Frijolesputa: The Land of the Unwanted

Hello all!

Last summer, as I was going through my independent woman/jenny from the block phase, I decided to spend an exorbitant amount of money on a name necklace (my previous one had been stolen by an ex). I was working three jobs and had decided to treat myself. My mother disapproved, obviously. I felt very (materialistically) satisfied and wore it everyday for the better part of a year.

Odali, Silvia, and Prisila playing Bananagrams 

Today, after coming back from an amazing time in Pantanal in which my students skyped with a class at my old school and then played a heated game of soccer, I was walking home and un tipo rode by me on his bike and ripped the necklace off.

No one standing around did anything, or even reacted to my loud, inadvertent “Fuck!” followed by some then very intentional cursing in Spanish.

I didn’t cry until I reached my house two blocks away and then it was mostly tears of feeling stupid for being angry that a gold necklace I had decided to wear on the streets of Granada was stolen and reminiscing on how many damn diapers I had to change at the preschool to afford it.

But then I realized I could afford it. And I’ll probably be able to afford another one in the future if I want to.  And again I was running into the concrete wall that is trying to figure out how not to feel guilty about privileged background, especially living here.

I haven’t really come up with any answers so far, just trying not to be too overwhelmed by it. Because it does exist and the fact that I am living here, happy and comfortable while my fifteen year old neighbor worries her house will be washed away in the next big storm is a contradiction. A huge, blaring contradiction that I’m sure if I adhered to a different political philosophy than I do, I would have a much easier time understanding.

My view from the blackboard in Pantanal

In other news I’ve made some more friends, mostly my above mentioned fifteen year old neighbor, Fabiana, and her three younger siblings and grandmother—Dona Aminta, who gives me day long lessons on how to cook Nica style while simultaneously thoroughly lecturing me on the history of Nicaragua.

The first time I met Fabiana, the oldest, she instantly started asking me about the places I have traveled and then started telling me where she wants to go. Her younger sister Clara and brother Fransico, (o Gordo) chimed in as well, naming Morocco, Brazil, and England as some destinations. Their mother passed away a few years old and none of them have any relationship with their father. Their grandmother, who is raising them, has instilled in them a determination to salir adelante, or rise above.

Clara, Dona Aminta, Fransico, Fabiana, Adriana, and Charon

Rainy season at La Makina

Never have I been impressed with such a family before, especially with Fabiana. I’ve been giving them impromtu English lessons in a garage—only before six because as soon as the sun starts to go down you can’t see anything in there. Fabiana is on top of her siblings to study and asked me to give them quizzes at least once a week to make sure they understand the lessons. Like….what? These classes aren’t actual school nor a program from which she could get a certificate. I’ve never seen a desire or motivation like hers in anyone I’ve ever met.It makes you realize (even more than I have traveling before) how skewed the world is. I have lived comfortably my whole life, had unconditional support from my parents, been able to keep any money I’ve made working, took school for granted, etc. and Fabiana and her siblings, have an outdoor latrine, work hard in school and out, live on the edge of a gully so when its rainy season they're afraid the house will be washing away, and yet they're still the best students when we have our English lessons in their garage in the fading light because there’s no electricity to light the place, incredibly happy.











The sassy senoritas of Pantanal 

Sometimes I wish I had the money to buy these girls plan tickets to everywhere they want to travel and give them the opportunities I have

had. But then I have to take a step back and realize a. I’m not a millionaire (nor will I be one anytime soon) and 2. Hope that by giving them English lessons, or telling them not to be bothered by boys (teen pregnancy is incredibly high) because school will take them so much farther, then they might be able to do all the things they want to do--hopefully at least, because the poverty here doesn't fall into the "pull yourself up by your bootstraps" theme.

So to sum it up: Jobs are going well, I’m dealing with my white priviledge as best I can, made some friends, and learning how to cook Nica food (don’t worry Nonna, Italian food will always be my culinary preference). Oh, and on the board of a major Halloween blowout—old habits die hard. 

Beans, Beans, the National Staple

View from the bell tower of Iglesia La Merced 

I’ve lost track of time. If I really think about it then I know I’ve been here in Granada (um, lets see—today is the 5^th, I got here the 17^th, there’s 31 days in August, so…) 19 days. That’s the first time I’ve actually counting. So far I’ve been measuring it by how many plates of pinto gallo (rice and beans) I’ve eaten.

Students from Quinta Los Chavalos 

Anyway, I’ve gone back to my Jamaican roots and got two side jobs. I secured myself a job at one of the four Irish bars here in Granada (you can always find an Irish pub anywhere you go it seems), I’m sure because of my quick wit and bilingualism, not my bra size. The job brings through a different crowd of people than I’m working with during the day-mostly ex-pats, travelers, and volunteers. It is such stimulating work.

Kevin's mom being sassy 

My second job is a tad more motivating. I’m teaching English at program, Education Plus (http://eduplusnicaragua.org/who-we-are-2/) in Pantanal, one of the many impoverished neighborhoods outside of Granada.  I got the job through a woman I met, Monica, who started the program a few years back. She has a close relationship with the families in the neighborhood, and so far has been an incredible inspiration to me in terms of her dedication and motivation on building and running a non-profit from the ground up. This week I’m using the song Rosa, Rosa by the gorgeous Sando (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fd1bhjgccJ8) to teach them some vocabulary. It works. They like translating songs about me.

My third and main job, the reason I’m here in Nicaragua, is going great. Building New Hope’s schools are doing fantastic jobs, thanks to a group of dedicated Nicaraguan teachers and equally as dedicated students.

I want to pause here to give you all some stats (not to be too boring) on life here for these kids.

Justin giving a tour of his house 

Nicaragua has the lowest net secondary school enrollment rate in Central America (43%) and the highest primary school dropout rate in Central America (50%).

While primary and secondary school education in Nicaragua is technically free, the Nicaraguan government spends barely over 3% of its GDP on education, and the quality of public education is substandard, to say the least.

Also due to poverty, Nicaragua has the highest child labor rate in Central America (11% of all children between ages 10 – 14), and is one of 13 countries in the world where coffee is produced by child or forced labor. (Eduplusnicaragua.org)

Trip to the Zoo Nacional de Nicaragua 

The schools Building New Hope runs, like Educationplus in Pantanal, are all providing supplementary education to the students, most of who attend because they want to, NOT because their parent(s) are forcing them. I visited the homes of most of the students and have met some of their parents and it doesn’t surprise me very much either—these children who range from ages 3 to 15 have an immense desire to learn. Not to say they're angels when they get to the classroom—they’re not, they're still kids. But when you look at the home lives of these children and the responsibilities they already have taken on at the age of 4 or 5, you understand it takes courage and an innate human drive to show up for class everyday.

Gabi, Patricia, and Guadalupe rockin the Mac Ruby Woo 

There is one girl in my class in particular. Her name is Esperanza and she is twelve. I remarked to Monica after the first or second day how striking Esperanza is. Monica replied “Yeah, but she’s so sad”. Esperanza is one of six kids and comes from a home where both parents are absent. Her grandmother beats them and the men in her family are infamous for being thieves. In class Esperanza is bright. Today she only missed one question on her quiz. Out on the street she’s tough. I’ve seen her manhandle a classmate because she didn’t like the teams he picked for Red Rover. I’m afraid, and I think this is a fear shared by many doing what I’m doing, that she’ll get lost. That the trials of her home life will inhibit her from coming to places like Quinta Los Chavalos and Education Plus and opportunities will be lost. This isn’t to say the life led by many here is wrong, or bad, but there are an incredibly small amount of chances here.

I’ve heard many (and sometimes I share their opinion) bitch about NGOs and non-profits. I agree there is a fine line that must be tread when working in one of these organizations. The image of the white savior comes to mind, as well as the impact that volunteers who are constantly coming and going may have on these children. It is financially easy for many to travel to Nicaragua, and as much as they enjoy and appreciate the country and its people, they still have that luxury of returning back to their home country. This, compounded with the amount of ex-pats in Granada who have almost created a parallel, economically superior community, I believe has a profound impact on the students and in some ways propels the image of a desirable Western lifestyle in their minds.

Obviously, I’m still mulling all this over (as I have been for a few years now). I think the NGOs and non-profits of the world should continue, just self-assess frequently. I think pressure to change policy in our home countries is essential. U.S. policy towards Latin America has constantly proven innately detrimental for the region, from free market economic policies to the war against drugs to Reagan’s BFFness with Rios Montt (you know, the “Beans and bullets” guy). As Simon Bolivar put it in 1829, “the United States seem destined by Providence to plague [Latin] America with misery in the name of freedom.” Oh wait, they skip over that in all textbooks.

In a nutshell what I’m attempting to say is that NGOs and non-profits do great work but by examining our policy towards Latin America and pushing for change then perhaps there won’t be the need for 100+ NGOs in cities like Granada.

Sorry for delving so far into that.

Gabi, Prisila, and I enjoying pizza for my saint's day

Aside from sorting out my feelings on the above, I’ve been loving my time here. I’ve ventured into the market to buy pink paint (in the shade of rosita frescita at the demands of my female students) to paint my bike. I was also considering tassels and those little colored beads to put on the spokes, but I’m afraid it might look way too fancy and get stolen. I took a tour of all the small islands around Granada, made up my mind that when I do get three grand that I would buy one (all the big names here have their private islands on Lago Nicaragua), stayed out all night to watch the sun rise over the lake while riding a horse, went on three dates with a boy who forgot to mentioned he was getting married in a month, climbed the bell tower of Iglesia de la Merced to gaze upon all of Granada, gone to the zoo in Managua, and eaten more than my fair share of beans.

Fresh fried fish, right down on the lake 

More than my fair share, but they were delicious.