leave, others came in to sit down, people talked to eachother quietly. The behavior wasn't intrusive, and furthermore, never seemed to bother anyone there. The whole experience was radically different from any religious service I have attended back home. It was more relaxed and laid-back, it was more raw and passionate, it was more entertaining and personal.
From August 26:
His tiny pair of feet pitter patter across a floor of dirt and stone, stopping only to pick up a dead insect or piece of filthy styrofoam and thoroughly investigate the find. His curious eyes seem to search for something intangible and unknown to everyone else.
Our kitchen door frames her eyes and long brown hair. No older than four, my neighbor only ever reveals this much of herself in my presence, as if my foreignness grants me the power to dissapate the rest of her body in a puff of smoke should she reveal herself.
The whirlwind of noise and confusion that is the Matagalpa bus station. My senses are blurred by the skirts of Nigaraguan women selling cookies and nacatamales, the wheelbarrows of janitors attempting to maintain a manageable level of litter, the putrid smell of diesel exhaust mixing with that of delicious but dangerous meat cooked just outside the station on scraps of metal (I distinctly remember the rim of a car tire under one tent), the constant shouting and whistling of just about everyone: bus-boys announcing destinations, vendors selling food or drinks or fake American imports, drunks asking for change. Wide eyed toddlers can't stop staring at me, half expecting me to transform into a dinosaur or alien and not wanting to blink and miss such a spectacle. Never knowing for sure if the Nigaraguense directing me to the proper bus has the best of intentions and takes pleasure in getting travellers lost. Listening to the most eclectic, often terrible music on my journeys to and from Matagalpa on a bus decorated by the driver himself, adorned with Nicaraguan flags, Sandinista posters, religious trinkets, and whatever else suits their fancy.
My cousin laughs uncontrollably after I tell her that I smoke donkeys while attempting to tell her that I smoke cigars occasionally.
The rain beats down on the tin roof with such force, I can't even hear my music through my headphones. Thunder rips across the sky; I feel it's sound and force in my very bones. The individual cracks and rumbles move from one side of the sky to the other, it's 30 second trip envelops our valley. Never have I felt inside a storm until La Pita.
I step of the bus from Matagalpa and purchase a half-stale loaf of pan from my favorite corner store. San Ramón is unusually alive with activity. Ranchero music invades the air, as does the stench of Toña, Nicaragua's favorite beer. I encounter two men sleeping on the side of the road, a consequence of too much beer too early in the day. Packs of chavalos make their way to the covered basketball court in their finest clothing, hoping for a night of romance at the dance about to conspire.
One very happy CANista still can't find a way to put his experiences into proper words, a casualty of sensory overload and self-criticism. This will have to suffice for now.