Hey all,
On Wednesday of this week I received an email of rejection from Dom, the direction of GVI Phoenix. I will not be returning to GVI to work as a project manager, as I had so wanted to do. It is a possibility in the future, he said, but right now I am not quite ready for management.
I like to think I have taken the rejection in stride, but I know it has affted me deeply, and I have been showing my disappointment in the classroom and around the kids. I need to constantly remind myself that I am still here to teach and the rest of my time here, no matter how short, needs to be dedicated to serving them, teaching them, and, above all, loving them. They have become everything and more to me. I cannot bear the thought of never seeing them again, but I have to come to terms with the fact that I never may.
What hurts the most is knowing that I have so much to offer. I know, inside of me, that I could do a better job than anyone else can.
I will push through. I will keep going. I will never stop. My life is for these kids. Maybe, in the future, not these exact kids, but they have touched me in a way that no one else has, provided me with a perspective that I would have otherwise been without.
I believe, and I know, that our fingerprints never disappear from the lives that we touch. They may diminish,they may fade, they may be forgotten, but they never disappear. Our experiences, our past, is held within, is our talisman for all those we have touched and who have touched us. These kids, these simple children with nothing and no one, have left their profound mark on me, and I them. And we are both better for it. They have prepared me to live the life that I know I must, and I have given them love and happiness and hope. Hope.
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Monday, August 2, 2010
A New Beginning
Hey all,
First off, my apologies—I know many of you have anxiously been awaiting this next blog post. Also, I have been quite unreachable to many of you as of late. Fortunately, I have not been silent for so long because there is nothing to say, rather there is so much to say that I do not know how I can possibly express it all in a simple blog post.
The day of my last blog post Jenna, the girl I have been seeing since for a while now, finally left Illinois to come join me in Nicaragua. She arrived in Agosoto C. Sandino International airport a little after noon on the fourth of July. Stephen King once said “that the most important things are the hardest to say because words diminish them.” This was one of those moments. I cannot hope to describe the feeling that surfaced in my gut when I saw Jenna wander into the baggage claim, looking around desperately for me. Needless to say, we have spent the last few weeks getting to know each other again. And what a few weeks they have been.
The next day, the fifth of August, the newest GVI school opened up in Chiriza, Nicaragua. Chiriza is breathtakingly beautiful. The community is settled high in the mountains, so high that you feel as if you can reach up into the shy and grab a little piece of cloud for yourself. The children are beautiful. Living so high in the mountains has given them a lighter complexion and it is not surprising to see kids running around with blonde hair and colored eyes. The houses are much like La Thompson—run down shanties with wooden walls, tin roofs, and nor floor. Gang activity is not uncommon in Chiriza. During construction, in broad daylight, two groups of people formed wielding machetes, with a look of bloodlust in their eyes. Thankfully, the gang war was fought through thrown rocks and not machetes, this time.
As Aaron rolled up to the school in a rusted old white pickup (the white rapidly giving way to other, more interesting colors), carrying the first plastic seats and tables, pencils and paper, whiteboard and markers than many of the kids have ever seen, much less used, he was met with applause from afar. As he approached the applause grew louder. Hundreds of people had met under the provisional school in Chiriza, formed with wooden posts, a tin ceiling, and no floor or walls. By the time Aaron pulled up the applause was thundering. He says it was one of the single best moments of his life.
On a rare serious note from me, this is what GVI does and I hope to do—provide hope for those who have never had cause to hope. For the past three weeks Aaron, myself, and all of the GVI volunteers have been working around the clock to ensure this projects success. I have taken over as manager of the old project, while Aaron is supervising Chiriza, and our work load has tripled.
In the first few days of Chiriza’s existence, over two hundred students flooded the half built school. We have had to sit three people on top of tables, two people in little plastic chairs, and have had two kids sharing a single notebook, but you will not find a frown anywhere in Chiriza. The excitement, the hope, is palpable.
This is why Jenna and I have decided to cancel our travels and stay with GVI for an additional three weeks. We owe it to these children to continue to dedicate every available moment we have to them. Their education is their liberation and we have been and will continue to be a part of that. I have also made it clear to Dom, the director of GVI that I want to return, as a manager of a project. We have been talking about it, and if it works out, I will start working for GVI in June of 2011, for about 6,000 dollars a year.
I will write again as soon as possible with more about the past few weeks. Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten about you all.
--Patrick
First off, my apologies—I know many of you have anxiously been awaiting this next blog post. Also, I have been quite unreachable to many of you as of late. Fortunately, I have not been silent for so long because there is nothing to say, rather there is so much to say that I do not know how I can possibly express it all in a simple blog post.
The day of my last blog post Jenna, the girl I have been seeing since for a while now, finally left Illinois to come join me in Nicaragua. She arrived in Agosoto C. Sandino International airport a little after noon on the fourth of July. Stephen King once said “that the most important things are the hardest to say because words diminish them.” This was one of those moments. I cannot hope to describe the feeling that surfaced in my gut when I saw Jenna wander into the baggage claim, looking around desperately for me. Needless to say, we have spent the last few weeks getting to know each other again. And what a few weeks they have been.
The next day, the fifth of August, the newest GVI school opened up in Chiriza, Nicaragua. Chiriza is breathtakingly beautiful. The community is settled high in the mountains, so high that you feel as if you can reach up into the shy and grab a little piece of cloud for yourself. The children are beautiful. Living so high in the mountains has given them a lighter complexion and it is not surprising to see kids running around with blonde hair and colored eyes. The houses are much like La Thompson—run down shanties with wooden walls, tin roofs, and nor floor. Gang activity is not uncommon in Chiriza. During construction, in broad daylight, two groups of people formed wielding machetes, with a look of bloodlust in their eyes. Thankfully, the gang war was fought through thrown rocks and not machetes, this time.
As Aaron rolled up to the school in a rusted old white pickup (the white rapidly giving way to other, more interesting colors), carrying the first plastic seats and tables, pencils and paper, whiteboard and markers than many of the kids have ever seen, much less used, he was met with applause from afar. As he approached the applause grew louder. Hundreds of people had met under the provisional school in Chiriza, formed with wooden posts, a tin ceiling, and no floor or walls. By the time Aaron pulled up the applause was thundering. He says it was one of the single best moments of his life.
On a rare serious note from me, this is what GVI does and I hope to do—provide hope for those who have never had cause to hope. For the past three weeks Aaron, myself, and all of the GVI volunteers have been working around the clock to ensure this projects success. I have taken over as manager of the old project, while Aaron is supervising Chiriza, and our work load has tripled.
In the first few days of Chiriza’s existence, over two hundred students flooded the half built school. We have had to sit three people on top of tables, two people in little plastic chairs, and have had two kids sharing a single notebook, but you will not find a frown anywhere in Chiriza. The excitement, the hope, is palpable.
This is why Jenna and I have decided to cancel our travels and stay with GVI for an additional three weeks. We owe it to these children to continue to dedicate every available moment we have to them. Their education is their liberation and we have been and will continue to be a part of that. I have also made it clear to Dom, the director of GVI that I want to return, as a manager of a project. We have been talking about it, and if it works out, I will start working for GVI in June of 2011, for about 6,000 dollars a year.
I will write again as soon as possible with more about the past few weeks. Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten about you all.
--Patrick
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Read Jenna´s Blog Too!
Lately, Jenna has had more time to blog than me. Here is a link to her page if you are interested. www.outreachmissions.blogspot.com
Sunday, July 4, 2010
The Rodent, Senior Gato, and The Scorpion Slayer
Last Sunday I came home from Managua after a day of chick flicks and fast food, my guilty pleasures. The bus ride was long, and upon returning home I immediately sought sustenance. I immediately felt something amiss, but could not quite put my finger on exactly what it happened to be. Then, I noticed... A small chew hole in the bottom of my bread bag.
What animal could possibly have the nerve to eat my, Patrick, the slayer of scorpions, bread. They must know that retaliation will be swift and decisive…
I spent the next few hours seeking the culprit, looking for the typical signs, droppings, bread crumbs, whatever may be left behind. However, the vermin proved elusive, even to my supreme investigative skills.
He then had the nerve to present himself to my roommate, Aaron. I recognize mockery when I see it. The vermin, now identified, and code named, as only “the rodent,” had the nerve to show himself in my house. I may have been able to give him a fair trial, had he not been so audacious, but now the verdict was in, only death would be sufficient.
Once again, I set out on my mission, now my obsession, to find “the rodent,” what I can only liken to a Russian KGB super-spy. Again, he proved elusive. Whenever he was trained, he was trained well.
Then, in his most audacious move yet, he skittered across our camp grill, one of our holiest of locations. This is the camp grill that cooks all of the GVI staff food, providing sustenance to its leaders. “The rodent” had not only infiltrated our organization, but now was trying to cut off our supply lines, weaken the leadership, and overthrow us all. This could not stand.
I ran down the hall to the secret nook where we hold our special weaponry, the Remington Clean-Sweeper, the best constructed of all broom weaponry. I slowly stalked the KGB agent, looking around the stove, under the refrigerator, and in the cabinets, anywhere that his hideout could possibly be.
As I stalked my prey, he was stalking me, and attacked. Well, not so much attacked, as ran on his four little legs down the hallway into the garage, where a plethora of hiding places lay.
GVI has no car, so uses the garage only for storage. Boxes are piled high, to the ceiling in some places. I, however, would not be put off of my task. I ripped boxes from the pile, threw them to the other side of the room, and dug deeper and deeper into the pile. I was unsure of what language “The Rodent” spoke, so I yelled to him in both English and Spanish, and I got pretty colorful, he had defiled my bread, tried to cut off supply lines to GVI, and bring down the organization, he was fucking with me.
I located the little shit below the lowest box, in the farthest corner, of the garage. I made my move with the Clear-Sweeper, and barely missed “The Rodent.” He flew behind an old, discarded, and stained mattress. I proceeded to stomp on the mattress, indiscriminately. I would kill him, regardless of the cost.
I lifted the mattress. Imagine my surprise when there was no squashed super-spy. Damn, he’s good. I stalked around the garage, looking for him. I looked suspiciously toward the garage door, and wacked it with the business end of the Clean-Sweeper. He scampered out, attempted an escape, but I cut him off, back to the door he went. I had him now. An easy kill. Just then, a feeling of mercy rose up in my chest and I battled it, but in the end I proved not to be able to deliver the kill shot. I pounded the garage door opener and “The Rodent” escaped into the night. Had I know what was to come, I would have ended his life there.
The next night, I ventured into the bathroom. Just to sit on my throne and do my business, maybe a little reading. Just as my pants were about to hit the floor, “The Rodent” attacked from behind the toilet. Now you can cut of my supplies, you can try and infiltrate my organization, but there are certain ethical guidelines that one must follow—you simply do not attack someone in “the sanctuary.” The bathroom is home base, neutral ground, where you are most vulnerable, where you are farthest from your weaponry. “The Rodent” knew he could not beat GVI playing fair, he needed to catch me with my pants down, literally.
We battled in these close quarters, the advantage his, due to his small size, superior spy training, and greater speed. He injured me, good. Upon trying to pick him up in a half-cut-milk-jug that I use to clean my shower, I rose too quickly and opened a three inch, crescent shaped gash in my left shoulder. I was numb to the pain, fueled by rage. I scooped him into the milk jug, his small size proving to be his downfall.
I walked to the front door, and, despite his unwarranted attack on hallowed ground, was, for the second time, going to give him his life back. Twice I held his life in my hands, and twice I had let him live. I tossed him from the milk jug, and into the street. He met the bricks hard, and was momentarily stunned, unaware of Senior Gato, the white tabby ally of GVI waiting in the wings. Senior Gato flew from an unknowing location and snatched “The Rodent” in his jaws.
And so ended the life of “The Rodent.” Good riddance. I am scarred for life due to his breaking of the rules of war.
What animal could possibly have the nerve to eat my, Patrick, the slayer of scorpions, bread. They must know that retaliation will be swift and decisive…
I spent the next few hours seeking the culprit, looking for the typical signs, droppings, bread crumbs, whatever may be left behind. However, the vermin proved elusive, even to my supreme investigative skills.
He then had the nerve to present himself to my roommate, Aaron. I recognize mockery when I see it. The vermin, now identified, and code named, as only “the rodent,” had the nerve to show himself in my house. I may have been able to give him a fair trial, had he not been so audacious, but now the verdict was in, only death would be sufficient.
Once again, I set out on my mission, now my obsession, to find “the rodent,” what I can only liken to a Russian KGB super-spy. Again, he proved elusive. Whenever he was trained, he was trained well.
Then, in his most audacious move yet, he skittered across our camp grill, one of our holiest of locations. This is the camp grill that cooks all of the GVI staff food, providing sustenance to its leaders. “The rodent” had not only infiltrated our organization, but now was trying to cut off our supply lines, weaken the leadership, and overthrow us all. This could not stand.
I ran down the hall to the secret nook where we hold our special weaponry, the Remington Clean-Sweeper, the best constructed of all broom weaponry. I slowly stalked the KGB agent, looking around the stove, under the refrigerator, and in the cabinets, anywhere that his hideout could possibly be.
As I stalked my prey, he was stalking me, and attacked. Well, not so much attacked, as ran on his four little legs down the hallway into the garage, where a plethora of hiding places lay.
GVI has no car, so uses the garage only for storage. Boxes are piled high, to the ceiling in some places. I, however, would not be put off of my task. I ripped boxes from the pile, threw them to the other side of the room, and dug deeper and deeper into the pile. I was unsure of what language “The Rodent” spoke, so I yelled to him in both English and Spanish, and I got pretty colorful, he had defiled my bread, tried to cut off supply lines to GVI, and bring down the organization, he was fucking with me.
I located the little shit below the lowest box, in the farthest corner, of the garage. I made my move with the Clear-Sweeper, and barely missed “The Rodent.” He flew behind an old, discarded, and stained mattress. I proceeded to stomp on the mattress, indiscriminately. I would kill him, regardless of the cost.
I lifted the mattress. Imagine my surprise when there was no squashed super-spy. Damn, he’s good. I stalked around the garage, looking for him. I looked suspiciously toward the garage door, and wacked it with the business end of the Clean-Sweeper. He scampered out, attempted an escape, but I cut him off, back to the door he went. I had him now. An easy kill. Just then, a feeling of mercy rose up in my chest and I battled it, but in the end I proved not to be able to deliver the kill shot. I pounded the garage door opener and “The Rodent” escaped into the night. Had I know what was to come, I would have ended his life there.
The next night, I ventured into the bathroom. Just to sit on my throne and do my business, maybe a little reading. Just as my pants were about to hit the floor, “The Rodent” attacked from behind the toilet. Now you can cut of my supplies, you can try and infiltrate my organization, but there are certain ethical guidelines that one must follow—you simply do not attack someone in “the sanctuary.” The bathroom is home base, neutral ground, where you are most vulnerable, where you are farthest from your weaponry. “The Rodent” knew he could not beat GVI playing fair, he needed to catch me with my pants down, literally.
We battled in these close quarters, the advantage his, due to his small size, superior spy training, and greater speed. He injured me, good. Upon trying to pick him up in a half-cut-milk-jug that I use to clean my shower, I rose too quickly and opened a three inch, crescent shaped gash in my left shoulder. I was numb to the pain, fueled by rage. I scooped him into the milk jug, his small size proving to be his downfall.
I walked to the front door, and, despite his unwarranted attack on hallowed ground, was, for the second time, going to give him his life back. Twice I held his life in my hands, and twice I had let him live. I tossed him from the milk jug, and into the street. He met the bricks hard, and was momentarily stunned, unaware of Senior Gato, the white tabby ally of GVI waiting in the wings. Senior Gato flew from an unknowing location and snatched “The Rodent” in his jaws.
And so ended the life of “The Rodent.” Good riddance. I am scarred for life due to his breaking of the rules of war.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
The Ministry of Education
On Friday I attended the monthly Ministry of Education Meeting with Karla. Karla claims that it is good for GVI to show its presence among the so called leaders of the Ministry of Education. I, personally, found the exercise futile.
The Government cancels school for the day (the Government has a certain affinity for finding reasons to cancel school in Nicaragua, they invent the most creative holidays), and all of the teachers in all of the preschools, in all of the departments, gather in their respective schools to hear the monthly speech given by the publicity arm of the Sandinistas. This month, the speeches were about prenatal care, and how to handle an infant in their first few months of life. And I quote “an infant begins to realize the world in their first months—hot and cold, blue and red. Then they will begin to make their first sounds.” As if we didn’t know. Why, in a meeting of preschool teachers, would anyone talk about prenatal care and care of three month olds? Your guess is certainly as good as mine.
I think everyone realizes how utterly useless these meetings are. People show up late and don’t exactly wear their Sunday best. In some cases, the tranny hookers in San Jose were better dressed. Of course, the tranny hookers are better paid—the Nicaraguan preschool teacher is paid 500 Córdobas every three months. This is US$25 per three months or US$100 per year—just US$.27 per day. Many of these women are young, early twenties in most cases. How are they to begin their lives on US$.27 per day? And for those women who are out of their twenties? For those women that already have families? Living is an impossibility.
I met a most remarkable women in the meeting—Marcia. Marcia is the paternal grandmother of three children. I did not ascertain what happened to her son, but Marcia did tell me that her daughter in law ran out on the children, when the youngest was just two years old, leaving them to fate. Luckily, Marcia’s heart is larger than her daughter in law’s disregard and she brought the children into her house, to be raised as her own.
Marcia now supports a third grader, second grader, and first grader on her US$100 per year. She is unmarried and she goes it alone.
The people I meet here never cease to amaze. The common resilience to hate and disregard astounds me. The ability to surmount inescapable odds captivates me. The people here have such a desire to live. And in many cases, although they do not have much, I think they live better than we do.
The Government cancels school for the day (the Government has a certain affinity for finding reasons to cancel school in Nicaragua, they invent the most creative holidays), and all of the teachers in all of the preschools, in all of the departments, gather in their respective schools to hear the monthly speech given by the publicity arm of the Sandinistas. This month, the speeches were about prenatal care, and how to handle an infant in their first few months of life. And I quote “an infant begins to realize the world in their first months—hot and cold, blue and red. Then they will begin to make their first sounds.” As if we didn’t know. Why, in a meeting of preschool teachers, would anyone talk about prenatal care and care of three month olds? Your guess is certainly as good as mine.
I think everyone realizes how utterly useless these meetings are. People show up late and don’t exactly wear their Sunday best. In some cases, the tranny hookers in San Jose were better dressed. Of course, the tranny hookers are better paid—the Nicaraguan preschool teacher is paid 500 Córdobas every three months. This is US$25 per three months or US$100 per year—just US$.27 per day. Many of these women are young, early twenties in most cases. How are they to begin their lives on US$.27 per day? And for those women who are out of their twenties? For those women that already have families? Living is an impossibility.
I met a most remarkable women in the meeting—Marcia. Marcia is the paternal grandmother of three children. I did not ascertain what happened to her son, but Marcia did tell me that her daughter in law ran out on the children, when the youngest was just two years old, leaving them to fate. Luckily, Marcia’s heart is larger than her daughter in law’s disregard and she brought the children into her house, to be raised as her own.
Marcia now supports a third grader, second grader, and first grader on her US$100 per year. She is unmarried and she goes it alone.
The people I meet here never cease to amaze. The common resilience to hate and disregard astounds me. The ability to surmount inescapable odds captivates me. The people here have such a desire to live. And in many cases, although they do not have much, I think they live better than we do.
Saturday, June 19, 2010
In the Classroom and the Community
I haven't shown many pictures to you all yet so I figured I would do some uploading today...
Dengue and the USA
Dengue…
I have the unrivaled ability to succumb to whatever affliction is, at the time, making its rounds through Central America… Due to the large influx of tropical storms as of late, Dengue Fever has broken out in Nicaragua with a force, specifically in la Thompson, the community in which I work. And, but of course, I was the member of GVI who contracted the fever first.
It began with a dull ache behind the eyes last Sunday, and an endless feeling of exhaustion. It was difficult to make it through the entire day at school while still functioning. Then, in a rapid acceleration, the full effects of the fever hit me on Wednesday. I was sitting in Café Luz, my typical internet hotspot, a felt a wave of nausea sweep through my body. I already had not been feeling well. I took this new development as a sign to get home, or at least near one of the porcelain gods.
From five o’clock in the evening Wednesday until one o’clock in the morning Thursday (from what Aaron tells me, everything has blurred together for me) my body jerked with convulsions, expelled vomit—exorcist style, and could not seem to decide whether it was hot or cold. When my body saw fit to give me a break at any point during that hellish night, I lay shivering, covered in my own sweat, on the bathroom floor. Finally, mercifully, sleep overcame me.
Sleep, however, was only a momentary reprieve. The fever returned with a vengeance the next morning, turning my rear end into what I can only describe as the fountain at the entrance of Navy Pier. I never took a temperature, but heat was radiating off my body. You could hold your hand six inches away from my skin and still be scorched.
Everyone in GVI was trying to be really helpful. Aaron was a saint, buying me water, and checking to see if I was breathing at appropriate intervals throughout the night. However, he made a serious mistake, he allowed Karla our community-coordinating-mother-figure-who-thinks-she-always-knows-best come over and attend to me during their lunch break on Thursday. In tow, she brought soup (and I really hate her soup) and a syringe filled with “anti-nausea’ medication. Now, for those of you who know me well, you know I am only afraid of two things—scorpions and needles. I will jump off the cliffs of Acapulco with the resident cliff drivers, I will launch myself out of a plane flying 30,000 feet in the air, I will scuba dive until the depths threaten to crush me and the darkness encompasses me, but I will not let anyone come near me with a needle without a fight.
In my semi-conscious state I think I told Karla (and if I didn’t tell her, I definitely thought it) you must be on crack if you think your sticking that in my ass. Even through the fever and the muscle pains and the hallucinations, I still had the sense to not let a non-licensed health professional anywhere near my precious ass with that bringer-of-death. I would rather suffer the fever and the nausea.
She tried to hold me down, and in my weakened state, almost succeeded in injecting me. I fought her off, kicked her out of my room, and locked the door, not to be disturbed again.
Then, as quickly as it came, it was gone. My fever broke late Thursday and, although the muscle pains have persisted, I feel better. No more frantic dashes to the washroom, no more praying before the porcelain god, and, thank god, no more needles.
…the USA
Last Saturday, the US played their first group play match against England. I was in a state of turmoil. Usually, I root for England in the World Cup. I feel that I identify more with the European, and English, perspective on politics and life. For those of you that know me, you know I am rather critical of the United States and United States policy. In fact, I had all but written off the United States. I was ready to apply to Grad Schools abroad and have been busy planning for a life led in another country, probably working with an organization much like this one.
However, something curious happened during the game. England scored in the first three minutes. I should have felt enthralled, vindicated. The evil United States who monopolizes everything, from global sports to global economics to global politics cannot have this one thing, they cannot have the World Cup. However, I did not feel vindicated. I was sad, sad that my country was losing. Then, when the United States scored to level the game I cheered.
Then, this last Friday, the United States played their second group play World Cup match against Slovenia. At half time the United States was down 2-0—a deficit that no team in World Cup history has overcome in group play. The United States battled back to a 2-2 score and again scored in the last minutes of the game. With a score of 3-2 and a win in their sites, the US was set to make history. However, a whistle blew, a foul was called. For what is unclear. The US was stripped of their final goal and the game ended in a tie. I wished a slow death upon the referee. How could he do this to my country?
It is amazing, this new found patriotism. I would never have said my country before. I have indentified myself less and less as an American as the years have gone on. I have contended that it is not where you are born that dictates who you are, but your attitudes and your ethics. I still believe that. However, there is something to be said about the undeniable bond that an individual shares with their country. It is where they spend their life, where their family is, where their attitudes and ethics are born. In your country, you will always have a home. In another country, no matter the circumstances, you will always be an outsider. In your country you can be comfortable in your own skin.
I will never give up my travels. I will never stop trying to help those in other countries, those countries which my country has deliberately oppressed. There are evil people in the United States, both in the government and walking the streets. However, I believe that for every evil person there is a good. And if we mobilize the good through the power of a just idea, it might benefit not only the people in other countries which the US government has oppressed, but those who have been oppressed at home. I guess I am saying that I haven’t given up just yet.
Amazing the profound effect sporting events can have upon the viewer…
I have the unrivaled ability to succumb to whatever affliction is, at the time, making its rounds through Central America… Due to the large influx of tropical storms as of late, Dengue Fever has broken out in Nicaragua with a force, specifically in la Thompson, the community in which I work. And, but of course, I was the member of GVI who contracted the fever first.
It began with a dull ache behind the eyes last Sunday, and an endless feeling of exhaustion. It was difficult to make it through the entire day at school while still functioning. Then, in a rapid acceleration, the full effects of the fever hit me on Wednesday. I was sitting in Café Luz, my typical internet hotspot, a felt a wave of nausea sweep through my body. I already had not been feeling well. I took this new development as a sign to get home, or at least near one of the porcelain gods.
From five o’clock in the evening Wednesday until one o’clock in the morning Thursday (from what Aaron tells me, everything has blurred together for me) my body jerked with convulsions, expelled vomit—exorcist style, and could not seem to decide whether it was hot or cold. When my body saw fit to give me a break at any point during that hellish night, I lay shivering, covered in my own sweat, on the bathroom floor. Finally, mercifully, sleep overcame me.
Sleep, however, was only a momentary reprieve. The fever returned with a vengeance the next morning, turning my rear end into what I can only describe as the fountain at the entrance of Navy Pier. I never took a temperature, but heat was radiating off my body. You could hold your hand six inches away from my skin and still be scorched.
Everyone in GVI was trying to be really helpful. Aaron was a saint, buying me water, and checking to see if I was breathing at appropriate intervals throughout the night. However, he made a serious mistake, he allowed Karla our community-coordinating-mother-figure-who-thinks-she-always-knows-best come over and attend to me during their lunch break on Thursday. In tow, she brought soup (and I really hate her soup) and a syringe filled with “anti-nausea’ medication. Now, for those of you who know me well, you know I am only afraid of two things—scorpions and needles. I will jump off the cliffs of Acapulco with the resident cliff drivers, I will launch myself out of a plane flying 30,000 feet in the air, I will scuba dive until the depths threaten to crush me and the darkness encompasses me, but I will not let anyone come near me with a needle without a fight.
In my semi-conscious state I think I told Karla (and if I didn’t tell her, I definitely thought it) you must be on crack if you think your sticking that in my ass. Even through the fever and the muscle pains and the hallucinations, I still had the sense to not let a non-licensed health professional anywhere near my precious ass with that bringer-of-death. I would rather suffer the fever and the nausea.
She tried to hold me down, and in my weakened state, almost succeeded in injecting me. I fought her off, kicked her out of my room, and locked the door, not to be disturbed again.
Then, as quickly as it came, it was gone. My fever broke late Thursday and, although the muscle pains have persisted, I feel better. No more frantic dashes to the washroom, no more praying before the porcelain god, and, thank god, no more needles.
…the USA
Last Saturday, the US played their first group play match against England. I was in a state of turmoil. Usually, I root for England in the World Cup. I feel that I identify more with the European, and English, perspective on politics and life. For those of you that know me, you know I am rather critical of the United States and United States policy. In fact, I had all but written off the United States. I was ready to apply to Grad Schools abroad and have been busy planning for a life led in another country, probably working with an organization much like this one.
However, something curious happened during the game. England scored in the first three minutes. I should have felt enthralled, vindicated. The evil United States who monopolizes everything, from global sports to global economics to global politics cannot have this one thing, they cannot have the World Cup. However, I did not feel vindicated. I was sad, sad that my country was losing. Then, when the United States scored to level the game I cheered.
Then, this last Friday, the United States played their second group play World Cup match against Slovenia. At half time the United States was down 2-0—a deficit that no team in World Cup history has overcome in group play. The United States battled back to a 2-2 score and again scored in the last minutes of the game. With a score of 3-2 and a win in their sites, the US was set to make history. However, a whistle blew, a foul was called. For what is unclear. The US was stripped of their final goal and the game ended in a tie. I wished a slow death upon the referee. How could he do this to my country?
It is amazing, this new found patriotism. I would never have said my country before. I have indentified myself less and less as an American as the years have gone on. I have contended that it is not where you are born that dictates who you are, but your attitudes and your ethics. I still believe that. However, there is something to be said about the undeniable bond that an individual shares with their country. It is where they spend their life, where their family is, where their attitudes and ethics are born. In your country, you will always have a home. In another country, no matter the circumstances, you will always be an outsider. In your country you can be comfortable in your own skin.
I will never give up my travels. I will never stop trying to help those in other countries, those countries which my country has deliberately oppressed. There are evil people in the United States, both in the government and walking the streets. However, I believe that for every evil person there is a good. And if we mobilize the good through the power of a just idea, it might benefit not only the people in other countries which the US government has oppressed, but those who have been oppressed at home. I guess I am saying that I haven’t given up just yet.
Amazing the profound effect sporting events can have upon the viewer…
Friday, June 11, 2010
Baseball
Aaron and I have taken to playing a version of baseball with the neighborhood kids around us. Obviously, the kids cannot typically afford gloves, or bats, or other materials that would make playing baseball, actually playing baseball. Instead, the kids use a ball of crumpled up paper, wrapped tightly in tape, as a ball, and a wooden stick as a bat. The bases are improvised—whatever is lying around usually gets thrown in. We have to play in the street because green places in Estelí are few, far, and nowhere in between. This causes problems for us. Whenever a car passes we have to stop the game to allow them to pass. Sometimes I feel as if we spend more time waiting then actually playing.
The kids are great. They come to our door at all hours of the day and ask us to play. We usually agree; it is fun for both Aaron and I to get out and play. I am glad that we are getting involved in our own community. It has given me an idea as well. I would love to start a community sports program down here. These kids don’t have much and it would be wonderful to have the opportunity and give them something. I know I loved playing sports. I felt like I was a part of something and I had a ton of fun. I would love to help spread that to these kids.
The kids are great. They come to our door at all hours of the day and ask us to play. We usually agree; it is fun for both Aaron and I to get out and play. I am glad that we are getting involved in our own community. It has given me an idea as well. I would love to start a community sports program down here. These kids don’t have much and it would be wonderful to have the opportunity and give them something. I know I loved playing sports. I felt like I was a part of something and I had a ton of fun. I would love to help spread that to these kids.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
The Seven Reason why San Jose is the New York of Central America
1. Pigeons consistently try and shit on your head and/or shoulders.
2. English is closely a second language.
3. Street bands play for quarters in the few green spots of the city.
4. Street vendors constantly try and sell you substandard, probably disease ridden, food.
5. The hotels are overpriced.
6. There is one fast food place per every five people.
7. Transvestite prostitutes roam the streets at night.
From these seven reasons, one might be led to believe that I did not enjoy my time on San Jose. However, that is not the case. It was nice to get away from Esteli and into a bustling metropolis where I could get myself some subway. Being in San Jose made me realize how much I miss the big cities every once in a while. There is always something to do in a city that, truly, never sleeps.
2. English is closely a second language.
3. Street bands play for quarters in the few green spots of the city.
4. Street vendors constantly try and sell you substandard, probably disease ridden, food.
5. The hotels are overpriced.
6. There is one fast food place per every five people.
7. Transvestite prostitutes roam the streets at night.
From these seven reasons, one might be led to believe that I did not enjoy my time on San Jose. However, that is not the case. It was nice to get away from Esteli and into a bustling metropolis where I could get myself some subway. Being in San Jose made me realize how much I miss the big cities every once in a while. There is always something to do in a city that, truly, never sleeps.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Extermination, Creation, Construction, and an Introduction
Hey all,
I know that it has been two weeks since I have last written. Trust me it is not because I don’t care about you all. Unfortunately, for those of you who do not know, I have to take classes through North Central while here in Nicaragua. It makes for quite an interesting time. I wake up, teach from 830 to 230 and then, most of the time, come home and do home work. However, I have had quite an interesting two weeks…
Thursday 13 May 2010-Friday 14 May 2010
It is really quite sad. It is not enough that the kids are dealing with a shortage of supplies, working with teachers with limited Spanish, and only occasionally actually studying within the confines of a building, but they also have to live with a gigantic ant infestation in and around the school. Inside, ants scurry across the white board, up and down the walls, and on the shelves where the kids store their supplies. Outside, the ants swarm around our feet while we are in class. This would not be so bad, the kids are used to bugs, but these ants bite and, when they do, it hurts—bad.
So, I decided to exterminate them. I bought a can of Baygone—the bug-world equivalent of the nuclear bomb. This stuff shoots mosquitoes right out of the sky, kills ants on touch, and, as I would find out, knocks scorpions off the ceiling.
As I was performing the Holocaust of the ant world, a scorpion fell from the ceiling. In my shock (I had never seen a scorpion before) I emptied half a can of Baygone on the little SOB. He reeled in pain, but did not die. Apparently, scorpions have a higher Baygone tolerance than smaller problematic infestations. Terrified, the baygone not working, I performed a daring jump, and ended the scorpion's life. He had proved a worthy advisory, but in the end he could not stand up to the combined power of Baygone and my Nike's. Patrick 1-Scorpions 0
Now for someone who has never seen a scorpion before I think I handled the situation fairly well. The screaming and overall freaking out was kept to an absolute minimum. Imagine my surprise when yet another scorpion fell from the ceiling minutes later. This time I didn’t bother with the Baygone. This scorpion met a swift end under my Nike’s. Patrick 2-Scorpions 0
At this point, I was rather paranoid. I began to throw all of my personal possessions, books, jacket, etcetera, from the door of the school, attempting to ensure that none of the six-legged-two-pincered-one-deadly-stinger-devils would be able to sneak up on me from behind.
They didn’t appear from the pockets of my backpack or jacket, but they did launch a surprise attack on me the next day, when I was less expecting it. A third scorpion failed at a daring jump onto my back. He, also, met senior Nike. Final Score--Patrick 3-Scorpions 0
I like to believe that it was my near death encounters that drove me to consume copious amounts of Flor de Cana (Nicaraguan Rum) that night. In any case, that is the reason that we will use. The night, while fun, lead to me passing out, without the luxury of clothing, in my roommates shower—with the water running. That, however, is not a story that I will go into. A piece of advice though—do not engage in drinking games where the principle language is not your first language (ie I speak English, so I should not play drinking games in Spanish). Actions contrary to this advice can lead to vomiting, de-clothing, and ultimately poor decisions.
Wednesday 19 May 2010-Friday 21 May 2010
The kids are cute, endearing, and little shits. Like most other kids in the world, they have the keen sensibility to detect weakness, and exploit it. They know that I have a soft spot for them, and they take advantage of it…
This leads to me doing more than the average amount of craft projects. In just a week the kids managed to have me do three different crafts projects. First, we made Indian headdresses. Then, we made puppets, and finally, we made trees with monkeys hanging out of them (pictures to come).
I do have to admit, however, it was rather comical seeing the children run around yelling agh-agh-agh-agh (made by using your mouth to make a streaming aaaaahhhhhh sound, then lightly covering and uncovering your mouth with one of your hands, which is up to you).
Sunday 23 May 2010
Today we worked a little bit more on the fence. One entire side is now completed. It was great. Almost all of the volunteers came out to the site. Most of our jobs consisted of watching the Nicas (slang for Nicaraguan) assembling the fence, while trying not to too much get in the way.
I am, however, once again, inspired by the community’s willingness to help the school. People are really supporting us. It feels good to give back to them.
Then, in the afternoon, Carla, Aaron, and I had the distinct pleasure of walking miles through mud up to our knees, up steep inclines, into the mountainous community of Buenos Aires, where GVI is establishing another school. Let me tell you—it was worth every gushy-with-mud step.
The people there have such distinct features. The people are lighter skinned, and many have blonde hair. There was one child who could have been white, attending school in the states, fitting right in with the middle class crowd. They, the people, are beautiful.
Their beauty, also, transcends into their community. Buenos Aires is high in the mountains, separated from the surrounding city. The houses are spread throughout hill and valleys. Just when you think that you have seen everything, you climb another hill and see houses spread for miles. While there, you feel as if you can reach up and touch the clouds, that is how close they are.
There was a palpable excitement in the meeting held there. Two hundred people came out to hear us, well Carla, speak. It was amazing to hear her speak to the crowd. She never had to raise her voice above her normal level of speaking. Every set of ears was trained directly on her. She talked, and people listened.
This is not to say that there have not been difficulties. There have. The schools opening in Buenos Aires has been delayed again. There are some leaders in the community who are seeking additional benefits (as if an education for their children is not enough).
These individuals give me more hope though. In Buenos Aires, just over the hill from the new school site a private school sits. They have lived their entire lives in the shadow of this private school, much too expensive to afford, and now they are embracing the idea of an education for their children. Their struggle is inspirational and is evidence that good things will happen to good people, if only there is enough time.
Patrick
Monday, May 10, 2010
The House that Reagan Built
Those of you who know me know that I am rather critical of our government. My experiences here have done nothing to relieve my criticality.
Over half of the population of Nicaragua is under the age of 25. Why?—you may ask. Not three decades ago a terrible civil war broke out in Nicaragua. Why?—again you may ask.
The Sandinistas assumed power in 1979 after years of an oppressive dictatorship and fighting to oust the dictatorship. The Sandinistas inherited widespread poverty and a country in shambles. Over 50,000 people had been killed in the revolutionary struggle and 150,000 people were left homeless. The Sandinistas had revolutionary ideals, including equal rights between men and women and a complete economic revolution.
Despite the shortcomings of the previous years the Sandinista government reduced illiteracy from 50% to just 13%, eliminated polio through a enormous immunization campaign, and reduced child mortality rates by a third.
Jimmy Carter immediately shipped $75 million USD to Nicaragua, but the government became “concerned” with the increasing number of Soviet and Cuban advisors.
Ronald Reagan took office in 1980 and cut aid to Nicaragua. The “communist threat” was too significant. He then diverted US funds to a counter revolutionary group—the Contras—in Honduras and later Costa Rica. Plans were revealed 1984 about US plans to mine Nicaraguan harbors (alternative motivations anyone?), leading to an International Court of Justice Case (which the US lost, then boycotted the ruling). Reagan initiated a trade embargo in 1985, further throwing Nicaragua into poverty. Civil War broke out in Nicaragua, claiming the lives of thousands of Nicaraguans. The US initiated the first ever bombing campaign in Central America.
In 1990 the US promised a lift of the embargo and financial aid if Nicaraguans voted against the Sandinistas. Despite Sandinista early success, the competitor, Violeta Barrios, took the election. Ortega, the then president, avoided further conflict by leaving office peacefully. For the next 20 years the United States supported an oppressive and dictatorial regime.
Everyone I talk to has lost someone as a result of the conflict in the 80’s and 90’s. One of the men who help with the project, Tearsten, was shot 16 times, and survived. A man that I built the fence with fought in the war and had killed people. Most of those people over 40 who I have talked to are killers. We have our government, specifically, Reagan to thank for that. He pitted countrymen against countrymen for political gain. Then he implemented neo-liberal policies across the developing world that would ensure that the rich would become richer, while the poor would continue to spiral deeper and deeper into poverty.
Then, last election I heard Republicans talking about returning to the “house that Reagan built.” What house? A house of imperialism, intolerance, and individualism? No thank you. The very suggestion of doing so makes me sick. The only way is forward. I hope that my countrymen can realize that we cannot cling to the conservative policies of old—they don’t work and they ensure inequality, the very thing which America claims to fight against, and are contradictory to democracy, what America claims to support.
America has proven to be one large contradiction.
Over half of the population of Nicaragua is under the age of 25. Why?—you may ask. Not three decades ago a terrible civil war broke out in Nicaragua. Why?—again you may ask.
The Sandinistas assumed power in 1979 after years of an oppressive dictatorship and fighting to oust the dictatorship. The Sandinistas inherited widespread poverty and a country in shambles. Over 50,000 people had been killed in the revolutionary struggle and 150,000 people were left homeless. The Sandinistas had revolutionary ideals, including equal rights between men and women and a complete economic revolution.
Despite the shortcomings of the previous years the Sandinista government reduced illiteracy from 50% to just 13%, eliminated polio through a enormous immunization campaign, and reduced child mortality rates by a third.
Jimmy Carter immediately shipped $75 million USD to Nicaragua, but the government became “concerned” with the increasing number of Soviet and Cuban advisors.
Ronald Reagan took office in 1980 and cut aid to Nicaragua. The “communist threat” was too significant. He then diverted US funds to a counter revolutionary group—the Contras—in Honduras and later Costa Rica. Plans were revealed 1984 about US plans to mine Nicaraguan harbors (alternative motivations anyone?), leading to an International Court of Justice Case (which the US lost, then boycotted the ruling). Reagan initiated a trade embargo in 1985, further throwing Nicaragua into poverty. Civil War broke out in Nicaragua, claiming the lives of thousands of Nicaraguans. The US initiated the first ever bombing campaign in Central America.
In 1990 the US promised a lift of the embargo and financial aid if Nicaraguans voted against the Sandinistas. Despite Sandinista early success, the competitor, Violeta Barrios, took the election. Ortega, the then president, avoided further conflict by leaving office peacefully. For the next 20 years the United States supported an oppressive and dictatorial regime.
Everyone I talk to has lost someone as a result of the conflict in the 80’s and 90’s. One of the men who help with the project, Tearsten, was shot 16 times, and survived. A man that I built the fence with fought in the war and had killed people. Most of those people over 40 who I have talked to are killers. We have our government, specifically, Reagan to thank for that. He pitted countrymen against countrymen for political gain. Then he implemented neo-liberal policies across the developing world that would ensure that the rich would become richer, while the poor would continue to spiral deeper and deeper into poverty.
Then, last election I heard Republicans talking about returning to the “house that Reagan built.” What house? A house of imperialism, intolerance, and individualism? No thank you. The very suggestion of doing so makes me sick. The only way is forward. I hope that my countrymen can realize that we cannot cling to the conservative policies of old—they don’t work and they ensure inequality, the very thing which America claims to fight against, and are contradictory to democracy, what America claims to support.
America has proven to be one large contradiction.
Friday, May 7, 2010
Somoto
I almost died on Monday.
There is a canyon that runs through Somoto, Nicaragua. This Canyon houses the longest and largest river in Central America. Under normal circumstances, you can strap on a life vest and just float unassumingly down the river, but a heavy rain the night before ensured no such relaxing experience.
The rain raised the water level and pushed the rapids to new heights, making the river impassable in certain areas. If you can’t go forward, and you don’t want to go back, there is only way to go—up. Aaron, Joselyn, and I scaled 100 foot rock faces, which, under normal circumstances, would not have been so bad, but, expecting a peaceful float down the river, we brought naught but our sandals. And our guides, probably expecting much of the same, did not bring climbing equipment. The result—100 foot climbs in sandaled feet with wet hands from entering and exiting the river along sharp, steep rock faces with raging rapids below. One misstep, one hand out of place and we would have plummeted to what I
can only expect would have been our death.
Fortunately, our grips held strong and we made it home safely. We did, however, have to turn around mid hike and find a different route. Aaron had almost been swept away in the rapids. We figured it was the only option.
I almost died Monday.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Maynor & Miguel
Maynor is an orphan. His parents left him long ago, with nothing and no one. A family took him in, gave him somewhere to sleep, something to eat, but what is most important, a place to feel safe, has forever been stripped of Maynor.
Most days, Maynor walks in, eyes downcast, delicately placing one foot directly in front of the other. He will take a seat in the corner. He will sit in silence. He is non-responsive to even the most persistent of questioning. Sometimes, when his care-givers are not so careful, his cheeks or eye will be swollen. He is naught but a punching bag and, if he is so lucky, another mouth to feed.
Miguel has a mother and a father too. He never walks in with day-old-bruises or swollen-shut-eyes. He is lucky that way. His stomach, however, is not immune to protesting sounds of hunger.
GVI provides food three times a day to the students who attend. Fruit twice a day and a meal of beans and rice in the afternoon. But, whether for a naïve sense of pride, or for some misguided attempt at safety, Miguel’s mother will not allow him to eat with us. His stomach growls with hunger. His eyes pass over the food that is offered to him that he must refuse. He, also, sits dejectedly in the corner.
My responsibilities as an intern with GVI prohibit me from taking any actions against the families of neither Maynor nor Miguel. Doing so would jeopardize the trust that has been steadily building in the community, thus diminishing the opportunity of the persistence of a GVI presence in la Thompson. For the greatest good, we must take no action. My responsibility as a member of humanity, however, demands that I kick down the doors that loosely hang for their frames on both Maynor’s and Miguel’s house and demand an explanation for the abuse, whether physical or physiological, that is imposed upon their children.
What do I do?
Patrick
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Granada
Hey all,
Granada was founded in 1524 by the Spanish explorer Francisco Hernández de Córdoba, who named Granada after the ancient Spanish city Granada. Granada, along with Antigua, Guatemala, was often recognized as the capitol of Central America, due to its location along Lake Nicaragua and easy access to central trade routes.
Granada has historically been a place of conflict in Central America. It has faced invasions by both the French and the English and is where the American William Walker tried to assert his monarchy of all of Central America. At one point, the entire city was burned to the ground, but was later rebuilt.
Granada and Leon, throughout the 19th century, battled for the nation’s capitolship. Leon was favored by the Liberals and Granada by the Conservatives. Eventually, the capitol was established between the two cities in the significantly less beautiful Managua.
Today, as I see it, Granada is still as beautiful as it was a couple of hundred of years ago when the city was rebuilt. It is the type of city that I have become more accustomed to whilst in Central America. There is a sprawling central park, amazing market, and gigantic main street leading to the shoreline of Lake Nicaragua. The shoreline, however, is littered with discarded trash and the water is polluted to a muddy brown color.
The town square houses street vendors, monuments to people long since dead, and, in true colonial fashion, horse drawn carriages. I wish I would have ridden one. There is, however, always nest time
Walking around Friday night, I was struck by the absolute beauty of the place. Then, I walked through the empty market, past someone who had long since passed out, snoring, sprawled atop an empty market booth. I then remembered that I was, in fact, still in the poorest country in Central America.
I was struck by the sheer amount of homeless in Granada. They were sleeping in the streets, on the sidewalks, and in the entrances of store fronts.
Joselyn, the girl I was traveling with, and I decided to cut the trip short and return Saturday night. She had not brought any shoes so hiking was ruled out and I had somehow forgotten my debit card, so I was strapped for cash. It was our first weekend traveling. Give us a break, were allowed to make mistakes.
The bus ride home might have been the most horrific experience of my short life. The bus from Managua, where we caught our connection, and Estelí was packed from wall to wall. I did not understand how they could possibly still be allowing people onto the bus. I was already squeezed into a seat made for three normal sized people. Unfortunately, the man who was sitting in the window seat thought it was his god given right to take up a seat and a half. Then, a woman who looked much too young to have a five year old, put her five year old on my headrest. His ass cheeks straddled my headrest while his legs dangled into the aisle. So, here I was crunched into a semi-fetal position, sweating my but off in the 95 degree weather (to the second power with all the damn people on the bus), surrounded by people who have not had the benefit of a shower in a while. How could things get worse?
That is when the nether-region-itcher came into my life. This man apparently had some sort of un-satisfy-able itch in his pants. His hand was just drawn to his private parts. What’s worse is he felt the need to place his package directly in front of my face. Someone just kill me. There might have been tears.
After about three hours on the bus, taking extreme back routes to drop people off (I learned my lesson--expresses from now on), the bus had cleared out. The weather went from extreme to mild. I got a window seat. I could breathe again. We drove through the mountains on the way home and I saw some of what I have been missing, green. So much green. Clouds swirled in the sky, overcastting the sun. The sun set orange and pink. It turned into a day that reminds you that even the simpliest things can hold the most beauty—a little girl playing hide-and-seek with you over her chair, hanging your head out the window and allowing the clean air to blow through your hair, or giving 5 Córdoba’s to a man only charging one Cordoba for a bag of water, making his day.
In the end, I am reminded that I believe in something. Maybe something foolish or naïve, but something none the less—that any difference, no matter how small, is worth making.
Patrick
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Sick...
Hey all,
I know it has been a while since my last post, but the week has been busy for me. Let’s see… We had classes on Monday, school was cancelled Tuesday, Wednesday I started getting sick, and today I am REALLY sick. I have been alternating between the bathroom and my bed all day. I just cannot seem to keep anything down. Not to mention that I have had a sickening amount of homework over the last few days.
Monday, like I said, we had classes. This was the first day when I could feel the sickness coming on… I just couldn’t speak any Spanish. Well, I could, but it left a lot to be desired, and I continually was getting frustrated with the kids. I feel horrible about it now, but my temper was short. Thankfully, the kids memories are just as short.
Tuesday we had to cancel classes due to a shortage of teachers. Our community coordinator and our permanent teacher had to take the day off to do a government mandated census. It is peculiarly done here. The government does not want to pay anyone additionally to do the census, so they cancel school and have the teachers do it. You can see how highly valued education is. Work, however, was not over for me. I still had homework and lesson planning to do for the week.
Wednesday and Thursday I have been sick and was forced to miss class today. I actually feel another bout of sickness coming on so I am going to cut this short, but stay tuned for news of this weekend. Hopefully, I will be traveling to Grenada. If I recover a little, that is.
Patrick
I know it has been a while since my last post, but the week has been busy for me. Let’s see… We had classes on Monday, school was cancelled Tuesday, Wednesday I started getting sick, and today I am REALLY sick. I have been alternating between the bathroom and my bed all day. I just cannot seem to keep anything down. Not to mention that I have had a sickening amount of homework over the last few days.
Monday, like I said, we had classes. This was the first day when I could feel the sickness coming on… I just couldn’t speak any Spanish. Well, I could, but it left a lot to be desired, and I continually was getting frustrated with the kids. I feel horrible about it now, but my temper was short. Thankfully, the kids memories are just as short.
Tuesday we had to cancel classes due to a shortage of teachers. Our community coordinator and our permanent teacher had to take the day off to do a government mandated census. It is peculiarly done here. The government does not want to pay anyone additionally to do the census, so they cancel school and have the teachers do it. You can see how highly valued education is. Work, however, was not over for me. I still had homework and lesson planning to do for the week.
Wednesday and Thursday I have been sick and was forced to miss class today. I actually feel another bout of sickness coming on so I am going to cut this short, but stay tuned for news of this weekend. Hopefully, I will be traveling to Grenada. If I recover a little, that is.
Patrick
Sunday, April 18, 2010
A Fence
Hey All,
Not too long ago GVI tried to build a garden behind the school. We provide the children with fruit twice a day and, naturally, the costs do add up. The garden would be a great addition because it would help divert some of the costs of the fruit to other projects GVI is trying to accomplish.
Unfortunately, when the first garden was built it was overrun by wild credos (pigs). So, we quickly determined that a fence would be the solution to our problems. However, our fence was quoted at $1200 US dollars. The cost was simply too great. We would simply have to continue on without a garden until the time when we could properly construct a fence.
At our meeting last week we Carla, Aaron and myself talked a lot about the people not taking advantage of the opportunities that GVI was providing—the stoves, the school, and so on. I think we half way guilted people into agreeing to meet this morning and construct such a fence. People had promised their time and their materials. Promises in Nicaragua, however, often never come to fruition.
So, Aaron and I dragged our asses out of bed this morning at 645. Neither of us was expecting very much—maybe one or two people to come and then rapidly disperse. And when we showed up, on time, we were not surprised to see not one person there.
Aaron and I sat in Carla’s house, next to the school and waited. Imagine our surprise when people began coming to the lot, first with shovels, then with concrete posts, and finally with the concrete itself.
The scene was beautiful—Nicaraguans and Gringos working side by side. You have to realize the significance of this… It was not too long ago that America was supporting the suppression of the Nicaraguan people through the support of an evil dictator, a support that ultimately led to a civil war where many, if not all, of the people that we were working with lost brothers, fathers, or uncles.
I spoke to a man who fought in the civil war. He detested Americans, calling us imperialists, claiming that we impose our culture on others. I have to say, I agree with him. It was a profound experience. I told the man that I am here, in no way, to influence these children in American culture. I am here to learn about his culture, and to do the best I can to give his people a better life. At the end of the day the same man offered to paint a mural commemorating the building of the fence, of us working side by side.
I hope his attitude transcends to the people in the community. I hope they can see that we are here to help, that we care, and that we are not leaving.
Patrick
Friday, April 16, 2010
Infested
Hey all,
Lots of new news about the project over the past few days…
Let me begin with the infestation that we discovered in my jail-cell-esq room. I noticed a few bugs around my bed the other night. So, two nights ago I lifted up the mattress and discovered 150+ little black bugs crawling around under my bed. Needless to say, I was rather disgusted. I then spent the next two nights sleeping on the tile floor in the living room…
I have been very nice, up until this point, about my feelings towards my former roommates. I have tried to be a good sport, not complain too much about anything, but I am more than fed up. They leave dirty dishes on the stove. The stove itself probably hasn’t been cleaned in the 7 months that they have been here. They leave standing water in and around the sink. One part of the house was dedicated entirely to empty plastic and glass bottles (my other, more neat, roommate and project manager cleaned this up today), under which is a caked on layer of old coke and beer. I can deal with all of this, but what I cannot deal with is walking into the bathroom to find beard hair trimmings around the sink. Honestly, take the extra few seconds to clean up after yourselves!
Thank god they left this morning. There were nice enough people, if you don’t have to live with them. Now it is just me and the project manager Aaron. I have moved into a non-bug-infested room and Aaron and myself are doing a complete cleaning over haul this weekend. I also sprayed the hell out of the bug haven with “bygone” spray. This stuff had a deadly aroma to it…
The project has been great the past few days. We celebrated birthday yesterday and had a piñata, candy, dancing, and chocolate covered bananas. We had a huge turnout. Unfortunately, I get the feeling it was only because we were having a party. Carla did tell the kids that if they don’t start showing up for school they won’t be able to participate in the next party.
Then today myself, some of the volunteers, and Mauricio (Carla’s strange, but oddly endearing son), had a water fight. Very fun. Then we played duck-duck goose and soccer with the kids. One girl full-on punched another in the face today as well. It’s always fun trying to deal with those situations.
I also went to my first Nicaraguan night club last night. Definitely an interesting experience. I had a few Nicaraguans girl try and dance with me, which is strange, because the girls usually avoid the gringo guys. It is the Central American dudes who usually pursue the gringo girls—especially if they are blond.
Speaking of blond, the people look very different here than what I am used to in Central America. Their skin is a lot lighter and, in some cases, they have colored eyes and hair. I can definitely see the Spanish blood here.
That’s it for now. Until next time,
Patrick
Lots of new news about the project over the past few days…
Let me begin with the infestation that we discovered in my jail-cell-esq room. I noticed a few bugs around my bed the other night. So, two nights ago I lifted up the mattress and discovered 150+ little black bugs crawling around under my bed. Needless to say, I was rather disgusted. I then spent the next two nights sleeping on the tile floor in the living room…
I have been very nice, up until this point, about my feelings towards my former roommates. I have tried to be a good sport, not complain too much about anything, but I am more than fed up. They leave dirty dishes on the stove. The stove itself probably hasn’t been cleaned in the 7 months that they have been here. They leave standing water in and around the sink. One part of the house was dedicated entirely to empty plastic and glass bottles (my other, more neat, roommate and project manager cleaned this up today), under which is a caked on layer of old coke and beer. I can deal with all of this, but what I cannot deal with is walking into the bathroom to find beard hair trimmings around the sink. Honestly, take the extra few seconds to clean up after yourselves!
Thank god they left this morning. There were nice enough people, if you don’t have to live with them. Now it is just me and the project manager Aaron. I have moved into a non-bug-infested room and Aaron and myself are doing a complete cleaning over haul this weekend. I also sprayed the hell out of the bug haven with “bygone” spray. This stuff had a deadly aroma to it…
The project has been great the past few days. We celebrated birthday yesterday and had a piñata, candy, dancing, and chocolate covered bananas. We had a huge turnout. Unfortunately, I get the feeling it was only because we were having a party. Carla did tell the kids that if they don’t start showing up for school they won’t be able to participate in the next party.
Then today myself, some of the volunteers, and Mauricio (Carla’s strange, but oddly endearing son), had a water fight. Very fun. Then we played duck-duck goose and soccer with the kids. One girl full-on punched another in the face today as well. It’s always fun trying to deal with those situations.
I also went to my first Nicaraguan night club last night. Definitely an interesting experience. I had a few Nicaraguans girl try and dance with me, which is strange, because the girls usually avoid the gringo guys. It is the Central American dudes who usually pursue the gringo girls—especially if they are blond.
Speaking of blond, the people look very different here than what I am used to in Central America. Their skin is a lot lighter and, in some cases, they have colored eyes and hair. I can definitely see the Spanish blood here.
That’s it for now. Until next time,
Patrick
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
More Kids Have Come
The Spanish here is beautiful, musical even. I love the intonations here. It is almost as if people are singing when they speak. It makes it a bit difficult to understand, however.
Today, the state school was cancelled and, as a result, we saw a huge turnout in the morning class. There was somewhere around 25 people. For us, in the morning, that is making some progress. Also, we sent out our community leader, Carla, and permanent pre-school teacher, Yesena, around the community to do a census and to hand out a flyer about the school. The flyer listed our hours, the fact that we are an award winning pre-school, the fact that we have a fulltime, government educated teacher, on staff, and the fact that we serve fruit twice a day and rice and beans once a day.
We have also seen a few parents around the school, picking up or dropping of their children. It is great to see parents taking an active role in their children’s education.
I am excited, the day after tomorrow I will be moving out of the jail cell and into an actual room. That is exciting. I also went shopping for the first time last night so I have food in the house. I guess it is becoming a little more like home every day.
In other news, it is official—Jenna Slack (for those of you who do not know, the girl I have been dating for a while now) has been accepted as a Global Vision Volunteer and will be joining me in Nicaragua on the 3rd of July and will be staying until we both leave on the 23rd of August. It is definitely a relief. I have been missing her terribly. I, of course, probably miss whoever has enough initiative to read these blog posts as well, so do not feel left out if you are not mentioned.
I also have pictures I want to share with you all. I just keep forgetting to bring my USB cord to put them on the computer. Next time!
Adios, until next time,
Patrick
Today, the state school was cancelled and, as a result, we saw a huge turnout in the morning class. There was somewhere around 25 people. For us, in the morning, that is making some progress. Also, we sent out our community leader, Carla, and permanent pre-school teacher, Yesena, around the community to do a census and to hand out a flyer about the school. The flyer listed our hours, the fact that we are an award winning pre-school, the fact that we have a fulltime, government educated teacher, on staff, and the fact that we serve fruit twice a day and rice and beans once a day.
We have also seen a few parents around the school, picking up or dropping of their children. It is great to see parents taking an active role in their children’s education.
I am excited, the day after tomorrow I will be moving out of the jail cell and into an actual room. That is exciting. I also went shopping for the first time last night so I have food in the house. I guess it is becoming a little more like home every day.
In other news, it is official—Jenna Slack (for those of you who do not know, the girl I have been dating for a while now) has been accepted as a Global Vision Volunteer and will be joining me in Nicaragua on the 3rd of July and will be staying until we both leave on the 23rd of August. It is definitely a relief. I have been missing her terribly. I, of course, probably miss whoever has enough initiative to read these blog posts as well, so do not feel left out if you are not mentioned.
I also have pictures I want to share with you all. I just keep forgetting to bring my USB cord to put them on the computer. Next time!
Adios, until next time,
Patrick
Monday, April 12, 2010
First Day of School
Hey all,
Today was my first day the school with the students. The kids are just as endearing as I remember them being in Guatemala. However, this experience is a change for me. In Guatemala, I had to teach two classes with around 40 students between them every morning and afternoon because we did not have enough volunteers. Here, in Estelí, we currently have seven volunteers and one full-time teacher for around 25 students all day. It is a bit discouraging that we only have 25 students from the entire community of la Thompson. I have been told that there has been a high of more than 60 students.
It appears that Aaron and I will have to move door to door a little quicker than expected. These parents, who, most of the time, have never even attended school, do not seem to understand how important an education is to their child. I have said it before and I will say it again—education is the best way to pull people, to pull a nation out of poverty.
I do look forward to talking to parent. Hopefully, I can demonstrate how important an education is to a child.
Patrick
Sunday, April 11, 2010
First Day in la Thompson
I went to the school for the first time today for a meeting with the people in the community. The project director and I had to meet with members of the community to discuss the energy efficient stoves that GVI installs in some peoples house. These stoves burn less wood and filter the smoke form the house into the air outside. It would seem like it would be something that people would embrace. They do not have to do as much tree chopping and, if everyone uses the stoves, there will be more trees and, hence, a shorter walk to the trees. However, for some reason the people are not using their stoves. Aaron and I think it might have something to do with them not really knowing how to use the stoves. Unfortunately, there was no way we were going to get anyone to admit to that in front of their friends and family… Aaron and I think the best step forward will be going door to door and asking people what the problem seems to be.
Also, there has been a problem with attendance. The children just are not showing up. They either do not want to come or their parents force them not to come to help around the house and in the fields (the latter is usually the case—these kids love coming to school).
I was introduced to the school today as well. It is somewhat less than I expected… In Guatemala, there was not much, only a few rooms under a tin roof with rickety bamboo tethered together to partition the classes. In la Thompson, the community we are working in, there are some walls, but the building they contain is only about 30 feet by 15 feet. There are two classes divided by a half wall. The third, fourth, and fifth graders are all pushed together and the pre-schoolers, first graders, and second graders are divided among the other room inside and the class outside made by the overhanging tin roof (the roof extends an extra 15 feet or so off the building to make a ceiling that will shelter the children from the sun/rain).
The houses in the community are made with tin roofs, and if you’re lucky, with wooden walls. The floors are sometimes made with concrete, but the others are just dirt floors. Stoves are a luxury, as is running water and working toilets.
However, I am not discouraged. I still believe in what we are trying to do and I think that GVI can really be the difference in these people’s lives. The project here has only existed a year, but has already made profound progress. We are already opening another school in Nicaragua in June plus adding programs to help alleviate deforestation and hunger.
I am excited for my first day of class tomorrow. Wish me luck!
Patrick
Also, there has been a problem with attendance. The children just are not showing up. They either do not want to come or their parents force them not to come to help around the house and in the fields (the latter is usually the case—these kids love coming to school).
I was introduced to the school today as well. It is somewhat less than I expected… In Guatemala, there was not much, only a few rooms under a tin roof with rickety bamboo tethered together to partition the classes. In la Thompson, the community we are working in, there are some walls, but the building they contain is only about 30 feet by 15 feet. There are two classes divided by a half wall. The third, fourth, and fifth graders are all pushed together and the pre-schoolers, first graders, and second graders are divided among the other room inside and the class outside made by the overhanging tin roof (the roof extends an extra 15 feet or so off the building to make a ceiling that will shelter the children from the sun/rain).
The houses in the community are made with tin roofs, and if you’re lucky, with wooden walls. The floors are sometimes made with concrete, but the others are just dirt floors. Stoves are a luxury, as is running water and working toilets.
However, I am not discouraged. I still believe in what we are trying to do and I think that GVI can really be the difference in these people’s lives. The project here has only existed a year, but has already made profound progress. We are already opening another school in Nicaragua in June plus adding programs to help alleviate deforestation and hunger.
I am excited for my first day of class tomorrow. Wish me luck!
Patrick
Saturday, April 10, 2010
First Days in Estelí
Hey all,
Today is my first full day in Estelí, Nicaragua. It is not quite what I expected, but what ever is? For one thing, it is hotter than Guatemala, and the people are visibly poorer. I had expected poverty, but not to the extent which I have seen it here. Managua, the nation’s capital, is just one haphazard shanty after another. Then, the journey to Estelí (which lasts about two hours via very cramped and uncomfortable bus—this is normal for Central America though) is not the green that I have become so accustomed to in Central America, but brown. The farmers here have systematically destroyed the forest in order to have more land for their crops.
The bedroom that I am staying in kind of looks like a jail cell. It is about 7 feet by 6 feet and a thin mattress that sits directly on the floor takes up most of the space. There is no place for me to put my cloths—no dresser and no cabinets. I have seen more than one or two bugs, but they are small. The water in the shower seemingly is always cold. Fortunately, I do not mind cramped spaces, cold showers, and bugs. I am here for one reason—to teach (well and to travel, learn about the culture, and practice my Spanish). Plus, the cold showers feel good in this heat!
The people here are really friendly too. I went out to a Cuban restaurant with four Nicaraguans. They were very chatty. Also, the internet café that I am writing to you all in has a very nice staff. They are always asking me what I am doing here and where I am from. This has been a great opportunity to practice my Spanish.
Estelí, itself, is very homey. It is strange though. There is no real center of town. Everything is kind of just haphazardly put together, with no order what-so-ever. This makes it very easy to get lost, but regardless, I think I am falling for it. I like Antigua better, still, I think, but Estelí is growing on me. I cannot wait to meet the kids!
I haven’t seen the school yet. My first day is not until Monday, but I am excited. I will write more soon.
Patrick
Today is my first full day in Estelí, Nicaragua. It is not quite what I expected, but what ever is? For one thing, it is hotter than Guatemala, and the people are visibly poorer. I had expected poverty, but not to the extent which I have seen it here. Managua, the nation’s capital, is just one haphazard shanty after another. Then, the journey to Estelí (which lasts about two hours via very cramped and uncomfortable bus—this is normal for Central America though) is not the green that I have become so accustomed to in Central America, but brown. The farmers here have systematically destroyed the forest in order to have more land for their crops.
The bedroom that I am staying in kind of looks like a jail cell. It is about 7 feet by 6 feet and a thin mattress that sits directly on the floor takes up most of the space. There is no place for me to put my cloths—no dresser and no cabinets. I have seen more than one or two bugs, but they are small. The water in the shower seemingly is always cold. Fortunately, I do not mind cramped spaces, cold showers, and bugs. I am here for one reason—to teach (well and to travel, learn about the culture, and practice my Spanish). Plus, the cold showers feel good in this heat!
The people here are really friendly too. I went out to a Cuban restaurant with four Nicaraguans. They were very chatty. Also, the internet café that I am writing to you all in has a very nice staff. They are always asking me what I am doing here and where I am from. This has been a great opportunity to practice my Spanish.
Estelí, itself, is very homey. It is strange though. There is no real center of town. Everything is kind of just haphazardly put together, with no order what-so-ever. This makes it very easy to get lost, but regardless, I think I am falling for it. I like Antigua better, still, I think, but Estelí is growing on me. I cannot wait to meet the kids!
I haven’t seen the school yet. My first day is not until Monday, but I am excited. I will write more soon.
Patrick
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