Posts
Flying to Nicaragua, the first land you see from the
plane, seems like it might be the mountains of Afghanistan. Endless, steep, barren
slopes carved throughout the landscape. An apt place to win a guerilla war.
Jeanna and I wondered aloud what was going through the minds of Sam and his
Peace Corps mates when they saw similar sights for the first time some 10
months prior. It must have been a bit like "where are we and what have we
gotten ourselves into.......
Landing at the airport in Managua, the first thing
that grabs your attention are the dozen or so disabled planes that litter the
sides of the runway. Having met their fate many years ago, they are left to
rust away, potent reminders that "we aren't in Kansas anymore, Dorothy". We are in the
belly of the Third World. Managua, Nicaragua.
The home of the Sadanista's, the home of Daniel Ortega.
It was around 8 PM when we first
reunited with our eldest child. As wonderful a moment it was for me - and it
was truly wonderful - it was even greater to see the hugs Sam and Jeanna
shared. A true Mother and Child Reunion. Even with the sun long since
set, as we leave the terminal for our rental car, we are slapped in
the face with the heavy, hot air of Central America
in April. Welcome to the time of year the locals call: The Furnace.
Aside from a handful of Skyping
sessions, we haven't laid eyes on our son for a very long 10 months. One of the
comforting aspects of Sam's deployment to Nica, is that thanks to today's
technology, I can literally pick up the phone at my office - not from our home
oddly enough - and call him on his international phone the PC has provide
him. Like virtually everything Sam does, he is All IN with his committment to
the Peace Corps. He does not see this as any kind of vacation or job
dodge. He sees this as an opportunity to serve humanity, challenge himself, and
make a difference in this world. He does not want to live any differently than
the Nicas. As a result we do not call him very often at all. We respect his
desire to do this on his own terms. I will call him every 3 weeks or so. The
conversations are always exciting, always stimulating. They are always
educational for me and invariably, always quite emotional. I do not
become emotional until I hang up the phone. Then, I usually sit quietly
for a moment by myself, reviewing our conversation, realizing how much I
admire, love and respect my son. As a parent, we are always worried about our
children. Once they fly from the nest, there is little we can do to help them
with their flight. We hope that we have given them a strong moral base, the
ability to make wise decisions and the courage of their conviction to do the
right thing. It is difficult to think in too much detail about where Sam is,
what he is doing and what he is up against. It is just too much and would
create too much angst. If you know what he is faced with on a day to day basis,
there is simply too much to worry about. So I don't. I trust him and his
judgment implicitly.
One of my nickname"s
for Sam Shepard is"Foxhole". This because, if you ever were to
find yourself in a foxhole, literal or figurative, and you looked across that
hole and saw Sam, you would feel very, very relieved. Sam has the confidence
and wherewithal to deal with any situation that confronts him. He has no fear.
He is simply, an extremely capable young man, with many talents.
When you are posted in the bowels
of Nicaragua,
you are going to need all these tools and more. This is not like taking a
vacation to Madrid or Paris where you can limp by on your fractured
High School Spanish or French classes from years passed. The Nicas speak
virtually no English whatever. Beyond that, your fractured Spanish would do
little for you here, as they speak a "dirty spanish". This
is quite different, I'm told from proper Spanish. That is your first
and perhaps primary obstacle. Next challenge: being a Gringo - white skinned
people stick out like the sorest of thumbs. Beyond that, the perception is that
all gringos are fabulously rich Americans with money to spare. While the
Nica's are usually respectful, you always need to watch your back. We
ain't in Kansas
any more Dorothy.
Sam looks fantastic. He has a wild
shock of long blond hair, deeply tanned skin and he is rocking a mustache.
A stache? Really? Yet he pulls it off, somehow. He is
remarkably fit, though not in his eyes. He has made his own dumbells fashioned
out of old rebar and local cement he molded from old boxes. Believe me, Sam is
very fit. It would be like Frank Sinatra or Roy Orbison saying they can't
sing. He has a bounce in his step that can only be measured by the enthusiasm
he has for his commitment here with the Peace Corps.
We leave the airport after
securing our vehicle, a 4 Wheel
Drive, 4 door, diesel fueled. Scorpio, that
will carry us through out many hundreds miles of Nicaragua over the coming week. As
we cut through the Managua
night, I am really taken aback by what I see. What one sees is desperate
poverty everywhere you look. A mass of humanity moving in all directions.
Traffic darting to and fro without ryhthm or reason. Sam tells me to "sort
of ignore the stop lights, as people don't really pay attention to them."
He also tells me to "not be shy with the horn" The Nicas drive with a
horn the way most people drive with directional signals. Constantly in
use. Oh and "don't be surprised about being passed or passing other
vehicles - just honk." You can't drive too fast in Nica. Someone will
always pass you.
As we flit across the
City toward a grocery store, throughout the great urban blight of
endless poverty that is Managua,
the thing that you are most aware of is the smell. An insidious smell that
never leaves. It is the trash that they burn any and everywhere. Nothing is
spared, nothing sacred. Food scraps, tires, brush, what ever, burn it and get
rid of it. No Environmental Protection Agency in Nicaragua. First stop, after a near
death head on collision, is a fairly modern and clean grocery store. Like
dropping your kid off at college, but first stopping att Wal Mart for snacks,
sheets and toothpaste, we are going to get our lad some supplies. He sheepishly
asks if he can get a couple of things. HaH!! "get anything, get
everything", we chime in simaltaneously . Sam's inherent modesty
keeps him from over doing it. Despite or pleas for him to get everything,
he only gets what he thinks is necessary. "I could use another plate,
cause I only have two." he tells us. As we go up and down the aisles
for a second time, the shopping excursion drags on, and he says, "I'm
sorry this is taking so long. It's just kind of overwhelming. there's really
just too many choices and it is a bit overwhelming." He rarely, if ever
finds himself in a store like this. Now, I just want to get out of these
wet clothes and into a dry martini sort of thing, as Jeanna and I haven't had a
drink for nearly 2 hours since we deplaned........ We confront the beer
cooler. I note how much I am looking forward to having a cold tona~
(beer) in the car. Sam looks at me like I'm crazy and says, "just grab one
and crack it open right here, everyone does it, there are no rules"
Not in Kansas,
not in Kansas.
We make the 2 hour drive to Sam's
site (where he is stationed) in el Villa Carrmen. This will be his
home for most of his 27 month hitch. It is a far cry from Managua,
but still a very far cry from Kansas.
Sam is proud of his site, his home, his friends, his students and his
"host family". He is eager to share it and introduce us to all. While
we are unable to understand a single word of the interactions, as our
interpreter, Sam is quick to relay thoughts and comments to us from his
friends. He does this in a very caring and deferential way. A common theme
pleases both Jeaanna and me. "your parents are quite young" is
repeated often. The compliment quickly crashes to earth, as Sam says
matter of factly, "Nicas don't age very well." HaH!!
We go to Sam's casa. My 24 year
old son, raised with the greatest of care and attention, with all possible
possesions and choices. Reared in a most comfortable home that exudes
warmth and love. He has thrived at some of the finest schools in the
world, throughout New Canaan through NC High School, then graduating near
the top of his class from the Robbins School of Business, at the University of Richmond, My son Sam.......... is
living in absolute, abject poverty.
He is absolutely thrilled with his
new house, which he has been in for less than a month. As he extols the virtues
of his Casa, his enthusiasm almost carries us along with him to the,
"yeah, this place is wonderful, stage". Almost, but then reality sets
back in Jeanna and I look at each other. After 25 years of wedded bliss, words
between us are often not needed. Our mutual look says, "how the
hell are we going to get through this night, there's not enough rum in the
world." Sam offers us his mosquito net covered bed. This is
a gigantic luxury in el Villa Carmen. It is a gift from his PC
predecessors. "I'll take the hammock" says Sam! The casa is
extremely modest, though reasonably "clean" Sam shares his digs with
mosquito's, the occasional scorpion and or a bat. He has a front porch, very
handy to read on and keep friendly with the neighbors. He has a back courtyard
that is dirt paved with a misdirected concrete path leading to various
outposts. One of which is a sort of john with a loose toilet seat that tossed
me arse first into the bowl, upon my first encounter. There is a
shower, usually runs, cold water only. And an eclectic group of fruit trees, in
varying stages of production. He shows us how and where he makes his own
soy "meat" and creates his home made peanut butter. No refrigerator.
I offer to buy him one. He says "No Thanks, it's too much, my neighbors
don't have one, I'm fine." He agrees to let me buy him a cooler.
That night we walked around town
to say Hello to folks and grab our dinner at a local fritanga. This simply a
local home, where a woman sells, chicken, pork, and rice and beans concoctions,
Sam's favorite. He tells us that this is his one weekly indulgence,
splurging for meat once a week. It costs about $1.75. The food ain't bad at
all. We drrink plenty of rum, sleeping heavily after a long day of travel.
Until about 4:30 that is. Then we are awoken by a couple of roosters with
most impressive vocal chords. It sounds like they are in bed with us. That
morning we complete our tour of el Villa Carmen. It is an awfully nice little
town, warmly painted in bright colors. Sam is clearly very well liked,
everyone knows and acknowledges him. He shows us a very well
appointed school in town, one of the 7 schools he teaches at. It was very
cool to see the town folk talk freely and casually with Sam as we walked. One
child asking Sam if he could borrow The Ball. That being the only soccer ball
in town. Sam showed us his running route and spoke of the challenges of beating
off the street dawgs. These are the mangiest group of mutts imaginable. Aside
from regular football (soccer), one way Sam exercises is to run. Frequently the
locals will ask Sam why would he possibly be running if no one is chasing him?
We leave around noon for San Juan del Sur and points south.
The contrast between the desperate
poverty and the enchanting beauty of Nica is acute. Active volcano's dot
the various vistas, spectacular water views are everywhere. It's a great drive
and we are still basking in the warmth of our Family reunion. I am
pretty sure it is illegal to use a seat belt in Nica. Or at least it seems that
way. At one point we passed a 20 year old Toyota
pick up truck with SIXTEEN people standing in the truck bed. At one point, I
saw a woman about 30 years old, with an infant - under 1 year old - on the
handle bars of her MOTORCYCLE. On another occasion I saw a Mom with her 4 year
old behind her, with her 5 year old behind him, followed by an 8 year old. All
on ONE motorcycle. These are not at all unusual sightings. San Juan del Sur is
as close to a resort town as you are likely to find in Nica. About a 7 mile
drive from San Juan del Sur, down a seemingly endless, very dusty
dirt road, took us to our home for a day, a resort called called Morgan's
Rock. It is as nice a resort as I've ever seen anywhere in the world.
Spectacular. What a contrast. Continuing on we took our
trusty car by ferry to the island
of Ometepe in the middle of gigantic Lake Nicaragua. This is not the Island Home or the Martha's Vineyard ferries. This is more like one of the
MV freight boats, Katama, gone horribly bad. We encounter many
adventures there for the next couple of days. The highlight was Sam and I
drinking dinner on the little porch of our very modest bungalo that first
night. After a crazy wild goose chase, we were unable to find a single
bite to eat. It had been hours since we last ate. We learned early
on to always have an emergency bottle of rum on hand. It came in handy that evening
as we finally gave up on getting anything to eat, instead
we celebrated the arrival of Sam's 24th birthday with a quart of
the mothers milk and pineapple juice. Off two days later to Leon. We
stopped briefly in Masaya to see the local Market. We had been driving for
hours, we get there and of course it's still 90 something degrees in the
Furnace. The Market is about 4 acres of claustrophobic, boiling chaos. The
highlight - lowlight really - was the meat section where the most eye opening
variety of meat, chicken and fish lay out, attacked by the elements. Sheep
stomach, cow hooves, mountains of chicken that could have been there for days,
and much more.......all tended by a vital group of Nica's whose seemingly sole
job was to shoo the flies at the cock of their wrist, every 10 or 12 seconds. Kansas? No. We are off
to Leon
for a couple of days at the beach. Great to see Sam shredding some beautiful
waves, surf board his constant companion. We stayed at a spectacular 140 year
old Inn in Leon that
was from another life time. Butch and Sundance might have stayed there as they
fled the States heading south. I'm pretty sure I saw Papa Hemingway lounging in
the shade of the veranda, rum in one hand, fine cigar in the other.
The three of us had ourselves a
fantastic trip together. We got to be with our boy, share a bit of his life
with him. We got to spoil him a bit. He had hot showers!! He watched TV. He ate
bacon, bacon!! The three of us got along so well, that we joked
about getting together in the short term to
go backpacking through Europe
together. (Sam drew the line at that).
In many ways I wish I were writing
about someone else. I am uncomfortable writing so buoyantly about my son. I am
incredibly impressed with this young man. I am immeasurably proud of him. He is
thriving in Nicaragua
under extremely difficult and trying circumstances. He is learning more and
more about himself each day, discovering the man he wants to become. He is diligently
outlining his goals and challenges. He will not be denied. He has also come to
some very strong understandings about his life in the States, his
friends and family, and how much they mean to him. He has developed a true
appreciation for the important things in life. He is making a difference in the
lives of many Nicaraguans, no matter how frustrating it can be.
As I reflect back on our
adventure together, I realize that in fact we were in Kansas all along, after all. Kansas is a state of
mind, a state of your heart. Your family is Kansas. Being able to be with our son for
that incredible week, I am finding out just how much this awesome young man has
to offer and how much I can learn from him.
