Taking the Cultural Plunge

I started my blog to explain my passion for cultural immersion and to increase cultural sensitivity. As a teacher, I taught my students how to look beyond cultural borders enabling them to create authentic and effective relationships across cultural divides. In our rapidly transforming world, the skills needed to be compassionate citizens and knowledgeable leaders extend beyond imaginary borders. I want to affect a change, develop a sense of cultural competency, and open windows to the world. Simply, I want to share our experiences in looking at the world with eyes without borders.

I teach by modeling. We took the cultural plunge, but it hasn’t been without its pitfalls. Language, socioeconomic status, gender roles, and cultural norms sometimes temporarily halt us in our quest for understanding, but we keep plunging deeper to find solutions to problems we encounter with cultural differences.

The tools I use to affect and change cultural attitudes are compromise, modeling, focusing on our similarities, and most of all…finding humor in daily challenges. Sometimes, I feel like I’m trying to balance on a slack line (Cory’s latest fun activity). I wobble a lot trying to keep  my balance, and sometimes I fall off. But, I get right back up and try it again…and again…and again. All I need are a few reassuring and helping hands. That’s life, right?

I’ve learned not to compromise my values, though.  For example, when a producer for a popular TV show contacted me through my blog, I said that maybe we weren’t the right people for the show because, although I love the show, they place an emphasis on granite counter tops, crown moulding, coffee on the veranda overlooking the beach, and gated communities. We only agreed to the production if the film crew would spotlight the talented local people and we could be shown culturally immersed in our community. We wanted to give hope to the many retirees searching for an affordable place to retire abroad, while living on a small fixed income.  I think it’s going to be a ground breaker and I’m thrilled that we could be a part of the new wave of cultural immersion.

I’d like to offer my readers a challenge. Are you willing to take the cultural plunge? I’d like to start a monthly cultural plunge challenge.  My goals are to:

1. Challenge one to have direct contact with people who are culturally different from oneself in a real life setting.
2. Gain insights into characteristics and circumstances of a culturally different group
3. To experience what it is like to be very different from most of the people one is around
4. To gain insight into one’s values, cultural biases, and how they affect attitudes
5. To offer ways to affect change for cultural competency

It’s going to be a lot of fun, and I’m sure if you are up for a challenge..it will be an eye opener to the possibilities of living in a world without borders. Stay tuned for more details on taking the cultural plunge.

Related articles

• Cracking the Code (stephaniewaldchen.wordpress.com)
• Cultural Competency (communication4health.wordpress.com)
• Literature Review: Cultural competence in communicating with families from culturally diverse backgrounds. (khe0009.wordpress.com)

 

Weekly Photo Challenge: When a Kiss is More Than Just a Kiss

A kiss is almost always more than just a kiss. It is a language with its own grammar…a recipe of love with unique ingredients. People actually have careers studying kissing; they are called philematologists. Kisses are classified into three categories: the “basium,” for the standard romantic kiss; the “osculum,” for the friendship kiss; and the “savium,” the most passionate kind, sometimes referred to as a French kiss.

But, in Nicaragua I’ve encountered another kind of kiss, which I’ll call “desolo” or the Latin word for abandoned. Eight years ago, I lent my camera to my 10-year-old neighbor, Luvy. Her mother was visiting from Costa Rica where she was working as a maid to support her family on Ometepe Island. When Luvy’s mother returned for a short visit, I told Luvy to record her most precious moments on my camera and I would print the pictures for her.

For most of Luvy’s young life, her mother lived in Costa Rica. Luvy’s elderly father cared for her and her household of siblings and extended family members.  At the age of seven, Luvy bent over the cooking fire preparing meals for her family, as well as tending to the daily needs of her younger nieces and nephews who lived with them.

When Luvy was a teenager, her mother returned to live with them. Sadly, Luvy still lives with a feeling of abandonment, as do most of the younger Nicaraguan children whose parents leave them to find work in Costa Rica. Luvy turns 19 next week. She is following in her mother’s footsteps by moving to Costa Rica to find work. I desperately wish we could stop this perpetual cycle of abandonment.

The photo above has a happier ending. This is Bobby’s dog, Luna. Bobby died a little over a year ago abandoning Luna. She was placed in a loving foster home for a short time, until the woman could no longer care for her. Finding loving homes for pets in Nicaragua is not easy. First, most Nicaraguans don’t understand the concept of pets. Second, Bobby pampered Luna, again something unheard of in Nicaragua.

My friend, Carol, came to the rescue. She lovingly opened her home to Luna. Last week, when we were visiting Granada, we stopped in to say hello to Luna. Very grateful and sloppy Luna kisses smothered Carol with love.

Next time you happen upon kissing, remember that a kiss may look deceptively simple, but a kiss is almost never just a kiss.

 

 

Blood Sport

On weekdays, Marvin and his sons work hard building houses and designing iron furniture, gates, and windows. But, when the weekend arrives, they spend their time the way most macho Nicaraguan men do: training roosters to fight to their deaths with small razor blades attached to their legs.

Like NASCAR is to rednecks, cockfighting is a cultural event of grand proportions in Nicaragua. All sectors of society are brought together to pop beers, place bets, and cheer on their favorite cocks in the ring. Living among galleros (those who train and fight the roosters), it seemed only fitting that I should learn more about this gruesome blood sport. Yet, I couldn’t bring myself to attend a real cock-fight. I’m a chicken when it comes to blood and a frenzied fight to death.

So, when we were invited to Lauren’s 10th birthday party (Marvin’s daughter) and I spied cages of courageous cocks, my curiosity overcame my fear…only to explore this violent sport that brings out the machismo in most Nicaraguan men.

Marvin’s son proudly introduced me to the champion cock. He was three years old and had won the last three fights in a dirt ring at Johnny’s bar on the beach. I wondered how they choose a champion and Alejandro explained that it is very similar to training a boxer. When the chicks hatch, they are carefully monitored for the strongest and most aggressive roosters. Apparently, roosters are born with a congenital aggression toward all males of the same species and they quickly become natural enemies.

The cocks are given the best care until near the age of two years old. A good training program involves running the roosters to build stamina, and throwing the bird in the air over and over to build wing strength. Their lower bodies are plucked of all their feathers, and their skin is massaged daily with the juice of sour oranges and lemons. This treatment hardens the skin, making the cocks less vulnerable to punctures and pecks from the opponent. I do know that the sour orange juice makes a delicious marinate for grilled chicken, so it seems to me that when the dead cock goes into the cooking pot after losing the last battle, it is kind of like a well seasoned Butterball turkey.

They demonstrated a practice fight for me. First, Marvin’s son shook the brown rooster in front of the champion, taunting him to fight, like a shake and bait tease.

The champion stared down the shaken brown rooster, waiting patiently for his opponent to be released. In less than a minute, the practice fight was over. Basically, there was a lot of squawking and strutting by the cocks, and a lot of cheering and clapping by the birthday party goers. This was my kind of cock fight…no injuries…no blood…and wholesome entertainment for everyone involved.

Marvin’s other son, Jose, lovingly held the champion once again after the practice fight.

In order for the rowdy roosters to train for the added weight of sharp hooks or razor blades, and to feel comfortable in the ring with little daggers strapped around their legs, they wrap a nut in a soft piece of leather and strap it around one leg of the cock.

In a real cock-fight, the birds are equipped with either metal spurs, called gaffs, or razor blades tied to the leg where the bird’s natural spur used to be. They often remove the natural spur of the rooster, and sometimes the comb and wattles are cut off to protect the gamecocks from their opponent’s sharp claws.

The champion pounces on the loser. Five minutes later, the little brown rooster hobbled out of the practice ring. They explained that in a real fight at the local arena at Johnny’s Bar, the roosters are weighed first. Then, the razors or hooks are strapped to their legs, the bets are cast, the beers popped, and the fight begins. The frenzy flapping in the rings lasts for 15 minutes, or until one bird dies in the ring. The winner recuperates for several weeks before the next fight, and the loser is thrown in a pot for a soup befit a Monday morning hangover.

This is the closest I will ever come to watching a gory, bloody cock-fight. I don’t think I will ever understand this cultural blood sport, but then again, I could never understand NASCAR either. Below is a video of a real cock-fight in Nicaragua…if you dare.

A video of fighting cocks.

Back-to-the-Landers

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“When going back makes sense, you are going ahead.” ~ Wendell Berry, The Gift of Good Land

Adioska brought her new baby boy home yesterday. She delivered her baby by C-section in Rivas.  They now have four boys…all under the age of six! “Ron, we have to help this family,” I pleaded. “They are living in a shack with no running water, a dirt floor, one bedroom, and an outhouse.” “Debbie, have you forgotten what our lives were like when we brought Cory home from the hospital?” Ron asked. “Oh, that’s right!” I laughed.

In the early 80′s, we were part of the back-to-the-land movement. It was a lifestyle choice for us. We lived in a 1952 school bus in Wade Hollow, on 40 acres in the middle of the Ozark Mountains. Ron built a sleeping loft over the bus engine, a friend of ours made a white oak basket for Cory’s bed, and we nestled cozily together above the homemade barrel stove for warmth during the long, cold winter.

When we needed water, I strapped Cory to my back, grabbed two five gallon buckets, and walked a quarter of a mile to our spring. Our outhouse was behind the bus. During a major snowstorm, the electricity went out for three days. Unaware of the outage, we went about our normal days generating our electricity with a little portable generator.  Life was simple and fulfilling. Cory thrived in this environment until he was school-aged. Then, because we felt Cory needed more stimulation…and civilization…and because I craved pizza delivery…we moved and became back-from-the-landers.

Our lives in the Ozark Mountains prepared us for our move to Ometepe Island. There are striking similarities. In the Ozarks, we lived comfortably with much less. We raised a huge garden in the summer, built a timber-framed house nestled in the hillside with huge window panes facing south to catch the solar rays. We bought a composting toilet, but it never worked well, so we built another outhouse close to our timber-framed house. Our well water contained a lot of iron, so we still had to take our clothes to the laundromat in town 12 miles away on a long, dirt road.

Adioska’s new baby boy will be raised in an environment very similar to Cory’s Wade Hollow life. He will be loved, play outdoors free from electronic distractions, eat the food that grows on the island, and lead a simple, fulfilling life. Yet, I still had to help this family because Adioska looked pretty worn-out the day she returned from the hospital.

I made a big pot of chicken noodle soup and a pineapple upside down cake for the HUGE extended family who gathered around the newborn. Ron decided to entertain the kids all day so that Adioska and her husband, Jose, could rest in peace. Lourdes helped me make the cake, while the younger boys helped Ron shell soy beans and cashews. Then, we all chased chickens and butterflies until it was time to go swimming. Whew! I have definitely forgotten what it is like to entertain young kids all day.

Wendell Berry is right! ” When going back makes sense, you are going ahead.” I heard a revival of the back-to-the-land movement is taking place. It makes perfect sense to me. There’s no better place to revive the movement than on a tropical island, in the middle of a huge lake, in the middle of Nicaragua, in the middle of Central America. Life is good!

The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

Happy anniversary to me. My blog is one year old today. In honor of my first anniversary, I have created a list of the good, the bad, and the ugly things that have taken place in Nicaragua since July 2011.

THE GOOD

• My philosophy of compassionate cultural immersion is spreading world-wide
• Health care programs are improving on Ometepe Island for the expats.
• My mobile lending library for the elementary schools is expanding monthly
• Newspapers, TV, and schools are educating people on litter removal and the effects of pollution on their environment in Nicaragua
• Ometepe Island became a digital island in February 2012 with over 5,000 One Laptop per Child computers donated to all of the elementary schools
• Sustainable tourism programs are increasing for local communities, offering new jobs and enabling self-sufficiency
• Our major construction is completed and I have a comfortable nest
• New Bread Fruit, Jack Fruit, Avocado, Grapefruit, Neem, and other fruit trees are growing rapidly on our property along with Ron’s thriving garden
• We completed the process of residency and are now legal Pensionado Visa residents of Nicaragua
• An Ometepe Expat Google group now connects all of the expats on Ometepe Island.
• The local grocery stores on Ometepe Island are catering to the tastes of expats. Now, we can even place an order online for Hugo’s grocery store and they go to Pricemart in Managua at least once a month. My frig is stocked with chocolate chips!
• The new airport is almost ready for business. There are pros and cons, but I like the convenience of the airport..I can walk to it from my house.
• My Spanish has improved tremendously. I can make a dentist appointment over the phone, order pizza delivery, and call our taxi driver. Talking on the phone in Spanish has been difficult for me, so this is a major improvement in my life.
• The following link is a PDF and the latest progress report of Nicaragua.
  Progress Report of Nicaragua

THE BAD

• The USA denied Nicaragua the transparency waiver. Its denial will cost the Nicaraguan people $3 million in aid for the next fiscal year.  Read more about it at this link:   Witness for Peace
• Pierre Doris Maltese, the dangerous cult leader of Ecoovie, is still in Nicaragua. However, powerful people are now aware and much progress has been made to gather evidence and deport him from Nicaragua.
• The electric and water is still erratic. Much needs to be done to improve the basic  utility infrastructure on Ometepe Island before they open the airport.
• Health care for the local people on the island needs a major overhaul. My opinion is that instead of a new airport, they should have built a new hospital.
• The Capuchin monkeys, not native to Ometepe Island, are being held hostage with little food on Monkey Island near Hacienda Mérida. They have attacked  and severely mauled at least seven tourists. More on this later, once I do more research.

THE UGLY

• My friend Bobby took his life in Granada, Nicaragua in December. I am still dealing with the grief of his unknown despair.
• Jerry died of a sudden heart attack in April. If only we would have had access to a defibrillator, it may have prolonged his life.
• Ian and Jose ( young men) both committed suicide three days apart last year.

The total number of good things happening within a year outweighs the combined total of the bad and ugly… at least in this forever optimistic blogger’s voice. Thank you wonderful blog readers. You are the reason I write. I travel throughout Nicaragua; it leaves me speechless, then turns me into a storyteller.   Here’s to many more Nicaraguan stories next year. Life is good, retirement is better, telling stories of my life on an island in the middle of a huge lake, in the middle of Nicaragua, in the middle of Central America is….well, priceless.

The Case of the Dangling Tennis Shoes

Nick Wiebe/Wikipedia

Traveling through Urbite, on Ometepe Island, I noticed a string of tennis shoes dangling from the electric lines. Were they a sign from a gang of thugs marking their territory like dogs defending their boundaries? Were they a warning for low-flying aircraft or UFO’s? Were they slung by bullies taunting defenseless kids? Francisco, who lives in Urbite, believes they were thrown over the electric lines by naughty little kids seeking attention.

All over the world, people encounter tennis shoes dangling from electric lines. Theories abound about what the dangling tennis shoes signify. No one knows for sure. But, I have a new theory. It hit me like a zap of electricity when our wires were crossed by a large wind gust.

Last week, our electricity suddenly blinked off. Now, this isn’t anything to get excited about in Nicaragua because it happens daily. However, when Marina shouted across the barbed wire fence that our electric lines were tangled together and we were the only two houses that lost our electricity, we had to find a creative solution to untangle the wires temporarily.

With each gust of wind, sparks flew throughout our entire community. Neighbors were frantically pulling the plugs to refrigerators, irons, and electronics. Danellia called the electric company, but they were in Masaya ( on the mainland), so there was no telling how long we would be without electricity.

Suddenly, it dawned on me that an easy way to untangle the two electric lines was to place a weight on the bottom line so they could separate easily. A vision appeared of the dangling tennis shoes in Urbite. Quickly, I grabbed my tennis shoes, tied them together and handed them to Ron. “Here!” I ordered. “Throw my tennis shoes over the bottom wire and the weight will separate the lines until the electric company gets here.”

“You want me to do what?” Ron responded with a puzzled look. “You will sacrifice a $90 pair of tennis shoes?” “Anything for electricity,” I replied frantic with worry. “It could be days before the electric company comes to repair the lines.” “This is Nicaragua,” I stated matter-of-factually. “We have to take control of our own lives.”

Although, the thought of dangling tennis shoes separating the electric lines was good, we couldn’t figure out how to throw the shoes over the wire without causing more problems. Ron’s aim had to be perfect, and there was no guarantee that the shoes would land in the correct spot on the line.

Instead, Ron rigged a long plastic PVC pipe with the plastic hook off of our new garden hose, and carried it up the path to the tangled wires. After several wobbly attempts, he hooked the bottom wire, separating it from the top wire, pulled the wire tight, and tied the PVC pipe to a coconut tree. Voila! Electricity!

The electric company arrived at 4 pm. This simple act astounded me! Same day service? Unheard of in Nicaragua! Unfortunately, the man who carried the ladder to the pole was attacked by Marina’s dog. He threw a large coconut at Tyler. It hit him in the shoulder and he yipped in pain. Marina got into a shouting match with the worker and said she was going to call the police. “There are laws, you know, about hurting dogs,” she shouted to the angry worker. I’ve never seen her so mad!

Well, this would never do! I had to come up with a plan to sweet talk the electric workers…and quick. I wanted to keep them on our side. You see, two weeks earlier  Arsenio arrived on his bicycle to shut off our electricity. We hadn’t paid our bill since the new meter was installed in February. “But, Arsenio, we never received a bill,” I reasoned. “Yes,” he responded with his Latin logic, “that’s because the fat guy on the bicycle quit and stopped delivering the bills.” “But, it’s not our fault,” I pleaded.

After a little sweet talk, he said that if Ron would pay the bill immediately, and return with the receipt, he wouldn’t cut off our electricity. While Ron rushed into town, I gave Arsenio an English lesson on our porch. Twenty minutes later, Ron handed Arsenio the receipt, and all was well in the world of Latin logic.

Out of the three workers who were there to untangle the wires, Arsenio was the most upset with Marina. What could I do? We didn’t have any cash on hand…we used all of it to pay our electric bill two weeks earlier. I ran back to the house and grabbed several packets of Chiky cookies..my favorite. “I’m sorry about the neighbor’s dog attacking you,” I said. “I really appreciate you responding to our electric problem rapidly.” I handed each of them a packet of cookies and said that I was sorry I didn’t have more to offer for their help.

Henry, one of the workers, turned to me with a big smile and said, “The cookies are small, but your heart is big.” Problem solved. Electricity restored. Everyone, except Marina, appeared to be happy.

So, the next time you see tennis shoes dangling from electric wires, they may have been placed there to restore electricity from crossed wires…well at least in Nicaragua. Case solved.

 

Tourism: Embrace the People, Not Just the Place

Our son, Cory, and his friend, Sam, developed and implemented tourism programs for the community of Los Ramos that mesh with responsible tourism practices on Ometepe Island. According to Sam:

Time here on the island is starting to wind down, and with that comes some amazing closure. Below is the brochure we have put together for the community of Los Ramos. Cory and I have worked side by side with the community helping them develop cultural based tourism programs. We have worked very hard to empower the community, and reveal to them how many amazing programs they are able to offer. The focus throughout has been to embrace who they are and what they stand for. Often times you will see tourism develop in a way that changes the heart and soul of communities just like this. Instead we were striving to keep the heart and soul, and have that be the focus of EVERY program. The development of tourism is inevitable, so why not do it in a way that can embrace the people and not just the place.

                                      Front page of brochure

                              Immerse, Explore, Experience

I am so proud of these young men. They have worked unselfishly to empower an indigenous community on Ometepe Island. From making nacatamales with the local cooks, to trail blazing, to wild dug-out canoe boat rides, to riding a bull for seven hours…they have done it all.This is responsible tourism at its finest! They came with a mission statement for their business, OutMore Adventures, and not once have they strayed from their path. Their philosophy of responsible tourism connects tourists with the local culture and traditions of an indigenous community, as well as providing income for Los Ramos. Hopefully, this hard-working community will never have to leave their beloved island to find work in Costa Rica or wash dishes and clean toilets for a foreign-owned resort.

Empower the people, not just the place! Their dreams are now a reality!

My Top Tips for Living Abroad

“Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness.” – Mark Twain

DO IT FOR THE RIGHT REASONS
I’ve met many foreigners living in Nicaragua with ‘escapism mentalities’. I’ve found that it is impossible to escape from one’s troubles by moving abroad. They are bound to catch up with you, no matter where you are living. Carefully consider your motivations when relocating for the long haul. Pedophiles, cults, and those on the run from the law are NOT welcomed in Nicaragua or anywhere in the world.

GET REAL
Sure, we all want to move to a tropical island, but before you jump, do the research. If you’ve never traveled abroad, how do you know where you want to live? Ron and I traveled the world for 15 summers searching for our ideal retirement spot. We narrowed our search to two countries: Brazil and Portugal, and Central America. We joined chat groups, visited expats, talked to locals, and explored the culture of each area. Make a list of your  needs, ask specific questions, and be ready to scratch the countries from your list if they don’t meet your needs.

PLANNING IS IMPORTANT, BUT DOING IS BETTER
Once you’ve chosen a place abroad…jump temporarily. The first time we moved to Ometepe Island, Nicaragua, we quit our secure jobs, sold our cars, gave away all our winter clothes, and left our house and our aging pets with our son. In an adrenalin rush, we jumped into a new life for a year. I call it our grand experiment with ‘pretirement’. We knew two Spanish words, ‘si’ and ‘no’. Yet, if we would have spent the time planning for our retirement and learning Spanish, I doubt that we would have ever had the nerve to jump. Living abroad could have been a distant dream, instead of a mysterious reality. Throughout our year of ‘pretirement’, we learned everything we needed to know to return to the states and set goals for our real retirement on Ometepe Island. A few words of caution: Don’t burn any bridges. Life is unpredictable. It can change in a minute. Leave your options open.

BE COMFORTABLE
In our experiment with ‘pretirement’, we lived like Nicas. We rented a little beach shack that contained four plastic chairs and one plastic table, two beds, and a two-burner cook-top. The only difference between us and our neighbors was that we had a refrigerator and a flush toilet. Spartan living was fine for a year, but when we returned and bought our little beach shack, I wanted a comfortable, yet simple nest. We remodeled our shack to blend in with our surrounding environment…nothing fancy because crimes of opportunity are abundant between the ‘haves’ and the ‘have nots’. We have a huge year-round garden that supplies us with all of our vegetables, 14 varieties of mature fruit trees, and all the comforts of home. Comfort and practicality are my mantras.

TWEAK THE ATTITUDE: LOSE THE TUDE
You ain’t in Kansas anymore! Your way isn’t the only way! You are a guest in a foreign country. Be respectful. Lose the negativity. Learn the language. Integrate and immerse yourself in your new surroundings. Volunteer in your area of ability without being overbearing and arrogant. Get to know your local neighbors. Life is so much more enjoyable once you lose the tude.

APPRECIATE THE DIFFERENCES WHILE CHERISHING THE SIMILARITIES
Life is not ‘us’ against ‘them’. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve heard expats say, ” You can’t trust any of ‘em. Keep everything locked up, buy a gun, and never let a local come into your house.”  I’m not naïve. I understand that bad things happen everywhere in the world. Yet, I refuse to live in paranoia and fear and lock myself away from the culture in some gated gringo community. As I’m writing this, our 2-year-old neighbor is napping on my couch, while his uncle is sitting at our kitchen table practicing his English with Ron. I want to live humanely and compassionately in Nicaragua. I would trust my life with our closest neighbors and I know they feel the same way. Sometimes I just don’t understand why so much energy is expended fighting our cultural differences, instead of cherishing our human similarities.

PRACTICE PATIENCE AND LEARN TO LAUGH AT YOUR MISTAKES
Be forgiving and loving with yourself. In learning to speak Spanish, I have made many embarrassing mistakes. For example, once I bought bread stuffed with pineapple for our construction workers. Instead of asking them if they wanted bread with pineapple, I asked them if they wanted bread stuffed with penis. I’ve wished people a happy new anus, instead of a happy new year. We all had a good laugh, and they helped me correct my Spanish. Practice patience. Life moves at a different pace. If someone says they are going to come to your house at 2 o’clock, they may arrive at 4 o’clock, or maybe not until the next day. It’s best to learn to live in the moment and avoid expectations of the future. Easier said, than done.

Ron and I are on our way back to the states for two weeks. We are in the process of applying for our residency in Nicaragua. I’ll try to post about our experiences throughout the application process. It’s bound to be another adventure! Stay tuned and please be patient with me.

Cultural Ignorance: A Rant

Warning: This post contains a culturally ignorant comment. The comment has abusive language, so be forewarned.

“It is better to keep your mouth shut and appear stupid than to open it and remove all doubt.” ~ Mark Twain

One of my first posts on my blog was, “You Know You’re a Gringa When…” It contained a list of comical things I encountered when I was living on Ometepe Island six years ago. My blog was less than a week old. The digital ink was probably still wet and I was lucky to have two hits a day.

So, when I opened the administrator’s page and noticed a comment from a reader, I was thrilled. It was my first comment waiting patiently for me to approve.

Comment: author: Bingo
Blow me … you know your an asshole when you write a list like this … sorry gringos dont live in squalor and enjoy the finer things in life like warm water, trash removal, and proper sewage systems … FUCK YOU

I stared at the comment, unable to understand what caused Bingo to write such a hateful response to a total stranger. After my initial shock, I composed an email to Bingo questioning his anger and sincerely wanting to know what set him off about my post. But, Bingo’s email address: blowmeasshole@fuckingidiot.com was a fake.

The IP address of the computer, from which Bingo’s comment was sent, was below the fake email. Clicking on the IP address took me to Roadrunner’s Corporate Headquarters. I discovered that Bingo worked as a clerk in a Roadrunner store in W. Virginia.The IP identified the exact Roadrunner store. By this time, my compassion for culturally ignorant people had disappeared, so I sent a copy of Bingo’s comment to the Roadrunner Headquarters along with a note that said, ” You may want to have a little chat with Bingo. Maybe cultural diversity and tolerance seminars should be included in training sessions for your employees, along with the appropriate use of work computers. Thank you for your consideration.”

I encounter cultural ignorance again and again, but not from everyone. When meeting new people or replying to articles, usually from Yahoo, I now very quickly divide them into one of two groups. One is the type of person that makes these kind of wild comments: “I am an American, love it or leave it.”  (I am tempted to respond, “I live in America, too. Nicaragua is in Central America.”) or “Isn’t there a war going on there?”  (For which I reply, ” Buddy, you are about 20 years behind the times.”) or “You should be ashamed of yourself! Your pension should be denied because you are not living in the United States.” ( I wonder, “Why should I be ashamed? I paid my dues in the USA  by teaching your culturally ignorant children for 25 years. I tried my best to instill cultural compassion in your children, but the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”)

These are not the “mouth shut” kind of people. Their ignorance of foreign cultures and insensitive statements spreads hatred throughout the world like a Swine flu epidemic.( which, by the way, we are experiencing in Nicaragua.) I’m not saying cultural ignorance is a bad thing. Even with the internet, where we can reach out to the world and describe our daily lives in a foreign culture, there is way too much diversity for any one person to grasp even the basic knowledge of every culture in the world. That’s why I write my blog. That’s why you respond with questions about our lives in Nicaragua.

I believe that it is impossible to fully understand a foreign culture without being immersed in it for a couple of years. I’ve been in Nicaragua for eight years and I still don’t fully understand the culture. So, I guess we are all doomed to be culturally ignorant. At best, we must make an attempt to explore cultural diversity with eyes without borders. We must cultivate an attitude of tolerance and accept the fact that we don’t know everything…our knowledge is limited.That attitude comprises the people in the other group…all of my compassionate, curious, and tolerant followers of my blog. Thank you for being a part of my life.

I can accept cultural ignorance. What I can’t accept is intolerance, stereotypes, bigotry, extreme nationalism, and hatred. Back to Bingo’s comment… why the hatred? Is it deep-seated jealousy? Is it fear? Is it an attitude of extreme nationalism that has crippled the great United States of America? Quien sabe?

It depresses me to think that the people of the world will never fully understand one another. It may not matter to most people, but it matters to me. That’s why I write…that’s how I live…everyday trying to understand a bit more. My friend, Bill ( We moved to Nicaragua because he needed someone to manage his youth hostel on Ometepe Island.) used to tell me, “We’re all here because we’re not all there. You will know you have arrived when you don’t perceive litter as a bad thing.” I guess I’m getting closer to ‘being there’ because I can overlook most of the litter. When it gets intolerable, then I take my plastic bag to the beach and pick it up. I don’t know if I will ever fully ‘arrive’. That’s a universal question, one that I don’t have time to think about now. There’s still too much litter in the world.

 

 

 

I’m not Poor…I Have a Washing Machine

My new lavadora

The other night, Jon Stewart did a segment on the conservatives’ contradictory views about the rich and poor when it comes to deciding how to lower the deficit. Fox News reported their break down of what constitutes “Poor.” According to their break down, “If you have a refrigerator, you probably don’t need any financial assistance.” The Poor’s Free Ride is Over.

I wouldn’t have found that statement so absurd if they were discussing Nicaragua because it’s true…only the rich have refrigerators. Living in La Paloma, surrounded by poverty, I constantly think about what constitutes “Poor.”  Ron and I are by no means rich, yet, to our neighbors who live in a little one room shack with a dirt floor, we are wealthy beyond their wildest imagination.

It’s all relative, but try to explain that to our neighbors when we came home three days ago with a new motorcycle and a washing machine. I tried to explain to Marina that Ron sold his Harley Davidson in the states and that’s how we could afford to buy a new motorcycle and a washing machine. Of course, the first question all Nicaraguan’s ask is, “How much did you pay for that?”  Our automatic response is always, “It was on sale, so we got a good deal.”

Marina’s family has joined the ranks of the rich, now. We did get a good deal because not only did we buy a washing machine and a motorcycle, we bought a small refrigerator for Marina’s family at the same store. We are learning the art of bargaining! They practically threw it in for free when they saw us with cash-on-hand for the total purchase. Credit and small monthly payments are king in Nicaragua. Credit cards are an unheard of luxury! La Curaçao clerks said we are their best customers. It’s no wonder because it is practically the only place on the island where we can use our credit card.

Marina loves to cook and we thought that if she had a way to refrigerate food, she could cater to the workers building the new airport down our road. Now that I have a washing machine, Marina needs a new job. The refrigerator is a small one, so it won’t use much electricity.That is when we have electricity! Lately, Disnorte-Dissur, the distributors of our electricity have been in a rationing mode. Like clock-work, we lose power from 6 pm to 8 pm every night.

Our refrigerator is full of food that Marina brings over to our house almost hourly! She trimmed Ron’s mustache and cut his nose hairs yesterday. I am grateful for my new washing machine, and Marina is grateful for her new refrigerator. Things are looking up in our little community of La Paloma.

Ahh...the first load of clothes from our new washing machine.

Hanging my first load of freshly washed clothes on our clothesline, it dawned on me how to fix the debt crisis dilemma. What if all the rich people would buy the poor people new refrigerators? It may be a simple solution to improving the lives of the desperately poor. After all, according to Fox News, “If you have a refrigerator, you probably don’t need financial assistance.”

A Fish Pillow Story

A sport fisherman is born

Big Fish was a permanent fixture in my fifth grade classroom. My overstuffed Large Mouth Bass pillow comforted the insecure, wrestled with the rambunctious, and teased the shy into an uninhibited smile. When I squeezed Big Fish into my suitcase, Ron commented, “That’s the craziest thing to take to Nicaragua. What are we going to do with a big fish pillow?” I whispered, and let out a sigh (kind of exasperated with the twenty questions for every item I packed), “You’ll see.”  There was no way that I was going to tell him that I thought Big Fish was magical. He already thought I lost it when I bought an overstuffed Sunfish pillow to go with Big Fish to Nicaragua.

A few months later, my fish pillows had worked their magic throughout our tiny community. Big Fish wrestled with Isaac, our rambunctious three-year old neighbor. The pillows were a comforting poof of fabric for little bottoms settled into coloring and reading on our hard tiled floors. And after the kids tired of coloring, reading, and wrestling, the fish pillows transformed into…well, pillows…for sleepy heads, after exploring all the novelties in a gringo house.

Big Fish was well-known in my classroom to comfort the insecure and tease the shy into an uninhibited smile. When the Nica teenagers and young adults would come over to our house, they would usually gravitate to Big Fish, place him on their laps, and get into a cuddling frenzy with my pillow. When I offered to start a Facebook page for Luvis and Fabiola, I told them, ” I need to take a picture for your profile on Facebook.”

Luvis and Big Fish

It’s important to know that I helped Luvis and Fabiola join Facebook on two separate days. Neither girl knew one another, nor saw each others pose for the profile picture. Luvis grabbed Big Fish to include in her profile picture. A few days later, Big Fish joined Fabiola on Facebook. Take a look. I challenge you to tell me that Big Fish isn’t magical.

Fabiola and Big Fish

Fishing defines our small island. It sustains the people and nourishes their minds and bodies. The islanders use large nets called reds. Strong calloused hands and arms throw out the reds and haul in the catch every day of the year. A fishing pole is a novelty on the island. Ron may have the only pole on the island, and this oddity intrigues the fishermen, as well as confuses them. They wonder why anyone would only want to catch one fish. It really freaks them out when they see Ron throw the fish back into the lake. Fishing for sport is an unheard of concept.

When Guillermo, our head construction worker, spied Ron’s fishing pole, he asked if he could try it out. He attempted to cast repeatedly, with no release because he never hooked into one fish. Ron didn’t want Guillermo to be disappointed or frustrated with the new sport of fishing with a pole, so he grabbed Big Fish and Sunfish. He posed Guillermo with his fishing pole and the overstuffed fish pillows, and a sport fisherman was born!

I’ve shopped at the enormous Bass ProShop, since I returned to the states for a few weeks. I have a new overstuffed pillow to take back to Nicaragua. This time, it’s a crocodile. Since my fish pillows are such a big hit, there’s no telling what a crocodile will do! I suspect my croc will be therapeutic for the little kids because Isaac developed a fear of swimming in the lake. He overheard a fisherman say he spotted a four ft. croc nearby, and I’m sure it didn’t help matters when he watched “Jaws”.

The Birthday Party

My carrot cake at the birthday party

The Birthday Party

January 22, 2005

          It was at Alba Ligia’s sixth birthday celebration, where I learned the meaning of compassionate immersion, creative ingenuity, and peaceful understanding in our troubled world of terrorist threats, struggles for power, and greed beyond the imagination of ordinary folks.  Francisco invited Ron and I to his cousin’s birthday party in Los Ramos, a remote village on Ometepe Island lacking running water, refrigeration, and in most houses, electricity.  “Oh, by the way,” he stated nonchalantly before leaving, “My mother wants you to make the birthday cake.”  “But, Francisco,” I whined, “Ron and I haven’t made the horno commitment, yet.  We have no oven.” “Don’t worry,” he added, “We have an adobe oven behind our house.”

So began our search for the illusive ingredients such as, powdered sugar, cream cheese, and baking powder to whip up a carrot cake with cream cheese icing for Alba Ligia’s sixth birthday.  Toting plastic bags full of everything except the powdered sugar; we walked along the rutted black sand beach to catch the 7:30am chicken bus to Los Ramos.

Los Ramos is located at the base of Vulcan Concepcion.  From the bus stop, it’s a steep and rocky, mile long walk downhill to the family pueblo.  Passing horses hauling plastic water buckets and bicycles bumping down a road only maneuverable by surefooted mules, we wondered why Los Ramos was located in such an isolated area.

When we finally arrived, we were welcomed with hot nacatamales, fresh coffee, and fried plantains for breakfast.  Francisco had walked to the beach for his daily bath leaving us in the care of his mother and grandfather until he could return and translate for us.  The families in Los Ramos walk another mile to the beach to bathe and get water from a hand pumped well.  We wondered how difficult it was for Francisco to return clean after a dusty uphill walk.