h-o-r-s-e, or character formation in el campo

Sometimes, even city girls like me need a break from city life. This was one of the weekends, and so I was elated to accept the invitation of my dear neighbors Francisco and Alicia to accompany them to a finca (farm) of a family friend (Don Cesar) in rural Matagalpa.

We left Managua early Friday morning and drove about 4 hours to a small town called La Dalia in northeast Matagalpa, a town where Francisco and Alicia had lived back in the late 80s working with a public health agency. There we met Don Cesar, and journeyed another hour in the greenest countryside I have ever seen on a remarkably high quality dirt road until we reached the end of the road, where we were met by Don Cesar’s family and a group of horses that we would be riding the rest of the way into the valley where his house was located.

Remember, dear readers, that I had only ridden a horse one other time in my life, and in a small pasture—this, on the other hand, was going to be a serious test of my physical and emotional stamina. What we embarked on was an hour long ride, mostly downhill, through steep, muddy, and sometimes rocky or underdeveloped (meaing no clear path) land.

From the start, then, I was completely outside my comfort zone. But I wanted to be a good sport, so I faked my best smile and mounted the horse/mule mixed breed animal I was given with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. And for a while, everything was fine. Yes, the horse wanted to eat, and sometimes wanted to wander off the trail, but it was quickly reigned in by Don Cesar or one of his sons who was with us.

This all changed, however, when we hit an especially overgrown patch and a sharp branch poked my eye. Instinctively I screamed. The horse, sensing my fear, immediately began to walk faster and I almost got scraped again until I remembered to grab the reigns and pull him to a halt. And then I felt the tears well up in my eyes. I tried to regain control of my emotions, but I just couldn’t. More than the pain, I was embarrassed that I was so inept at this. One of Don Cesar’s workers traveling with us proceeded to take the rope and lead my horse himself. While this brought me momentary comfort, it also intensified my embarrassment and sense of helplessness. And of course when we arrived at the house, I was so eager to get off the horse that I forgot how far I was from the ground and my right foot buckled under me when I dismounted. More pain, more embarrassment, more tears. Alicia came over to console me with words of encouragement and a hug, but all I could think was, “I am so out of my league right now. There is no way I can do this again. What must these Nicas think of me?”

The good news is, after this crisis moment, a tour of the pigpen, a jaunt up the hill to see the view from the house, and a delicious dinner of farm-raised chicken, rice/beans, guajada (a special Nica cheese like thing) and some coffee, I was in much better spirits and hopeful for better things to come in the morning.

And better things did come. After breakfast we mounted the horses again (this time my horse was roped behind Don Cesar’s) for a trip even further downhill to the river, El Tuma. The river was gorgeous—the water was clear and cold, and the rushing current was a healing sound. While Alicia and I sat on the stones with our feet submerged to enjoy the crisp water, the boys played football and the men fished. It was so wonderful to sit and do nothing but enjoy the beauty of God’s green earth and listen to the water rushing by us. Sometimes all a soul needs is a reprieve from ordinary life. And what a reprieve it was.

After a few hours at the river, we mounted to return to the house—at several points the steep incline of the terrain made me wonder how in the world these horses would fare, but never once did they stumble. By the end of this third ride I had a lot more confidence in the whole experience of horse riding and greater understanding of what it means to trust in my mount. We rested briefly at the house and then prepared to leave for Matagalpa where we would spend Saturday night.

Right before we left, Don Cesar said, “Forgive us for whatever we could not offer you.” Such humility from a man with the riches of the land’s bounty at his fingertips! The people of the campo are simple, goodhearted, generous, and kind. Never once did their patience waver with me—never was I not provided for in abundance, in food, conversation, diversion, or beauty.

Reflecting on the day as we drove back into the city of Matagalpa last night, Francisco said to me, “These are the kind of experiences that form one’s character. Sometimes we don’t know why at the time, but they make us who we are.”

Such fatherly wisdom from a man I respect and admire more each day! Indeed, this past weekend was full of many things—adventure, diversion, rest, challenge, opportunity, growth, and learning. All important ingredients of a character-forming experience.

One I will never forget.