bursting our bubbles

“Tell your heart that the fear of suffering is worse than the suffering itself. And that no heard has ever suffered when it goes in search of its dreams, because every second of the search is a second’s encounter with God and with eternity.” (Paolo Coelho, The Alchemist)

Most of us exist on a day-to-day basis in perceived bubbles of security. We use daily rituals and routines, financial responsibilities, and the need to “succeed” in some universal (ie: financial) sense of the word as an excuse for sticking to our daily grind. Deep down, we are aware that this bubble represents only a thin layer, a false boundary, between our hearts and the world. Although we present others with our striking independence, we are constantly doubtful and lonely… unsure of our place in the world, yet knowing we will not be content to merely float about in this solitary bubble for our entire lives.

We fear the “other”, believing that the world which exists outside of our thin scope and belief system will somehow shatter our spirit. We fear what could happen to our secure lives if we actually journeyed to experience the world. One cannot truly experience the world as a traditional vacationer, as a wandering spirit. A true experience of the world can only be achieved by living with a people, by learning to respect and even cherish their culture (both the negative and positive aspects), by developing a compassionate awareness of their suffering, and by bearing witness to their hardships and successes as if they are one’s own. Developing an awareness of the amount of suffering and injustice in this world WILL shatter one’s spirit… many times. It takes great courage and a willing to delve into the dark corners of humanity. However, in these dark places… in the places where people toil day in and day out simply to survive… on the fringes of our broken world… exists boundless beauty, stoic hope, and an unparalleled faith in community and brotherhood.

Part of our fear of truly experiencing unknown cultures must be rooted in our knowledge that, on a very deep and primal level, we are all the same, we are all one. If every person in our world could experience the power of the undercurrent of humanity, our delusions of a perfection and individuality would be thrown into the unknown winds; leading to a chaotic yet delightful rollercoaster of being and doing, of learning about other ways of the world, of shattering preconceived notions of individuality and sowing the seeds of a worldwide personal responsibility for the well-being of ALL people.

Somewhere, deep within each of us, is a cry waiting to burst forth, a cry of unity and of anguish in response to the injustices of this world. The injustices which, without action, we aid in perpetuation while fueling the vicious cycle of poverty which keeps the downtrodden silent and invisible. From this same place comes a humming harmony (some call this harmonic hum God, but I truly haven’t decided yet, so in my musician’s mind, I’ll refer to it as a ‘hum’) which goes beyond words and formalities, beyond imaginary borders, beyond angry and vengeful governments, and beyond the gap between those who “have” (but often lack in wisdom and spirituality, and a real sense of community) and those who struggle simply to live (who are rich in being with each other, in the depth and bonds of relationships, and often with an unfaltering faith and generosity in the face of inhumane amounts of hardship)… a harmony which moves through the unspoken language of all living things, whispering, simply “love.”

Although paying heed to this ‘hum’ and loving all can be extremely trying and at times downright exhausting- one begins to realize that if every person treated each other in reverence to the ‘hum,’ to the innate harmony so easily disregarded in the face of selfish fear and power, we would have, rather than a consistently increasing amount of suffering and injustice, a literal heaven on earth.

of mice and stolen cheese sandwiches

i finally told paulita (my supervisor) last friday that i hadn't had propane to cook with in my house the entire week. i'd been cooking everything in a toaster oven... which takes a bit of creativity. truth is, though, i need to be able to cook (and to at least boil water to get the bugs out of it) and i was getting a bit frustrated with the no gas situation. that and the fact that i've literally eaten 24 banannas this week and i think my body's beginning to reject them. NO WORRIES said paulita, smiling grandly and giving me a moment of hope, we'll take care of it. she ushered me into the school's kitchen and busied herself collecting all sorts of food items for me (spaghetti, oatmeal, mayonayse, sugar, and margarine... you know, the essentials). the best part of the whole situation was, that every item of food she got out for me i'd say "i already have that" and she'd laugh and continue to fill my box with the un-neccessary staples. so i ended up with a 2 LB bag of sugar (which i haven't used a teaspoon of sugar in the last 2 months), 4 sticks of margarine, a hunk of queso, two bags of oatmeal, and four bags of spaghetti. what i'd like is for someone, anyone, to tell me how to cook spaghetti noodles in a toaster oven. as i walked home with my box i eagerly awaited yet another weekend of toaster oven cuisine (ie: toast, ramen, and bananas) and laughed, again, to myself at paulita's unabashed joy at providing me with such an abundance of food resources... and wished desperately that the random guy who came to take my gas tank away last friday (for what i assumed was a fill-er-uper job) would miraculously re-appear with another rusty tank full of liquid gold.

now, in the still heat of sunday afternoon a quiet breeze blows through the heavy, normally dead-bolted back door and i gaze across the yard (well, more of a dirt pit than a yard) and pretend to watch the chickens and pigs roam around in search of scraps in my backyard... while actually, and more importantly, i await the culprit who stole my cheddar cheese and mustard sandwich off my kitchen counter yesterday morning to return for round two... and i don't think it was the pig (although the thing's literally the size of a small cow)...

i owe an explanation. steph came to visit for the weekend (hitchiked on an ambulance...which in iteslf is one of the miracles of this trip so far) and we spent friday night having dinner at my boss' house (scrambled eggs, gallo pinto, and games of peek-a-boo which i've found to induce universal belly laughter in the toddler sector), watching 'school of rock', and eating a bar of dark chocolate her parents sent to me in their last care package. we woke on saturday to the lovely and incessant pounding of a hammer and what sounded like a weed whacker outside my bedroom window at 7 AM. after lazing around in bed for a while, we ate breakfast and packed a picnic lunch- with plans to hike to the peak of the mountain that cusmapa rests beneath. when the group of donors visited earlier in the week, peter brought me a hunk of cheddar cheese (as i regularly joke that i miss cheese more than my family...which is sometimes the truth...) and i'd been saving the rest of it for making sandwiches saturday for our hike. we got all prepared- with a canteloupe, ritz crackers, peanuts, and our sandwiches sitting out on the counter...and left the back door open (which i rarely, if ever, do)...went to put our shoes on in my bedroom...and came back out two minutes later to find the ritz crackers all over the floor (a thought to myself "that's strange") and i realized with a sinking feeling... that our sandwiches had disappeared. it's a funny thing having an eagerly awaited item of food (such as my cheese sandwich) taken from beneath my nose... it actually made me mad at myself how upset i was over the situation. i don't think it was REALLY just losing the sandwiches that pissed me off- it was more the feeling of 1) being watched, and 2) being watched and someone taking the time to wait for a moment of guard let-down to take full advantage of the gringa and 3) here i am, actually really pissed off about someone taking a sandwich from me in the middle of a freaking third world country, and the person who took it was probably STARVING. the fact that i knew the person who took them was probably starving, honestly, didn't make me feel much better about it in that moment. it just made me sad at the amount of despiration that exists right under my nose. and even more sad that in my own selfishness i couldn't look beyond that 'being taken advantage of' feeling to a greater feeling of 'well i hope they like mustard...' we ended up just having to laugh about the whole thing, and how ridiculous and typical it was... guess you have to laugh at things like that, cause (in the words of the indigo girls) 'you'd cry your eyes out if you didn't'.

the hike to the top of the mountain was eventful, to say the least. i had no idea how to get up there- and there wasn't a trail... so we followed a dirt road (past the school) up along the side of the mountain, past a handful of houses marked with hole-laden clothing hanging listlessly on rusted barbed wire fences, drying in the morning sunshine. we hit a point on the road where it was more of a riverbed than a road (ie: all rocks and boulders), then around the next corner i found myself breathing deeply and suddenly aware that i smelled montana... in the dry lifeless crunch of layers of pine needles beneath my feet on a dusty path, in the filtering warm sunlight through the whispering pine trees, the floating breeze smelled of summertime up the rattlesnake, of folfing up patee canyon, and of adventures.... it was the closest to home i've felt the entire time i've been here. i dragged steph off the "road" onto a horse trodden path that looked promising, and soon we found ourselves crossing over fences and climbing on our hands-and-knees up further and further. i felt the rich, dry, espresso colored soil slip between my fingertips and smiled eagerly while steph kept asking... "do you know where we're going?" and telling me "i can't believe you talked me into this." around one bend i stumbled into the shadow of a pine tree and disturbed a family full of creamy butterflies from their mid-morning siesta- they floated around my head, lifting with the breeze, and i felt light-headed with giddiness. here's what i'd been missing the past 6 weeks- trekking through the mountains and paying homage to the breathtaking miracles of nature. we finally reached the top and were rewarded with a 360 degree view of the surrounding valleys and peaks (all the way to the volcano looming in the distance of honduras), caught our breath, and marvelled at the vista... accompanyed by two beautiful chestnut-colored horses who regarded us with a curiosity mixed with an air of obvious ownership over their mountaintop domain. i laid out a sheet i'd brought with us under the shade of a few magnificent pines, and we laid and chatted for an hour or two, soaking up the quietness (unbroken by reggaeton music or roosters), and enjoying our picnic lunch.

we spent the rest of the afternoon making our way back down the mountain (a much more difficult feat than getting up), napping, showering, playing chess and uno, and watching the sun set. we went to dinner at panchita's house and were treated like queens there (as always) with french fries, pork, gallo pinto, and a tomato salad for dinner. we'd planned on drinking a few beers but neither of us felt up to it after such a lovely dinner, so we ended up watching 'kingdom of god' instead and finishing up our glorious chocolate bar. i was about to drift off when...

i heard that dreaded gnawing noise through my pillow. the sound i know all too well these days, that can only mean one thing. there was a mouse nearby. i was planning on ignoring the creature until WHOOSH i felt it rush across my feet and i jumped up and screamed bloody murder... ran to turn the lights on, rifled through my bedsheets... and silently waged war on the little suckers. it was all fun and games until one of them had the nerve to climb into bed with me. normally i'm pretty pro-life when it comes to the little creatures of the world, but these bastards had gone too far. i got out the mousetraps my mom sent in her last carepackage and read the impossible to understand instructions, then promptly put a little bit of salmonella-induced peanut butter on the bait stand (which i'd saved simply in case i needed to do any real war-waging on the mouse population in my house) and set up the trap in the bathroom... turned off the lights... and waited. about ten minutes later i heard a lound SNAP, and reluctantly turned on lights to find... not one, but TWO dead mice, heads snapped in the trap... never to run across my bare feet again. lord knows now i probably just pissed off their mouse family members and they're going to get me right back by gnawing through my thick tupperware food container and pooping on my toothbrush... but until then the scorecard remains, CALIZ: 2... RATONES: 0.

i've had a nice relaxing day today, reading and writing... and listening to the constant conversations taking place outside my bedroom window by the handfuls of guys who seem to have deemed my houses' corner to be 'the place to hang' in town. anyelka and her little sister visited for a bit and i gave them a frisbee and some crackers... talked about going to the local laguna with them next weekend, and tried to calm myself about their hands being constantly all over everything... they brought me some more of the cool little seed/beads found in the river here which i'll try to make some jewelry out of if i can find some good string down here. suppose that's about it for now... just wanted to write about un-necessary food, the stolen sandwich mystery, finding my home in the mountains, and my first real experience with mice. now back to making dinner in the toaster oven... toast? ramen? or more toast? the possibilities are endless........ love, caliz

the secret of the universe...

i found the universal language of the world
in the simple secret smile of a peasant woman
coffee toned skin rippled with harsh years
of trekking across sparse and unforgiving mountain paths
untamed hair whispering in a dusty breath of wind
brittle hands worn smooth
spoke of survival
crooked fingers laced cross her little one
intimately brushed his cherubic cheek-
delicate wings of a wisened cricket.

amidst my raptuous voyeurism
our eyes caught and connected.
the glimmer of a smile in those deep seasoned eyes-
our faces, a mirror of the secret smile shared.
without a word, she spoke words i've known forever:

"my child...
we are a mirror,
sculpted in the same eternal mold.
we are one...
for our shared joy in this moment
holds every secret in the universe."

the power of one...

The last 24 hours we were visited here in Cusmapa by another group of current and potential donors from the States- this time a much different experience then spending time relaxing, lounging about on the surface of things with the “VIP” donors who visited last week. We had our second choir performance last night with ALL the kids (well probably about 60 out of 90 of them showed up) which was QUITE the experience, to say the least. Actually, the majority of them were extremely well behaved. I think they’re pretty used to being put in the spotlight and expected to do great things. Peter and the group of gringos didn’t show up until about an hour after they were supposed to be here, which gave the kids a lot of time to run around and get some wild energy out. I watched the sun set over the mountains as I stood outside of the school and felt an extreme sense of calm and peace wash over me, amidst the shrieking masses of kids. The band practiced for a while too, so I got to dance with a few of the Salesiano girls (my middle school aged choir group) - taught them a few swing moves, which really got the giggles going. Silly americans and their crazy dance moves J One of them in particular, Dignah, was wearing a beautiful light blue dress and danced with me, and had a glorious belly laugh going the whole time, it made me smile so hard I thought my cheeks would burst. A few of the little girls also brought me necklaces, one made of some kind of local seeds, and the other right off her neck… so much generosity without a second thought… I played tag with them, ran around for a bit (had them laughing again at how quickly their gringa choir teacher ran out of breath!) and did some horseback rides. I also had a wonderful little moment with Christian, one of the little boys in my Chiuinaso choir class who normally acts out during the whole class, and drives me crazy. He sat next to me and was very sweet… I think it’s hard because a lot of the reasons kids here act out are the same as in the States- their parents are too busy with other things to give them any kind of attention, teachers are too overwhelmed to give every child individualized positive attention, therefore the only way they get someone to notice them is to act out. The simple difference between the parents in this case is that parents in the States for the most part work hard to provide their kids/family with new material things, vacacions, a bigger house, a nicer car… whereas the parents here work simply so that their children might have something to eat. It’s a matter of thriving versus survival…

Anyways, the extra time before the concert actually filled me with more energy, and the concert itself went really well. Our crowd was extremely responsive and happy to be there, and I got many more congratulations than were actually due to me… I feel such a sense of pride in these kids, they’re all so TALENTED. It’s incredible, the amount of passion many of them have for music. I wonder if Brian (who started the program from scratch here 7 years ago) has ANY inkling of the amount of lives he’s touched here by his efforts. The power of one person to change the course of so many lives continues to amaze me… and the rippling effect one person can have on this world should NEVER be underestimated.

After the concert, Steph and I went up to the Casona with the group and had dinner (oh my goodness, such wonderful spaghetti!) and sat around the table and chatted for a long while… one of the ladies who’s been coming down here for 16 years was sitting next to me and she brought up something she said she’d been ‘thinking about for a long time…’ about the type of provocative dancing she’d seen earlier that day at one of the performances at a Fabretto school. She basically started blaming the culture here on making those sort of actions OK… I brought up the point that a lot of these kids get their images not only from local TV, but from stations such as MTV in the states which are also broadcast down here, and from our TV shows which they watch all the time. I then happened to mention that I wanted to be here for a while, then research a way to start a health education program for preteen girls here based on REALITY and fact rather than the abstinence preached (but obviously not followed by anyone) in this society. She started to talk about how she’d read some articles about how effective abstinence based education is, and her husband brought up one study he’d read and how he just ‘couldn’t believe that a 25 year study like Dr. so-and-so’s wouldn’t be taken seriously by everyone and their mother’ (well not exactly in those words, but he certainly made it sound like he was in complete awe of anyone who couldn’t keep their facts straight about the POWER abstinence based sex education. Of course I had to rival that assertation and immediately started on my little (Dr. Worsham-induced) soap-box about how much I’d read about abstinence based health education in general, and how it’s simply NOT effective for ANY negative behavior (smoking, drugs, drinking, sex…etc.). To which she answered that well, HER ORGANIZATION (ie: she’s the president of Tin Roof, a Catholic organization who gives TONS of money to Fabretto) had been putting an abstinence-based sex education course in place in all the Fabretto schools. UM. OOPS. AWKWARD. But of course I had to cover myself, so I didn’t stop there. I told her that I was really happy to hear her different opinion because it would help me in the long run to develop a much more well-rounded program to address this problem. She started going off about how she thought that what I was basically saying was that we should just give them condoms and tell them to go on ahead and have lots of sex (and that of course they wouldn’t use the condoms anyway in what she called ‘the heat of the moment’) and that I thought it was perfectly acceptable to tell 11-12 year olds to start having sex. RIGHT. That’s exactly what I was saying…. Not. At all. Luckily, one of my fellow table-mates came to my aid, a wonderful doctor from Ohio who’s in his mid 60’s who started telling stories about his work in community health in Cincinnati and how much problems he’d seen with parents who were in complete denial about their kids’ sexual behavior. One story he told involved a mother and daughter coming in together, the mom simply said ‘well just tell me if she’s pregnant’. After he checked the daughter out and determined she was not pregnant, he asked the mother if he could give her daughter birth control pills, to which she replied ‘HELL NO! She’s never doing that again’. The doctor looked at the daughter and asked, ‘well, are you?’ to which she defiantly regarded her mother and said, simply ‘of course I am’. The mother finally gave in and let the doctor give her daughter birth control pills, but not before going through a period of complete denial about the whole situation. Anyways, to make a long story short- I ended up feeling quite triumphant, with a beaming grin on my face- one that I only get from participating in rousing discussions like that one… I probably freaked out one of the main funders of our organization with my crazy sex talk and spooky liberal ways, BUT that’s what I’m here for!

After dinner, Steph and I came back to the house and talked for a long time. She’s been having a rough time feeling pretty taken advantage of in a lot of situations… housing, food, and her class time. I think it’s hard for her to stand up for herself, especially when considering the language barrier. I also think that she IS being taken advantage of in a lot of ways, which is really hard… and I don’t have a solution for it. Other than, I know she’s strong enough to figure out a way around feeling used all the time. We also talked about how hard it is sometimes to justify being here and taking the job of a local person. I have this inner debate all the time- what am I providing these kids with, or the program with, that a local couldn’t provide? I guess my only hope is that some of my proud, independent, wacky ways will rub off on some of the girls here and provide them with a way to break the cycle of young motherhood and having dependent children before they have the opportunity to really LIVE their own lives. I’ve also found that a lot of women here are just plain mean to each other (which I think to be true in the US also) and I think that by teaching women to team together to conquer the machismo bullshit they endure every moment of every day rather than divide themselves with jealousy in their current ‘dog-eat-dog’ world, many of the issues here could be helped. I’m also attempting to teach people different ways to express themselves creatively, which I believe to be one of the most important and joyful things in life- when we are able to express deep emotions using means such as music or art- we benefit ourselves and our surrounding world immensely.

Again, I stray from the reason I started writing this note in the first place…
Today at lunchtime, Steph and I went with Peter (our boss) up to the house that the donors stay in here in Cusmapa (which literally the biggest house in town) and had the best meal I’ve had in the last 6 weeks. We had soft tacos with CHEDDAR CHEESE (oh good lord), fresh guacamole, fresh salsa, beef (I haven’t had meat for about 2 weeks), beans, and homemade tortillas… they were glorious. I ate my heart out.

The night before, I had mentioned to my doctor friend, Elser (the one that backed me up in the abstinence debate) about how worried I was about Magda, that she’d been very sick the last week and that I thought she should get checked out more than what happens every time she goes to the doctor’s office here- ie: they give her shots of pain medication. I don’t even know why I’d mentioned it in the first place, other than it’s been on my mind a lot and I don’t really have anyone else to talk to about it… Before I’d left that night, he had offered his services to give Magda a consultation, which I was really happy about. Steph and Peter and I had passed a group of the donors on the way back up to the house, who were headed to the school (Elser being one of them) but I didn’t remember at the time that he’d promised to visit Magda. He showed up about 30 minutes later at the house and sat next to me at lunch so we had a chance to chat a bit. I wish I could describe this man with words… I can only say that he’s one of the gentlest men I’ve ever met, he’s quiet and brilliant, a true seer and believer in the power of making things happen. He told me he’d met with Magda, and that although he worried a bit about her health problems, he was much more concerned about the health issues of her disabled 6-year-old daughter, Guadalupe. He attributed much of Magda’s pain and headaches to the stress of worrying about her daughter, and told me that when he came back in 6 months he planned to see Guadalupe and see what he could do about helping her. That in itself was so relieving for me to hear, because of the sincerity with which he promised to help. After lunch, everybody packed up and got ready to leave. I said goodbye to Steph and turned around to see Magda walking up the driveway with Guadalupe in her arms… what happened next, for me, was nothing short of a miracle.

Time stopped as Magda sat in one of the wide wooden porch seats with Guadalupe on her lap, a shy soft-spoken little one wearing a blue Easter hat with daisies on it. I sat next to them, completely riveted. Elser knelt down in front of them, and regarded Guadalupe kindly, one spirit to another… asked for her name, and started to give her a checkup. What he needed to know most was if Guadalupe still had feeling in the left half of her body (they think she had some sort of stroke when she was about 1 ½ years old), so he began with having her grasp his fingers and squeeze them as hard as she could. Then he took the sock and shoe off her foot, which was nearly bent at a 90 degree angle to her ankle, and got her to wiggle her toes, and to lift the bottom half of her leg and hold it. With great care, he took a few photographs and had me take one of his hand clasping her foot. At this point in time, everyone there was holding their breath in awe of the moment already. He tried some different reflex motions with her arm, elbows, wrist… and had her follow his fingers with her eyes. Then he started snapping his fingers all around her head to see if she could follow the noise. I started thinking of how funny this all must have seemed to little Guadalupe- some strange tall, old, black man with a white beard, glasses, wide brown eyes- who didn’t many words of Spanish suddenly probing her and snapping his fingers everywhere, and couldn’t help but smile. Elser had Guadalupe clasp his hand once again with hers and squeeze to which she replied, “yo no puedo… porque yo no tengo fuerza” (I can’t because I don’t have any strength). At this moment, Elser looked at Magda in the eyes and said “We need to fix this foot.” Peter translated to Magda who asked, “If we fix it, will she be able to walk again?” Without hesitation, Elser answered a definitive “Yes.”

I thought my heart would burst… Peter took over, talking to Elser in business tones- that Fabretto could make this happen, that they’d find a pediatrician in Managua as soon as they could, a private doctor to take a look at Guadalupe and schedule her for surgery. She could have the surgery within a month, a fairly simple surgery which will only cost $900 but will mean the difference of Guadalupe’s whole life. Elser said that in a year, she could be able to walk again. At this point in time, I had tears streaming down my face and was not surprised to look at the others to find I was not the only one incredibly moved by this scene. Charlotte, the woman I had the heated debate with the night before, walked up to Magda and Guadalupe and told her that from now on she was going to have help, that she was not alone. At this point, Magda’s face absolutely crumpled in tears as she embraced Charlotte and Guadalupe looked at her mom, worried, brushing tears from her face. They embraced for a long moment, and tears of grateful joy were exchanged.

As Magda and Guadalupe left, I tried to stop my tears and said my goodbyes, but when I got to Elser I broke down thanking him…I choked on my words and could only offer a tearful embrace. He simply thanked me right back, and looking into my eyes sincerely said, “of course, my dear, I feel this moment deeply too”. It’s so hard to explain with any kind of words, but in the humble ways of this incredible man I may never meet again, I learned more than I ever have. I will never forget that moment… the moment I discovered the power of one person… that with one action of kindness and simple generosity the lives of a whole family will be changed forever.

be love

(poem i wrote after a particularly crazy afternoon with the little kiddos... closest i've been to screaming since i've been here...)


How do I live as a poem
with mass chaos, screeching children
in constant pursuit of finding my Achilles heel?
How do I live as a poem
when the poem sometimes bursts without warning
into a tempest of unknown origins?
How do I teach love
when constantly bombarded by madness and whispers?

I put forward step after step, balancing timidly on a thin line of faith.
My deepest breaths halted by cut after cut…
Do they even know it hurts?
Or are they so used to being hurt themselves, of the injustice of everyday life
that my pain is meaningless?

The boundary between hate and love, pain and triumph, despair and highest hopes
runs rampantly criss-cross across every moment of every day.
I desperately desire to put forth love,
but sometimes in loving them I feel as if I am discarding a love and care of my self.

I’m stifled in my own selfish ways.

My poem cannot be only about one person, only about love, and faith, and hope…
For poems must also contain the darkest corners of this world-
and to experience these I must know, to full depths,
the amount of pain people are capable of causing each other.
Needless pain through thoughtless words and defiant actions.

Poems do not only care for words,
they require constant tender movement through each line.
Each stanza requires a balancing act,
and faith in the dark corners
where a different and divine life blossoms.
I can learn to love myself deeper in these shadows.

Then I will not need to teach love,
I will be love.

don't let the bedbugs bite...karma's a bitch!

While reading a book in bed last night I heard some rustling around (not surprising as in the past two days in my room I’ve found cockroaches, grasshoppers, some kind of bedbugs, mosquitoes, and mice) and tried to ignore it for a while… but the scurrying became even more pronounced and unavoidable. So…with a deep sigh I seem to have perfected (through my searching out of the various pests constantly invading my room) I began to search high and low for a culprit. What I found, however, was extremely surprising (as I haven’t seen one since my stay in La Concha)… an esparanza (grasshopper about the length of my hand which looks like two green leaves pressed neatly together) sitting on top of one of the bunk-beds, trying desperately to find its way out of the confines of my room. Since esparanzas are considered to be good luck here, I chose to leave it be and resumed reading. Moments later I looked up at the wooden rafters supporting my tin roof and saw an entire family of mice wandering around in search of a stray morsel. I woke up with bug bites this morning that were most definitely not mosquitoes, and showed them to Dona Miriam (who cleans our house) and she was entirely grossed out but could not offer an explanation. So… one of my roomates (who thinks my trials and tribulations with every pesky animal and insect in Cusmapa are extremely entertaining) offered to help me fumagate my room this week. I don’t even know what that entails here… but it sounds nasty. I’m just hoping the bedbugs go away. I always thought that silly little nursery rhyme was a freaking JOKE but apparently it’s not. Not a very funny joke anyways, in all honesty, who gets bedbugs? I’m not THAT dirty.

Moving on, life here’s actually going really well. I’ve settled myself in to a bit of a routine, which for the moment goes something like this: 1) wake up the first time at 3 AM when the roosters start cock-a-doodling their heads off, 2) wake up the second time at 5 AM when the first bus rambles through town honking it’s horn incessantly, 3) wake up for the third (and final) time at 6:30 AM when the second bus serves as a perfect alarm clock, 4) eat breakfast- oatmeal with a banana, and drink a lovely cup of instant coffee, 5) head off to school… a nice 10 minute walk through town (some days dodging pigs rolling in the mud, always watching for local men trotting by on horses with their machetes, trying to intimidate the stray dogs so they don’t nip at my feet, and saying ‘adios’- which serves as hello and goodbye to any person who stares at me for long enough), 6) try to practice the piano… which is terribly slow going as I haven’t practiced for the last 9-10 years, but since I’m a choir director it’s kind of important that I can play, 7) choir practice with the first group of high school kids- trying my damndest to plunk out the right notes so they have some sort of respect for my musical skills… normally failing at that and just laughing at myself, 8) choir practice with the middle school girls (who are most definitely the best group- easy to work with, eager to learn, and very fun, well behaved… if anyone had ever told me middle school would be my favorite age to teach I would have though they were absolutely insane but I love them), 9) lunch at school (usually some combination of rice, beans, a tortilla, and some sort of meat or corn mush… today I made the mistake of eating a red chile pepper with my rice and my mouth was on fire for about 20 minutes. Not a pleasant experience.), 10) walk back to the house to relax for about 20 minutes (read or write usually), 11) return to the school to do prep work for the little kiddos… who for the 45 minutes leading up to their class come in a constant stream to ask me when class starts (although it’s at the same time everyday). I have 25 kids in my 5-9 year old class- and they are so exhausting, but so much fun. I’ve realized that it takes an extremely special (read: insanely gifted) person to handle kids of that age in large groups. I am not one of these people. One on one, I’m great with kids… but I don’t like doing the stern teacher voice at all… and they simply are not controllable without it. Give them about 5 seconds of leeway and they’re all over the place! Today we had a special “dance” time at the end of class- which worked out really well except I think the next teacher was not impressed with me as the kids were all sorts of wound up by the time she started her class. 12) prep-work for voice lesson/afternoon choir classes- right now I’m only giving voice lessons to one girl, her name’s Wendy and she didn’t make the choir this year. She’s in high school- and I really like her, she loves singing and is extremely patient with my inability to speak Spanish. We had our first lesson last week and I made her dance around the room singing with me… she probably thinks I’m crazy but she does a great job of hiding it! 13) afternoon choir with the high school- about 35 kids… my co-worker’s really sick so I have no idea how it will go without her… I’m offering up a small prayer though! 14) go home, eat dinner (more beans and rice, and a tomato… sometimes with a scrambled egg!), 15) lesson planning, 16) bed. So, that’s a taste of my life here…There’s different ups and downs in every moment, and I take things day by day

I’m not teaching English yet, because Magda (my co-worker/boss of the music program/helper) is really sick and we don’t know what’s wrong with her. I’m really worried because I think she had some sort of stroke last year (she told me she went numb in one side of her body and couldn’t walk or talk for a month) and now her face is swelling up on one side… she has constant headaches. To top it off, her daughter, age 6, hasn’t been able to walk for the last year and a half (they think something is wrong with her brain…). I can’t help but think Magda’s health problems must be serious. But, there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it, and, even worse, there’s practically nothing she can do. She was headed to the health center last time I saw her, but I don’t know what they will do for her there- she can’t get any real tests done, all they have at the health center is antibiotics. I am certain that what they can give her there will not cure what she has. Even if she could afford going to Managua to get tests done, I know she still couldn’t afford to do anything about it. It breaks my heart because she’s one of the kindest and gentlest women I’ve ever known and she would do anything to help the kids here. We’re so lucky in the states to at least have access to the kind of health care that could really benefit us in a situation like hers. Although we bitch and moan about how expensive it is (and really, it is ridiculous how much things cost) at least we have the option. I just wish I could do something, anything…

So, I’m going to start teaching English in March (we’ll just have to wait and see what happens with that). It’s frustrating because the school system’s so strange here with timing of classes- you’d think that one age group would have classes in the morning and the other in the afternoon, but it’s so jumbled that it’s nearly impossible to find a time in the day that works for all the kids to be here. ACK! What’s even more annoying about that is that whenever I ask my boss about it, she says to talk to the kids’ other teachers and tell them that music’s basically more important than their class (and that kids who are in music will be better students). YEAH RIGHT! No teacher here is going to want some gringa waltzing into their class to tell them her class is more important than theirs! I think I’ll just wait to see what happens with the scheduling stuff- lots of things here just seem to be that, one long waiting period. Can’t imagine how incredibly wearing that must be to the people who live and work here year in and out.

I’ve been cooking my own food, which has been a bit of an adventure, but has also been really fun. There’s not much variety to be had- mainly the typical beans and rice, tortillas, plantains, tomatoes, bananas, and eggs (that’s about it) but I made spaghetti last week with a few girls who are here volunteering right now, which was fun (except I dumped half the noodles in the sink, so I just ate the dirty noodles! Quite the first dinner party, that’s for sure).Steph and I (the other Fabretto volunteer who’s from Colorado, currently living about an hour bus-ride away from me) went to Managua last weekend to renew our traveling visas. We went to immigration only to find that because we’re from the US, the normal rules don’t apply to us and we have an extra 60 days more than everyone else traveling here. Convenient, but also a bit typical and wearing. You’d think we have enough privledges?! Can’t complain about it, but it really goes with the whole theme here of regarding the US as this type of dreamland, a wonder world where nothing bad happens… I’ve had multiple people tell me that their biggest dream is to leave Nicaragua to find work in America. It’s so strange because I’ve never considered the fact that I could easily get a job (even a menial one) in the US to be a ‘big dream’ of mine… I guess what I’m trying to say is I’m reminded constantly of what I take for granted every single day living in the US. Having water…lights…the ability to trust in healthcare…enough teachers to have children in school for full days of learning (rather than wandering around or watching TV for hours upon hours… oh wait kids do that in the US too)…being able to fund simple projects such as public spaces for kids to play, teenagers to hang out safely… drinking water being safe! (one of my roomates has had a fever/headache and has been in bed for the last 3 days, he thinks it’s because of the water)…the ability to fund higher education (having the option of loans, even when our parents can’t afford to pay)…support for single moms… oh man the list goes on and on.

Access to bug exterminators is high on my list right now! All the websites I looked at for bedbugs say that to get rid of them you need to ‘hire a thorough exterminator, and it might take multiple treatments to fully rid your habitation of bugs’. I laughed. Yeah, next time I find an exterminator in the yellow pages around here I’ll be sure to ask him to fumigate every nook and cranny of my room.

Managua was great though, we stayed at a nice hotel (splurged with our first paycheck) and ate CHICKEN! (which was glorious), drank a few ice cold beers, giggled a lot… we’re so different but we really do have a blast together. Funny how being thrown together with someone in circumstances like these can make you feel so much closer to a person after a small amount of time. What I love about steph is that she always makes the best of things, and she laughs a lot- her enthusiasm is contagious. And she always shares her chocolate, which is a BIG deal in my world at the moment. One of our best moments of the weekend was when we learned that ‘karma’ is also a word in Spanish. We rode the public bus down to Managua and on the second leg of the journey we sat in the very back of the bus and were treated to a half-hour long evangelical sermon. The preacher was one of the most intensely passionate individuals I think I’ve ever seen… bible reached towards the heavens, hands outstretched, eyes closed… of course, being ever the photographer, I wanted to take a picture. But, I didn’t want it to be awkward so I pretended to take a picture out the window then quickly snapped a few of the preacher. We had a private giggle about the whole situation and I promptly forgot about the whole thing. We got on the next bus and were waiting to depart for Managua when a middle-aged Nicaraguan guy got on and quite literally pretended to take a picture out the window, then turned (about 6 feet away from me) and took a picture of me right in my face. I didn’t know what to do, so I just smiled… then burst out laughing and exclaimed “oh my goodness, karma!” Steph’s friend Henry who was with us (and knows no English) said “karma?” so I tried to explain it to him in Spanish… turns out karma’s a universal word. Ironic.

We got to tour one of the other Fabretto centers in a ‘suburb’ of Managua called San Isidro… one of the poorest areas of the city. It’s extremely rural, and dry… few houses cluttered along the windy dust filled road. The kids at the first school were beautiful. We were treated to a performance by a 6-year-old girl clad in her school uniform (complete with unzipped pants… not normal attire for a girl), she had thick spectacles, pigtail braids, and was one of the most intense little singers I’ve ever seen. The teacher that brought her out to sing for our little group was beaming, she was so proud of her little one. I couldn’t stop smiling- I swear a bird could have built a nest in my mouth my smile was so wide. When she hit her high note, her vibrato turned into a roar… and she was also grinning from ear to ear. It was a precious moment. The center that James (one of the JVI volunteers I went to ESL training with in January) works at has been recently remodeled… they have a beautiful new performance center and I got to meet with the music program director. He was really excited about getting our high school choirs to sing together, so I’m hoping to make that work out. We also got to tour one of Fabretto’s ‘experimental’ farms in the area- I frolicked through a pineapple field, ate a sweet lemon (not so good), and got to drink fresh coconut milk right out of a coconut that had just been cut down. It was a great little afternoon.

Yesterday I walked by the new baseball/soccer fields they’re building here and there were 3 goats mowing the lawn. It cracked me up. I was surprised that there weren’t men out there with machetes helping those poor little goats (that’s how they mow the grass at our school). I also saw my first duck/chicken cross. I don’t know how that’s even possible, but it was a strange looking animal… let me tell you. I’m starting to get used to the NOISE associated with being a music teacher. WOW. Kids are loud. I do love teaching, but I don’t think teaching the younger ages is my calling by any means. What I do love is giving voice lessons (although I don’t know what I’m doing) and making the students do all sorts of strange things they’d probably never be exposed to in a music class- dancing around while singing, a bit of yoga… Last night I suggested to the choir that one of our (entirely boring songs) could be sung as a blusey spiritual and got the most incredible response (I felt like I was right out of Sister Act or something) and immediately had them all laughing, smiling, singing with joy, and even got our drummer in on the action. I was on top of the world, it was definately the best teacher moment I've had thus far.

Suppose that’s enough rambling for now, but I will try to write more often so that my blogs aren’t a novel like this one seems to have become! Life’s going… I’m breathing, laughing, loving, and happy simply to be ALIVE in this moment. Sending lots of love and many blessings your way… Caliz (my new name here… which is also the cup of wine used in catholic mass in Spanish)