Cultura: del bus

To know your bus and sidewalk etiquette is next to godliness in the book of kara. Allow me to school you. First thing, when you are choosing your seat and you have the option of aisle or window, aisle is the proper choice. Why? Because it speeds up the ride and its generally courteous (do you really want someone falling over you while the drive accelerates?). When the person sitting next you leaves and you are in an aisle seat, please stand up to let them pass or move your legs to the aisle (then scoot to the window seat to abide by rule number 1). If an elderly woman or a woman with a baby is lacking a seat offer yours, yes typically it is the responsibility of a male passenger but we fought for equality (and chivalry is dead). Do not stand or put your stuff in front of the exit. Most importantly, always exit from the back!
Bus etiquette does not exist here, and not one, but all of my “common senses” regarding bus courtesy are foreign. I have never had some move their legs for me pass nor seen someone move to the window to allow another to sit. Rarely are seats offered and I have concluded that do to fear of being run over most prefer to exit from the front. By far this has been one of the hardest things to adjust to. If it wasn’t already such a pique of mine I wonder if I would be this vexed. This vexation is compounded by the fact that the drivers drive as if it is a timed race, hardly even stopping to let people off while the fare collector or other passengers scream ”suave, suave”. And to this consider the fact that these buses are known as “chicken buses”. I am going to attempt to illustrate this phenomenon but you cannot and will never understand until you have experienced the chicken bus en vivo. It is when the bus is so loaded that while standing there is no need to hold on because due to sheer squish factor you will stay in place and there are people standing on the entrance and exit steps and its 99 degrees with 99% humidity so it feels like you are melting and you’ve got 6 strangers sweating on you and you are suffocating because someone’s bag is squeezing the life out of you and as you are fading into delirium you think to yourself “I cant possibly fathom another person fitting on this bus” the driver pulls over to pick up 10 more people, who will all get on without a single passenger deboarding. This is the chicken bus. I understand now more than I have ever wanted to.

importación/exportación

As I was walking down the street and saw one of the vendors set up ahead I had a craving for Jocotes, a grape sized mango-ish fruit. I approached and found that there were none so I figured that the next vendor would have them. Again there were none and each one that I passed was without the fruit I craved. I was confused that I unable to procure this fruit that in my recent memory had been so pervasive you couldn’t take step without seeing a discarded pit. Once I reached work I asked the girls where I could go to fulfill my craving and they laughed. “10 months into the future” was their response. I was immediately overcome with a feeling of “duh” which was followed by the feeling of utter American ignorance. In an effort to make myself appear less foolish I tried to explain to them that the seasonality of a fruit or vegetable doesn’t necessarily affect the availability of a product. They were shocked and found it hard to understand that I could eat an avocado or strawberry in the dead of winter or in high summer. Trying to explain how this can be to my Nicaraguan peers only deepened my feelings of foolishness and to it added the feelings of guilt and privilege.
In this country where they produce great coffee, incredible handicrafts, amazing fruits and vegetables, yet they consume Presto instant coffee, Papitas chips and covet all things American. I find it very sad to think that my home country’s overwhelming demands for products that we ourselves are incapable of producing leaves another country unhealthy and to an extent unable to fully indulge in and appreciate what their land provides them. They have resorted to establishing Zonas Francas (Free Trade Zones) throughout the Managua area, which are meant to draw foreign investors into the country to set up shop tax-free. Ideally Nicaragua benefits because it provides work, which raises the standards of living. In reality these zones are not bound by laws and are a notorious for violating workers rights and paying very minimal wages, so Nicaraguans don’t gain much from their presence only a lowered unemployment rate. Two of my family members have worked in the Zona Francas and continue to today.
In the North it’s a different type of exploitation because it is mostly farmland. Workers rights violations compounded by the exposure to toxic pesticides and contaminated drinking water and the many developmental and health issues that result. Demetrio, the security guard who lives at the foundation, grew up in Matagalpa. When he eats he finishes within a minute. My coworker tells me this is response to having worked as a campesino (farm worker) where his boss would give them one minute for all meals and what they didn’t finish was taken from them. Its hard for me remember why I wouldn’t eat a banana with a brown spot not just from hearing the experience of Demetrio but because naturally banana’s are not blemish free. When I go to the markets here I get to see what food really looks like and generally it’s not pretty but this is the market and this food can and will be eaten.

recicla

An unintended effect of developing country is their ability to recycle most things. Waste is a luxury of the rich. Here (and I imagine most developing countries) most people cannot afford drinks or products in plastic bottle form so instead most things are sold in bags. For example the majority of liquid cleaning products are not sold in ready to use spray bottles but in plastic bags. In need of a device to dispense the product most people take an old litro de coke, poke 2 holes in the cap and now it’s a spray bottle for your cleaner. When you buy a refresco (fresh juice) to-go from a vendor they serve it to you in plastic bag knotted at the top with straw and not in a plastic cup with a lid. My family ordered a pizza to be consumed at our house (a rarity reserved only for a special occasion) and we received it plastic wrapped on a metal tray that we had to return once we were finished. To a person unfamiliar with this form it may appear less appealing. Why? Most bottles for cleaning products are thrown out upon final use. Having the brand name on your drinking device or being served your food in numerous disposable containers doesn’t change its taste. I can only assume these things are considered less appealing by some because they have the stigma of being a product of the impoverished.
A bottle that once held body spray is now reclaimed to hold kerosene for the grill, used 3 liters (that’s not a typo) of Coke or Fanta are cut and painted to make light shades, ripped stockings or worn cables become clotheslines, old botellas (plastic bottles) my mother reuses to store water in case of a shortage or they are cut to become planters, glass bottles from beers or sodas are sent back to the distributor to be washed and refilled. Here little is wasted and most everything is reused. Recycling programs don’t exist because they don’t need to, it’s an inherent part of the culture. It makes me think about the worth of things and the difference in value systems between cultures. I understand that most things here are recycled due to a necessity directly determined by the wealth of the culture and not out of concern for the ever growing environmental issues caused by the abundance of waste (evidenced by the ubiquitous volume of trash). In the states people recycle not because they cannot afford to waste a product, in fact most products have a “consumer pays” recycling tax added on to the cost at time of purchase. We recycle because we feel that we are doing our part to curb some of those environmental ills. Maybe the more important thing is to change how and what we consume to produce less “things to recycle” and less waste. I don’t say this to discourage people and devalue their efforts to recycle. My concern is with the way things are packaged which is equal parts industry and consumer. As consumers I surmise that if the burden of the actual costs associated with the waste created when we throw out a bottle or box was bound to the consumers and the industry the demand would change. In turn this could cause the industry to find new cost effective and profitable methods of packaging goods that would not have the same toll on our world.

basura

Basura
“La basura!” Manuel yells from his rocker stationed next to gated door. Its usually about 7am and everyone is getting ready for work or school. Maria is the kitchen cooking as Manuel hears the approaching bells of the dump truck and yells for the second time “la basura” this time with a bit more urgency. Maria begins to talking to herself reflecting but of course saying it loudly enough that the guilty parties can hear. “Cada dia, cada dia. Nadie, nadie, nadie. Sola yo saco la basura, sola yo (everyday, everyday, nobody, nobody, nobody. takes out the trash, only me). I cant help but laugh at this, thinking that this Nicaraguan family supposedly so removed from the “developed” US having this same fight that I can remember my family having.
Trash a dilemma that has no borders. When I first arrived in my house here, I was sitting with all of the kids who live on my street enjoying popsicles on the curb. Upon finishing every single kid threw stick and wrapper into the street. I was shocked, but I was new and I wasn’t sure yet how to approach the subject without being culturally insensitive. All the time see people throw their trash out the window or on the ground. When riding the crowded buses the “agua, agua, agua” vendors sell their bags of water or juice to the thirsty passengers, who finish and immediately launch it out the window. Walking with Rafa (a scholarship student and farm manager for Fenix) to make copies I purchased some “orange juice” and once she had finished she launched here botello on the ground. I felt that at that point in time we had established a good enough relationship that I could broach the subject of litter. So I stopped walking and stared at the botello and at Rafa. Once she realized what I doing and that I was upset she burst out in laughter. She told me it was okay because it was already dirty with other trash. I requested she pick it up and hold on to it until we get to a public garbage can (a rarity here). Once back at the foundation she told the story to some of the other students, laughing about how silly I was being. This is not the first, nor will it be the last. It is behavioral and it is not exclusive to the street. Countless times Gabriella or Andreita or Dianita throw their trash to the ground in their own homes. Of course this is exclusive to the children but when the act is committed in front of the adult who inevitably will later be the one to sweep it up, nothing is said, the behavior stands unaltered. And thus the litter culture is born.
When living in NYC, I couldn’t stand the amount of trash everywhere. Walking with Alex he would always say to me when I would get upset about the trash that “trash begets trash” meaning that the more trash people see, the more they will add to it. This behavior is exemplified in my recounting my walk with Rafa and it stands true to reason. Most cities from NYC to Ciudad Sandino employ individuals to walk the streets and sweep up the litter. People justify litter and waste through the existence of litter and waste. And being around all of this waste it made me think more on another point Alex would bring up which is that waste is waste and why should it matter if its in the street or in a dump. He surmised that if more trash was in the street the waste accumulation would reach a point where people would realize its negative effects and reduce their personal waste in total. I now have to agree, it’s all waste and its location shouldn’t hold so much weight in my abhorring thoughts (and this is repeatedly reinforced since being here). This doesn’t mean that I now condone littering. I will continue to call out my co-workers and family for littering the streets because I don’t think that anyone should ever have to clean up other peoples waste. I will eternally be disgusted by the site of trash along a highway with what could be a priceless country view. But I now recognize that my problem is less with the litter and more with the waste. If we had to live in our waste wouldn’t we be more likely to repair and reuse rather than throw out and by new?

Comida pt.1

Food is a tough thing. I recently finished reading “Eating Animals” by Jonathan Safran Foer, in which he discusses the linkages between food and culture and family. It wasn’t so much reading the book that got me to thinking about diet in my new life but more living it. From day one (outside the Laguna de Apoyo) I immediately noticed a theme: this culture loves their food either fried or super sweet. Everything is over-sugared or fried and its no wonder most people have diabetes and/or weight issues. Its hard to understand how this can happen in a country with so much fresh and readily available fruits and vegetables, more than enough to meet the demands of the country. Here the major form of hydration is gaseosa’s (pop/soda). In moderation (like with most everything) a gaseosa is not all bad but when it accompanies every meal and it is universally opted for instead of water, this is no way to live. Last week I went to get a refresco (juice) from the mercadito near my work but my coworkers informed that it was not safe to drink the market drinks for fear of e-coli or hepatitis so they suggested I get boxed orange juice from the store. I went, I bought, I drank and yikes, was that thing was sweet. Now, you know me and you know I like my sugar (preferably in cookie form), and you know I am definitely don’t typically read the nutritional facts on anything (because that’s not a box I want to open, I prefer to be blissfully kinda ignorant) but when I read the nutritional facts on this tiny box and saw what I perceived as a ridiculous amount of sugar per serving I was shocked (mostly by being shocked by sugar). So the next time I was feeling thirsty for something other than water I chose Gatorade thinking that “this will be good, I like me some Gatorade every once and again” so without looking at the facts I bought it. Again, I was shocked by the amount of sugar it contained and I didn’t bother to look at the nutritional facts because I could taste it.
I recently had a discussion with Maria, my “mom”, about soda consumption and diet in general. She never serves me gaseosas with my meals and she never even keeps it around which I am pretty happy about. She was upset with Anisa (her daughter who also lives here) because she is always drinking soda as well as giving it to her children. Maria understandably doesn’t agree with this and is frustrated with what she, Maria, perceives as Anisa’s uncaring and thoughtless decisions about the health of her children. However my “mom” will often make refrescos and rather than drink the refresco as is with its delicious fruity sweetness she and the rest of the family cringe at the taste sin (without) sugar. After I pour my glass and hers she will add three to four heaping spoonfuls of sugar. While I think that Maria’s diet is very healthy by comparison to many other individuals how is this better and/or different?
In this country where indisputably the most important result of the Sandinista revolution was the implementation of universal healthcare (that means free) does the government not enforce corporations to practice more social responsibility? These are not the same products found in the US. They may appear the same and have the same brand name but they don’t contain the same ingredients. I understand the principles of marketing and I understand holding focus groups to analyze taste but seriously, its out of control. Why are there not health campaigns to promote exercise, nutrition and better diet especially when health is one of the major tenets of this (and all) political parties? I guess with a imminent threat of a dictatorship this isn’t really on too many peoples agendas. But I have to wonder about the consumption practices here and how much of it is uncaring, how much is cultural norm and how much is strictly taste?

trabajando

Ill start with a bit of background on Fundacion Fenix. Maria (the executive director) began the foundation after having developed her own “D.A.R.E.” type program here in Nicaragua. She would (and continues to) go to schools and teach teachers how to give the program to their students. While she and the director Karla continue to go do this, their primary focus is direct intervention. With the aid of the police they target gangs and working directly with the parents hold an intervention and invite the youths to come to foundation to learn a trade (currently they offer mechanics and woodworking) at no cost. On Friday we held an intervention in Zona 6 of Ciudad Sandino where we were able to talk to 20 plus youths and got them interested in the foundation. We hope that they will pass the word to their friends bringing more youths to the foundation but its hard to say how many will even show up. Another program offered through the foundation is microenterprise, they (specifically Karla) teach willing students how to farm, organically of course, and allow them their own plot of land on the property. Currently the students are growing pipian, a vegetable that outwardly resembles a white eggplant but on the inside is a similar to a squash.
The foundation is able to sustain itself financially through 40% donations and 60% they earn directly through the sales of produce, some grown directly on the foundations site. The way it works is we go to the Mercado Orientel (the largest market in Central America and easily the most dangerous place in Nicaragua) and buy bulk produce for very cheap. We then clean and package the produce at the foundation and then sell it to the grocery stores. What produce we can grow and sell we do but currently it’s the dry season so not much is growing. We are in the process of building a second better greenhouse, provided by a grant, where we plan to grow pipian. This past week we planted the seeds in rich soil flats so that they should be ready to be transferred into the greenhouse when it is finished.
Part of my work while I am here is to increase the percentage of income generated through produce sales by expanding their market. Currently they have produce stands with signage in 2 supermarkets, one in Managua and one in Leon. We hope to expand into the supermarkets of the neighboring cities of Masaya and Tipitapa. All of the supermarkets are owned by the National Police. This is a weird concept for me but apparently it exists in the US, Miami for example, but I am not familiar with practice. There are not many supermarkets here. There is Pali , which is a Walmart auxiliary and there is La Colonia which is owned by one of the 4 super-rich families, who in essence own Nicaragua. Fenix has opted not to involve themself with Pali, which I completely agree with and as for La Colonia their standards for produce are unrealistic for organically farmed products. We are happy to expand our relationship with the supermarkets of the police because it furthers this healthy system of reciprocity between our organizations and in turn it secures a loyal market.
I am absolutely loving it. I really enjoy packing the products or making the deliveries though this is only a very small part of my work and is not why they wanted a skilled intern. In the very near future I am going to be teaching 2 classes a day of basic English. Prior to my arrival I was really adamant about not wanting to teach English but after discussing it with Karla she made me realize that just being able to say “Hello” will offer these youths more opportunity and pay in the job market. I am a bit nervous but I know it will be good. Other work I will be doing with Fenix includes increased outreach with the police about the Fenix’s work with the intention that it will increase our sales and soliciting donations to expand the types of vocational training we currently offer. The next three months are going to full of a lot of work but Im confident, and most importantly happy.
Check pictures.

semana santa

a.k.a. vacation. Karen, Rachel and I made our plans to venture to the Carribean side of Nicaragua for Semana Santa because we figured we wouldn’t have the time to make the trek at any other point during our internship. Our ultimate destination was the Corn Islands and while there are multiple daily flights between there and Managua we decided to take the super cheap but significantly longer way which also allowed us to see more than just the islands. Our trip began at 9pm from the bus depot where we took a 6 hour ride to El Rama. At 3am we arrived only to have to wait until 6am for the daylight and for the panga (boat) ride down the river to Bluefields. We all fell asleep sitting up watching some dubbed Penelope Cruz roco. Around 5:30ish we ventured over to the docks to make our ride. It was unreal the amount of people waiting. We were some of the last to board, which didn’t seem to be a problem at first. After 2 hours of riding we then arrived in Bluefields only to be told that the panga headed for Pearl Lagoon, our first destination, had left 15 minutes prior. The dock manager said that he could get us on a panga to Kukra Hill and then we could take the bus from there. So we did that ride for another hour. Once we arrived in Kukra Hill we allowed other pushy passengers to take the first 3 waiting taxis. Mistake. The bus to take us to Pearl Lagoon left 15 minutes early (which is totally absurd for this country) and we soon discovered that it was the only bus that day. We sucked it up and got had on an over-priced cab ride, which we tried to barter down but he wasn’t having it (one guy literally drove off).
We reached our hospedaje around 1pm utterly exhausted (15 hours not including the bus ride from home to the bus station) but ready for some sun and food. First we had beers at the hostel were the waitress gave me chicklets for change (throughout the trip this continued to happen, it’s a Caribe thing). We ate lunch at the Queen Lobster under a palapa which had literally been constructed finished that morning (while eating two gentlemen were working on a second). We started chatting with them and they offered us a cheap panga ride to a beach up the way. There we met a very interesting man who spoke English, Spanish, Miskito, Garifuna and Sumo and fought in the revolution for Somoza’s army when he was only 14. Even though Spanish is supposed to be the primary language, everyone on the Caribe speaks creole or Jamican sounding English. Its near impossible to understand at times. Everyone listens/plays to reggae and by the end of the trip we were singing to all of the hits.
In the morning we set out for Orinoco, home to the highest concentration of Garifuna’s in Nicaragua. It is a rich culture and we were excited to go there. However we waited eating Coco Bread and drinking presto coffee then watched as the panga from Bluefields enroute to Orinoco did not stop to pick us up. A guy approached to offer us a ride with him since he was also expecting the panga to stop. So we spent the next two hours on the Puerto de Laguna de Pearla drinking rum and California, a juice drink of pineapple and coconut. Finally arriving around 1pm we spent the day walking around the small town which had no cars but allows their cattle and horses to roam freely. We met some locals who showed us around a bit and played some music for us. The took us to a house of a woman who makes the traditional Garifuna bread made of cassava then later took us to another person who makes moonshine and sold it to us in a used pepsi bottle. We sat outside our hotel with the boys laughing and drinking and listening to the music from the bar until the electricity shut off at midnight (they don’t have power from midnight to noon every day).
The next morning we woke around 6am for our panga at 7am to take us back to Bluefields to catch the ferry to Corn Islands. We arrived around 8:15 to find out that the ferry doesn’t run on Tuesdays and that we must spend the day and night in Bluefields. We too quickly found a hostel called the Lobster Hut (recommended by Lonely Planet but not by us) and set our stuff down. It wasn’t until after we paid that we realized how gross the place was. No running water, backed up toilets, a sink that drained onto your feet and a very creepy owner. It felt like we were in hotel of “the shining” at times. We made sure to spend the day out in Bluefields so we hung at the park, ate some very fresh Pico bread, bought liquor and snacks for the island, played on the internet and finally went to the casino to use what we found to be the only place in the city to have tolerable bathrooms and running water. Since we were in there we figured we might as well play some slots. Finally its time for bed and my room smells like an ashtray and we are next door to a club that plays music until 3am.
8am Wednesday morning. Out of creep hotel, packed, tickets in hand, ready for a leisurely four hour ferry ride to paradise. The boat was packed and somehow we managed to get seats in the air-conditioned room. The first 2 hours we watched “wrong turn” dubbed in Spanish then stopped just inside of the lagoon to get gas or papers signed, we are sure what. Then we hit the high seas. Karen and Rachel left to sit outside because the AC kept going in out. They were drenched within minutes but it was still kind of fun. Then an hour later the sickness started kicking in. I put my head down and took a nap only to awake an hour later thinking we were almost there. Then I talked to the woman next to me who explained that its 4 hours on the high sea making the whole trip 6 hours. Within the next hour I notice a worker (who I named the bolsa-hombre) whose job it was to pass out little black plastic bags for people to yak in and take the full ones to the trash. The boat was being tossed around and when I looked outside I kept expecting to watch someone go overboard. It was hell. Getting to hear Karen and Rachel’s account of outside was marginally worse because people were just yaking on the floor and they had their feet in vomit just about the whole time. Four pm we arrive in Big Corn and must wait for another panga to take us to Little Corn where our hotel is. We immediately started making plans for our return trip to be on a plane because there was no way any one of us was getting back on the vomit boat. I still find it hard to believe.
Little Corn was amazing. The water was beautiful, the sun was bright and we had a great time. It made it worth the torment we went through to get there. It a small island and you can walk the perimeter in about 2 hours. We stayed on the east side but the town and dock is on the west. Our eco-hotel is owned by two former Fort Collins, CO residents who fell in love with the place. We drank Caesar’s, which is a Canadian Bloody Mary that made Karen (a Canadian) very happy and spent lots of time in the sun. On a walk to the north of the island we were able to see a baseball field funded by a “cocaine philanthropist”, this is an individual who finds a bag of cocaine washed ashore, sells it and uses the money for community improvements. We later found out that the paved sidewalks and the dock were also funded by cocaine philanthropists. We stayed until Sunday morning when we took our final panga ride back to Big Corn to catch a 70 minute flight back to Managua.