moments of wonder...

Last week I was lucky enough to return to a rural community in northern Nicaragua for the students' last "rural homestay experience". It was my third time back and it's one of my favorite places to visit. Not only is the climate more agreeable (much cooler than Managua), but the food is fabulous, we sleep 12 hours a night while we're there (one advantage to no electricity) and the people are incredible.

One of the older women in the community always tells her life story to our groups, a recent history of the community. As a child she essentially worked as a slave on the 'finca' (a plantation-like system); as a grown woman she saw revolution change their reality: they were given land, she was taught to read as part of a national literacy campaign, and they became producers in their own right, not just workers. And then, as she tells it, less than ten years later the 'spring' of their existence came to an end as the Contra war began in Nicaragua. Living in the north of the country, and being a rural community they were repeatedly attacked by the contras (who were largely financed by the US through the CIA) and burned to the ground, despite the fact that they had no desire to be a part of this battle.

And as I think about their experience during the contra war, and for that matter, before and after it - everything looks different. The mountains are gorgeous and peaceful at first glance, but as I climbed to the top of a lookout to take in a sunset with students, I couldn't stop imaging people running through them with guns, houses burning along the path we took, people hiding in the crevices carved out long ago by water and nature and God. The man walking with us must have been an adolescent in those years when he was fleeing the US funded troops that came to scorch their earth...and now he's leading us up the mountain to share with us one of their greatest beauties.

And there are moments when I wonder if travel is selfish, moments when I wonder if education is really enough to change things. And then there are moments when all I can do is revel in the generosity and tenacity and beauty of these communities. Moments when the questions quiet, when I feel broken open and stretched and healed all at once. And it's so much more than enough in those moments.

something about Mexico...

I'm back in Managua after an incredible week in Mexico. I ended up staying in Cuernavaca for the whole week, but I got to relax, to dance, to enjoy some really good Mexican food and most importantly, to catch up with many old friends. Whenever I get to return, and perhaps more so this time because it had been longer, it feels like a celebration. People weren't really sure what to make of my 'new accent' (central american influence, but unidentifiable at this point, i guess) but were encouraging about where I'm at and remeniscent of my time there.

It's been five years since I first went to Mexico, and while I've now spent various months living in four other countries in Latin America (that I have also loved) there is something about Mexico that wins me over. I adore that country; it was fabulous to be back.

That being said, the trip also gave me really wonderful perspective. When I get to tell people about my current job and talk about the things that we're learning/seeing/doing here, it re-energizes me and reminds me how much I love my current situation.

semana santa...

It's 12:30 am and my taxi to the airport will arrive in approximately 4 hours, but I can't sleep. Latin America celebrates Easter like it's Christmas and nearly everyone gets at least a week of vacation (if not two) - people flock to the nearest body of water in most cases. I, however, am headed to Morelos, Mexico. It's been over a year since I've visited and I'm so looking forward to seeing friends, former coworkers, past students and hopefully making a short trip to Puebla.

Needless to say, I'm excited. I love the pre-vacation anticipation! I hope you all have a lovely week and (for those of you in the northern-midwest) that with Easter, the cold slips away and lets spring back in. Feliz Semana Santa!

far away...

I've heard through various sources that it snowed at home last night - yuck. Life here is sort of on the other end of the spectrum, it was 96 here today and uncomfortably humid. In the midst of the morning heat, I checked my email and saw a message from Tory updating me on Katherine Olson's trial. Her killer was sentenced to life in prison with no parole today. As I read through the Star Tribune article, I couldn't stop crying. I couldn't stop aching for her family, can't imagine what they're feeling. From all I have seen they have moved through this situation with faith and grace and extreme love for their gorgeous, curly headed daughter. It's strange to be in such a different place when things like this happen; Katherine's name doesn't mean anything to people here. Which is probably why my emotions about it get bottled and then more drastically released.

It snowed at home last night and I woke up sweating today; I can feel so far away, so disconnected. I've let myself fall out of touch with many lately, and I apologize for doing so. A phone call with my parents last night and the email from Tory today remind me how good it feels to reconnect with home. I'm more conscious today that, to a certain extent, I can be in control of how 'far away' I feel. And I'd like to choose to be closer - a new goal, of sorts. I am so grateful for the people who remind me how life-giving home can be.