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.