Ding Ding Ding, Round II

These past two and a half weeks can only be described in one way: pure bliss. After over a year of living in Nicaragua, I returned to the US, for what as I found out later was a much needed vacation. In the days leading up to my return to my native land, I was anxious, didn’t know what to expect, and nervous about my parent’s reaction to some new, permanent changes to my appearance. In many ways, I had forgotten what day to day life in the US was like, and that I may have (unwillingly) changed so much that I would be to overwhelmed and maybe snap at a friend for their “over consumption” or being glued to their smart phones. (I didn’t know that now everyone, with the exception of my brother and sister now possesses smart phones. Also didn’t know about some new phone technologies, like group texting or being able to speak to your phone to send a text.)

But all those worries disappeared from my mind as I walked to baggage claim, and there are some of my best friends in the world, incognito, there to surprise me. And I think that’s what made the transition back into society that much easier for me. Instead of braving a world I had been separated from for far too long alone, my friends were there to guide me through it, and re-work me through the “complexities” of New York City, as well as pay for a couple of my meals. After getting over the grandiose of NYC, things were down hill from there. More and more of my friends, from Richmond and home, kept showing up at my buddy’s apartment in Manhattan, and later at the bar. And that’s what it seemed like the entire vacation. More friends, family, and loved one kept surprising me with their appearances. With only a few exceptions, I saw everyone I wanted to see, only missing a few family members and some Austin and West Coast friends. And moreover, I was able to do everything I wanted to: A night in NYC. A party at home. Spear fishing with my brother (and an unexpected bonus of fishing the Monster Shark Tournament). East Coast surfing with a West Coast friend. A round of disk golf. Schwasty ball at the La-ounge. Eating delicious food and drinking dark ales. A night on the Riley Porch. Family Dinners. The list goes on. So for everyone involved, thank you from the bottom of my heart. I enjoyed my time so much, it was indeed difficult to make that first step onto the plane, knowing what I was leaving behind…again.

The biggest difference this year, from last year is that no longer am I standing on the edge of a cliff, not know how high it is or what’s at the bottom. And this time, I can hit the ground running. I have high expectations for my final year with the Peace Corps, and with a better understanding of the language and culture, I hope to meet those expectations.

And so now before taking off, I’ll leave you with some great second hand T-shirts that my mom captured on her trip here last April!



"Don't Make My Daddy Shoot You"



"Ain't Nothing Changed, Still Parites and Bullshit"



A Mother's Perspective of Nicaragua

THE NEXT HUG

It’s crazy how quickly our children grow up.  All so differently, tho we seem to raise them all the same way.  Sam, being the first, as most first born children do, probably had to take on more responsibility and feel the need to do some trailblazing.  But as a mother, no matter the confidence my children exude, I worry.   In high school, every night they go out I just pray.  As each of the kids go off to college, I still worry...about their decisions, their safety.  I thought that finally as they graduated from college, and they are 21, that I’d be able to relax a little.  So when Sam said he was applying to the Peace Corps, and when he was accepted and then assigned to Nicaragua, I realized that just wasn’t going to happen just yet.  We mothers really never get to breathe freely because our kids are always our “children.”  So I spend a lot of time praying for their protection, as it is out of my control.

            That is all to say, that after almost a year of praying for Sam in a strange land, where he initially spoke no “Nica” Spanish, and was experiencing a pretty isolated life, J and I took off for Central America to see our boy and try to experience some of what he was living.  

            The anticipation of seeing Sam was overwhelming. As J mentioned in his blog, as we flew over the dense mountain ranges of Nicaragua, we looked at each other with the exact same thought: Wow, imagine being Sam, or any PC volunteer, peering out of the window and down at what was to become your home for the next 27 months.  A kind of no-turning-back feeling…and a bit of self doubt.  So I worried a little more, and couldn’t wait to wrap my arms around him and take care of him for the next week.

            When we landed and started walking through the airport, I started feeling a little unsure of how exactly I could take care of him in this place.  I speak not a word of Spanish, and this was not Europe where so many people speak English and at least can point you in the right direction.  I felt so out of place and nervous myself.  Where was Sam?  I see no blond hair anywhere.  What if he isn’t here and we got our information crossed?  How will we rent a car and get to him?  Our phones don’t work here.  I have to find him now or I will faint! 

            And then…alack and alas…there he was.  Long curly blond hair, mustachioed, with the biggest grin I have ever seen him sport.  His smiling eyes!  The joy and the sense of relief for me was like no other moment I’ve experienced.  The way he walked toward us with the most amazing confident stride (all the while smiling ear to ear), presented to me a Sam that was indeed all grown up – emotionally, physically, independent.  My eyes welled up…and then…I got that hug.  I think it lasted 20 minutes, didn’t it?  I couldn’t let go!  It was like coming home.  And it’s a pretty great feeling when your kid is as happy to see you as you are to see him.  Something I’m likely to never forget.

         It was right about then that I started to realize who would be protecting whom.  I think it is safe to say that Sam suddenly became parents to J and me.  (Ok, especially me.)  Our son at that moment jumped in the front seat, literally and figuratively, and took us for a week long ride.  I sat in the back for the first time ever – and frankly, gladly so.  Sam was our tourguide, our interpreter, our historian, our meal planner, our current events updater - our host.  He got our car, negotiated terms at restaurants, hotels, and roadside pulperias.  He translated/explained everything as we went along.  We had never even heard him speak Spanish – and now he was blowing our minds!   He said he wasn’t feeling like his knowledge of the language was where he wanted it to be yet.  Hard to believe.

         So for the next 6 days, as we traveled to his home town and thru the countryside, J drove and Sam navigated and I sat in the back with either my head stretched up between them in conversation, or with my camera sticking out of the back window like a periscope, all the while absorbing the landscape and stories with which Sam regaled us.  J typically asked a million questions, and Sam gave complete and comprehensive answers, whether it be about the geography, politics, history, or local lore. He was a well of information - and everything that left his lips was thoughtful and engaging.  I have to say, we spent an inordinate amount of time in the car, and there really was never a moment that I was bored.  It's when we learned the most about Sam and his temporary home country.  All those hours provided the three of us with a very rich experience.  (And it was a beater jeep I might add...you would laugh out loud if Hertz had that jalopy there waiting for you at JFK! But...it was perfect!)  And as we drove, pretty much the whole time, I was trying to focus my lens as I watched a million profound scenes/frames flash before me!  

         But...I need to go back to the first night.  The most startling, the most eye-opening. By the time we left the airport it was dark.  While Sam knows his territory, we did not, and the first time you drive thru the streets of Managua, it is scary.  Poverty is scary.  In the darkness, everyone seems dangerous.  Cracking cement homes all in a row with open air windows and people just kind of lurking.  A lot of bare feet, and shirtless men, garbage strewn everywhere. Cars with more than several people squeezed inside driving thru red traffic lights.  I felt like a stranger in a strange land, while Sam directed J thru the inner city.  Clearly a tourist, I had to be discreet with my big lens.  A constant reminder of who we were. The whole week I basically had to defer to Sam as to whether I should put it away or not, or if it was too inappropriate or invasive.

We stopped at what Sam referred to as a Nicaraguan Walmart on the way out of town to stock up Sam’s house. But in his humble way, he was reluctant to spend our money.  Moreover, worth mentioning, without a refrigerator, he was limited on buying fresh foods.  He also doesn't want to have any more than his neighbors have.  He wants the full experience, which clearly he has achieved.

         After a bit of a drive on rundown paved roads, we hit the cement cobblestones (one of several oxymorons throughout our travels) that led us into Sam's quaint town of Villa El Carmen.  It happened to be a big night there, as there was a live concert going on and it seemed as if the entire town was on the street.  We met the host family that Sam lived with for the first 3 months upon arriving in VEC briefly and then entered Sam's castle.  A pretty wrought iron door that leads into a bright orange front room, then into his living space.  Whoa. The colors and the door were most deceiving.  I don't know quite how to describe the interior, pretty basic and dark at that moment, so here are a few photos.  

 Sam let us sleep in his bed with the net.  The bathroom - or toilet - and utility size sink - are to the rear of the house, a quick few steps through an open air cement patio. Not exactly the way a mother wants her child to live, but to Sam?  He was proud of it and we had to quickly get over our shock and love it, too.  If he is happy, then we are happy.  However, perhaps glad we had only planned one night there.  The truth is, it’s not that I wanted out, but I wanted to get him out – to spoil him a little...and take him to a hot shower and clean white linens ("Carey, get out your cane...").  I wanted him to experience Nicaragua in a different way for a change.

Even more than the house he lives in, it was the scarcity of what we consider every day needs that he lacked. He had no paper towels or napkins, as that just means more garbage that he will have to burn in his backyard.  Instead, he uses rags (from one of his old favorite shirts!) over and over.  He has under a handful of flatware and cups/glasses/plates.  The (lack of) cleanliness in general is a little tough to take. Like he commented a few blogs ago, if some crumbs fall to the floor, it won't be long before a critter cleans it up for him.  But again, he is healthy as a horse, and happy and proud to have his own place.  Sam’s castle. He appreciates what he has and not once ever, that night or all week, did he ever complain about not having anything…well, except he especially enjoyed bacon over the next few days!

         I won’t go into detail about our traveling days and where we went.  (J covered a lot of that in his blog. And if you haven’t read it, go back a few posts.  It is an awesome account of our week and our sentiments.)  But what I want to note is Sam’s posture and stride.  His confidence is what had me awestruck the most.  As you might imagine, I walked behind my men most of the time…no, not because I’m a woman!…because I have my camera and am a little obsessive.  But having that viewpoint of Sam simply had me in constant admiration, and feeling safe.  It didn’t matter that they were the only blonds in sight, or that they were clearly tourists seemingly to be taken advantage of, oh no.  I can assure you NOBODY would mess with Sam.  He is my sweet, darling, commanding son.

         And so much of that is his being on his own these last 14 months.  It is all up to him – his inclination to do this on his own for starters.  It is a very singular, rather isolating experience.  And what you do with your free time, and the relationships you make, the respect you have for others, and the integrity and earnestness with which you put into each endeavor, forms who you are.  You have no choice but to learn what you are made of.   I couldn’t be more in awe with how he is “becoming.”  I have so much respect for him. 

On a lighter note, what was also heartwarming to see was Sam’s kind of giddiness at every meal, in front of a TV watching Seinfeld, having a beer that wasn’t a Tona, and providing him with a hot shower.  He mentioned that in the week we were together, that was more hot showers than he’s had in a year.  We went to beautiful resorts and restaurants, crazy crowded marketplaces, natural springs, volcanic islands, stretches of beach, and got lost on some scary back roads…just the three of us.  Our conversation never let up – and Sam was our man.  He took care of us every step of the way.

And right now he is on his way back to the States for a two-week visit.  He arrives in JFK this afternoon - and I just talked to him in Miami!  He’s coming HOME!  He’ll be my boy again.  Hmmm…will I be his protector?

And guess what this all means?  I am getting that hug again. My eyes are welling up...  I simply cannot wait.

Stateside

Ironically, I used to where a hat, some of you may remember it, with a patch of the US Flag on it, inscribed with the words, “Love it, or Leave it”. Ironic because I do love it, and yet still left for an extended amount of time. And while I now understand there are more than just those two options, I still cannot wait to come back and wear that hat again, and be surrounded, albeit temporarily, by everything that is America. Because I’ve been gone a long time now.

14 months. That’s how long I have been living outside of the country, down here in Nicaragua. 14 months full of enough memories to write a book about, riddled with anguish and ecstasy. But come this Friday, the 6^th, the streak ends. That’s right, in two short days; I’ll be boarding a plane, and will touch down in my native land just as most of you will be finishing up the work day. It feels strange to say native land, because I envision in my mind others returning to their third world native countries, after an extended stay (planned or unplanned) on another side of the world. To me the word native implies something undeveloped, savage almost in nature. So my return home, to my native land, is some what of an oxymoron in my mind. Because my native land happens to be the good ole, US of A.

And those three initials, USA, now have a lot more sentiment and meaning to them. The obvious being my friends and family, who I eagerly await to see. But really, it’s in the small things that go overlooked. It’s sitting comfortably in public transportation, without the gut of some middle-aged man or women resting on your shoulder. It’s dog’s that won’t attack you or give you an unwanted disease (Gooch, Tre, I’m coming boys!). It’s girls that like to stay in good shape and maintain themselves. It’s springers at the ECBC. It’s a tasty bacon, egg, or cheese or monstrous hamburger. There’s so many things that are flowing through my head that I’ve missed these past months, that I’m indeed having trouble falling asleep at night. So friends, family, think about the small things while you’re celebrating our independence day, and enjoy a delicious American ale for me as well!

Two days. I’ll see you all then.