It is amazing what can be accomplished with one tool, like a machete, for instance. Since we’ve been in Nicaragua, we have seen a machete being used alternately as a lawn mower, bottle opener, screw driver, brick slicer, yucca cutter, coconut chopper, extension chord fixer (not recommended), trail blazer, and mango peeler. And many more. Necessity is the mother of invention and indeed we have never come across people who are more resourceful and creative than Nicaraguans. You use what you have and if something breaks, you don’t just buy a new one, you fix it. Acile’s TV went on the fritz last week and on a walk to Don Lionel’s house Cully came across Nestor, Wilmar and Jose opening up the TV to fix a broken part (with both a screwdriver AND a machete). They were successful in fixing both the TV and a little while later, Carlos’s mini-speaker system, which was making “La Cucaracha” sound garbled and more like the muffled cries that come from the car that passes near our house most afternoons selling fresh plantains. We are also floored by the adaptability of people here. One minute they are in the field planting yucca or plowing a field in the traditional way, with a wooden plow behind two giant bulls. The next minute they are fixing TVs, computers and cell phones under a giant grapefruit tree.
This local ingenuity plays itself out day after day in many ways. Last week Harlan, Olle and Cully jumped on Nestor’s rented tractor with Nestor, Aciles, Franklin, (our across the street neighbor who is really cool but owns like ten dogs, a few ow whom seem to accost us when we do our peanut runs) and Jose. We fit seven of us on the tractor, Harlan and Olle sitting on top of six or seven sharp machetes that had been brought to cut yucca for planting the next day. Both their butts arrived without so much as a slice, and upon arrival we were treated to a Gilligans Island-style three hour tour of Raul’s (Nestor’s Dad) vast property, peppered with more fruit trees than we’d ever seen, including exotic fruits like the guadabana. The tour ended as we parted ways with Raul, who had a potential buyer for his bull arrive near his paddock as our tour ended. We were prepared to hop on the tractor for the return trip, but were informed the old John Deere (like, really old) required a jump start. With six of us at the rear and Nestor at the helm, on the count of three we pushed the giant tires forward down the slight incline, Harlan and Olle’s muscles bulging just as Nestor popped the clutch and the engine roared to life. That tractor would have been put out to pasture many moons ago in the states. In Nicaragua, due to a combination of creativity and necessity, it was middle-aged. The seven of us rode home with the sunset bouncing behind us.
As we write this update, it’s snowing. The sun is rising and it’s already hot at 8:30am, but there is a fine, white film on the computer and on the surrounding, rust-colored floor. For a moment we are transported back to Boston, experiencing our first snowflakes of the year. The sweat beginning to drip down our faces, the butterflies gliding above the corn, and Miriam washing clothes in a tank-top bring us back to reality. The Nicaraguan snowstorm is just the termites at work in the rafters above us.
We came across two really cool creatures this past week. The first was a hummingbird moth, which at first glance is not even distinguishable from its namesake. When resting, it is a ginormous moth, about the size of your thumb to index finger when spread apart. It’s really beautiful, especially for a moth, mostly a coffee-brown with white stripes accentuated by black lines. When it flies, it’s instantaneously transformed into a hummingbird, the same size and moving from flower to flower (or chair to chair), dodging and darting in and out, amazing. The other animal was a small lizard-newt-skink type amphibian with beautiful green and blue accents that none of our neighbors had ever seen before. We only saw it because a women waiting for a ride from the bus pointed it out out of curiosity, and for ten minutes we attempted to snap photos while trying to track her through the road-side weeds.
Miriam finally has her garden. We hope and pray we will see tomatoes, lettuce, peppers, jalapenos, carrots and onions real soon and if Miriam’s dedication in an indication, the crop will be bumper. It took awhile to get up and running because we needed to get the chicken-wire for the fence, which required a separate ride on the Mariano bus. We finally procured it and one morning, Carlos and Achiles helped build a small huerta (small garden plot). We wondered where they would get the wood for the fence posts. Turns out you just take a machete to most any tree you can find that has straight limbs, chop it off, de-leaf it and voila, you have your post. We were a bit hesitant to go off hacking into our neighbors trees but Carlos saw no problem with the idea, so we were all good. It turns out, that is a thing. The bonus is that in this equatorial climate, everything grows really fast so we’re trusting that other saplings will become trees soon. The rest of the garden prep included a lot of hoeing under a hot sun by Miriam and thankfully only three wheelbarrow loads of manure by Harlan and Cully from Esteban’s cow paddock. The only problem with Esteban’s poop is that due to the huerta’s proximity to our patio is that we suspect it may be a cause for themosca (fly) population doubling overnight. Ever since we have been deploying new and inventive techniques to deal with the flies, thus far to no avail.
Our new friend Fernando who lives down the street recently introduced us to jicarocarvings. Basically jicaro is a fruit that comes in many varieties. One type produces a hard shell that can be hollowed out, dried, and then painted or carved. Fernando showed up at the edge of our yard one rainy-evening with a backpack full of beautiful, jicaro-carved bowls, cups, and vases. He had clearly spent time crafting these, and we felt so blessed for his generosity. It was hospitality and friendship in action, and it was a great reminder of how small, intentional actions help bind us all together, no matter where we are. He was hard to convince, but we gave him some money as a thank you. Not a lot, but he had spent many hours carving these beautiful pieces of art (including one shaped and colored like a pumpkin for Halloween) and a little money, small investments, go a long way.
Morning doves, early morning hikes and sweet rice pudding have all taken their turn as welcome reminders of home. Miriam and Cully’s morning quiet time-exercise time on the patio (5:15 – 6:00am most mornings) is usually set against a backdrop of the sun rising, roosters crowing, gnats waking and morning doves cooing. Our jicaro-friend Fernando followed up his first act with another, unannounced drop-by, this time with a delicious, rice pudding (according to some of us :)) made lovingly by his Mom whom we have yet to meet, with milk, sugar and rice. It was topped with a cinnamon, which at first inhale instantly transported us to GG’s kitchen table on a crisp fall day, about to dig into a warm slice of apple pie and a scoop of ice cream. This past weekend, we arose at 4:45 and walked 30 minutes with Adilsa and Yader to the corner where we caught the Mario bus (not to be confused with the Mariano or Lisandro bus) to the base of Rota, a now extinct volcano mountain with lush fields of corn, red and white beans, coffee and bananas scattered across the mostly flat, crater top.
Hiking Rota reminded us of home because we are a hiking family back home. But the experience was unique in several ways. Yader, Fernando’s brother and a 19 year-old college student studying English and Tourism, proved to be an expert guide. He showed us all sorts of local flora and fauna we never would have seen on our own. We learned that theMadroňa is the national tree of Nicaragua. Yader showed us the dormilona, a beautiful, tiny fern that folds into itself the instant you (or Harlan or Olle) touch it, setting off giggles and oohs and ahhs every time. Yader and Adilsa also showed us the javonsilla tree, whose leaves were used as a natural scrubber of dirty dishes all over rural Nicaragua up until the arrival of the common, synthetic sponge to the region only some fifteen years ago in many places.
It’s funny sometimes, when the otherwise commonplace becomes extraordinary, depending on the context. Our morning hike up Rota introduced us to exotic plants like the dormilona.There were several other unusual sightings, such as two parrot-like birds in the jungle canopy above us and a nut called the Oyo de Buey (Bull’s eye), a smooth, round fruit that not only can burn your skin when rubbed vociferously against a rock (cue Yader’s burnt arm) but is also used to make necklaces and wooden pegs for chairs. Less exotic for us but clearly a rare occurrence for our local guides was the unmistakeable leaf shaking that is only produced by the common ardilla (squirrel). Coming from the squirrel metropolis that is the northeast US, we found ourselves in unfamiliar territory, running, tripping, and clamoring to catch sight of and maintain the energy and excitement being expressed by both Yader and Adilsa at not one but two ardillas jumping from branch to branch. But what a great lesson, that we can and should find ways to experience newness in the mundane, joy in what might seem like the ordinary.
The hike up Rota introduced us to an even deeper level of poverty then exists in most of El Tololar. At the top we came upon a building that serves as the kindergarten through 6thgrade school for 27 students. It is extremely basic, and we found that the rustic desks arrived there on the backs of six or eight volunteers who huffed them up the side of the mountain about four years ago. We met the current teacher, a man of about 30 years old, on his way down to a spring about a ¼ mile down a steep hill from the school. It was a Saturday but all the students were there, neatly dressed and waiting for staff from the NGO World Vision to arrive with both certificates of completion for school AND a Piňata. The few houses and huts that surround the school have no electricity and as mentioned, only arduous access to water. As with many parts of the world, it is a really tough life, even if surrounded by beauty. Hiking past the simple houses reminded us of a mantra we adopted as a family when providing financial support (with your help!) for our friend Ivania to buy a horse: hotel or horse, horse or hotel. For the price of a one night’s stay in a mid-range hotel in the states, you can buy a horse here in Nicaragua. A pretty powerful reminder that proves the equation: small investment + small sacrifice = BIG DIFFERENCE
Most of us at one time or another have experienced the triumphant prize that is the dead mouse your cat lays at your feet or on your doorstep after a successful hunt. The cat is very proud, and at the same time, you are very grossed out. We’ve experienced this multiple times here in Nicaragua, but with a lizard serving as the cat’s trophy. Usually Dulce just finds small lizards about 3 inches long and plays with them (or tortures, depending on your point of view) on our patio, at times letting the crippled little gal or guy slither back into one of our rooms, only to be found later. Last week, Dulce’s prize was the hind-quarters of a rather larger lizard, set neatly next to our refrigerator and drying nicely in the afternoon sun that shone through our wood-framed window. Hard to get used to for sure, but likely a small price to pay in exchange for not only the lizards but all the crickets Dulce eats and the mice she keeps at bay.
Wednesday was Dia de los Difuntos here in El Tololar and all across Nicaragua. Despite the rather morbid name, translated “Day of the Deceased”, it is a really cool holiday that literally brings the whole country together. It actually starts three or four days before in marketplaces, side streets, roadside stalls and supermarkets. We first experienced it when our bus dropped us off at the edge of the bus terminal in Leon. The usual fruit sellers, money-changers, hardware shops, and food stalls were barely noticeable, the entire marketplace having exploded with reds, yellows, greens, violets…every color imaginable, embodied in beautiful flowers and “snow” (tiny, round pieces of dyed styrofoam) being sold in every nook and what seemed like new crannies that had been built just for the occasion. Over the following days these rainbows would be bought and brought to cemeteries to adorn the graves of loved ones. We had the opportunity to walk to the graveyard in Tololar with Adilsa and her granddaughter, Rachel. There we spent a solid hour laying flowers and sprinkling snow on four (Adilsa’s grandparents and a nephew who had died way too young) of the hundreds of graves there. Family upon family came and went all day, remembering the dead and at the same time, connecting with the living. Food sellers were omnipresent with buňuelos (delicious, fried balls of yucca and sugar and topped with honey) serving as the traditional treat. It was a festive environment, accentuated by smiles, bright colors, and fond memories. We were clearly outsiders being the only real resident gringos in town, but were welcomed into the moment with open arms.
A week or so ago, Don Lionel’s horse arrived for a morning grazing session near our house with a purple-painted back and some rather nasty wounds. The injury could have come from almost anything, and we thought it was likely from a barbed-wire fence crossing gone wrong. Bats (bampiros) weren’t our first suspicion. It turns out that in addition to scorpions, tarantulas, biting ants, flies, gnats and termites, we need to add bats – check that, vampire bats – to our list of flying/biting animals that we don’t really like. For Don Lionel, the phrase – in Spanish - “Oh yes, that purple stuff on my horse’s back is just iodine and medicine to treat the wound from the vampire bat that was sucking his neck a few nights back” seemed to roll of his tongue with the greatest of ease, as if he’d just been asked about the weather. We, on the other hand, were like, “holy crap, that gaping hole on the back-side of your cute horse is from a blood-sucking, vampire bat? Yikes!
Approximately one-third of our lives here are spent under mosquito nets while we sleep. The funny thing is that there really are not that many mosquitoes. But during dark, rainy, thunder-storm filled nights it sure can feel good to be protected, if even by a hyper-thin material, from the creepy-crawlys that you KNOW are lurking nearby. The nets came in particularly handy not three nights past after Miriam and Cully had spotted our seventh or eighth tarantula near the top corner of the wall that separates our room from the boys room. Cully’s initial whack attempt with Miriam’s sandal was a solid miss. This meant one of two things. The tarantula had either scurried over one wall and outside, or over the other wall and into the boy’s room. Fortunately, a thorough search of the fellas’ room uncovered nothing, while a second whack on our back wall with a sneaker while balancing precariously on our crooked eating table hit its mark.
Learning a new language is always tough. Spanish is no exception. One of the great things is that so many words are cognates with English, very similar spelling and meaning, although still a very different pronunciation. Take tempuratura, locomoción, and domesticar. They all basically mean what they sound like. But often multiple words in Spanish have very different meanings and are only off by a letter or two. For example: verde (green) andverdad (truth). For sure several times, when attempting to reinforce a statement, we have at times declared, “A’int that the green!”. Or rato (a while) and raton (mouse). The phrase, “For goodness sake, can you just wait a mouse!” or something similar may have been uttered a time or two by one or several Lundgrens. But often it’s not the Spanish but the English phrases we’ll remember. Olle summed up a recent walk near the bus station with the apt description, “It smells like wet poop.” Which it kind of did.
Small investments + small sacrifices = BIG DIFFERENCE. Soon we hope to tell you more stories that prove this equation. One will be about our friend Wilmar, who wants to start a computer repair shop. We’ll tell you about how a seemingly modest enterprise like a computer fix-it store has the potential to change, no transform, not one but many lives. This, like many other stories, are growing here. It can at times be frustrating for us because things just take more time in Nicaragua. We want to make a difference NOW, change lives NOW, be on time for everything NOW. But we have to have patience, and so we wait, and plan for tomorrow. In the meantime, we will take baby steps. This afternoon we will go with our friend to a nearby school and play with the children, teaching English while learning Spanish, always it seems receiving more than we can ever give.
