La Salida

In my final days here, I ask myself how to approach the impossible task of saying goodbye. It is a goodbye to many dear friends, sisters and brothers who I have spent two years of life with, two years laughing and screwing around with, two years getting to know on personal levels, sharing each others feelings and struggles. Saying goodbye to a country that I love dearly, its volcanoes and lakes, its torrential downpours that catch you always unprepared, its jungles and giant trees, fruits, maizales y cafetales, a culture of resistance and revolution, a land filled with contradictions as well as hope and glimpses that show the Kingdom is possible. And more than anything, saying goodbye to a people, both collectively and individually, that have taught me so much, that purely and simply love to live.

Over the past two years of innumerable blessings and lessons and the extremes of life, the term solidarity has been an overriding and under-riding, maybe just an ever-riding theme. Solidarity is one of those buzz words often theorized about and striven for in certain circles. I have no idea anymore what solidarity would be defined as in a dictionary. It is one of those things difficult to describe with words.

Leaving Nicaragua it would seem that my solidarity with this pueblo will fade away as do the memories and the emotions. As I inevitably begin to lose touch with people and painfully recalibrate my identity back home, my ‘experiment’ with solidarity seemingly ends here. You might be saying, now I can go back to normal, assume a traditional career path, and once the shock wears off, return to the shopping malls and supermarkets to spend money to do my part in the economy. Yet, let me warn you, this time it is different for me.

In previous adventures through `service trips` or traveling or leaving my comfort zone, I was granted opportunities to grow and learn and share with others in what we call solidarity, only to return ‘home’, changed and awakened in real ways, but always with the tendency to return to `normal`. For me, solidarity was reduced to an action one does to grow closer to others – a pragmatic attitude that builds relationships for a definite period of time – like a switch that can be turned on and off while transitioning between realities.

As I am forced to ask myself what now, I feel solidarity inviting me to something else. To something deeper and more challenging. To something beyond adjusting consumer habits and food preferences. When we are granted solidarity with others, we are tasked with the responsibility of carrying them with us – to take their story, their eyes, their presence with us on our camino.

With saying goodbye, solidarity should not end or fade away – solidarity must truly begin. The lessons and tears and realities of others need to taint one`s own. They need to guide and shake up reality. Feeling confused and disoriented probably are signs of being on the right track. They need to be born witness to, and need to be fleshed out through one`s sweat and blood. It may seem obvious or insignificant, but let us be aware how tempting it is to fall back into the ruts of life`s past upon crossing cultures, slowly forgetting and draining one`s radicality and passion. Solidarity invites us to choose to actively and intentionally carry the realities and stories of others, like a little angel (or demon) on one`s shoulder. For these last two years to have meaning, for solidarity to not be some two year experiment, I must remain in a continuous dialogue with the realties and relationships that have redefined me here. I must spend the rest of my life asking myself what Silvia and Albita would do as I make decisions, how Silvio would laugh at my mistakes, what Walter would say from heaven as I walk by a homeless man, what the community would celebrate and criticize as we continue our separate caminos towards justice and life in abundance. Solidarity is an invitation and a responsibility to eternally embrace and work to maintain this perspective.

And finally, I am confronted by the overwhelming question of `How do I share this? ` How do I share the smells and feelings that pictures don’t capture, the jokes that don’t translate, the spirit and energies only understood by living them? So, if you`re reading this, bear with me as I land and struggle to try to summarize two years full to the brim with life love and the pursuit of …


To Nicaragua, Nicaraguita, I don’t say Adios. Solo puedo decir, y deseo con todo corazon, hasta pronto. And, on the other side of the coin, cant wait to see and reconnect with many of you…

Elections

Up here on the rooftop, soaking up some moon rays in what I realize could be one of the last chapters in the sporadic rooftop rants of pancho loco. I need no reminder of the immeninet departures and hellos. Meanwhile, across the capital here fireworks and screaming and music begin to fill the skies, in protest and in celebration, for today is… election day!

Today, Sunday November 6, Nicaragua elects its next president. The buildup has been relatively calm and peaceful – gracias a dios - without the violence, chaos and fear that have plagued previous election. Daniel Ortega seems assured an easy victory over a fragmented opposition empty of any meaningful or credible plan for Nicaragua. What is there to say? Like most democracies at this point, the Nicaraguan pueblo is faced with a lack of alternatives. Daniel will win - not necessarily because his party has done more than the previous three governments combined, nor because of his rhetorical concern for the poor. The achievements of his government have come with costs, including blatant disregard for the constitution and certain dictatorial and violent tendencies. He will win because there is no alternative – the opposition parties provide corrupt and self-interested candidates whose only policy prescriptions are centered around encouraging more international companies to open sweatshops here – which in the past have only led to a few exploitative jobs and entrenched poverty. And what alternative is there anyway?

Globally we debate whether to let big businesses run rampant, exploit our workers, pay few taxes, with disregard for mother nature, bailing them out when necessary, all in the hope that their immense profits may somehow trickle down to help the pueblo. Or we put our hope in the government to help us through public services and national programs, which leave us voiceless and still remain at the mercy of business interests.

What is wrong with this picture? Why does it seem that the pueblo loses any way we cook it? The disillusionment and powerlessness felt when a president fails to deliver exhibits the false hope we put in our political leaders. We expect Ortega, Obama, Bush or quien sabe to solve all our problems by cutting taxes, starting wars, ending wars, subsidizing health care, fixing education, creating jobs, etc. When they inevitably fail to deliver we turn to the next person or to the opposition, misdiagnosing the cause of our own distress. What people ache for is freedom, not necessarily in the `Founding Father` sense, but in the form of liberation. When we tie all our hopes and dreams for progress to the nearest political candidate, we cede away our power to be actors of change. We think that the problems in the neighborhood, city, state, and country all will be solved by one of those elected representatives. It is an easy thing to do, allowing one to avoid responsibility by transferring them up the ladder. Unless we find a way to organize ourselves and come together with friends and neighbors to define our own metrics of progress and push ourselves to pursue them, we shouldn’t be surprised when we are disappointed by our representatives or that we feel helpless to society`s downward spiral.


The Nicaraguan revolution provides an intriguing example of what it could look like. The 80s in this country are a tale of extremes. On one hand, the U.S. trained and funded the Contras, a terrorist group that launched a bloody civil war that took the lives of thousands of individuals and caused enough bloodshed and trauma to eventually incite the end of the revolution. Yet, on the other hand, the revolution of the 80s was a time of hope and joy, of unparalleled civic participation and liberation, of people who believed that working together they could overcome anything, and during which the old hegemonies of wealth and religion began to be eroded. It was a time of youth-organized literacy campaigns and cooperatives, of striking examples of solidarity and love between individuals, of people who analyzed the reality around them and looked to each other and inside of themselves build a better world. Unfortunately, that window closed for Nicaragua, which makes Daniel`s return to power all the more frustrating, because it is absent of the grassroots and civic participation that gave the 80s so much hope. Regardless, it is clear what will come in the next 5 years in Nicaragua, and the immediate future everywhere, as long as change and progress is relegated exclusively to our presidents, and mournfully absent from ourselves.







On another note, watch out for these guys in the streets. They pose as simple Health Ministry fumigators, eager to march into your house unannounced to spray toxic gas over everything then promise you its ok to re-enter, no side effects. Yet in reality, as you can see by their weapons, they are ghostbusters in disguise.

October

Good day to you friends. Life goes on here in Nicaragua, the land of lakes and volcanoes, beautiful sunsets, jungle, mountains, jicaro, maíz - all distract me from updating. My time here begins to wind down. This imminent transition is exciting in a few ways, and extremely daunting in many others. Departing from friendships with the knowledge that it will never be the same will be very difficult. After two years of investing my life and energy here into friendships, culture, and relationships, what happens now as I prepare to leave? And yet, I must also embrace the opportunity to go home and see family and friends again. As much as I love my work here in El Recreo, I feel that spending much more time here would probably turn stagnant pretty quickly. So I look forward to the potential growth offered in returning home. Por alli vamos
It also will be a challenge of how to share this experience. And to be honest, I hope sharing in person is easier than on this blog, which for me is like pulling teeth. But how does one sum up two years of friendships, cultural immersions, lessons, laughs, etc.?

Maybe it would help to say what it has not been, or at least naming that which has not been foremost. These two years have not been a resume builder or an opportunity to gain skills. They haven’t been two years of service in the developing world. They haven’t been a traveling loop through blessed Central America, nor an escape from the realities of the United States. They haven’t been two years of fun in the sun with cheap rum and chumming it up with friends.

These years have been an attempt to live a radical lifestyle, to leave `home` and all the baggage that entails, to live in and learn from a different culture. To live with the marginalized, and be embraced by several communities that dedicate time and life to being radical christians, in the pursuit of the kingdom right now, to those immediately around us. But my hope is that this is a life-long option, not an `experiment` with – Latin America, service, la opcion para los pobres, with solidarity, nor with being vulnerable and broken. This is a lifestyle choice that doesn’t end upon departure, and that naturally completely changes everything for me as an individual. And yet all of us are on the same journey, all of us spending our lives in some way or another on what we believe to be important. What I am doing isn’t anything different from what you are doing in your respective location, right? So what I hope to be expressing is that this journey taken me on unexpected twists and turns, transformed me in countless tiny ways, and taught me a way to live that I hope to continue. Well wish me luck these last couple months, I trust you have had enough of my pretentiousness, send Nicaragua some positive energy as we are about to have presidential election in November. We hope things remain peaceful and calm (but not too calm), pues vamos a ver. Adios


A little sunset from the Mirador de la Garnacha



In the little lake in the crater of Volcan Maderas, I practice a little trick I learned from my old friend Simon Peter ( and no I was not posing.)

asdfjkl; issues

Down ere in Nicaraua, one of los values my little community and I ave opted for is livin simply. Tis is an ever evolvin value, wic as taken a new turn because a few keys on dis computer ave stopped workin, specifically da two keys dat are between f and j, in da middle dere. Also da up key. Life is real ard. De M key is oin out any day now. De lanuae of des blo entries mit be modifed considerably. If a word doesnt make sense, just imaine it wit te aforementioned letters. Damn we just lost te apostrope too. Enou about me. Oter den dis everytin is swell down ere, ope all is well wit you too. Nota, tal vez voy a comenzar a escribir en espanol porque no se usan tanto estas letras, sale mejor verdad?

buses and vocation

On buses
Managua is one of those infamous foreign cities feared and avoided by most travelers and travel guides. The reasons are varied – including crime, general urban chaos, lack of noteworthy ‘mainstream’ destinations within the city. In my opinion, writers of travel guides urge readers to avoid Managua because they cannot understand the Spanish spoken here. Yet, it is the bus system that really intimidates both foreigners and the wealthy of Nicaragua. I have met a few Nicaraguans, who sheltered by the privilege of private cars, would never dare set foot on a city bus, and have spent their whole life perceiving the system to be convoluted and dangerous. Foreigners tend to think the system is chaotic, unorganized, and dangerous. Managua, a city which does not use street names, addresses, road signs, nor zip codes, is admittedly not visitor-friendly. From our perspective here, why would we want name a street when everyone already is familiar with its contents and location? Why would we waste time devising a system of streets and addresses when we can orient an entire city around various landmarks? So for instance, I live from the Roundabout Cristo Rey, four blocks south, 3 blocks up, the green house… ask for the gringos… It is no more convoluted than other postal perspectives [except that everything is relative and people are lost all the time].

Although the system is often extremely inefficient, only exascerbated by the excessive confidence many Nicaraguans have in their knowledge of the city (I swear, many people, if they do not have information that will help you, will just make stuff up, often sending one in the wrong direction) – in the end it always works out. It takes some time to familiarize oneself, but when one does, it feels great being able to get around. Buses will take you anywhere in the city for 12 cents, and they are generally fast, safe (relative to the rest of Central America), and consistent – the downsides being extremely overpacked and pick-pocket friendly. One can literally travel to anywhere in the country, no matter how remote, for less than 5 dollars, some distant corners maybe 10, but you cant beat it.

To me the buses are a symbol, a symbol of how people should look out for each other, in the midst of the hardship of life. The other day, when I got cocky on the overcrowded bus home and decided to lean against a broken seat, legs crossed, while not hanging on, we rounded a corner and I headed towards the floor, but my companions on the bus saved me from total embarrassment (partial embarrassment is always preferable). In slow motion I helplessly see the floor of the bus growing closer as I fall, I reach for the only things in sight, a few knees and a leg. Then suddenly five hands spring into action, grabbing me all over to prevent the unthinkable - landing on the floor of the bus. Perhaps these gracious individuals were just trying to save themselves from being crushed, but I like to think of it as something more. Daily, when driving across town and being sardine-ed into a bus, with all kinds of sweaty grinding going on, there always seems to be rare moments of humanity – people helping each other out, making eye contact with someone while both of you are just internally screaming ‘this is unbearable’, good natured joking, and new things every day.

On vocation
Around the time I arrived here in Nicaragua, I came across this quote by Merton: “a man [sic] knows he has found his vocation when he stops thinking how to live and begins to live … when we find our vocation – thought and life are one.” I have been waiting to feel that way for over a year and a half now. In general, life has been profound, challenging, hilarious – filled with struggles, friendship, and growth. I would never suggest that I have suddenly “found my vocation,” as we are all challenged to do. And so I ask myself, is this because, perhaps, we as a society have misconceived what vocation means?

In our world of professional careers, networking, and lives oriented to profits, the word ‘vocation’ often gets thrown around as an alternative perspective on life, invoking an often transcendental question of “what am I called to do?”. Under this definition, we reduce vocation to a “what” question to be answered at a career fair. Discerning one’s vocation has become the intimidating question of “ahh what do I do with the rest of my life???” So, naturally, my current job as a promoter for a small women’s cooperative in Managua, may not fully fit this description. We are deceived into thinking that vocation is one-time career decision, as if ‘police officer’ or ‘doctor’ were stamped somewhere on our soul. I have already begun to hear the echoing chorus of, “what will you do when you get home, Thomas my lad.” One of the first things we ask someone upon meeting is “what do you do.” And rightfully so, perhaps – it allows us to categorize an individual based on how they spend their time, giving us insight into what they value.

My experience in Nicaragua suggests that vocation should invoke something much more profound and challenging. I wouldn’t say I have found my vocation in a concrete sense, but I have been blessed with glimpses of meaning that can only be understood as something vocational. You perhaps know those special moments, when one just knows that everything is right – the stars align – life is filled to the gills – when one feels fully welcomed and loved by a community – when a new friendship forms unexpectedly across class, social, or gender lines - when one sees the face of Christ in another – when laughter saves a broken situation – when a simple smile to/from a stranger changes someone’s day (and thereby life…) – when you let someone else’s reality collide with your own. Rare moments like these define my time here – these have been my calling. For me, vocation has ceased to be a role or title, and instead has become a means, a lifestyle, a relationship with others.

Instead of asking each other ‘what we do’, could we find a way to express ‘how?‘ How do we choose to live in this world, and spend our time? What are the moments we live for? Why do I live the way I do? These abstract questions will not help us categorize each other; they wont let us find people with similar interests on the internets; they wont allow us to expand our network of amigos on the ‘facebook’. But these are the questions that should paint a picture of one’s vocation. These questions might lead us back to a meaning of vocation that challenges us to be better people.

So my point, perhaps, is to suggest that we cease obsessing about jobs and careers, for we are unlikely to find our calling in the Monster.com. [obsoletion check: does that still exist?] I write to remind myself not to allow options and expectations to overwhelm me, for vocation implies a life-long journey of learning how to care for one another – a journey on which many here in Nicaragua have accompanied me, and I am so grateful for them. I also write to bear testament that this is vocation we all share; that without caring for one another - as our primary human responsibility – we cannot have a life of meaning, joy, and abundancia.

Enough about me. Thanks for reading, I’d love to hear if any of this resonates with anyone

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A couple highlights of recent weeks. Playing a hybrid version of hot potato that includes funny hats makes for a great way to get people laughing and to build community.


A friend recently asked, “I am alive, but am I living?” A deep question, and one we must not take lightly. It is moments like these, of connecting with people through laughs or tears or sharing a meal, that allow me to say yes, at least for the moment. I am grateful the many friends here in Nicaragua who give me daily examples of how to live, how to be present, hopeful, and grateful for life, regardless of where life takes them.

Availability

I should probably have changed the name of this blog to cultural-criticism-city-pàlooza long ago. Living here in Nicaragua, I find myself often prone to discussing and dissecting tendencies I have grown up with, and many which I posit are characteristics of North American culture. One can only comment so much about funny foods and waterfalls and volcanoes. Besides you can get your fill of that on the travel channel. But one of the reasons I came here to Nicaragua, and I hope one of the reasons you read this blog, is out of the humble recognition that we don’t have it figure out. Trust me, Nicaragua doesn’t either, but we as individuals have much to learn from each other. The hope is that – by breaking out of our socially defined parameters and beginning to live for a different set of values – we can become more whole and live together differently. For me some of the (seemingly cliché) values that I haphazardly strive for include solidarity, community, and availability. Living here and having experiences of occasional intentionality with these values throws me into contrasts and contradictions, to which I have taken to process here.

Availability
To be available to the presence, or often the seemingly inconvenient interruptions, of others in one’s life is essential as we strive to make the world a more welcoming place and to be sisters and brothers to each other. To be available in this sense is to be aware of and open to the constant opportunities we have to step outside of ourselves and let others in, creating community by listening, sharing, and showing compassion. I believe it is both an attitude and a skill, something that we must learn by practice, and we must practice by applying consistent attention and intentionality.

As I began writing this reflection, I first posited that availability has been something I have learned here during my experience in Nicaragua. In retrospect the past week has exposed my hubris and taught me that availability is a constant lucha to stay open and aware. It is not uncommon for wandering drunk men to ask passer-bys for some money. So a couple days ago, when a lost and injured homeless man asks me for help, my initial reaction – as all of my personal defenses spring into action – is to walk away. I treat him with respect but I am looking for an exit. ‘No ando hombre’ (I don’t have anything dude), I tell him as I shake his hand. I look him in the eye, but ever since I left my house I have been closed to him and any interruptions – I am ‘in the zone’ on the way to work. I ignore the deep fresh gash on his face, wish him the best, and move on – reassuring myself because I am already late. Besides I don’t want to encourage dependence, and I imagine he will probably use any money I give him on more guaro or pega (booze or glue). I keep going. My conscience grumbles. I turn around, call to him. His gash and gnarled cheek look bad. I tell him to go to the hospital ASAP to get stitches. I give him the 12 cents of bus fare, and flee this ‘interruption’ to not be late for work. But my conscience isn’t satisfied. I know I was still closed to him, I know I hid behind my security, my walls of excuses and cop-outs – social and cultural blinders that allow us to ignore and even justify the suffering of others as we stroll past them rushing to ‘work’. My conscience still gnaws at me to this day. Why didn’t I take the 20 minutes to accompany him to the hospital? What else could be more important? How and why have I been trained to avoid and flee such situations, instead of seeing them as my, and our, greatest responsibilities and opportunities as human beings? My bus route drives by several churches, but if God was anywhere that day, he was certainly in this man to whom I declined to be available.

My time here in Nicaragua has been filled with experiments in availability – both positive and negative. I have begun to see the life-changing and world-changing effects availability can have, not necessarily on the outside, but on a personal level of how I live and how I see the world. I have also felt myself in resistance, to remain secure, untouched, not inconvenienced by these invitations to open up and step outside myself.

Whether intended or not, almost everything about life in ‘Merica – especially growing up in Orange County CA – seems structured to allow us to avoid these encounters. We live in suburbs, drive cars with windows up, live in gated communities, and associate with homogenous peers – insulating ourselves from the inconvenient reality of injustice, suffering, and poverty. Perhaps this allows us to call ourselves ‘Christians’ – without doing what Christ did – which was to live and break bread with the impoverished, oppressed, and marginalized – denouncing religious hypocrisy and institutionalism, reproaching the ‘empire’ – and calling us all to live in a different world – a different society. Because, if we don’t know any poor people, if we can safely drive by them with our windows up, somehow Christ’s radical message can be reduced to a Kum’bay’Yaw (sp?) sing a long – a illustrated Bible story – an insurance policy for the afterlife which we buy by attending Sunday services.

We are all called to be available, to open our homes and hearts to the interruptions and to give up our mythical belief that we are in control. Experiments with availability have given me opportunities to build relationships with many people I otherwise wouldn’t know, and has given me several significant wake-up calls like the one mentioned above. Availability has allowed many of my relationships here to move beyond the superficial – not through any set formula – just by being available to listen and let someone else enter your life. It is simply allowing someone else’s reality to collide with one’s own – to let it affect you and your life – even for a minute – that is a start. It can change everything…

Pictures

Los Bancos de Confianza. When my parents visited they were surprised to see that this is where I work. For some reason they thought our mini-microfinance project/ women’s cooperative was a multistory glass-paneled office building. To prevent any other misunderstanding, this is where we work. Doña Olga is one of the more fotogenic socias


At work. (please ignore the 1980s quality of the photos. It was a disposable camera)


Celebrating 8 de Marzo (March 8). International Women’s Day. Our annual celebration commemorates the rights women have fought for and won over the past century + and also recognizes how much we far we still need to go. This year’s celebration also included a special tribute concert.


Then I was crowd surfed out of the venue…


But not before I pulled a Pete Townshend and smashed the guitar. Enough about me. And I swear the day was really about women…