Beans, beans, the more you eat, the better you feel

My family has a small plot of their own land high up on the mountainside. The trail to get there is long, uphill, treacherously slick with mud and winds it´s way through coffee tree jungles for a half hour´s walk. I went with the eldest brother and his friend yesterday to pick beans early in the morning. Once we were there, we ducked right into the corn and beans, and brush to pluck the red bean plants from the soft soil. It´s easy, but fighting your way past the weeds, and spotting disguised bean plants among the bush, is the real challenge.

Pack them in bunches in your hand, holding by the upturned roots, and dive in again - this for a half hour until we had a massive pile accumulated off to the side, under the banana trees. There, Mario unfolded a woven sack and we set about plucking the pods off of the plants. This took awhile, so we sat down and shot the breeze all morning while we worked. Like singing while you work, it can really help you forget you´re even working in the first place. And suddenly, the work was done, and we had a giant sack packed with the pods.

How Manuel got that sack down the steep hill, perched upon his shoulders, without slipping in that muck is a mystery to me. I wiped out at least a half dozen times until the land flattened out, and I carried the bag the remaining two-thirds of the way home. From there, anybody sitting around the house is usually involved in stripping the ripe red beans from the pods while watching TV, or talking, or any number of idle things.

And then, they´re ready to be cooked and eaten. Beans are one of my favorite things in the world to eat, washed down with a corn tortilla. They´re the staff of life here and you really have to bust your butt getting them down from the hills into your cookpot. Sure enough, we had beans with dinner that night and they never tasted so good!

Class Consciousness in Nicaragua

As I write this, I have just come back from a vacation with my sister and my dad in San Juan Del Sur, a part of Nicaragua I had never thought existed. It is your stereotypical surf town, mixed with a bit of wealth, inflation, and drinking, and a little more drinking. It’s strange, because the Nicaragua I felt I knew is nothing like San Juan Del Sur – it is made of cement and dirt, it washes its clothes by hand and hangs them to dry under skies that promise rain on plants and barbed wire, and it shrugs off periodic electricity and water losses. It speaks Spanish. Here, the foreigners have pushed their way in and pushed Nicaragua out. The Nicaragua of gallo pinto, low prices (because that’s all the people can afford), 2 or 3 class commodities, and a porous sense of “inside” and “outside” barely exists amongst the three story houses perched on hills over beaches. These houses look like they were cut out of housing developments in LA, with windows and screens, and a clear distinction between what was inside the house and what was considered “outside” and dirty – houses with rugs that you can’t track mud all over. At first it was strange to have to wear sandals in my house because the cement comes apart beneath my feet, and there may be a slug, scorpion, or trail of ants to step on as I walk to the toilet.

Now, for the brief time in which I am more accustomed to living the way most Nicaraguans live rather than how Americans live, the distinction is not only visible but visceral. And I am torn in between the two. In San Ramon, Matagalpa, I had grown accustomed to feeling ill and under-nourished, although I realize this is also a function of my mind because I know the answer to most of my perceived needs is “no”. No, I cannot eat my favorite comfort food (meusli) because there is no refrigerator to store the milk, no I cannot find out why I’ve had body aches off-and-on for the last 2 weeks because the doctors will only listen to your symptoms and prescribe you something, no I cannot feel completely comfortable because my clothes, sheets, towels, hair will not dry, no I cannot have a warm shower to take the chill off. Nonetheless, I had grown accustomed to this, and it really the only time I let it get to me is during the occasional exceptionally cold showers.

The juxtaposition of wealth has been an intense one. I left Matagalpa the day after my birthday, which meant I went right from a home stay with a family who had never been out to a restaurant and had never celebrated a birthday or had a cake. And went straight to Granada to a 4 star hotel. A pool, hot showers, everything was clean to a different standard. Nothing looked like anything that could come from nature. The tiles provided a distinct separation from the dirt, and the temperature controlled room felt nothing like any damp, humid Nicaraguan room I’ve been in. As I sat on the side of the pool swinging my feet in the water, surrounded by wealthy people, it just felt different. Wealth feelsdifferent.

So a few days ago, I had an interesting conversation with a man from Holland. Because I was visiting his house and his chocolate factory, and he just seemed so soft-spoken and gentlemanly, I decided not to say anything to allude to the constant battle in my mind about how to feel about “wealth” and “poverty.” It has been an on-going struggle to come to terms with the varying shades of normal that can be bought with either more or less money. So, I was humoring him by allowing him to say all the things you would expect a person coming from European or American standards and values to say. “You just want to wash your hands all the time” he said, and I realized just how right he was. Since I got to Nicaragua, I have grown to love washing my hands. “Holy shit, you’re so right. Especially on those jankie old school busses imported from the US where I’ve seen people literally lick the seat in front of them, sit with a handkerchief over their mouths looking exceptionally ill, plop live chickens into over-head racks and the plastic is literally wearing away from the touch of thousands of hands. And you know they’ve never been washed. Being on that bus’ll make you feel dirty the rest of the day.” And there it came, pouring out of me –my perceptions of public transit, inherently laced with judgment. It’s hard to keep myself free of judgments when a life with less opportunities just feels different. And it’s little things, like finding that your clothes, shoes, backpack, and sheets have molded while you were gone for a few days, or that the clean dishes you put in the rack several days ago need to be washed again because there’s a black ring of mold in the bottom of the cup. Or having a scorpion in your clothing bag that little by little unnerve me.

I guess it’s particularly poignant for me because I have never been able to, nor have I had to navigate between spaces of wealth and disadvantage before. I have never had enough money to live a life of not having to worry about how much something costs. I have never been able to expedite anything in my life by throwing money at it because I have never had enough money to throw. But here, it’s different. For example, I wanted to get off the island of Ometepe as quickly as I could because I knew I had a 5 hour bus ride ahead of me to get back to Leon. There were two options: take the jankie old 50 cent school bus that everyone takes because they have no cars (i.e. a 1.5 hour trip over un-paved roads), or pay the $16 for the speedboat to take me to directly to the ferry. I had enough toe-wiggling room to be able to take the speed boat, but it was the strangest thing to look out at Lake Nicaragua and know that we were probably one of the only motor boats on the entire like. Then, to be chauffeured directly to the ferry as everyone on it stared in awe at us that we had arrived in a private speed boat. It felt like the equivalent of showing up to something in The States in a private jet. Never in my life has it been more noticeable that the more money you have, the more options you have.

Thanks for reading. I guess I just had to share this because everyone I run into seems to have strong opinions about what Nicaragua is. I think a lot of figuring out “what Nicaragua is” is a process largely contingent upon finding out what the United States are, because it’s only in the juxtaposition that I can realize and understand all the things I had taken for granted as being universal truths. So, I guess I’m renovating my ideas of what’s normal for me and what’s normal in the upbringing I come from. It’s really an exciting and sometimes simultaneously empowering and debilitating process, but I’m really enjoying it.

--Brie

Getting underway, at long last

As of yesterday, I´m officially making headway in my project - to investigate the agricultural systems of San Ramon. My specific interest is in the production of basic grains; to understand how people here assure their food sovereignty. In the States, the idea of food sovereignty is considered hopelessly obsolete or not considered at all.

In a small nation like Nicaragua, though, to be in control of your own food sources is a strong gesture of independence. Unfortunately, the trend right now in these same countries is to abandon traditional small-scale agriculture (the domestic producers of the nation´s basic foods, overwhelmingly) for the promised high returns of cash crops - in the case of Nicaragua, cotton, coffee, sugar, beef. Then these nations spend much of the revenue on importing the same foods they could have produced themselves.

But it´s hard to explain that to young farmers here. Partly because my Spanish skills aren´t adequate, partly because people here know there´s much more money to be made in other crops - and one can always buy their food instead. I suppose the problems only really seem so grave when one looks down at the whole, global picture. As a college student in the USA, we spend most our time doing that...granted, with all the abstractions that keep real consequences at arm´s length.

So that´s where I was yesterday. Specifically, sitting on a steep hillside of maize, overlooking a stunning vista of the cordillera, of the cluster of roofs marking San Ramon, patchwork corn-and-bean fields everywhere with jungle in between. There was one of those rare, cool breezes brushing the corn plants as Mario (my homestay brother) talked with me for an hour about...well, everything. How he preserves his soil, controls weeds, rotates crops, all of it. And he offered to let me help in the harvest next month, which I´m really excited about.

Up on that hill, I´m happy to say much of my uncertainty about why I came here...dissipated. Talking about growing food; well, that´s my element. Right where I want to be.

Excerpts From My Personal Journal

July 18th

7:00am: I got into a fight with a cockroach over who was going to have possesion of the toilet this morning. I won.

July 19th

The majority of the decorations on my walls are slug trails.

I saw a beetle the other day that resembled a miniature rhinoceros.

The Daft Punk sond "Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger" could be an anthem for the Nicaraguan wildlife.

Itching our bug bites has become a way of life.

I found myself trying to imitate one of the common song birds around here, but I can't whistle; so, I got frustrated.

My host family's house cat is named Socrates.

One thing that unites all of us travelers in Nicaragua is that we share the common notion of not knowing why we're here exactly.

Most commented on subject: The rain.

It's what truly unites this country.

5:00am: woke up to the roosters call.

5:10am: Fell back asleep.

5:20am: Woke up to the abrasive howls of the Congo Monkeys.

The dogs here rub their behinds together in a kind of foreplay. They don't indulge in regular doggy style.

There is a cloud of flies that always follows the dog around. Other than the chickens and Socrates, They seem to be his only companions.

Eventually, they tell me, you start getting used to the cold showers. I'm beginning not to believe them.

There is a wasps nest connected to the roof of my room. The wasps are building two more. I hope it takes them longer than two months. There are stories that in rare cases they fly into peoples ears. They call them "catala".

They tell me there are large spiders in the jungle that bite the ankles of cows, and their ankles swell up so much that the cows tip over and die.

Since I've come here, my dental hygiene has improved. It might be because it gives me something that I feel is in my control.

I've been called "chele" here, the word for "white person". This is the only country that I've traveled to where I've been categorized as "white". I guess things are still black or white around here, or rather, Nicaraguan or white.

I don't romanticize about the "simple life" any more.

I try to adjust to my life here, but my bowels still desperately try to purge this country of its system.

Does anyone actually buy the water that people sell in little plastic baggies that are knotted off at the end?

You never really feel like you are a part of nature until you become a part of its food chain. My body feels like a walking buffet.

-Levi Sharpe

mi familia !

so its been two weeks or so since i last wrote. I think yesterday is the first time that i truly felt like i was adjusting to my life here. Not to say that it has been bad...its just an adjustment and sometimes this adjustment feels easier than other times. I think it was a combination of getting a cell phone with service at my house (so i feel less cut off) and finishing out that my dad is coming to visit me in a few weeks and also last night was the first night that it wasnt raining and i could see the stars.
I am struck by how beautiful it is here and how fortunate i am to experience a different way of living. I really like my host family and the house. I love falling asleep to the sounds of the animals and the wind rustling the trees and then waking up to the sound of torillas being made and the gallo cantando. I love the smell of the mountain and how fresh the air is. My family doesnt talk as much as my family at home. Back home between me, my sister, my mom and myself there is barely a pause in conversation (my dad is usually silently listening and smiling). But here. There can be twenty minutes where no one talks and all we are listening to is the sound of the radio---how many times can they play lady gaga in one day!? But i think im adjusting to the silence and the way time moves at a different pace than i am used to. It is really beautiful and i would like to think i will be taking away a lot of ideas on how i communicate differently back home.
Today there was a workshop (i think that is the translation for ). It was basically a 2 hour long powerpoint presention given by a very passionate and enthusiastic man about the benefits of farming agroecologically--working with the plants and the myccorhizae instead of applying fertilizer. It was super interesting to me because i have learned this at school in washington and have basically gotten the same lecture in English. But to hear it in a spanish in a totally different environment---in the U.S it is always from the perspective of the consuming country. It made me feel really excited to be here getting to experience how the cooperatives all function with each other and realizing that it really is directly related to what ive been studying in school.
Anyways thats all for now. Im going to try to figure out if i can download a picture to put on the blog.
--kylie

Matagalpa

So, I have to present my project today in front of a committee.

The CANnection website is finally functioning. It's still very basic,

but it's something that I can work with. I've become the web guy here.

I'm working on their eco-tourism website using Joomla, which is

supposed to be webdesign made easy, but it's really unintuitive.

Next week I'll be giving computation classes, and hopefully setting

people up with pen-pals to see how well the site works, and if it is

indeed something that will have utility down here. I already talked

to one Nicaraguan student who was very excited about my project,

and it reassured me a bit.

My host family here is really nice. I get three solid meals a day, a
room that resembles a prison cell made out of brick and concrete,
my own bathroom, and a lot of lizards that scuttle across the walls to

keep me company. The most valuable tool that I own right now
is my mosquito net. Everything bites you here.

I feel like this country is going to eat me alive, literally, so that
there is going to be nothing left of me but some rotting malaria
infested pile of what used to be a goofy Mexican Jew wearing skinny
jeans in the most inappropriate environment to wear them, in some
random part of the rain forest. But, now that I'm out of the Capital I
do feel a lot better. The country is beautiful, and just my 35 minute
walk from my host family's house to the office is one of the most
beautiful walks that I have ever been on.

There are a lot of people in my host family, even some people I
haven't met yet. Apparently, I have a mom, a dad, 3 host sisters, 4
host brothers, and several nieces and nephews (Everybody seems to have
at least one baby, it's like Watsonville). It's probably best to have
larger families when your livelihood depends on farming. More hands
for labor. My host mom is really nice, and she cooks way better than
my last host mom. I'm eating a lot better here, but I noticed that I'm
losing weight... There isn't enough fat in this food. I need some Jacks...

She also goes out of her way to wash my clothes
by hand whenever they get dirty. It's still a little strange to have
another person wash my clothes, especially by hand, handling
all of my delicates and such. Everybody is really amiable, and they
try to make me feel as comfortable as possible here. All the little
children laugh and giggle whenever they see me. I'm sure they think I
have a funny face. It might be the beard. I still don't know all of
their names...

My host Dad doesn't have an eye. He has a gooey sewn up slit where his
eye used to be. Apparently there is a really common eye disease around
here, so I'm trying not to touch my eyes. I feel for the people who
wear contacts. It's interesting, the house dog is missing the
same exact eye. Talk about dogs that look like their owners. The two
other people I talk to the most is my host sister who is 25 and my
host nephew who is 10. It's going to be my host nephews birthday soon,
and I was thinking about helping my host family buy him a bike,
because no little kid should ever be without a bike.

The rain and lightning storms are really intense. The lightning
crashes really close, and I realized that my room is a giant lightning
conductor, due to its aluminum roof. Whenever it's not raining too
hard and I'm not at the office working, I try to take little hikes
around the cooperative, find a nice place to sit, and play my banjo.
I'm so glad that I brought it here. It has helped me become more
adjusted; and, it's a good way to relax and try to express myself
(although, without any music theory, expressing myself musically is
like desperately grasping for something unknown in the dark). My host nephew
took an interest in my banjo, so I've started to teach him a bit.

Yesterday, I took a 45 minute hike up the mountain through the coffee plantation.

I played my banjo on top of a plateau that overlooked the community. It was beautiful,

one of the best experiences that I've had here.

I have had a perpetual stomach ache for a month, but I know that comes
with the territory. My new drug of choice is Pepto-Bismol.

Overall,things are going well. I think I'll be able to make some sort of

positive impact on the community, or at least start something that
will.

Levi Sharpe

After 4 days in La Reyna....

Okay im really bad at navigating blog websites so you'll have the bare with me. Im sitting in the office in La UCA San Ramon. Today is Monday and my first official day working here i suppose. Everything still feels so new and foreign to me, which is to be expected. I'm just trying to focus on being in the present and not being too hard on myself if I feel a certain way. But so far I really like it here. The family im living are all SO nice and helpful. I live up a mountain and all night I listen to the sounds of birds and the rain and a rooster (starting at like 3:30Am!) I eat plantains and rice and beans and vegetables that I have never heard of. Basically what im trying to say is that everything is so NEW and Different. Its scary and confusing but also so exciting.
Brianna-one of the other CAN interns has been here for a month already and I am so grateful to have her here to help orient me. Besides that I have been very aware of the different form of speaking here. I want to be able to understand what everyone is saying but damn it is so hard. All the words sound slurred together and the "S" is not pronounced like i learned spanish in Mexico. But I like the challenge and I hope I will be able to improve my Spanish.
The Project I will be doing is to meet with different young people who are involved in the cooperativas and conduct interviews. I feel nervous about it right now b.c I am not sure what form this will all take. I guess thats it for now. I just have to be open to experience and see what comes of it. but i feel very fortunate to be able to experience a culutre so different than my own. Ill write more when I have some more to say.
--kylie