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