This gallery contains 33 photos.
Without further delay I present to you the much anticipated photo gallery from my first month in Nicaragua and a little from before I left. I’m working on the captions.
My proffe continues to remind me of how vago (restless wanderer) I am, so I am just going to embrace it. Yesterday (the 22nd) I decided to take up an offer by the cousin of my padre to go fishing in the mar. By mar I mean the Pacific Ocean. I awoke on Sunday feeling refreshed from an 11.5 hour sleeping marathon. I don’t remember if I’ve said this already but sleeping is my new favorite. It’s not because I don’t want to hang out with anybody or that I’m turning into my mother, its that I quite literally cannot stay awake past 10:00 pm. Trying to speak in Spanish all day is exhausting. While I am trying to express my needs and emotions with the dexterity of a 5 year old, I am also trying to keep up with the reading they want us to do (I wouldn’t have signed up if I knew there was homework), get to know people in the neigborhood and remember their names, and wrestle with all the shit that runs through my head whenever I get a spare moment to think. By the end of the day I’m so worn out its all I can do to raise up my mosquito net and climb underneath it. That, on top of an 8 hour day in the sun at our first gardening training session and I was spent.
Anyways, I digress. So I woke up at 6:00 am and got ready. I didn’t go to the evangelical church this time because I felt like I had to experience the Catholic vibes in Latin America. So I went to a Basillica near my house which is absolutely beautiful with another guy from my barrio. After I got back, I did my laundry for the first time by hand on a stone washboard. My madre later told me that I was too violenta because my hands started to bleed from scrubbing too hard. I told her that it was necessary because my clothes smell really bad (a phenomenon my roomates can attest to). At about 2:00 pm I left with Manuel and two of his buddies to go fishing. We took his buddy’s car and drove only about 30 minutes to this place that didn’t really have a name. Needless to say it wasn’t a tourist area. We parked at some farmer’s house and walked the rest of the way to the ocean which included wading through waist high marshes with our fishing poles over our heads Vietnam-style. After we got to the beach though, it was all worth it. It was fucking beautiful (pardon my french but I don’t get to curse alot hear and I’m going through withdrawl). It was a lot like what you would picture from a post card or some National Geographic special on local subsistance fishermen. There were just a few people fishing from large rocks that jutted out from the white sea. Larger rocks farther out acted as a barrier on which the larger waves would crash and splash up violently, making it safe to stand on the rocks closer to shore. Also, there was a freshwater river that ran literally right next to the ocean and, as the day went on and the tide rose, the ocean and the river conected. We fished both the lake that fromed at the end of the river and in the ocean for about 5 hours. I ended up catching a cangrejo (crab) who fought valiently for his life as me and Manuel tried to stab him with our little knife. The crab actually got a peice of Manuel’s finger in the fight and drew blood. I also caught a cola amarilla (still don’t know what the means) and the group also caught some oja (those flat fish that have their mouths on the side and both eyes on top of their body) and some other types. It was pitch black when we walked back to the car which was awesome because you could see the untainted night sky with the backdrop of waves on the beach and fresh fish in the bucket. It took America 48 years to reach the Pacific Ocean. It only took me 23 years and a trip to Nicaragua to realize my own version of Manifest Destiny.
Day one of classes and they already have me busting my hump around here. At least I’m learning a trade. After being in Diriamba for one and a half days, my teacher had us walk around the neigborhood and ask a bunch of kids between the ages of 15 and 20 if they wanted to participate in a youth group that we are going to start for our training project. I realize that we don’t have much time, so I just kind of jumped in and fumbled around with my words. Somehow they understood me and a bunch of them even said they would come to the meeting. Also, we talked to two “leader” type figures in the community today, one who owns the molina (what the community uses to grind up their corn and soy into a fine and usable powder) and a guy who runs dancing lessons out of his house. Both of them were pretty pumped about having something for the kids to do in their free time because, in their words, “the kids around here don’t go to school, don’t work, and don’t help around the house.” We will hold our first meeting on Wednesday. In the back of my mind I can’t help but remin myself that this is all just training and that the real thing doesn’t start until 3 months from now, but I’m still exited to be doing something other than signing papers.
I’m just going to skip ahead from orientation to the bus ride to my host family’s house…
So there I was in the bus to my host family’s house. It was a beautiful day because the clouds had cleared from the first day of rain of the invierno the day before. The only things I have on me are my wallet and a broke-back powerpoint printout of a picture of my host family and a quick bio. I suppose it was only fair because they had no idea who they were getting as they had only decided host family placement the day before. All they knew is they were getting a gringo. And boy did they get one. I thought my Spanish was pretty good considering all the money that I pumped through UD to get my minor, as it turns out, no amount of classes could have prepared me for the Spanish of Diriamba. Diriamba is the city in Nicaragua where my family lives (commence google mapping…unfortunately they probly don’t have StreetView here considering they only get running water from 10pm till 12pm when they have to fill up barrells). Diriamba has about 31 barrios (neigborhoods, not the dangerous ones like in the Bronx) and I am living in barrio El Recreo. Anyways, back to how bad my Spanish was. I culdn’t understand a DAMN thing they were saying day and I felt really awkward not being able to convey my charming wit and humor. Since I was educated in the “wholesome” Spain spanish (what any formal class would teach), when my family startes dropping the “s” at the and of every word and shortening pretty much all of the rest (e.g. service instead of servicio) I was a little bit less than able to comprehend.
It’s a bit difficult to describe my emotions between orientation and my first day but if I had to use one word, it would be “conflicted.” If I had to use one acronym it would be “WTF.” Anywhoozle here I sit after day 2 in Diriambia with my host mother Bertha, my host father, Arturo, and my 17 year old host brother David – and I’m starting to love it. Looks like everythings coming up Milhouse.
On my first day here, with some quick introductions, Arturo (henceforth father), and David (henceforth brother), and I went to buy some stuff. I have to drink purified water ( which makes me feel even more like a gringo but it beats having diarrea from the tap water) and we had to go to the market in Jinadega which is about 10 km from our house. That’s right, I’m that guy using the metric system in an American blog. Tough. They tell me distances in metric and the gringo is too lazy from thinking in spanish all day to convert it. First of all, the bus system here is awesome. There are no formal bus stops (or if there are I havent seen them yet) there are just people standing by the side of the road wherever they want. The bus (pronounced boo in Nica spanish) is operated by two people. The drivers job is to avoid accidents by as narrow a margin as possible and honk the horn to get the attention of possible customers. The door-man’s job is to keep track of the money and yell the destination out the window at potential customers. If someone appears interested in a ride or flags the bus down, the driver slows down. He doesn’t stop all the way unless its an older person which it usually isn’t (70% of the Nica population is under 21). My spanish teacher said I was a vago (literally a homeless person/drug dealer/theif but in joking means you travel around alot or don’t stay in one place) for doing so much right away.
Today, I went to my first Evangelist mass with father and mother because that’s what they belong to and I wanted to spend some time with them and see everything they do. The church was about 21 km away from the house…how’s that for vago Senora Martha? The service was pretty intense for those of you who have never been. The first hour was all singing and clapping. I mostly just clapped because I didn’t know the words. The second hour was the minister reading a passage and then spending 58 minutes talking about it. The last half hour was music again. Obviously I stood out like, well, a gringo at a Nica service. I am by far the tallest person here (and everyone I meet allerts me to this fact). After the mass literally everyone shook my hand and/or gave me a hug (me dio un abrazo) and some people even called me brother. It was kind of cool and inspiring but also a little wierd. The rest of the day was spent walking around with father and mother meeting all of the family that lives around here (there is a lot). Everyone was really nice to me and was super patient with my spanish which has improved greatly even over the last two days. The custom here is to sit in the rocking chairs that are in a circle and chat it up for a bit. Pretty much everyone offers you food of some kind and a drink.
It didn’t take long for my family to ask about my relationship status. I told them it was a long story and that I was single (so I told them the truth). So they haven’t wasted much time trying to hook me up. They introduced me to one of their cousins who was quite good looking and also knew a bit of english. After about a half an hour of trying my best to flirt in spanish, I found out she was married and had a kid. Whoops.
Cool things I did today: learned how to flush a toilet with a pan of water, took a bucket bath (not so bad and super water conserving – just saying), exchanged music with my host brother (he’s studying computer engineering at the university so he has a laptop – not normal here), watched Americas Funniest Home Videos with father (here it called Camera Loca).
I have officially completed day 2 in nicaragua.
The 48 hours leading up to our arrival in Managua was nothing short of hellish. I had to get up at 4:30 am to catch a 7:00 am flight to Washington D.C. and, as you can tell from my last feeble attempt at a late-night creative post, I didn’t get much sleep that night. After travelling all morning I arrived at the hotel along with 45 other eager volunteers who had no idea what the hell was going on. After some icebreakers and basic info and whatnot ended at 7 pm, we were given some money and until 2:00 am to do with it what we pleased. I decided to spend it on a buffalo chicken sandwich and Bell’s Two Hearted (Michigan represent). Afterwards I went right to bed for a quick 2 1/2 hour power nap before checkout. My roomate decided to stay up all night, have a couple more beers and go for a midnight jog/workout. I don’t know whos idea was better but we were both tired as hell (as he had also not slept the night before).
And so began our march of the penguins to the busses and through the airport. Shuffling along like a big group Charlie Browns with dejected music playing in the background, we waited 4 1/2 hours for the incompetent employees of American Airlines to check in a bunch of Peace Corps volunteers whos tickets had been book for at least a month. After nearly missing the flight, I was drained from running through the airport Home Alone-style. Luckily I had an hour and a half flight to make up for 2 nights of sleep.
With no sleep to be had on the flight to Managua I was less than rested when I arrived. If you want to know if the stories about the heat are true, lets just say Henry Saefkow’s soup factory couldn’t hold a candle to me on that day. I’m pretty sure I lost 5 pounds within the first 5 minutes – a feat that puts Jenny Craig to shame. But enough about the complaining.
We got a ride on an old cramped colorful school bus from the airport which was (from what the PCVs who came to meet us said) was pretty authentic Nica (the joke is “How many Nicas can you fit in a bus? Always 5 more”). It took us to this training compound from which I am typing this post in a cool, airconditioned room. While there are nice amenities here like running water and electriity and AC, I am really looking forward to moving in with my host family in two days. Between the sleep deprivation and being locked in this compound for orientation, my head started to play games with me like “what am I doing here?”. However after the first day of training I passed out for about 10 hours and felt great today. Suddenly not knowing wht was going on wasn’t so bad. It’s funny because when everyone at home asked me what I would be doing down here, I tried to give the best answer possible but, in reality, I have no f-ing clue…and its fantastic. The people in my training group have been amazingly friendly and, even though there are some awkward silences (we all have a lot on our minds right now), we are getting along famously.
Some cool things I’ve done so far: played hoops against a Nicaraguan (I drove his ass to the bucket), took a tour of Managua (pictures to come), the safety dance, took a cold shower and actually enjoyed it, had a Spanish conversation.
In the second installment of what promises to be an extremely mediocre blog floating around in the blogosphere, our protagonist lays in bed, unable to sleep yet mind-numbingly exhausted from everything. He ran the gauntlet of people-visiting and well-wishing (which always involved a flagon of ale). Daringly, he battled the Scylla and Charybdis of hungover packing and finals-project finishing (the hangovers were of true LeMier/Gietzen proportions and would have fetched a sympathetic word even from Charles Bukowski). With expert finesse and style he finished packing his bags only 5 hours before his plane takes off. He feels naked without his phone, sadness for all the great people he is leaving, and excitement for all the great people he will meet. Mostly he is tired. Five hours to go…
Here I sit in the Natural Resources Building, passing the 3rd day of nice weather all semester in the windowless, cinder block prison that is my office, noticing the blatant lack of blog-posting of which I have promised so many people I would be diligent about. “Once begun, a job’s half done,” so I thought I would get at least one under my belt before I leave behind the comforts of wildly abundant wireless internet. Honestly, it’s probably not healthy to be pregnant on a college campus what with all the criss-crossing LAN signals around here…
Over the last few days I have been participating in an exercise in Peace Corps flexibility by moving out of my apartment right before finals week and being homeless in East Lansing until all my finals are done. It is also an exercise in Peace Corps frugality because the main motivating factor behind this was avoiding paying rent for the month of May. I would say I’m going to miss living there, but I wouldn’t want to lie in my first ever blog post (if you don’t count the Xanga fad in early high school – which I don’t). But honestly, what’s not to miss about paying through the nose to live in a cramped studio apartment thats a bajillion miles from campus? Oh yea and the nymphomaniacal neighbors who’s idea of a fun Tuesday night is letting their love resound through the entire apartment complex (you know who you are)…
Anyways, being homeless has been an enjoyable experience. Lucky for me Kevin “the legend” Stover and Elliot “marathon man” Rudert have taken me under their wing and let me crash on their couch whenever I want. Also, Kevin’s lovely fiance, Kate, was visiting this weekend so I got to play the “Dupree” to their “You, Me and” without all the jealousy and crooked noses. I thought it was an interesting contrast between two people who are so stable and the trainwreck that is my life right now, living under the same roof. I say trainwreck endearingly because I love the spontaneity of my current pre-departure lifestyle. I am also quite fond of having a justifiable excuse (leaving the country for 2 years) to drive around the Midwest and spend unreasonable amounts of money at going-away parties. Here are some samples of the debauchery:
Notice the "Reserved for Ryan LeMier" sign - the cherry on top of an awesome weekend in Chicago. I promise that girls also attended.
Unfortunately, the only picture taken of my trip to Ferris State was of Will and I hoisting this woman up at the Sean Kingston concert to help her find her daughter
Me dancing with a local Lansing woman at Oade's Bar and Grill (a very reputable establishment). I later helped her meet the much more age appropriate man of her dreams.
This blog currently comes to you at the expense of time I should be spending writing final papers for class. While there were times over the course of the last year I cursed myself for going back to school right away and not joining the Peace Corps right out of undergrad, I have come to reflect mostly positively on the decision to do Masters International** for several reasons.
I am currently mad at school because I am 9 days away from my departure and have to focus on final papers. Massive caffeine injections help, although I can already feel a kidney stone genesis occurring deep within the nephrons of my kidneys. Needless to say I haven’t even started thinking about packing yet. Once I submit my last final its going to be a frenzy of packing and goodbye-saying before I board that flight on May 10…
**Masters International is a recently established program at several Universities in the U.S. in which students attend a year of graduate coursework, followed by a 27 month commitment as a Peace Corps volunteer. Upon completion of service, the student returns to finish the last year of coursework and complete a thesis, usually based on the work done during Peace Corps service.
Mi Linda Nicaragua, Que Allegre Mi Managua 