home and away again...

Last Saturday morning we all woke up early in order to have our final breakfast in Havana and say our goodbyes before we headed out to the airport. It was emotional (and a tad scary, I was pretty sure the bus had left me behind for about a half hour) but we made it to the airport and through all the lines relatively smoothly. Once we were all settled in the waiting area and happily trading photos/reminiscing, we heard over the loudspeaker that our flight would be delayed three hours (at least). Considering many of us had connecting flights, this was distressing. Much more to some than others. But as obnoxious as it was, it felt entirely poetic. To leave in a chaotic way, completely different than what was planned or expected. And something about that made me appreciate it, despite the inconvenience.


Havana from above - ya la extranamos!

The week that has followed has been lovely - albeit a whirlwind. I have gotten to see my entire family and some close friends and I've eaten the foods I missed and enjoyed lots of lattes. And tomorrow morning I'm headed to Italy with my dear friend Kate for about a week.

I hope you keep checking in here occasionally  I'm hopeful that this summer I will take some of the stuff I wrote while in Cuba, edit and add to it and post it in chunks so that people may still have a chance to read a bit about our time there, even if it is after the fact. And with internet as fast as it is here (miraculous seeming, after three months of the Cuban connection = so slow!) I can even include pictures.

But it's late and I should sleep; so for now: Arrivederci!

two and a half weeks left

It’s been over a month since I last wrote. Elections in Venezuela happened last weekend and what we thought would be clear and definitive ended up being a nail-biter. Maduro, the man Chavez had chosen, ended up winning but it was close and the stories of unrest are incredibly sad.

I’m not writing to offer a thorough analysis of the elections: I couldn’t. Part of why I haven’t written is because I don’t feel like I can even offer an analysis of things here that would make much sense.
I started a post on socialism and faith/religion weeks ago and keep editing it and deciding not to post it.

We’ve gotten to do lots of incredible things since I last posted. We traveled to central Cuba for a week and visited Cienfuegos, Trinidad, and Santa Clara. We’ve visited the national assembly, the US interest section, and various fascinating academics and activists. But what I personally find most incredible are the daily conversations about what makes a happy, healthy society.

I’ll try to post more often, even if they are small observations. There are just two and a half weeks left here for our group and as is usually the case, students seem to have heightened sense of all that’s happening around them. An increased desire to see and hear as much as possible before we go.

I feel it too.

 



Cuban flags across the street from the US Interests Section building

Our group (minus Delia, where are you?) in Trinidad

Chavez murió

While walking the narrow streets of Havana Vieja with friends on Tuesday afternoon, one of the Cuban members of our crew stopped for a moment to check the TV inside a small store. There were a few people huddled around, all male, and I assumed there was a baseball game on or reports of a game, and asked “Quien juega?” (Who’s playing?). He turned to me quickly and said “Chavez murio.”

Chavez died. I felt like I had been hit in the stomach. The group kept walking. I looked around astonished that our pace hadn’t even slowed down. I felt like we should stop, felt like I needed to sit down. I looked around at their faces, “Am I the only one who’s shocked by this?” And my friend answered, “No, of course we are too, it’s just too soon to know all the ways it will affect us.”

I rushed home and found my host moms red-eyed. “Que cosa mas terrible.”  I certainly wouldn’t argue that Chavez always said the right thing. Or that he was an incredible diplomat. But Chavez was a champion for the poor of Venezuela and for unity in Latin America. He has made mistakes in the way he’s gone about certain things, but he has used the wealth of his country to improve the education system, provide free health care, and drastically cut unemployment. And he had a vision that went far beyond his own borders – enough so that upon hearing of his death I immediately thought of Nicaragua. And Ecuador, and Bolivia and Cuba. All of the countries that have so greatly benefited from ALBA (the Bolivarian Alliance for the Americas) – a trade agreement that focuses more on mutually beneficial agreements that will strengthen the unity of Latin American countries as opposed to focusing on profits.

I’m curious as to what news coverage has looked like at home. Here, it has generally dominated the news cycle since it happened. The country declared two days of ‘official mourning’ and today was declared a day of ‘national mourning.’ People I’ve spoken with only remember three times that ‘national mourning’ has ever been declared: the death of Che, an act of terrorism against Cuba that killed more than 70 people, and today.

It’s hard for us to understand what he means to so many here. Yesterday Raul Castro’s statement was released: “It is with deep and excruciating sorrow that our people and the revolutionary government have learned of President Hugo Rafael Chavez Frias' decease. The Cuban people view him as one of their most outstanding sons.”

We wanted to pay homage with our Cuban host families and coworkers yesterday. We all piled into a bus and headed down to the Plaza de la Revolucion where a memorial site was set up and open from 8am to 8pm. The plaza was so full we formed a ‘line’ a few blocks away. After
about an hour, having hardly moved we realized it would take most of the day and decided to return to the MLK Center. My host mom was upset. “We have to do something, we can’t not honor him.” They quickly made a plan, each went to their homes and collected newspapers, flags, music, and pictures: they made their own memorial for Chavez. Their own tribute to an imperfect leader who realized that he could learn from the successes of the Cuban government and became a student, a son even, and implement socialist policies and programs already test-run by Cuba. A leader who took seriously his commitment to economically help a country that had been entirely abandoned by the other economic powers that be. A leader who dared to stand up and speak out boldly against the United States, regardless of the consequences.

And now people will wait. According to the Venezuelan constitution, in this situation there will need to be another election, in the next 30 days, I think. And people don’t know which side will win – the last elections were close. It’s evident that people here realize this election will have effects that reach far beyond Venezuelan borders – that it will affect everyday life here in Cuba. And that’s a frightening thing. There is a reason so many of my acquaintances here have been red-eyed the last few days. And still, I see people attempting to be hopeful.

varadero!

We're back from the beach and headed right into another week. Varadero was just as beautiful as everyone told us it would be and we had perfect weather for the whole weekend. I'm beginning to understand why Cuba was the mafia's playground before the revolution. So close to the US and incredible beaches/climate.

It was a great weekend trip despite the tiny- yet dramatic - electrical fire fright at the beginning of the trip! I'm sure you'll hear the stories later :)

another full week...

on our way into the Feria del Libro - held at the fort in Havana

It's Friday afternoon and we just finished our 'evaluation' (which is our weekly check-in) and are waiting for lunch. As soon as we're done with that we'll head out to Varadero - a carribean, white sand beach.
 
We all reflected on how quickly this week went and how full it felt. Tuesday we visited the Literacy Museum (more on that later - a pretty incredible place), Wednesday we spent the afternoon at the Book Fair, and yesterday we toured the University here in Havana and spent the evening out dancing and listening to live salsa. Not to mention class every morning and readings on Cuban history and Marxism at night.

I'm physically exhausted, but enjoying all that I'm learning and hope to write a more meaningful reflection on some of it at some point next week. For now: vamos a la playa! :)

cold front, warm heart

It’s a chilly afternoon and I’m happily cuddled up in bed reading Cuban history and analysis of Marxism and napping on and off occasionally.

The group schedule originally had a trip to the beach (only about 40 minutes away) planned for Saturday but mid-week all of the locals started talking about the ‘frente frio’ (cold front) that was moving in and how it would be an awful week to head to the seaside. I’ll admit that I was skeptical; not actually believing that it would get very chilly but it rained all day Friday and after spending the first two weeks here in tank tops and shorts we all threw on long sleeves and sweaters. It’s a welcome change, really. And it’ll be 90 and sunny again by mid-week, so hopefully the trip planned to Varadero (another beach) next weekend won’t also be cancelled.

Hard to believe we’re wrapping up week two already. Our ‘evaluation’ or check-in of sorts that we do each Friday was really interesting this week. Lots of good things, but there are also some frustrations surfacing. And I could feel it in myself too – I was homesick this week and unjustifiably bothered by little things.

Being away on my birthday is always harder than I expect it to be. Some of you know that I wasn’t sure I’d even tell people here it was my birthday…but since my host family got my passport information before I even arrived, it was never up to me. :) They had plans from the beginning – and since I’m living with the daughter of the director of the MLK Center, there was a big cake at lunch and singing and a formal blessing from my host-grandfather wishing me health happiness and ‘un buen mozo’ (a good husband). In the evening we all went out as a group and after the first two places we attempted to get into were closed we ended up at a third venue and had a blast bonding and dancing until far too late in the evening/morning.

I must also mention that the brightest parts of this weekend were receiving so many beautiful emails from loved ones all over the world. I feel so fortunate for the windy, sometimes unnerving, always exciting path that has been my life up to this point. This last year has been one of enormous learning and of being pushed to be mindful and of realizing how much of a choice I have about whether or not I am happy. I can’t say how powerful of a realization that’s been – something so seemingly simple.

And with all of that in mind I must also say thank you to all of my teachers and friends and inspirers and all of the people that have been the reason that those simple lessons finally started making sense. Thank you.

quite taken

Sunkissed and exhausted after a lovely Sunday afternoon of mojitos, good political conversation, and a long walk along the malecon (a boardwalk of sorts along the shoreline), I’m feeling quite taken with Cuba.

Clearly I’m in the honeymoon stage – but Cuba seems to have all of the marvelous parts of tropical Latin America (and more) with so much less of the crud. Of course any place has its crud. Dirty streets, smog in the city, noise, long lines, bad service, cat calls and kissing noises when you walk by…but there’s less of it here. And so much less of the really awful crap – next to no crime or violence, low levels of corruption, and rare is the beggar or passed out drunk or child asking for money.

Imagine this: it’s not ‘risky’ to make the 25-minute walk home from work/the MLK Center, with a purse, alone! And when I commented “I probably shouldn’t take my computer since we’re going on the bus” my host moms laughed at me. The fact that crime is almost a non-issue makes taking care of a group of young foreigners a whole lot less stressful and it changes the way communities interact. I should probably put that the other way around – it’s likely because of the way communities interact.  Whatever the cause, it changes everything, this absence of fear of the people around you. I don’t know if I realized how much that fear has affected my experiences in Latin America over the last four years. And now that it’s gone, it feels…well, liberating.

And the conversation! I’ve had incredible conversations with Cubans on just about any topic – clearly I’m spoiled with my host family – my two host moms are progressive, highly educated pastors. They differ in perspective and table discussions are fascinating and always educative. But beyond them, I’m continually amazed with how *much* Cubans know about their own history, about global history, about politics and economy and health. It’s really fun. They also talk more than I’ve ever been talked to. Hardly ever in my life have I had to really fight to get a word in edgewise…Cubans give me a run for my money. I’m working hard to listen more and am enjoying what I’m hearing. I’m certainly learning. My perspective and paradigm are being stretched and pulled in interesting and exciting ways.

I’ll say it again. I’m taken.

que linda es!

My Cuban adventure has begun!

It is baffling to me to think that a week ago I was running around with my shoulders to my ears on one of the coldest days of the year in Minnesota as I prepared for departure. It has always stretched my understanding that a person can be in two entirely different realities in such a short span of time. I’m one lucky girl: this spring I have been given the opportunity to work with CGE’s new semester program in Cuba for three months. The 12 students, 2 professors, and I hopped on a charter plane in Miami on Monday afternoon, and a half hour later landed in Havana.

Walking down the roll-up staircase to exit the plane and toward the one-room airport, we were embraced by the soft-sunlight and gentle heat of late afternoon in ‘winter’ in Cuba. There were a few questions about our visas and the typical waiting that happens when you travel in a group of 15 before we headed to the Martin Luther King Memorial Center (our home base for the next three months) in the working class neighborhood of Marianao.

To our surprise we were greeted there with dinner and our homestay assignments! We hadn’t even put down our bags before we were being welcomed into our new families. And they have been beyond welcoming; students are acclimating incredibly well and programming is moving along beautifully.

I feel incredibly blessed to be here and can’t wait to process and share some of the things that we’re experiencing. That being said – blogging will be a challenge given the internet situation here. Wi-fi is nearly non-existent and when you can manage to get a connection the social networking sites (among many others) are blocked. My dear mother has agreed to ‘administer’ the site if I can manage to send her text (and maybe even pictures occasionally) through email.

Thank you for all of your kind thoughts and support through these last few weeks of transition. I am so grateful for such an incredible support system!

girasoles...

In Spanish the world for sunflower is girasol. The verb girar means 'to turn' or 'to rotate'; so sunflowers, more than just being of the sun in Spanish are acclaimed by their title to also be always turning toward, always seeking the sun. That I would also be so.

A dear friend posted this video on facebook this week and while I had read the poem (by a Nicaraguan poet) I had not been so captivated by it until I watched this compilation. Nicaraguans love their poets. But more than that, they love poetry. They live poetically. This video was a visual reminder of the beauty in a broken place like Managua, but more than that, a poetic reminder of what it looks like to live out one's ideals in the face of brokenness. You'd have to plant sunflowers. Hope you enjoy.

Habría que sembrar girasoles

A Vincent Van Gogh
Habría que sembrar girasoles 
a lo largo del camino,
sembrarlos en la tierra, 
en la ciénaga, en el barro,
plantarlos bajo el odio, 
como se planta el fuego. 

Habría que sembrar girasoles 
aunque la tarde prosiga
con su rumor de polvo. 
La caverna está en el centro, 
y tras los días, los girasoles
subvierten al desprecio,
pero habría que sembrar girasoles, digo,
—no por insistencia—
sembrar girasoles con afán 
de prolongar partidas,
regarles la noche con ajenjo,
cubrir de arena la sorda vida.

Habría que sembrar girasoles de pesadumbre,
de tallos largos que sostengan
la gravedad del hombre,
sembrarlos a lo largo del camino,
plantarlos en los techos de las casas,
en todas partes, con su luminosa forma.

Si hacemos esto,
de aquí a veinte años,
aprenderemos a dar abrazos a las piedras
antes de arrojarlas al Sol. 

Francisco Ruiz Udiel 

not in a dozen lives...

"People talk about how wonderful the world seems to children, and that's true enough. But children think they will grow into it and understand it and I know very well that I will not, and would not if I had a dozen lives."

- Marilynne Robinson, Gilead

Well, it's the final week of another semester here in Central America, come and gone.

Came and went and I didn't write a single post! How did that happen? For a girl who loves to process, it sure was a quiet four months. Don't misunderstand, there is never a lack of fascinating material to ponder here. The process with students has been as life-giving and question-provoking as ever. Latin America is a Garcia Marquez novel come to life; constantly blurring the line between reality and fantasy and the intensity of it all is almost too much to handle sometimes, even for my drama-loving self.

My silence should not be noted as an indicator of anything other than confusion. Or disbelief. Maybe stupor? No, that's not quite right, my senses certainly haven't been dulled. things have felt heightened if anything. Perhaps: awe. Yes, that's much closer to accurate. And it's funny; I came into this experience this time with much more of an idea of what I would see and experience. But that didn't make it any less difficult to process. In fact, the more deeply I get to know individuals, communities and movements, the harder they are to sum up with words or stories. The more difficult it is to attempt 'explaining' much of anything with a few paragraphs or pictures.

I love the quote at the beginning of this post because I know that I, as a student, certainly thought I'd grow into an understanding of the world I was learning about. And it just hasn't happened. I know so much more than I did then, but overall I am definitively more bewildered. The quote reminds me of the deep beauty in realizing that something is so complex and incredible that you will never fully understand. It frees me from the feeling of having to come to some conclusion or tidy analysis. Those two simple sentences feel quietly joyful to me, sweetly pleased at the fact that the wonder life induces isn't something we'll grow out of. Certainly not in five semesters in Central America. Not in a dozen lives.

So maybe being in awe this time around hasn't been good for my commitment to correspondence, but i think it's been good for me personally. More than ever I've worked at being present in each day and withholding judgments of things I can't fully understand. Clearly I've had a difficult time finding the balance between doing those things well and also staying true to the pleas of the people here to 'tell their stories' and my internal desire to give voice to marginalized places, under-publicized movements and vulnerable peoples. I know that finding that balance will be a continual struggle, but tonight it's one I accept joyfully.

clamoring...

I like beginnings. I like change and the chance to start again and the possibility that always accompanies a fresh start. The new year, however, has always seemed like a sort of false new beginning. The calendar changes, but for those of us in Minnesota not much in our sensory world encourages us to think new or fresh. Here, in the tundra, it seems spring would be a better time for a calendar change.

Regardless of the new year not feeling like it has much external significance for me, it does always present an opportunity to ruminate and reflect, and those are activities that I quite enjoy. This year, as I thought about what I'd like to change, the laundry list was longer than I'd like it to be. Despite being home and being surrounded by loved ones, I have been frequented by more headaches, unsatisfied with my job, and beyond grumpy about the dark and the cold.

In reality, when I think from a healthy perspective, I am aware that I am incredibly blessed. Inside, so many days, it is hard to remember that. And it just doesn't seem like it should be so hard to remember that. Doesn't seem it should be hard to be happy. So then I'm hard on myself: 'how can I be unhappy when I'm so privileged, when I'm so fortunate?' And of course, that doesn't usually help me feel better.

What does seem to help, is being intentional about being present, being grateful, and spending my time doing things that 'wake me up' to beauty. Writing is one of those things. I had all but stopped and I'd like to start again. Without stressing about not having spectacular things from far away lands to write about, and without having to make each post entirely perfect. I'd like this to continue to be a space in which I continue to reflect and clamor toward happiness. Thanks for coming back to read and reflect with me.

Happy New Year.

Everyone should be born into this world happy
and loving everything
But in truth it rarely works that way.
For myself, I have spent my life clamoring toward it.
Halleluiah, anyway I'm not where I started!

And have you too been trudging like that, sometimes
almost forgetting how wondrous the world is
and how miraculously kind some people can be?
And have you too decided that probably nothing important
is ever easy?

- Mary Oliver, Halleluiah

returning...

It was about two weeks ago now that I boarded the plane to fly back to Minnesota. As, usual, departure was awfully early, but the airport process went smoothly, Chepe and Eliett came all the way out to bid farewell and with Joao's incredibly positive demeanor accompanying me, I even made it through the good-byes without many tears.

But airplanes still seem strange to me. To begin, I simply don't get the physics of it; but beyond that, it's just always a sort of surreal experience. It's as if we can teleport from one reality to another (with a few hours of cramped legs and bad/overpriced food along the way) - moving through space and time in way that isn't at all natural.

I scored an exit row all to myself and a few minutes after taking off decided to open my window. The first time I flew I remember being fascinated by every aspect of it, but lately I'm usually asleep by the time the wheels leave the ground. Perhaps I was more nostalgic than normal this time. I wasn't just leaving for a quick vacation, or another round with a new group of students. This time I was flying home to family, flying home to start setting up life again in the midwest.

And out my window were the most picturesque clouds, and aren't clouds an incredible thing? These were those kind-of storybook clouds, the type of clouds I saw so often surrounding God's throne in Sunday school class, or at least saw surrounding Homer as he debated with the Big Guy on the Simpsons. I smiled to myself about these being the first two images that came to mind, but was also somehow comforted by these clouds, painting for me such an unreal backdrop to this terrifying and beautiful moment as I was being hurled away from a place I love toward another place I love.

How blessed am I? To have found various places to call home and to have seen the passion of so many people, so willing to share their stories. To have walked the streets of Managua daily and learned to see them for what they are in their raw, chaotic beauty. To have lived in a place that never let me forget that people are suffering all of the time and that I have an enormous responsibility to them and myself. To be in love and to be so loved so well, to be healthy and able to travel and work and to still believe in change.

Certainly, I returned home grateful. I've talked often about perspective, and hopping on a plane and flying from a place like Managua to place like Minneapolis will give one more than a healthy dose of it. Of course this transition is never easy, or entirely smooth, but it probably shouldn't be. I continue looking for a job and missing the people I care about in other places and working through anger that swells up in response to big and little things that are 'different' than how I think they should/could be. Those 'clashes' or moments of heightened perspective motivate me, and although I'm in a city that may look a little more 'refined' there is plenty of work to be done. It's comforting to sit here in Northfield and still feel within me the desire to keep on as part of that struggle. I'm beyond blessed and so grateful to be here.

much has happened...

I have been terrible about blogging this spring! To all of you who continue to check in despite my inexcusable absence - thanks for being persistent.

Since I last wrote much has happened:
- Our semester students partied hard, said their goodbyes and headed home (all but one - who is still in rural Nica)
- A lovely 'may-term' group arrived from Furman University and brightened up our May with their enthusiasm, laughter and kindness
- I woke up one rainy night terrified, and convinced that I was being electrocuted...until Joao convinced me that my hand had just fallen asleep :)
- I got to see sloths (with their babies), a paca, howler monkeys and all sorts of colorful birds in their natural habitat on a tour of a sustainable farm near Matagalpa
- Chepe and Eliett got married and I was honored to be a witness in their civil wedding!!!

And now, my time here in Nicaragua (and Central America, for that matter) is nearly over. I write, during a short break from packing up my room here at the CGE house as I prepare to vacate and make space for a large travel delegation that arrives on Thursday. I'll be crashing at my boss's house until my departure and in this last week and a half plan to spend a weekend at the beach with Joao and time here around Managua saying goodbyes.

It's unbelievable to me that I'll be in Minnesota so soon and even more unreal that I've spent nearly two years in Central America. I've been debating about what to do with my blog when I return to the Twin Cities. Perhaps I'll continue, perhaps I'll let it rest peacefully at the close of my time here. Although, as I continue on my path, I'm certain that my transition to home will bring with it a whole plethora of new observations and reflections...so I would guess that I'll keep writing. Thank you again for being such faithful readers. Hope everyone is enjoying spring - wherever they may be, and for those of you in the Midwest - I'll get to enjoy it with you soon!

"My hope is that the youth would return to the streets to make history."

-Fernando Cardenal

on racial profiling here and there...

Girls from the United States have a reputation here in Latin America. Whether we're here spring break-ing, studying or doing non-profit work, people often assume that we're 'liberal'. And I don't mean that they assume we're all democrats, but rather they think we're all easy - as if being 'liberal' (educated and empowered about sexual rights) means that we all enjoy sleeping around.

And yes, as a white girl from Minnesota this is pretty much the extent of my negative 'racial profiling' experience. Does it matter if people here assume I'm a slut when they see the color of my hair? Not really, they can't do anything other than approach me and quickly find out they're mistaken. But does it piss me off? Every single time, yes.

I'm certain that my annoyance in such situations pales in comparison to the anger Latinos must feel in the face of the blatant racism and stereotyping they confront in the states. Certainly Latinos aren't the only ones who face racial-profiling - but this new law seems to me as much like an insult as it does a negation of people's human rights. Not only are they legalizing racism, they're doing it in a way that exposes their belief that Latinos are a powerless demographic.

Thank heavens people are proving them wrong; and god bless solidarity. As enraging as the words and actions of many legislators in the south west have been, it's been encouraging to see such an organization of people against it. It's about time we start talking about immigration. I guess I spoke too soon in my last post; turns out there are things that will get people into the streets at home too.

to the streets...

Last week while we were in the country I commented to Suyen that this semester felt different. Usually as we drive into Managua we also enter a world of political unrest - of alleged electoral fraud or shady changes to the constitution or enormous manifestations -both for and against the current leadership - and it seems that el famoso Daniel Ortega is always at the middle of it all.

This time things felt strangely calm.

And then this week, in the oppressive heat of Managua, it all exploded. Really the issue started a few months back, when Ortega (the president) issued a decree that would allow the current 'magistrados' (like supreme court judges) to stay in power longer. A few of those judges put his decree (or "decretazo") to the test last week and refused to turn in their robes. Fighting and name-calling and all sorts of anger ensued between the magistrados themselves last week and then this week, in Nicaraguan style, the people took to the streets.

As the opposing legislators attempted to come together on Tuesday to address the issue, they encountered mobs with mortars at the national assembly and then later the make-shift assembly was hunted down at the Holiday Inn. The police kept the people from getting in, but didn't do much else to control the situation. The news scenes of protesters (or 'gangster like thugs' as they are being referred to in many US news articles/channels), of cars being set on fire, and the background noise of mortars being fired in the distance are all too familiar. And continued yesterday and continue today as I write.

It's hard to write about details because it's so hard to fully understand what's going on - even being here and watching the news and talking to people and knowing a bit of background - I don't really get it. Reading articles from the North American perspective generally upset me, to talk about it all you have to simplify it and truly it's anything but simple. What do you do with a guy like Ortega in the context of Nicaragua? Does this count as democracy, when the people feel the need to take to the streets every few months? Is this democracy embodied? People making their desires and needs known?

I'm reading Howard Zinn's "A People's History of the United States" right now and the current situation here and that of the states in the late 1800's seem to have some powerful commonalities - people were organizing and unionizing and marching up to capital hill with demands and guns and fire in their bellies year after year. And honestly, I'm not sure why we've become so docile.

Obviously it's not easy to live in a place with so much unrest. Many Nicaraguans I've spoken with this week are upset by the protests, the traffic, the violence; they sigh and say "we just want to work". There are lots of accusations about who is financing these protests, who's really behind them, it's complex. There's no way I can write adequately about it. However, I do like that Nicaragua never lets one stop thinking about these issues, it's raw, it's pulsing and you can't avoid really thinking about the nature of power and corruption, of government and society.

to live now...

"The future is an infinite succession of presents, and to live now as we think human beings should live, in defiance of all that is bad around us, is itself a marvelous victory."

- Howard Zinn

on nicas and nationality...

New week, new country. I guess that happens a lot in this job. Although I'm not sure why it was such a bizarre sensation to me this time around - the idea that life, almost entirely, could be so different just a few days later. The rhythm changes, staff changes, climate changes (goodness it's hot here) and the political landscape changes.

Nicaragua is distinct from the other two countries for lots of reasons, but especially due to its unique history: a Revolution that triumphed and a counter-revolution that ravaged the country. Earthquakes and hurricanes and leaders that seem to take advantage of the people rather than build them up, have left Nicaragua in tough shape economically. It's the largest country in Central America, rich in resources, but the second poorest in the hemisphere, after Haiti.

This economic situation means that lots of people immigrate. However, while hundreds of Salvadorans are going to the States every day, people in Nicaragua are filling the jobs left behind in Honduras, Guatemala and Salvador...and most commonly, attempting to cross the border into Costa Rica, where there are better jobs with better wages. It's created quite the contempt filled relationship between these neighboring nations; one similar to that between Mexico and the United States. On Tuesday, Joao brought me to the national theater to see 'El Nica'; a monologue in which a Nicaraguan immigrant talks about his faith, life, journey, challenges, rage, hope and pride.

It was incredibly moving to see an immigrant's resilience depicted with such humor and honesty, and painful to see how humans treat each other based on border and class. However, for me, the most powerful moment was the end, when the whole theater stood up and applauded their flag, so many with tears in their eyes for their people and enormous pride in their country. I stood there and applauded as well - feeling somewhat out of place - having one of those moments where I wonder 'How did I end up here? A gringa in Nicaragua, caring so much about immigration to Costa Rica? How is it that life/my decisions brought me here? Why haven't I ever clapped for my flag with tears in my eyes?' And all of the sudden I felt so saddened by the fact that I'm not proud of where I'm from. I was so envious of all of those people who tell you where they're from with that sure smile on their face like nothing anyone could say about their homeland would make them any less proud of it. And me, I'm not proud of it, just ridiculously privileged because of it - life is so strange.

And in the midst of this little question-session going on in my head, the actor began to wind together the Costa Rican and Nicaraguan flag, and the applause swelled. And with that symbolic action I started to feel part of what was going on again, because then I felt part of a movement. So I don't sing to stars and stripes - and that doesn't mean I'm ashamed of where I'm from - I'm just also not boasting about what my nationality so often stands for in places like Latin America. I'd rather identify with this group of people, with people in general that also want borders to mean less and people to mean more. I want so much of who I am to be about learning and educating in order to move closer to treating people like humans regardless of nationality.

Back in real life, turns out I don't get to turn my passport in for one to some 'nationless utopia' where everyone is equal. Hm. Which means I'm reminded, again and again, that being born in Iowa rather than Managua means that I was also born with a responsibility to use my privilege to love better, to be generous, and to work for changes that validate the idea that people are more than their nationality.

marching for Romero and peace...

Our time in El Salvador always flies by. We only spend four weeks there to begin with, and to add to the chaos, we spend every weekend in a different community observing the ways they have decided to live out Liberation Theology.

This time around, the students begged to stay one day longer than usual. The march commemorating the 30 year anniversary of Monsenor Romero's assassination was held on Saturday (our scheduled day of departure) and the students wanted to be there. After a month of hearing about this man - revered as a prophet by many and a as saint by others - they wanted to be there and to march in solidarity. And I'm so glad that we did.

It was a moving day for a lot of reasons. Despite the fact that I've only spent a total of 4 months in El Salvador over the course of the past 2 years, we ran into so many people that I've met along the way: members of christian base communities, local youth, other foreigners working for social justice. There was a sense of community that was touching. A sense that those of us who truly long for things to be different aren't alone in that desire. And in the few years since I've dedicated myself to this path, this path of attempting to live serving and loving others - I've realized that those moments of feeling deep solidarity and hope in a collective people are fewer than I'd like them to be. And therefore they must be appreciated, savored even.

The march began with a victorious feel, and we've definitely got to celebrate victories! Romero is celebrated every year, but this was the first year that the government officially joined the people in this celebration and publicly apologized for his murder. President Funes came to the march and declared that Romero was the greatest patriot El Salvador has ever seen and that the current government would measure their work for a better society according to how it is measuring up to Romero's vision for El Salvador. If you know the history of politics in El Salvador (too lengthy and complex to get into here), this is truly incredible.

And then we marched. We marched for a few hours from one of the richer parts of San Salvador right down into the center, to the national cathedral. It was downhill, and as we worked our way closer to the cathedral, the buildings were more and more run down, the street vendors more desperate to sell, the smell far less appealing, a downright stench, in fact. Poverty isn't pretty. It seemed beautifully appropriate to me in that moment that there was such an unpleasant contrast from where we started and where we were finishing.

Romero didn't plan to become the advocate he became. He could have easily stayed in his comfortable position of power and chosen not to walk into the pain and suffering, and ultimately the death, of the poor and repressed. But he did. And if we look at the paths that people in power generally take, that's a pretty miraculous act. Romero inspired a thirst for justice and empowered a battered people to use their faith for fuel - not only to claim their rights but to fuel them into living out their faith through relationships. The month in El Salvador always reminds me, in new ways, that this 'revolutionary' stuff is really about relationships and that my faith is really what fuels my desire for revolution, my desire for genuine peace.

A few words from Romero:

"Do you want to know if your Christianity is genuine? Here is the touchstone: Whom do you get along with? Who are those who criticize you? who are those who do not accept you? Who are those who flatter you?"

"Peace is not the product of terror or fear. Peace is not the silence of cemeteries. Peace is not the silent result of violent repression. Peace is the generous, tranquil contribution of all to the good of all. Peace is dynamism. Peace is generosity. It is right and it is duty."

no tengo miedo a la muerte...

Ya no tengo miedo a la muerte,
conozco muy bien
su corredor oscuro y frío
que conduce a la vida.

I am no longer afraid of death,
I know well
its dark and cold corridors
leading to life.

Tengo miedo de esa vida
que no surge de la muerte,
que acalambra las manos
y entorpece nuestra marcha.

I am afraid rather of that life
which does not come out of death,
which cramps our hands
and slows our march.

Tengo miedo de mi miedo,
y aún más del miedo de los otros,
que no saben a donde van
y se siguen aferrando
a algo que creen que es la vida
y nosotros sabemos que es la muerte!

I am afraid of my fear
And even more of the fear of others,
who do not know where they are going,
Who continue clinging
to what they think is life
Which we know to be death!

Vivo cada día para matar la muerte,
muero cada día para parir la vida,
y en esta muerte de la muerte,
muero mil veces
y resucito otras tantas,
desde el amor que alimenta
de mi Pueblo,
la esperanza!

I live each day to kill death;
I die each day to give birth to life,
and in this death of death,
I die a thousand times
and am reborn another thousand
through that love
from my People,
which nourishes hope!

-by: julia esquivel