'tut tut...'

From a very early age, I was socialized (in part by Winnie the Pooh and his 'tut tut...looks like rain') to think that talking about the weather was not only something that we do in the face of strange phenomenon or awe, but something we do even when we don't have anything to state but the obvious.

The obvious here in Guatemala this ‘winter’ (aka: the rainy season, which should be upon us) is that it does not look like rain. And it’s what I end up talking about with people, quite a bit actually. This is partially due to the fact that weather is a safe neutral topic, most people will agree – we either need more rain or we don’t. Which is much easier than coming to a similar agreement in regards to, say, taxes.

But this year, it’s not that all that simple really. The gravity of the situation makes it emotional, makes it political. Droughts at home are terrible I, in no way, mean to minimize the pain they cause. Still, it almost seems there’s no comparison to the way that a few months without rain here can affect people. The majority of rural Guatemalans live on less than $2/day. A season without rain, in a country where so many depend on the corn they grow to feed the mouths at their table, means that thousands are dangerously hungry. In the last four months, the number of Guatemalan families at risk for severe malnutrition has quadrupled.

Interestingly enough, when one looks simply at the GDP or other ‘economic indicators’ of how Guatemala’s doing, it’s not all that bad. Disparities unaccounted for and Guatemala is doing ok; however, Guatemala boasts 'the sixth worst rate of chronic malnutrition in the world' (for more stats/info see: 'Hungry in Guatemala': http://www.theatlantic.com/doc/200908u/guatemala-hunger). I read an editorial this morning that argued that poverty is humanity's natural state of being, that richness is really the exception and we shouldn't be so shocked or upset that so many are on the edge. And while I may agree that living simply is closer to our 'natural state', I just can't swallow the idea that some have so much while others have so devastatingly little.

Perhaps what's most sad about the situation is that the future prospect for these families doesn’t look good. Without much in the ways of government aid, many have been desperate enough to eat their seed corn, an understandable act if your children may die before the dry spell is over. But in doing so, have devoured both their ability to plant next year’s crop, as well as the freedom they previously maintained from genetically modified seed.

I wouldn’t say that I’ve been passionate about the weather in the past, and know that I complained about the wet September here last year. But this year, when the dark clouds roll in, I find the phrase ‘tut tut…’ always comes to mind, almost as a petition for those who may be able to salvage part of their harvest, for those who have tired of dry, sunny days.

beginnings...

After a couple of days with the new crew of students, I'm thrilled to report that although our group this semester is small (just eight as opposed to recent groups of 18) thus far the group has been lovely. Considerate, informed, very interested and grateful - they have been a joy to be with and I'm happy and hopeful for a fabulous experience with them all. I love this job and the ability to hear things more than once with people who are hearing it for the first time - there's a consistency and perseverance to it accompanied by new observations and wide eyes - a combination that feels utterly life giving.

Battling a headache tonight, I'm excited to get to bed, so I'll keep it short. Our time here in the capital is already done. Any thoughts and prayers appreciated tomorrow as we wind through the mountains to Xela: our new home for the next few weeks!

on the road again...

After a gorgeous day Saturday, including brunch with my dear family and then an afternoon celebrating Mandy and Craig's union, I headed out early early Sunday morning to fly back to Nicaragua. I spent almost a week there, some of it reconnecting with coworkers, and re-acclimating to the heat, the culture, and the language of Managua (Nicaraguan Spanish is *so* different than the Mexican Spanish I got used to this summer). I also spent a few nights away in a nearby cloud forest, with a day trip to the ocean; it went by all too quickly, gorgeous surroundings, fabulous conversation, great food, and incredible company. It was a sweet little getaway - time to think of nothing but exactly where I was, to disconnect from the life to which I so recently said goodbye and the life we'll pick up from in the airport on Monday.
And now, I write to you from San Salvador, en route to Guatemala with my ever-entertaining compañero Chepe (it's such fun to be traveling with him again). We got in yesterday afternoon and head out today for Guatemala City. It's been fabulous to see all of my coworkers again and everyone is so genuinely excited for the new semester to begin that preparations have been a joy. We're headed for the bus station again in a few minutes, so I should head out. Best wishes to all! I miss you Minnesotans already!

the summer in review...

It appears as though my summer vacation also turned into a short hiatus from my blog. After a month and a half of not having written, I feel I should have more to report. But the last two months have been nearly entirely about focusing on people and letting myself sink into the relationships here at home that remind me who I am. When I'm out and away it's easy for me to focus mostly on who I could be, what my potential is, what the need is and how I might be able to shape my life accordingly.

Home is about who I am, right now. Home offers roots, friends offer space to be ridiculous and be appreciated for it, family offers endless support and insight that portrays a love I can't fully understand. I think that at times I'm tempted to see one place as more valuable than the other, or as more necessary at specific periods of time. It's an obvious realization, but it's clearer after some slower time here that they're immensely different, but of equal value.

After my last blog post I finished up the book "The Country Under My Skin" by Giaconda Belli (very worth reading) and she writes about moving to the United States with her partner after a life of service and loving dedication to being Nicaraguan. She writes more beautifully than I ever could about some of the same feelings I have attempted to express in recent posts. So, I'll paste a quote below and put up a couple of pictures from the summer. And I'll be writing with much more frequency again, so check back in soon.

"I was often tormented by the fear that I would become soft and compliant, assume the attitude that people term ‘realistic’, hang up my gloves and resign myself to the idea that we lost the battle or, in the best of all worlds, that the fight to achieve new utopias would now fall to other people. But reality taught me otherwise. Life has shown me that not every commitment requires payment in blood, or the heroism of dying in the line of fire. There is a heroism inherent to peace and stability, an accessible, everyday heroism that may not challenge us with the threat of death, but which challenges us to squeeze every last possibility out of life, and to live not one but several lives all at the same time. To accept oneself as a multiple being in time and space is part of modern life..."
- Giaconda Belli

quiet comfort...

I can't get over how quiet it is here. I sit in my room in the house I grew up in and all of life sounds subdued. It's a chilly morning and I can hear birds out my window, but they're chirping softly, in the distance. In my room in Managua birds woke me up most mornings (if not the heat) and did so with volume and abrasiveness and persistence that seemed fitting to the intensity of that place. Their calls and cries shared the soundtrack with the pleas of street vendors and aggressive drivers, horn happy and sin muffler.

Here in my other reality - my first reality - the neighbors are exchanging niceties, cars hum by, a lawn mower purrs down the block: consistent, gentle, throwing that quintessentially small town, fresh-cut-grass-smell into the air. For a few days, I felt somewhat out of place here, and I suppose that won't go away entirely. But I don't know that I'll ever feel totally out of place here, this is where I grew up, this town is in me. As much as I marvel at the contrast between life here in small town Minnesota and life in Managua, it's frighteningly easy for me to start thinking that this, this quiet, comfortable way of existing is normal. I struggle with the temptation of that comfort, it's alluring in many ways.

I'm beyond blessed to have a few months here at home before I head back down to Central America for another year of work with the same program. I'm very much looking forward to the opportunity to work with my team again and be part of a process that I so strongly believe in. But in the meantime, I've come home to a new nephew, to loads more family that I adore and to friends that squeeze every possible drop of meaning and humor out of any situation, and that constantly teach me how to grow. I'm home and I'm happy, not comfortable but cognizant of all of my blessings.

new light...

One of my favorite phrases in Spanish is 'dar a luz' which is used to talk about women giving birth. However, literally it translates to 'to give light' or 'to bring the light'. This week, the Menning family was blessed with new light!

Anyone who has talked to me at length in the last 9 months has likely heard about how excited I have been to have a niece or nephew. Pues, por fin soy tia! I arrived home just in time; Monday night at the airport I talked to my brother as Bri was about to go into labor. Best homecoming gift ever! On Tuesday, I got to meet little Noah Elloyd and, as a proud aunt, thought I should share a few pictures here as well.

where the streets have no name...

I spent a better part of last weekend at my coworker's house as a little getaway. Her family is endearing, the house is beautiful and I'm always grateful for an invitation to enjoy their company. On Saturday, a friend called to see if I'd like to go out for drinks and said they'd swing by to pick me up. I stuck my head into my coworker's room to ask for her address and she chuckled and said "give me the phone, I'll explain how to get here". How silly of me, I forget sometimes that here in Managua an address and the directions of how to get somewhere are the same thing.

You see, here in Managua streets don't have names. Buildings aren't generally numbered either. So how do you find a place without street names? Easy enough for locals, you pick a big landmark and work your way toward your destination from there. For example, to grab a cab to the Theatre Justo Rufino Gray you'd have to tell them: "from the Montoya statue, 3 blocks down, 20 meters toward the lake". It seemed to me, from the beginning like some sort of cruel joke - 'down', 'toward the lake'? But really, it's just a system one must learn. Down means west, because the sun goes down in the west. Logically following that, 'up' means east, where the sun rises. The lake is situated to the north of the city so 'al lago' means north and ...well, south never got a code word I guess, you just say 'al sur/to the south'.

It baffles me that this system works...mostly when I get addresses that start with "donde fue el Hotel..." -- 'where the Hotel...used to be'. What if you don't know where the hotel used to be? Or when they finish with "and 20 'varas' up", what the heck is a 'vara'?! (I just looked it up for this post, it's apparently an ancient Spanish unit of measurement measuring approx .875 meters...that will help me when I can finally remember how many feet are in a meter.)

I guess the system all started after the earthquake in '72. Apart from killing nearly 20,000 people, it also demolished buildings and seriously altered the grid patterned streets of this capital city. People figured it out, they made up a new system...one that works well enough that they apparently still don't feel the need to create a new one, or put up street name signs any time soon. And while I miss street names and house numbers, this is certainly an exercise in my sense of direction.

*photos taken and kindly shared by Jenny Ajl