I have put some of my photos from the past two and a half weeks I spent in Nicaragua on my Picasa Web album. Here's the link:
http://picasaweb.google.com/rfadam/NicaraguaEnVerde#
On our return taxi ride from the Huembes (Managua is not a very walkable city) we encountered the usual assortment of vendors at the intersections, which is so common in Managua: men and even children haul sacks full of small bags of water, others sell mangoes, belts, cell phone chargers and many, especially children, wash windows. At one intersection, two young sisters (the older one looked no older than 10) came to our car begging for food. We gave them the rest of the bunuelos that Atalanta's son was snacking on. As the light changed to green away I thought of the cuajada cheese I had purchased, but by the time our taxi pulled away, it was too late to give it to the two girls. One of them was still looking at our car as we drove away, a beautiful smile across her face.
It is experiences like these that will remain etched into my mind. Children and youth were an essential part of my experience in Nicaragua. This may seem a little strange, since I am a teacher, why I would want to spend so much time with children during my vacation. In Lagartillo, it was soccer games with the chavalos nearly every afternoon, evenings spent playing pit (a card game) with Roniel, Sinthia, Tatiana and Javier. During the heavy afternoon rainstorms I chatted with Jairo, Jahaira's younger brother along with Monchito and our young neighbor Norvin who was a frequent guest at our home during my week in Lagartillo. In recollection, it was the young people that really drew me back to that community. On the road, we spent a whole day in Miraflor with Eyda, the 16 year old daughter of the owner of the posada where we stayed along with her younger nephew. Eyda was our guide to that wonderful mountain world, she had nearly completed high school (the school was 45 minutes away by horse) and was hoping to study medicine at the university. In Omepete, the person I will remember most is Uriel, the 18 year old son of the owner of the Hospedaje where we spent two nights in Merida. Uriel had grown up in Managua, Costa Rica and Nicaragua's Atlantic Coast and had arrived just days before to stay with his father, whom he hardly knew. He had the hardened exterior of someone who has come of age in tough situations and who has performed his share of hard labor, but quickly revealed a sensitive, thoughtful side. And it was my encounters with children that made my experience in Managua so profound. Children are vital and wonderful but so easily exploited, and in Nicaragua I have become aware of this an a way that is much more intense than what I've come to experience working with children and youth in the Bay Area. I see the exploitation and abuse of chilren more as a result of neoliberal policies that have stripped away funding for education and health rather than something inherent in Nicaraguan culture. And sadly it is the children who suffer most.
The Mercado Oriental is the throbbing heart of Managua's small scale commerce. It is a chaotic maze of shops, stands and carts that spills across many city blocks. In a city with an abysmally high unemployment rate, many Managuenses seek their survival selling all kinds of things usually in the street and in the market. This is not something I applaud, but is a reality of the nation and the city. The Oriental is alive with the energy of the city and it's people. I was lucky to have two Nica guides to show me around, which made the market--which has a reputation for petty crime--seem much safer. I found a CD of revolutionary music, a pair of glasses frames, and bought some tamal pisques and cheese as well. My guides purchased a bunch of rice and beans and some bananas. We eventually made it out and drank some refrescoes out of plastic bags as we returned home in the cab. I guess in the end, I am glad I was able to see Managua. It is not a city that puts on a facade, and unlike some of the other places I visited in Nicaragua this time around, does not really cater to tourists. Contemporary Managua exists in the ruins of the once-elegant city destroyed by earthquake in 1972 and has been patched together slowly since then. Neoliberalism has left its' mark on the city, with enclaves of brand-new shopping centers dotting the Masaya highway amidst a sea of impoverished barrios. Managua is not an easy place to like, it lacks the colonial center of other Nicaraguan cities like Leon and is not pedestrian friendly. But it is reality for a million and a half people and cannot be ignored.
I was hoping that by staying in Nicaragua for a shorter time, it would be easier to remain detached from the reality of the country and not become involved in the lives of people there. I guess I fear having a split life, of not being able to be around people I care about as much as I'd like and having to cross cultural divides. But that is already the life I lead in so many ways, it is difficult but it is better to grapple with the challenge of caring across distances and boundaries than to live with the emptiness of trying to forget people we once held near to us.
I returned to Oakland last night after two and a half weeks in Nicaragua. I feel as if I've been gone much longer than that. Traveling a lot certainly has much to do with this: we packed a lot into a few days, with many early mornings, long bus rides, new places and many people we encountered along the way. Also, being in Managua for 24 hours before leaving Nicaragua was intense. Managua is an intense place. On my first visit to Nicaragua, I only passed through it on the way to and from Leon, and found it off putting and depressing: dirty, chaotic, noisy and poor. While the city certainly has plenty of these four qualities, I gained more of an appreciation for Managua this time around. Most of this has to do with the wonderful time I spent with Atalanta and her family. They are incredible people and my interactions with them will remain the strongest memory of these past few weeks. I was glad I was able to spend some time with them and wished my stay was longer. Although spending time with the family was the most important thing I did there, I was able to see a few things in Managua as well. On Monday, Atalanta, her young son and I headed to the Huembes Market, one of the city's many markets, a relatively clean, organized space. Colorful and vital, the markets exemplify Nicaragua's vibrant culture but also contain plenty of its' darkness: particularly the exploitation of child labor in the informal economy. While I was eating an enormous plate of comida tipica (the woman at the comedor kept piling on the food, and it's hard for me to say no to an extra platano) in the market's dining hall, a boy who looked no older than 12 came and began to make extraordinary small crafts out of young coconut palms: a flower, a cucaracha and a heart. He was quite a craftsman and talented at his art, though it was obvious he was not attending school and was in poverty. We gave him some money for his productions, and I let him finish my plate of food. This felt a little strange, but so did eating much more than I needed in front of someone who was very hungry.
On our return taxi ride from the Huembes (Managua is not a very walkable city) we encountered the usual assortment of vendors at the intersections, which is so common in Managua: men and even children haul sacks full of small bags of water, others sell mangoes, belts, cell phone chargers and many, especially children, wash windows. At one intersection, two young sisters (the older one looked no older than 10) came to our car begging for food. We gave them the rest of the bunuelos that Atalanta's son was snacking on. As the light changed to green away I thought of the cuajada cheese I had purchased, but by the time our taxi pulled away, it was too late to give it to the two girls. One of them was still looking at our car as we drove away, a beautiful smile across her face.
It is experiences like these that will remain etched into my mind. Children and youth were an essential part of my experience in Nicaragua. This may seem a little strange, since I am a teacher, why I would want to spend so much time with children during my vacation. In Lagartillo, it was soccer games with the chavalos nearly every afternoon, evenings spent playing pit (a card game) with Roniel, Sinthia, Tatiana and Javier. During the heavy afternoon rainstorms I chatted with Jairo, Jahaira's younger brother along with Monchito and our young neighbor Norvin who was a frequent guest at our home during my week in Lagartillo. In recollection, it was the young people that really drew me back to that community. On the road, we spent a whole day in Miraflor with Eyda, the 16 year old daughter of the owner of the posada where we stayed along with her younger nephew. Eyda was our guide to that wonderful mountain world, she had nearly completed high school (the school was 45 minutes away by horse) and was hoping to study medicine at the university. In Omepete, the person I will remember most is Uriel, the 18 year old son of the owner of the Hospedaje where we spent two nights in Merida. Uriel had grown up in Managua, Costa Rica and Nicaragua's Atlantic Coast and had arrived just days before to stay with his father, whom he hardly knew. He had the hardened exterior of someone who has come of age in tough situations and who has performed his share of hard labor, but quickly revealed a sensitive, thoughtful side. And it was my encounters with children that made my experience in Managua so profound. Children are vital and wonderful but so easily exploited, and in Nicaragua I have become aware of this an a way that is much more intense than what I've come to experience working with children and youth in the Bay Area. I see the exploitation and abuse of chilren more as a result of neoliberal policies that have stripped away funding for education and health rather than something inherent in Nicaraguan culture. And sadly it is the children who suffer most.
The Mercado Oriental is the throbbing heart of Managua's small scale commerce. It is a chaotic maze of shops, stands and carts that spills across many city blocks. In a city with an abysmally high unemployment rate, many Managuenses seek their survival selling all kinds of things usually in the street and in the market. This is not something I applaud, but is a reality of the nation and the city. The Oriental is alive with the energy of the city and it's people. I was lucky to have two Nica guides to show me around, which made the market--which has a reputation for petty crime--seem much safer. I found a CD of revolutionary music, a pair of glasses frames, and bought some tamal pisques and cheese as well. My guides purchased a bunch of rice and beans and some bananas. We eventually made it out and drank some refrescoes out of plastic bags as we returned home in the cab. I guess in the end, I am glad I was able to see Managua. It is not a city that puts on a facade, and unlike some of the other places I visited in Nicaragua this time around, does not really cater to tourists. Contemporary Managua exists in the ruins of the once-elegant city destroyed by earthquake in 1972 and has been patched together slowly since then. Neoliberalism has left its' mark on the city, with enclaves of brand-new shopping centers dotting the Masaya highway amidst a sea of impoverished barrios. Managua is not an easy place to like, it lacks the colonial center of other Nicaraguan cities like Leon and is not pedestrian friendly. But it is reality for a million and a half people and cannot be ignored.
I was hoping that by staying in Nicaragua for a shorter time, it would be easier to remain detached from the reality of the country and not become involved in the lives of people there. I guess I fear having a split life, of not being able to be around people I care about as much as I'd like and having to cross cultural divides. But that is already the life I lead in so many ways, it is difficult but it is better to grapple with the challenge of caring across distances and boundaries than to live with the emptiness of trying to forget people we once held near to us.
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