Finding beautiful things

These last few weeks have been the hardest I’ve experienced for quite some time.  Between my still less than healthy ankle (and the transportation difficulties and limited mobility included therein), several interpersonal conflicts with people in my life, and the stresses of my difficult classes here compounded by efforts to make graduation and post-graduation plans, I can’t help feeling completely out of control.  Some days it nearly feels like I am a bystander to my own life.

My wise friend Elsa has been encouraging me to establish morning and evening routines that are life-giving and empowering, a way to start and end each day in a-dare I say that word-  intentional way.  Doing so has given me a sense of peace and has anchored my time here, rather than just letting the time move as it will.

But this morning, I found myself getting discouraged again.  Reading Nicaragua: Revolution in the Family provoked thoughts of the big picture of peacemaking, and I ended up lying on my bed doing some deep, dark, soul searching.  I found myself listing a lot of ugly, hurtful things that are in my life and in the world, and letting those things swamp me.

To counteract my murking, I spent the next 2 hours focusing on the beauty I have been experiencing, and refusing to let it get overpowered by negativity.

Here are some of the things I came up with.  Sometimes when everything seems dark and dismal, you just have to find or make beauty in unexpected places:

Nature:  The textbooks I’ve been reading this semester are overwhelmingly depressing.  Latin American Literature texts are all about the horrors of colonization, ruthless dictatorships, and sickening racism.  My 20 and 21st Century Foreign Policy class has me reading more about cruel and corrupt dictators, the endless gap between the rich and the poor, and the countless times the U.S. has inexcusably put their nose where it didn’t belong.

So I found another purpose for my textbooks...

Perspective: I love the Nicaraguan people.  The students in my English class at the community center in particular are a major blessing.  They patiently and kindle answer even the silliest of my questions about Nicaraguan culture and the Spanish language.  In return I don’t laugh at them when they pronounce 33 as “turdy tree”, or when “beach” sounds 100% identical to “bitch”.  But in the midst of my mulling over the search for peace in Nicaragua’s bloody and conflict-ridden history, I have come to understand that in order to truly grasp the concepts of international and intercultural peacemaking, this sort of experience I am having now is necessary.  Without the context of my relationships with Nicaraguans, I would never have the perspective that I do of Nicaragua’s political and social turmoil.  Therefore, knowing the people here and having the (sometimes painful) opportunity to see their struggles firsthand allows me to better understand what change needs to take place, and what the nature of the problem truly is.  So this morning I took time to reflect and remind myself that being able to more accurately study, specifically pray for, and more actively advocate for the specific needs of the people here is worth the pain and frustration that comes through realizing the truth, in that the pain of the Nicaraguan people is neither simple or new, and is not going anywhere anytime soon.

Body: My ankle has been an unbelievable source of sadness and stress.  I have missed out on many things, and spent far more time at my house than I would have liked because transportation is so much more difficult and expensive for me now.  It’s also hard for me to feel good about myself when the only shoes I can wear are bright blue flip flops and, let’s be honest, ankle braces and crutches aren’t remotely cute.

So, I decided to find a way to look at my ankle with something other than frustration and disdain.

What say you? Too many pictures of my feet? Probably.

Three strong.  That’s a start.

Here’s to a more beautiful mindset, even when beauty includes difficult, frustrating, and complicated.

Good Morning Huge Bug

Views of Nicaragua

 

Here are some photos from my -very short- recent trip to the east coast of Nicaragua.

The beautiful view from the bar/restaurant/swimming dock I spent my day at Thursday

 

 

One of the gorgeous views of the mountains in central Nicaragua

Another view of the mountains, just after a storm

 

 

 

 

The Healer

This week my friends and I packed our bags for the longest vacation we have from school this whole semester, and hopped on a bus headed towards the east coast of Nicaragua.  Our intention was to travel all Tuesday night, taking 3 buses in order  to arrive in the small fishing town of Pearl Lagoon on Wednesday morning.  After 2 nights in Pearl Lagoon, we planned to head to the small city of Bluefields, a cultural center of the Atlantic coast built from the influences of the indigenous and African diaspora population.

Me on the nicest of the buses, just moments before tragedy

But things never happen the way we plan, so of course I fell while getting out of the first bus, and dislocated my ankle.  Nothing’s broken, but my ligaments are shredded.

By the time we arrived at Pearl Lagoon, I was so discouraged.  Every bump in the road, and there were thousands, shot pain up my entire leg.  On the next two crowded “buses” we took, which were really more like carts carried by trucks, I had to constantly beg people to try to not step on me.  Some of my friends went off to book us a hostel, and I sat outside with two of the other girls, waiting.  An old man came up, begging me for money, until he saw my foot. “Oh, you’re a cripple, never mind…”

Some women who stopped to chat, and the older men who eventually helped me hobble my way to the hostel, all said the exact same thing: “You need to go see Winston.”  Ironically the hostel owner’s son was there for a visit, and he, Wesley Jr., was a pediatrician.  He confirmed what the rest of the community said, “Sweetheart you need to go see Winston and you need to go see him now.  Don’t wait another moment.”

So we went to go see Winston.

Once, my knee was dislocated, and getting it reduced was one of the most painful experiences of my life.  I was terrified.  My fears were not soothed when we pulled up to the most meager of shacks, with a hammock out front and a dog and a monkey on the stoop.  Eventually 6 or 7 people came out of the tiny house, including a few small children and one very old man.

Winston was about 6’3″, very skinny, with really intense eyes.  He sat me down in a plastic chair and handed me a plastic cup of water.  He pulled up a chair across from me and took my swollen, purple foot in his lap.

“You need to relax,” he said, “If you push back to me, I can’t do my work.”

I cried like a baby, and Winston gave me the most painful massage of my life.  And then snap! snappity snap! and all the sudden my foot felt totally different.

“That’s it.  You still need to be careful, but it’s done.  It’s in place.”

I was shocked at how significantly the pain had decreased.  I asked Winston what I could give him for helping me.

“Liz,” he said in his thick creole accent, “We do not give because of what has been given to us, we give out of love.”

An inspirational bite of philosophy, and a re-located ankle?  What more could a girl want.

On Friday morning, when I was heading back early from my disappointing vacation, I said goodbye to Wesley Jr. and told him how moved I was by the help I received from the community, even though I was a stranger.  Everywhere I went, everyone I encountered tried to help in any way they could.

“Well Liz, all we ask is that when you go forth into the world, tell all of the people you meet of the kindness you encountered in the small community of Pearl Lagoon.”

Will do, Wesley.

 

****Pictures of the actual ankle injury have been excluded for the sake of everyone’s wellbeing****

Big Time

All you round ladies out there, gather round.  I just want you to know that, despite the skinny-loving media in the United States, you’ve actually got it pretty good.

Last week, I needed to buy a pair of jeans.  I didn’t know that all Nicaraguan establishments have an addiction to air conditioning, and so I only packed one full-length pair.  So, I knew it was going to be really difficult because I am a tall lady, and the average height here for women is about 4’11”.  I put on my game face and headed to the mall.

Carrion is a less-expensive department store here where I’ve bought a few shirts and dresses that fit me really well.  I figured this would be a good place to look.  I tried on the 10/11s… literally could not get them past my knees.  So I moved up to the 14/15s…. no WAY were those babies about to fit over my bedonk.

Those were the largest jeans they had…until I found the plus-sized section.  Oh, plus-sized clothing…I really do not want to get to know you.  But I needed jeans, there was no doubt about it, and so I decided to ignore the numbers and just put them on and go from there.  I tried on 7 pairs in various styles.  None fit my waste.  Finally I tried on two pairs of 18s.  They were both passable.  I inspected them to see which pair I preferred….

On the back glared the shiny leather brand: BIG TIME.

En serio, Nicaragua??? You just HAD to name the only brand of jeans that fit me BIG TIME???

What a self-esteem boost, Nicaragua.

What it comes down to is that Nicaraguans like bigger people.  The men here like bigger women, and the women do naturally have curvy figures.

Linda Parkyn, I did pay attention during your globalization class.  I think what is happening is that the media and markets in Nicaragua are at the same place that the United States were about 15 years ago in terms of body image and perception of beauty.  Advertising and production trends are working their very hardest to convince the women here, and the men, that skinny and blonde and white is always the most beautiful.  Literally all advertising features white women.  I have yet to see any with black men or women, despite the large African-descended population in Managua and throughout the east coast.  The women are exactly what you would expect from toxic advertising: tall and slim, pale and pink complexions, light eyes, long light hair, minimal amounts of clothing….the same goes for the men: tall and slim, perfect abs, light complexions, eyes, and hair…  Everything that average Nicaraguan men and women are not.

So listen up, BIG TIME, and all your tiny little friends…  back off from Nicaragua ok?  I’m on to you, and I’m not the only one.   These people are beautiful just the way they are, and the last thing they need is a lot of richy riches telling them they need to change the way they look, so there.

 

A few of my favorite things

I’m halfway through my second week in Nicaragua, and I thought I would just share a couple of the things that make life a little more sweet and a little more laughable here…

Our Tiny Pets:

Ok I know this isn’t the best picture, but this little guy is just one of the many, MANY geckos in our house.  At first they kinda grossed me out, but at this point they’re kind of fun.  I think it’s just one of the pleasures of living in a house where the indoors and outdoors are loosely defined; there are always little creatures around.

Nicaraguan Snacks:

What you see right here is called Pico, and it is in my top 5 favorite Nicaraguan foods.  Pico is basically a light flaky pastry that has crystally sugar and crumbly tiny cheese pieces inside.  It is so delicious.  I love it for breakfast with huevos, or basically any other time of the day.
Molasses is something I have always liked, but they do amazing things with it here.  Chocolate is just not a common treat here, but “instead”(I would argue that it is nowhere near an equivalent…) molasses is mixed with any combination of dried fruit, coconut, and finely chopped nuts.  These little treats mostly look like cat poo, but they’re actually delicious in small quantities.
Plantain anything is so so yummy.  Maduros,fried sweet plantains, any time of the day or night, or plantain chips with a little lime and salt, or tostadas, which in Nicaragua refers to green plantains that have been fried (sometimes boiled first) and smashed, and are often served with rice and beans or tortillas and refried beans.  Especially after enjoying plantains so much with Reggie’s family (sweet and fried, or cooked into delicious savory Haitian stews), I’ve really enjoyed learning to cook them in so many different ways.

This weekend I decided not to go to San Juan del Sur with everyone else from my group, because I’ve been pretty sick all week and could use the rest.  Hopefully another opportunity will arise in the coming weeks, because the beaches there are something I do not want to miss out on!

For now I’m going to go walk around campus a little bit and stretch my legs after this communication binge!  Hope you all in the states are having weather that is just as balmy but not so muggy as I’m enjoying here….

Muchos abrazos desde Nicaragua!!!

Just real quick…

So, still no internet en la casa de las chicas, but I do finally have a snail mail address.  No pressure y’all, but a few people did ask for it so here it is 🙂

Liz Miller
C/O Yeska Walquiria Garcia
Universidad Americana
Campus UAM
P.O. Box A-139
Managua, Nicaragua

I’m still pretty sicky, lots of congestion and headaches, and so yesterdays holiday, Santa Domingo coming down from the mountain, was spent mostly in bed.

Soon to come :  Yankee Jesus in Nicaragua

 

Ya voy

It’s 8:45 on our first day of classes.  My housemate’s class starts at 9:15 and she wants to be sure she gets to the university in plenty of time.  We wait and we wait, and when the shuttle taxi is 5 minutes late, and Amy only has 25 minutes until class starts, she calls him.  “Ya voy!” he says, “I’m coming!!!”

Fifteen minutes later, the taxi arrives from the university, which is only ten minutes away at the most.

And on Saturday, our 3pm barbecue didn’t actually begin until 4:45 at the earliest.

And although we have a made and security guards and so many other luxuries in our home, we have no internet access, which makes communicating so very difficult. But don’t worry, we’re supposed to get it by Wednesday.  Oh wait, last Wednesday.  “Ya voy,” says the company, “Ya voy.”

Oh, Nicaragua.  For a girl who has over-committed and maintained a very tight schedule for quite a few years now, this will be a big transition.

In actuality, the laid-back feeling is really quite endearing.  And it’s only one of the many things that make the Nicaraguan people so different than other communities.

My favorite thing is the hospitality and openness.

A new friend here, Alejandro, drove our entire group to Laguna de Apoyo near Masaya.  Laguna de Apoyo is a beautiful lake surrounded by smallish mountains and two volcanoes.

It was a beautiful day at a beautiful place.  We met a guy named Ismael who shared his little boat with us which was fun, and then he joined us at a bar by the lake we were done swimming.

There we met the Perez family.  I first noticed Jerre (sp?), the four year old son, curling up in one of the many hammocks that hung between the tables and lawn chairs.  Over the loud salsa music, his parents encouraged me to take a picture of him all wrapped up in the hammock, but he got very shy.  Eventually, I started chatting with his mother Gloria and his two older sisters, Jesuara and Jini.  Gloria was obsessed with my lip piercing and asked me more questions about it than I thought possible (What did your mom think?  Can you describe for me how it felt?  How did you decide what side to get it on?  How much did it cost?  How many different jewelry have you tried in it?  What is your favorite?  Do you think a pink diamond would look pretty on me if I got one?), and then she asked if I would ever go with her to get her own lip pierced.  When we were heading out, Gloria gave me her phone number, address, and detailed directions to her home.  She assured me that me and any of my friends would be welcome to come over anytime we were near Masaya.

Her willingness to open her home to me just struck me as so unusual and sweet, but over and over, that is the kind of love and welcome that the Nicaraguans have consistently shown me and my friends.  It certainly has given me food for thought about how international students are treated in the U.S.  I hope we get to visit the Perez family the next time we’re near Masaya, and hopefully sometime I can make someone feel as welcome as these wonderful people made me feel.