some random reflections

The trip out of the city is always a learning experience in any culture. Here in Nicaragua, the road to Poneloya was on the rough side, cattle crossings a common sight, and bumps a frequent part of the ride. The terrain was fairly green for a while, but there are some semi-arid areas along the way, much less inhabited. From one side you can see volcanoes off in the distance, and from the other side you can see poorer Nicaraguans who live out in the campo making a subsistence living while making their homes in shacks the same size as my room in Leon.

Leaving town last Friday in a bus, I felt much like the many Nicaraguans who rely on public transportation to get where they need to go—I felt much less common ground on the way home when a new friend (Orlando) and his son (Raymond) took me, Anne, and Heather home in an air-conditioned sedan. The contrast between our comfortable method of transportation and the many people we passed standing in the heat on the side of the road or riding bicycles was palpable. I was grateful for the less time-consuming process of getting home, but the whole weekend is a microcosm of the tension I have been feeling between my “rich american” identity and my desire to live like the majority of people here, simply and without so many of the amenities that most people here do without...

The western influence here is everywhere—from the clothes the college students wear, to the things you can find in the market, to the music I hear in the restaurants and buses here. American brands—clothing, food, toiletries, bands—are inescapable in the city. I was surprised (but should not have been, I suppose, given all of this) that my new friend Orlando's son Raymond's favorite music was Journey and U2, which we listened to on the car ride home Sunday evening.

I have noticed that there is a distinct difference in how I am treated when I dress like a tourist (think shorts and a tank top) versus an “expat native” (think capris/jeans, and a collared shirt). When I greet people, they are more apt to talk me if I look like I belong here, and the vendors on the street are more likely to ignore me than when I look like a visitor who doesn't know anything.

Two things I am having a hard time adjusting to are being tired all the time (they say it takes a while to get used to the constant heat), and being bitten by various bugs. It doesn't matter if I wear bugspray or not, by the end of the night, I am guaranteed a new abrasion somewhere on my body. When the rainy season starts, everyone uses mosquito nets, which I hope will be effective, as I can only imagine what happens when the moisture level here rises.

While we were at the beach Saturday, we took a long walk down the waterfront that eventually led to some rocks which we promptly climbed. It was well worth the sore feet we suffered, as from the top we could see another sturdy rock with a cross perched on its surface, while wave after wave crashed against it. The whole scene reminded me of the parable Jesus tells in the Gospels of the man who builds his house on the rock, that was battered by the storm but could not be destroyed because of its firm foundation. Lord, may that same foundation continue to gird me here, as tiny frustrations mount and tears come too easily. Thank you for my Spanish teacher and Nicaraguan friend Lorena who encouraged me today when mis emociones flooded mis ojos in the middle of our simple conversacion.

Por favor, ayudame, Senor. Quiero tener esperanza en mi corazon en cualquier lugar donde yo estoy. Poco a poco, yo se que estoy creciendo y Tu eres conmigo siempre. En el nombre de Cristo. Amen.