Wandering Shepard: You Hear Me? I’m Living Alone!

One of my move-in helpers

So as I so briefly mentioned in my last post, I finally am on my own again, after nine months of living with two different Nicaraguan families, in two different Nicaraguan towns. I am ready to move out onto my own, but I do leave with somewhat of a heavy heart. Given the option to live alone right off that bat, I may have taken that option. But now, being on the other side of nine months, I realized how much of a mistake that would have been. Coming into Nicaragua, in a lot of ways I was like a child. I didn’t know my left from right; I couldn’t speak the language, and didn’t know how to do anything. All the technology and necessities to which I had grown accustomed were no longer there and I was back to square one. I literally had to ask my host mother that first day in Niquinohomo how to flush the toilet, since there was no running water, or how to take a shower. As you may imagine, awkward discussions to partake in with a person you just met, and doesn’t speak your language. And just when I finally got my bearings, I graduated to the big leagues, transforming from aspirante to volunteer, and headed to a new home in Villa El Carmen. And although not as lost as I originally was, I still had a lot of growing up to do. The best part was, I still had my ‘mom’ to always point me in the right direction. Literally, if I was ever lost or needed directions, she was always right there to clearly and slowly explain the way. Remember, my Spanish still wasn’t great when I got to my new home. Since then, I’ve learned to cook like a nicaraguense, talk like a nicaraguense, and live the nica way of life. Oh, I am still and forever will be a gringo and chele, but with the wonderful help of my lovely second and third mothers, Dona Ivonne and Profe Lesbia, I’ve learned how to assimilate into my communities. I can never really thank them enough for the lessons they’ve both taught me, and I wouldn’t of traded the experiences and takeaways for anything. Had it not been for some unfortunate timing, I imagine I would have continued living with Lesbia for another month or two.

The first thought I had as I put down my last bag in my new home was, “What am I going to eat? And how am I going to cook it?” "Mom?" It had been so long since I prepared for myself my own meal that it took me surprisingly long to figure that out. (Lucky for me, I only moved two doors down, and am gifted food all the time, especially during those first days without my own stove) Once I jumped through that hoop, things started to brighten up. I started to recognize again all the benefits of living on your own, and memories came flooding back to me: I eat on my own schedule, I arrange things the way I want, the music an be played as loud as I want, I can cook for myself again… heck I can do whatever I want. And by that I mean I’m able to create again, take something basic, like my new house, and slowly make improvements and maintain it. I’ve always somewhat questioned why my own father painstakingly slaved over our lawn, house and property all of these years, and now I’m beginning to understand why. This is really the first time I’ve had my own place, and what I’m learning is that you start to identify with your house. Every change time you add or improve on your house, you’re demonstrating a little more of your own character, be it the new tomatoes you just planted (or had your kids plant), or the Indiana Jones movie poster you just put up on your wall. The house becomes a reflection of you, and you see it in a different light than other people, and see possibilities that other people may not think about. So it’s with an excited attitude that I move into my house. I have big dreams for building and improving on my new home, and already have busied myself in my backyard building a compost pile and wood burning grill, as charcoal isn’t easy to come by down here. And those are just the first of many projects I imagine, and tentatively on deck is a garden and gym – think boulders, cobblestones, and crudely made weights from cement. Because after all, I’m not working with much down here. But that just makes it all the more fun.