Taking The Leap

Before coming to Nicaragua, I had never officially lived in a city. I mean sure, I had spent the large majority of my life living in metropolitan areas AROUND various cities (i.e. the BURBS). It’s just that until I shook hands with my current landlords and handed over that first month’s rent, I had never been a TRUE urbanite.

These days, I live in the proverbial concrete jungle. The exhaust, the traffic, the incredible decibel levels, dirt, trash, smog, miles upon miles of broken glass and concrete……THESE are the components of my most recent environment, the place I am calling home. Put another way…….COMPLETE ISOLATION from the natural world. Don’t’ get me wrong. I’m not complaining. I’ve chosen this present life, and it’s perfect for my current line of work. It’s just that it has taken a little…….well…..getting used to.

A bit of history: In 1991, for reasons I can’t seem to remember at the moment, I paid my FIRST dues to this new group (new to ME, that is) called The Sierra Club. And since a short time after, I seem to have been a tree-hugging/veggie-and-granola-eating/Birkenstock-wearing/hippie freak, to one degree or another (OK…at least on the INSIDE). To put it another way, I’m a BIG fan of the natural world…..yes, card-carrying ENVIRONMENTALIST…… and as one can imagine, the great state of Colorado, where I have called my home for the previous 11 years or so, has proven to be a spectacular place for someone such as myself to hug a tree or two (or at least ski amongst them). The majesty and intrinsic beauty of it all.....definitely food for the soul……and certainly a far cry from my CURRENT surroundings that tends to burn, kill, eat, or needlessly destroy anything that lives, breathes, moves, or grows in any form or fashion.

I think the first time I noticed “the void” was last year while making my way south through Costa Rica. I had just left Managua that morning and was traveling through the mountains en route to Panama. The bus stopped for a short break, and I got off to relieve myself of the morning’s excess of coffee. The only available facility was a small store/bathroom that was constructed quite literally into the side of the hill. And it was within this facility….um……mid-stream…..where I noticed the wall was the actual hillside. Soil……earth…..dirt…..land…..TERRA FIRMA. There it was, in all its glory. It struck me as something so unusual, so foreign, so out of place…..and so…so….strangely wonderful. An odd moment……a ridiculous story, I know…..but profound nonetheless.

Since that time, I’ve experienced a number of such moments (don’t worry….all completely OUTSIDE the realm of restrooms and bodily functions) that have lead me to a very similar conclusion. The conclusion, that is, that it is absolutely necessary to get out of the city now and then. Whether it’s the beach (one hour to the East)….the mountains (one hour to the North)……a local volcano (take your pick….plenty to choose from)……or just a small pueblo outside of Managua…..it’s essential for the maintenance of inward health and wellbeing.

That being said, when my friend Lila suggested a trip to a nearby “refuge” for a bit of hiking and rappelling, I told her I was in.

“Just say the word, and I’m there!!!!!”

And after several weeks of ………“well, we WERE going to go, but this or that happened, or this or that person backed out”……… the big day finally arrived. I got up early on Sunday morning, did my usual routine, met Lila and the rest of the group, and got on the road by 8AM. By 10AM, we had passed through countless small towns and navigated more than a few curvy mountain roads in order to arrive at what was perhaps the most foreign site I had seen in quite some time.

“Ummmm…..excuse me, but does that sign really say “Eco-lodge” and “Nature-preserve”??????

Fortunately, that is exactly what it said, and within minutes we were admiring a beautiful view of the Masaya Volcano and lake (OK….so MAYBE the majority of the raw sewage from the town just MIGHT flow directly into the lake……but let’s just focus on the view for now) while standing next to a sign exhibiting the various species of birds indigenous to the area.

“Yeeeesssss………I do believe this is going to be a good day”.

Within a few MORE minutes, after getting more acquainted with the group, I realized that we were actually on an organized outing by something called RAPPEL TEAM. Hiking…...savoring the beauty of the natural world…….well, that may have been a bit of a stretch for the day’s agenda. In reality, we were there to do ONE THING and one thing only, to jump off a 200’ cliff. And the more I talked with the members of this newly discovered subculture, the more it became clear that they were certainly motivated by the “adrenaline aspect” of things.

“I’m a teacher during the week, but on the weekends I do anything I can find that’s DANGEROUS….anything that has the potential of killing me!!!!”

….note to self…..remember not to catch a ride home with THAT guy.

“Hey Jason……what’s the MOST EXTREME thing you’ve ever done????? Mine is skydiving. Woohooooooo!”

“You’re from Colorado? I heard that they have A reserve in Colorado that’s JUST FOR SKIING!!!”

“Yep….absolutely true,” I told him. “We do have ONE of those”.

After the big HIKE from the “eco-lodge” to the rappel site (all 1minute and 30 seconds of it……downhill), Team Rappel began setting up the ropes. Now, although I don’t consider myself a true expert in such matters, I’m also no stranger to the “sport” of rappelling. Between various recreational pursuits in the mountains, technical rescue team with the fire dept., and those pine trees in Steven Flynt’s backyard (cirque 1985), I’ve had a fair amount of experience with the world of ropes and knots. But as often crosses my mind, such things as SAFETY STANDARDS don’t always carry the exact same meaning in this part of the world.

“….better pay particularly close attention to the system they’re setting up”.

Well, after putting together a pretty good “anchor” and giving a VERY BRIEF instructional talk, they asked if I wanted to be the first to go. After all, I was the only person that brought any personal gear. Checking and rechecking harnesses, carabineers, knots, and other equipment using the buddy system? Not in this group. Safety line in case of emergency or catastrophic failure of the system? Nope…not today……they forgot that at home.

“So you’re asking me if I want t be the first one to TEST THE SYSTEM? Thanks but no thanks”, I said. “I trust you and all, buuuuuuuut NO”.

Fortunately, despite that fact that I would have certainly made a few minor adjustments here and there, everything turned out just fine (i.e. nobody plummeted to a premature death). I ended up going in the middle of the group, and really did enjoy the descent…….beautiful volcanic cliff and even BETTER view than the one from the lodge. Of course, upon reaching the bottom, I was quickly reminded of just WHERE I was by ONE…..the enormous amount of garbage (literal) on the rocks below, and TWO…..the two guys carrying assault rifles and machetes.

“Funny….I don’t remember THEM being in our group”.

“So what are you guys shooting today?”, I asked.

NO response.

“I’m hoping it’s not anything of the human variety….yea?”.

Vague smiles.

For the next hour or so, we waited at the bottom of the cliff for the rest of the group to make the descent. It was quiet and beautiful, and I even saw a bit of wildlife (large white owl that we startled from the cliff wall). We hung out watching the individual descents, all the while dodging rock fall from above (literally the most dangerous part of the day……..have you guys thought about investing in helmets? ) until it came time for the actual HIKE back, a 30 minute scramble up the adjacent hill……..lots of fun.

From there, we enjoyed an excellent lunch prepared by the folks at “the lodge” and ended up rolling out around 5PM. I arrived back in Managua an hour or so later, rested and refreshed for yet another week in my little “paradise by the lake”. As I always do after a mini-vacation from the city, I experienced a nice sense of rejuvenation, as if the soul had just done the old……

“And now that we’ve all found our happy place……inhale through the nose………..OK, hold it……and exhale through the mouth……….aaaaahhhhhhh.”

Also, as is often par for the course around here, the lack of stress accompanying my mini-vacation was relatively short-lived. That same night, one of the dogs from our house found herself on the wrong end of a speeding vehicle. In the end, all was well that ended well. But in the midst of it all, I learned that although I AM still technically a paramedic, I’m NOT much of veterinarian.

……..but that’s another story for another day.

Home Depot, Frogger, And A Change Of Scenery

So I drove around Colorado Springs, past the big box stores, the malls, the businesses, the roads, the other vehicles on the roads, etc. etc. etc. And I just kept being struck by the absolute ENORMITY of it all. I’ll give you an example. The average hardware store here in Managua is about the size of the rental desk at your local airport. In contrast, as I was driving around Colorado, I continued to notice..........uh….well…..there’s another one…….HOME DEPOT.
And SPEAKING of driving……..

I know I’ve written quite a bit about the culture of third world traffic over the last year, especially after my little run-in (literal) with the transit system last year. But at the risk of being redundant, I have to say that I was ONCE AGAIN struck by the culture of transit, this time from the other side.

As a pedestrian, I’ve found navigating the streets here in Managua to be quite similar to the game FROGGER (think Atari…1983). The pedestrians are EVERYWHERE and cross one lane at a time, pausing regularly to stand on the painted (at least there USED to be paint) lane markers as traffic whizzes by VERY close and often VERY fast. It’s as if these poorly painted lines are capable of offering some type of traffic-shield or oasis of safety, like the “safety zones” from one of those games you would play as a kid. Fortunately, I haven’t witnessed any auto-pedestrian accidents yet. But I always imagine the post-accident conversation as the reporting is officer takes the report.

Driver……I don’t know what she was thinking. She crossed right in front of me!

Pedestrian…..NO! NO! I was on the line! I was in the safety zone! YOUR FAULT….YOUR FAULT!!!

To me, it seems horribly dangerous and unpredictable. On the other hand, if done correctly, it seems to be relatively quick and painless. The streets are all very small, and one can generally be across in no time.

Because I spent most of the vacation at my brother’s house in Colorado Springs, I was able to WALK most of my local errands. Obviously, along with that, I found myself crossing the streets on a daily basis. As I mentioned, in Nicaragua it’s quick and painless. On the contrary, in Colorado each crossing seemed like an eternity. Seriously! After looking both ways like the good pedestrian I am, I would regularly start to cross the street, only to be struck by the fact that after what seemed like a SIGNIFICANT period of time and several city blocks, I WAS STILL CROSSING THE SAME STREET!!!!!!!. It was incredible! I got to the point that I was having to give myself the same little pep talk that I give myself at the base of especially long endeavors of the athletic variety (i.e. mountain climbing).

“Remember Jason……you’ve trained hard…..you’re ready….this is NOT a sprint……this IS a marathon…..ready?......OK let’s cross.”

Driving. Driving in the US is quite unique in its own way, but before I go in that direction, I’ll make one last reference to the culture down south. Remember that Frogger game? OK, now we’re in one of the cars. There are the pedestrians wandering about the lanes, the taxies and buses with their utter lack of predictability, the wooden carts pulled by either people or livestock, the disrepair of the roads and other vehicles making their way along the same path of travel, the lack of actual lanes, the trash, old tires, and debris (often times on fire) sprinkled about the roadway, etc. etc. etc. It’s really not that bad and something that I think I’ve grown relatively accustomed to, but it’s ANYTHING but relaxing. Not unlike the scenario I just described above, I often give myself that little pep talk upon mounting the motorcycle each day. After all, to turn on the motor and enter the race without first putting on the proper “game face”……well…..that’s just asking for trouble.

But as I reunited with my trusty sidekick in the US (1990 Subaru Legacy sedan……280K and still going strong……baby!!!!!) and took to the streets, I found myself confronted with a challenge of a slightly different variety. The streets…..the traffic…..the whole system……so LARGE…..so SMOOTH….so PREDICTABLE….ORGANIZED…….and so…….aaaaahhhhhh…….utterly relaxing.
You see, the problem I found in the US was the exact opposite of the problem I have here in Nicaragua. The problem I had in the US was literally staying AWAKE! I’m not kidding. I would get in the car to drive somewhere, only to find that within 10 or 15 minutes, I was struggling to keep my eyes open! Everything was so tranquil and mellow…..the radio….…..the purr of the 1990 4 cylinder technology……the sun shining through the windows……the ease of it all…..so utterly……utterly…..

…..whoa, sorry about that, I actually just nodded off thinking about it.

……..Utterly relaxing. It was like getting some kind of transit massage. I kept thinking that I was like one of those infants that get placed in the minivan by their parents and driven around the block until reaching a point of slumber. Struggling with insomnia? I had certainly found the cure. And I know….I know….there are a myriad of dangers associated with being lulled into a sense of complacency amidst making one’s way from point A to point B. But the difference between my two respective cultures was comically astounding…….such worlds apart.

But alas, as both pedestrian AND driver in my great homeland, I survived my six week vacation and lived to Blog another day from………well, THAT brings me to my next story. The initial plan was to head south for ONE year. I took the leave of absence from the fire dept, made a few changes (sold a house, began my personal “liquidation of assets”, etc. etc. etc.), and pledged to spend the next 12 months working a few things out of my proverbial system. Not terribly surprising though, as the 12 months unfolded, I found myself unable to shake the increasing desire to stick around a bit longer. How much longer? That’s yet to be determined. All I can say is that at this point, I’ve labeled myself as “here indefinitely”.

Soooo……to prepare for the “indefinite” life change, I spent the six weeks in Colorado taking care of all the associated logistics. There was the official resignation from LFR, the completion of the liquidation (with my 2 new best friends……Craigslist and Salvation Army), the many trips and phone calls to the various banks, insurance companies, tax man, etc. etc. etc. But it wasn’t ALL business. I had a great time staying with family (maybe a little TOO good….tough to leave), caught up with some friends, and even survived a few Colorado hikes despite my 12 month hiatus from any form of physical exercise. Oh, and besides that, I became a temporary jewelry salesman to benefit the project here in Nicaragua (not bad for my first time out…..if I do say so myself).

And that was that…….six weeks in the land of plenty before heading south once again. I won’t lie…..last year was challenging in many ways, and I was certainly in need of some rest by mid December. But after my little Christmas break, I returned rested and refreshed (both mentally and physically), ready to pick up where I left off.

Before leaving the US, I was at the point of experiencing only the occasional moment of shock from a cultural perspective. When I landed on the other side though, I realized that I was in for yet another adjustment. I had been away just long enough to return to things looking different, smelling different, and seeming different than they had just six weeks prior. At the same time though, there was a pleasant familiarity about it all. I was welcomed back warmly by my “community” down here, I still had a bed to sleep in (albeit a filthy one due to the continual influx of dust from the street outside), and the motorcycle started…….eventually. Yep, it felt good to be back. I mean sure the Spanish was a bit rusty, but the passing busses didn’t even seem as loud as last year (yes I know……potential hearing loss on my part….but I’m choosing to focus on the positive).

Around work, there has been a flurry of activity as the school year has started up again. NicaHOPE has added a variety of new projects, and my personal level of responsibility basically doubled overnight with the addition of a second feeding program. Things are busy but good. Outside of work, I’ve been meeting lots of new folks, getting to know the country more (i.e. traveling), and pledging on a weekly basis to paint and decorate the room (it may actually happen eventually). AND…..I am happy to report that contrary to last year, I have remained physically healthy since my return in 09. Ahhhhh…….life is good.

So we’ll see where things go. As I mentioned above, the plan is to stick around for a while, at the moment quite unsure as to where or to what that may eventually lead. In the meantime I’m simply attempting to focus on the here and now…….the present. After all, that’s all we really have……right?

The Great Homecoming

By the time mid December had rolled around, the school year had reached its annual finale with a VERY inspirational 6th grade graduation. In addition to that, our projects had mostly run their courses, and the flood refugees, as much as I cared for and enjoyed them, had brought me to a new level of “end of the year burnout”. I was at a point of having fulfilled many of the original intentions for the “year abroad”, a year that had brought a few highs, a disproportionate number of lows, and many more challenges than had been anticipated. The holiday season was upon us, so after celebrating my first “Purisima” here in Nicaragua several days prior (think a mix of Halloween, Christmas, and 4th of July……..all from a CATHOLIC point of view ), I found myself getting up in the wee hours of the morning and driving east in the direction of the airport. It was time to decompress…..relax….recover a bit……process the year. Exactly 11 months to the day after flying south from Colorado, the time had come for the migration in the northern direction. The time had come, that is, for a vacation.

For several weeks leading up to my flight, I had been thinking about my re-entry into the” first world”. I had been away for almost one year and had grown quite accustomed to Managuan life. But even beyond that, I had grown accustomed to the “lower end” of Nicaraguan life and culture, to the point that I had recently experienced a bit of “culture shock” upon going to the one nice mall in town. And in anticipating the probability of a similar experience on a much larger scale, I was nervously asking myself “What’s it going to be like back in the US?????”

The first answers began to emerge as soon as my flight touched down in Houston. I entered the airport, an airport that suddenly seemed so……absolutely enormous……clean……sterile……luxurious. I entered into the immigration area.

“wow…….so many CLEARLY MARKED lines……so ORDERLY……so…….”

“Sweet Maria! I’ve never seen so many flat screens in one place! And what’s that video they’re playing? It’s just so……so…..inspirational! But what is it for? Is it a commercial? Music video? Travel show? The music…..the scenery…..the cinematography……so professionally produced……the….yes, the PEOPLE……so incredibly attractive and happy! I don’t know where that is, but I WANT TO GO! I want to go NOW! I want to……….hang on a second. I think I’m already THERE! Because THERE is…..well…..it’s……HERE! Yes, it IS a commercial of sorts. But it’s a commercial for AMERICA. Sure enough, that’s exactly what it is…..a commercial for America, right here in the middle of the immigration line. I’m literally watching a promotional video for my country as I’m standing in a line, waiting to be allowed INTO the SAME country. But that seems, well, odd. Are they trying to inspire us to stay IN the line? As if there would be people who get this far but still find themselves on the proverbial fence? Like…….

…..uh oh…I’m three….two….one person away from showing my passport. Uhhhh….should I…..no….wait…..uh! I don’t know what I’m going to do! I THOUGHT I wanted to go in, but now I’m not sure if I can commit! No! I can’t! What was I thinking??!!!! I have to get out of this line…this airport….this country!!! NOW! I have to leave right…….oh….but….oh wow…..that scenery….music…..beauty……if THAT’S the US, I want to be a part of that! I absolutely LOVE IT!!! I WANT IT! CRAVE IT! I WILL stay in this line! I WILL enter this country! Thank you flat screen TV’s! Thank you USA marketing team! Thank You HOUSTON AIPORT! May God bless you….and may God bless the United States of America!!!!!

……..NEXT!.......passport please.

Or maybe they want us to feel good…..or perhaps better…..about the decision we had already made at that point. Like…….

I don’t know what I was thinking. This first world stuff is BUNK! USA…..as in Utterly Stupid Attempt…..at being a country. Uh…I REALLY hate it here. Why did I come back? BAD decision. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! But…wait…..(enter video once again resulting in similar scenario as reported above).

I don’t know, I suppose it really was a great video. And YES….I MAY have even teared up a bit (if you tell anyone, I’ll TOTALLY deny that) in that line, passport in hand. But it did strike me as a bit odd….and INCREDIBLY EXPENSIVE to produce and exhibit on all of those flat screen TVs.
But with such questions still lingering, I showed my passport, denied any involvement in criminal activity abroad (um….mam, could you be more specific about how you define “criminal activity”?), and passed through the gates into the designated “free” (as in liberty….not dollars) part of the country.

Next stop? Baggage claim in order to retrieve my bags and then re-check them domestically. Initial impressions of THIS area? Again……so large….clean…..and……

”I wonder how much those decorative suitcases that light up on top of EVERY carousel cost this airport (i.e. taxpayers)?”

After dealing with the bags, it was on to the gate. While en route, I noticed yet another circle of TVs in the ceiling, this time displaying various artistic designs in unison. In fact, I was so struck by them, I had to stop and count them. 82. “Unbelievable”, I thought, “this really IS the land of plenty”.

Moving on to the gate. I think besides the……CART!!!......besides the sheer “abundance” . That is, besides being struck by the……..MOVE TO THE RIGHT!......uh…sorry……the overt excess of it all, I noticed…….BEEP BEEP!!!......CART COMING THROUGH!!!.......

FOR CRYING OUT LOUD! Apart from me, does anyone WALK to their gate anymore????? This is like a super highway!!!!!!!!

OK…sorry about that. Where was I? Oh yes. Another thing that stuck me immediately upon arriving to Houston was the ability to understand EVERYTHING around me. And this one really was nice. Don’t get me wrong. I’ve come a long way in the last year with respect to the language. I work and function exclusively in Spanish on a daily basis and have immersed into the culture with relative success. But there is still SO MUCH that I miss both culturally and linguistically as I go about my average day. As I am reminded often, the old saying can certainly be true. The devil IS often in the details, and I can easily find myself in a bit of a jam as a result. But here in THIS country, I could understand EVERYTHING!!! All these people around me? Understood. That lady complaining about her boyfriend on her cell phone? Crystal clear. Ahhhh…..so nice. I mean……excuse me for a moment……

“what….he did WHAT? Oh no he di-int! Yes honey….you SHOULD call it off with that loser…..the sooner the better! He doesn’t deserve you! You’re better than that! You got to be tru to YO-SELF!.”

Again….I apologize for the interruption. It’s a bit difficult to describe this one, but I think it falls under the category of “depth of understanding”, an intangible yet vital aspect of finding one’s way in a given culture. In my new life, it’s an ever-present challenge, and I often times tend to run a bit shallow. Here in the USA, I’m happy to report that I am one deep muchacho.
“aaaahhhh……it’s good to be home”.

Well, after my first visit to Starbucks in a year (HOW MUCH for the muffin????), several hours of people-watching (everyone is so LARGE…..and…..PALE), and the final leg of the journey (pleasantly uneventful), I was back home in Colorado with just enough time to catch the sunset over the Rockies. Beautiful. Home Sweet Home.

Here in Nicaragua, in an attempt to elevate and fortify my seemingly pathetic and puny immune system (definitely on the list of “challenges” from last year), I take a LOT of Vitamin C. The actual TAKING of various dietary supplements is no problem. OBTAINING them, on the other hand, even something as simple as Vitamin C can be, like many other things around here, easier said than done. If I’m lucky and time it just right, there will be one or two bottles of the ONE type of Vitamin C at the ONE store where I can find it on a regular basis. If not…..well, maybe next time. Bearing this in mind, you can imagine my shock as I stood, mouth open, in front of the literal WALL of Vitamin C. It was Day 2 of “re-entry 08”, and I had just walked into the local Whole Foods store.

“I don’t know what to say…..what to think…..or where to even begin. I just need a small bottle of C…….mam? Excuse me…….mam? Um, I think I’m going need a bit of assistance over here in the C aisle!”

Whole Foods.....definitely one of my favorite stores in the traditional sense. I mean I really enjoy food…..APPRECIATE it……..QUALITY food, that is……the flavors…..cultures…….idea of what it can represent between friends and family. I’m not sure if I’d be considered a true “foodie” (nope, don’t watch the food network), but I HAVE been known to have a truly great day simply as a result of enjoying the perfect mango in the AM. And coffee? I won’t even get started.

I was EXCITED to come to Whole Foods, and it had only been a year since my last visit. But as I passed through the aisles…..the produce section…..bulk foods…….seafood…….prepared foods…..bakery…….Asian……Italian…….well, you get the idea……I have to admit that it was a bit overwhelming. I think the best way I can explain it is that it felt as though EVERY nation on Earth had taken a collection of the absolute BEST foods that their perspective cultures had to offer and sent them to this ONE Whole Foods in a remote corner of Colorado Springs ON THE SAME DAY! As if there was some type of annual food festival for the entire WORLD, and I had just happened to be at the right place at the right time.

“Good Afternoon Whole Food Shoppers! TODAY ONLY…….we’re featuring the best of……EVERYTHING!!!!!! Enjoy your shopping.”

Yea, definitely a bit overwhelming. In fact, I wasn’t even able to finish my much anticipated “tour de samples” due to complete sensory overload. The second half of the store would have to wait for another day. I had had enough for day 2, and reverse culture shock was in full effect………..

A Little Bit Of This......A Little Bit Of That PART II

As I mentioned in PART I, this Blog series is meant to offer a bit of insight into my Nica life. Below are three short stories involving my work, the struggles of the locals, and another average day. Enjoy the insight.

IF YOU CAN’T TAKE THE HEAT, GET OUT OF THE KITCHEN

As I’ve mentioned before, I spend most of my volunteer time with the “feeding program” through NicaHOPE. I’ve also mentioned some of the changes I’ve initiated around there with respect to such things as sanitation, etc. I’m happy to report that the level of sanitation has gone up DRAMATICALLY in our little school cafeteria! I haven’t seen a rat in weeks, the cockroaches have stopped congregating in their usual gathering places, and the flies, fungi, and germs have apparently moved on in search or more fertile lands. AND, with the success of the sanitation came requests to improve the program in other areas. Requests from whom, you ask? The MAN…..the SUITS….the BOYS UPSTAIRS……the TOP BRASS. We’re improving the QUALITY of the ingredients, we’re improving the QUANTITY of the portions, and we’re working to organize the volunteers to ensure good and consistent help. The results? Well, the program is without a doubt on an upward trajectory toward excellence. It’s just that it hasn’t exactly come without a price. Remember my friend Hazel who technically “coordinates” or “runs” the program from “inside” the kitchen? Well, Hazel has been a bit “less than supportive” of the improvements, and I have suddenly found myself taking a more “active” role in the daily operation of the program. More accurately put, I’m finding myself running the program from a position located somewhere between the encouragement of the folks upstairs and the discouragement of the boss in the kitchen. Since I’m technically a mere volunteer who carries (nor wants) no real authority, things have gotten a bit………sticky.

I WISH I could describe the conflict between Hazel and I as something from one of the local Spanish “novellas”.

“What???? Are you completely INSANE? That’s the STUPIDEST things I’ve EVER heard!!!!!!”

“Oh yea?? Well YOU’RE STUPID! In fact, I find you utterly REPULSIVE! DETESTABLE!”

“That goes DOUBLE for me!!!”

………..without warning, they are suddenly locked in a passionate embrace. Dishes are flying in all directions. The beans on the stove are burning intensely, not unlike the passion within their hearts.

“I hate you SO MUCH!”

“I know! Me too! I hate you with every fiber of my being……I hate you with all the blackness in the soul of humanity……I hate you so much, you’re absolutely………absolutely……..IRRESISTABLE!!!”

“Yes…….IRRISISTABLE!!!!!!”

Cue lights…..cue wind machine……XXXXXXXXXXXOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Yes, I’d love to report a story like that. Unfortunately, not unlike the novellas, it would be complete and utter fiction. The GOOD news though, is that in the midst of a bit of job related friction, I’ve been increasing my proficiency in two KEY areas…….conflict resolution in the workplace…….and……..arguing in a foreign language.

Camp Acahualinca

UNLIKE Colorado, where there are four beautiful and distinct seasons, this part of the world enjoys only two……WET and DRY. Currently, we are in the WET. To be more accurate, over the last week or so, we seem to be in SUPER WET. What happens when ALL of the water from the surrounding area drains into Lake Managua? The lake rises, of course. What happens when you happen to live in the low lying area AROUND the lake? Exactly…..it’s time to relocate.
I know what you are thinking. You’re thinking something along the lines of:

“What’s wrong with these people? It’s just like parts of the US! People build their houses on flood plains, and then act surprised when it floods! What a bunch of morons!!!!”

Unfortunately, it’s not QUITE that simple. In Managua, unlike many parts of the US, the property located around the shores of the lake is not exactly the most desired. The lake is horribly contaminated, filthy, and by definition the lowest point in the area. You’ve heard the expression. It’s true. It literally DOES flow downhill. So who inhabits the LEAST desirable land in the area? Of course…..the POOREST people in the area.

When the rain didn’t stop, the water rose. When the water rose, the people were forced to evacuate. When the people evacuated, my “place of business”, Acahualinca Elementary, experienced a sudden transformation from a school into a place of refuge (think a cross between a homeless shelter and a refugee camp). Over the last couple of weeks, we have had as many as 350 people and as few as 30. Right now, as I write this, we are somewhere in the middle. Camp Acahualinca is certainly “no frills”. There are no “uncomfortable beds” or army-green cots. There are no food and water stations or portable showers. There CERTAINLY aren’t volunteers in brightly colored t-shirts walking around, serving in various capacities. What there IS however is whatever you happen to have brought with you and a space on a concrete floor. Didn’t happen to bring a pillow, blanket, basic essentials, etc.? Sorry. You’re out of luck. Here’s your piece of concrete. At least it’s not raining in here.

The government brought rice, beans, and a bit of milk. As for getting them cooked, the people were on their own. Tthis is where I come in. The good news for the flood victims around Acahualinca is that although the school doesn’t have showers, it DOES have a cafeteria. Over the last week, I’ve taken off my “lunch lady” hairnet and put on my “disaster relief” cap (hey, I suppose there IS one volunteer in a brightly colored t-shirt…….minus the brightly colored t-shirt). The overall operation has been organized primarily through a handful of “community organizers” (no, that’s NOT a reference to Obama). I simply help out on the food and water side of things, ensuring that they always have WHAT they need, WHEN they need it. I’ve enjoyed my new role. It’s sort of like entertaining guests.

Tomorrow, for the first time in a week, there are supposed to be SOME children returning to the school. Although the rains have subsided dramatically, the lake has continued to rise. There are reports of alligators eating dogs, a new infestation of snakes and mosquitoes, and more rain on the way. I actually took a tour of the affected area today, and all I can say for now is that (to borrow a phrase from a friend) I feel as though I was just PUNCHED IN THE MIND. As I write this, the thunder in the distance has rapidly grown closer, bringing with it the familiar sound of rain on the metal roof above. As for how long I’ll be wearing this particular hat, I suppose it’s anyone’s guess.

Another Day In The Life

The day started around 6:30 with the sounding of the cell phone alarm clock, and after going a couple rounds with the “snooze alarm”, I was up making coffee while listening to the bustling sounds of the street outside my room. As I’ve mentioned before, the #7 and the #54 (bus routes) start REALLY early, and that’s to say NOTHING of the roaving street venders, taxis, and pedestrians all rushing about in an effort to arrive to their respective destinations on time.
NEVER in my adult life have I had a regular or daily schedule. To be quite honest, even though I’ve worked full-time for years, I’ve never had what would be classified as a “regular” job (some would say I’ve never had a REAL job). Ironically, as I’ve left the work force and assigned myself to official volunteer status, I’ve suddenly found myself living the life of the daily grind. It has certainly taken some getting used to, but really hasn’t been all that bad. There are some real advantages to a regular schedule, and I prefer to focus in THAT direction.

The first hour and a half were spent drinking high quality coffee (one of the luxuries I allow myself), eating a “pico” (sort of a cross between a donut and a croissant), reading, writing, and contemplating the world. I call it “easing into the day”, and it’s a time I’ve grown to appreciate greatly.

After being properly adjusted (and subsequently regulated, thanks to the coffee……yet another advantage of keeping a regular schedule), I was off for the school. Lunch-lady duty generally lasts most of the day. If I’m lucky, and if there is a sufficient number of volunteers that day, I can be out by three. After a short meeting over at “the office”, it was time to head for home.
The water is turned off daily from 5-11. The goal is to always be in and out of the shower by 5 (side note…..like most folks in the country, there is no such thing as a HOT shower in my current world). If I catch it as it’s in the process of shutting down (the city generally lowers the pressure gradually over the course of 30 minutes or so), there is water to the sink AFTER there is NO WATER to the shower. With a bit of creativity, I can still get in a pretty decent rinse. If I miss it altogether, it’s a late night bathing session. For the most part, I have no problem with the water schedule. When the city randomly changes the schedule however (relatively common), I curse them with great fervor.

Fortunately, I made it that day. After a quick shower and a ridiculously large slice of papaya (my new favorite fruit), it was time to reach out and touch the world. I’ve mentioned the word “adjustment” a couple times already, and the internet is another area of such an adjustment. I really couldn’t care less about having a TV in the house. Conversely, I’m not sure I would function particularly well without the internet. To have excruciatingly slow speed is one thing (welcome to the world wide web from Nicaragua). To NOT have “home internet” is another. Both have taken some getting used to. Fortunately though, there are several “Cybers” in the neighborhood, all within walking distance (yes, I’m still carrying the laptop through the neighborhood, contrary to the persistent warnings of the neighbors). The average internet session is one hour and runs about fifty cents. That day was no exception. I checked my emails, got a quick fix with my new addiction called Facebook, and greeted “the regulars” staring randomly into the various magic boxes.

After catching up on the latest political gossip and being properly connected with the world, I made a quick trip to the video store (got to avoid those late fees) and then stopped by the grocery store to pick up a few key ingredients for that night’s dinner. The cooking was minimal, but the dinner turned out quite well. And, since the youngest little sister (16) needed help with her English homework, there wasn’t much time to digest. The next hour or two were spent tutoring in the area of elementary English. Hopefully she learned a thing or two. I know I did. We finished the assignment nonetheless.

Dishes……more visiting with the family and neighbors…….it was now time to wind things down and debrief the day with the older little sister (18). We sat on the stoop in front of the house and enjoyed a brief recess from the rain. A bit of listening about recent boy troubles…….an encouraging word here and there……maybe some counsel when solicited. Basically, it was just hanging out and enjoying the cool of the evening.

Since it was getting late, it was time to call it a day. On the average night, the street is officially deserted by 9 or 9:30. I think this is mostly out of fear or concern for safety. Regardless, it’s probably best to go with the flow on that one. AND, since I was engrossed in my latest literary undertaking (reading a really good book, that is), I was looking forward to knocking off a few chapters before officially waving the white flag of surrender.

I finished the day in the same manner it began…….relaxing…… reading….thinking…..looking for a good story or a bit of inspiration……..easing into the night. And that was pretty much it. Of course, I left out PLENTY of details amidst the daily grind. Weaving their way through the general outline of the day are no shortage of humorous anecdotes, cultural mishaps, challenges of all types, confrontations with the world of poverty or the process of finding my way in a foreign land, and various fires to put out in any number of areas (the figurative kind these days). It was a good day, an average day. It’s certainly wasn’t a glamorous or particularly riveting 24 hours. But as the title implies, this one was just “another day in the life”.

A Little Bit Of This, A Little Bit Of That.....Part I

I haven’t written in the Blog for a while. Not because I don’t want to. It’s just that there never seems to be enough TIME. TIME????, you say? How can there not be enough TIME????? You’re a volunteer in Latin America who doesn’t even have a real JOB! Well, that’s technically true. What is also true though is that……..well, more on that later. The point I’m trying to make is that I’m taking this opportunity to simply catch up on a bit of writing I’ve neglected over the last month or so. As the title implies, it’s a little bit of this and a little bit of that, stories stemming from everyday events that should offer a bit of insight into my current Nica life. For the sanity of all of us, I’ll break it up into a couple of parts. And since I left off in my last entry with a story of crime and punishment, I’ll continue with that same theme in this, the FIRST of another two part series.

A REPEAT VISIT, PERHAPS????

In my last Blog entry, I wrote about a late night visitor I had to my little oasis in Barrio Atlagracia. Well, although I thought my sealing of the window would be the end of THAT, my late night friend decided to return the other night……or maybe a friend……or a colleague……or LEAST someone in a similar line of work. The story goes like this:

It’s Saturday night, about 6:30 PM. The mom, two little sisters, and boyfriend of the younger are eating dinner at the kitchen table. The “dad” from the house is at work. Me? I had just left for a movie. The front door is open. The front gate is closed. The boyfriend is startled by a noise and gets up from the table. It is suddenly realized that a “ladron” (robber) has taken the liberty of letting himself in and is leisurely making his way through the house. The boyfriend grabs and detains him, as the girls call the police. The ladron doesn’t resist in any way, and claims that he was simply looking for something to eat. Since the police don’t show up for an hour and a half, there is obviously a long wait. The ladron sits in the corner quietly, awaiting his escort to the local police station. More family members are called…….more arrive. As more family members arrive, more and more neighbors arrive. Before long , there is a bit of a mob scene. When one of the uncles shows up along with the dad, things take a downward turn for our friend, the ladron. Fortunately, the “golf club” is unable to be located. Unfortunately, a “metal pole” fills in quite nicely. According to reports, things get pretty ugly at this point. As the angry mob screams “dale dale” (literal translation…..give it to him), the little sisters scream hysterically to stop, and the “victim” cries for mercy while trying to shield his body and cower in the corner, the dad and the uncle use fists, feet, and the metal pole to give our new friend the “Rodney King-style” beating of his life. Yep, it’s often a completely different world down here. The movie was the absolute WORST I’d seen in a long time. I’m glad I went.

SOMETIMES YOU JUST HAVE TO PUT YOUR FOOT DOWN

With any developing nation, the area of “law enforcement” takes on a particularly different meaning than its equivalent in the US. “Los Policias” here in Nicaragua are NO exception to the rule. As for the “traffic police”, the general procedure is to stake out a corner somewhere on a random street, stand out in the street, and simply wave people in to their little makeshift detention area. If they are really advanced, they may have a cone or a reflective vest. If they’re SUPER advanced, they may have a vehicle (i.e. a way to get there and home……..or perhaps “pursue” someone who chooses not to stop). Usually, they have to thumb a ride. What do they do exactly? Well, usually they just check your registration, insurance, and license and send you on your way. I say “usually”, but not always. I’ve been pulled over a number of times. Many times they have checked the documents and sent me on my way. Others though, I’ve had to pay them bribes ranging from 5-15 dollars to avoid having to spend the following day getting my license back. Regardless, I’m ALWAYS very courteous and compliant. ALWAYS, that is, until the other night.
It was dark and raining, and I wasn’t particularly enjoying being out on the motorcycle that evening. We had received an incredible amount of rain over the last several days, and there had been much flooding in the city. I was driving very slowly and cautiously, simply trying to get home and relax. After making a right hand turn (with turn signals, etc.), I arrived at the red light less than a block from the corner. An officer walked out from the sidewalk, looked me over a bit, and waved me over to the curb.

TC (Traffic Cop)…..Documents please.

J(that’s me)…..Sure officer. Here you go.

He walks away and reviews the documents. Upon returning, he asks me to turn off the motor and follow him.

TC…..Are you aware that you committed an infraction back there when you made that turn? You made a right hand turn but upon completion of the turn, entered the left lane.

J…..OK. Sure, I can understand that. But the right lane is not a particularly viable option tonight. There is a LARGE amount of flood debris in that lane at the moment. AND, in addition to the flood debris, there is an ENOURMOUS hole (think somewhere between a pothole and a sinkhole…….easily large enough to swallow the moto). The lane is completely obstructed……..like I said, not a good option.

TC…..Yes, I understand that, but that doesn’t matter. You still broke the law.

As I said before, usually I’m very cordial and compliant. That night however, I had apparently had enough.

J…..Are you kidding me? REALLY? SERIOUSLY????? That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve EVER heard! I’m lucky I didn’t CRASH with all of the debris in the road! And YOU! What are you even doing out here in the rain? NOTHING! All you’re doing is standing out in the street ripping people off and trying to take advantage of them!!!!! It’s totally wrong! YOU know it, and everyone out here knows it!

TC…..Are you saying we’re corrupt. We’re NOT corrupt (that’s one of their big slogans)!

Jason remains silent and gives him the look of “hey, if the shoe fits, buddy”.

TC…..You better be careful. You better respect the authority of……blah blah blah blah.

J…..Whatever! You do what you have to do. The whole thing is completely ludicrous, and YOU KNOW IT!!!!!!

The next thing I knew, after being given another warning about respecting the authority of the police and having my documents returned cordially, I was on my way……..no ticket…..no nothing.

“Have a nice evening”, he said. “Drive carefully.”

I suppose he picked up on the subtle clues pointing to the fact that regardless of the outcome, I had NO intention of paying ANYONE ANYTHING that night. Maybe it’s not such a bad strategy after all.

RUNNING FROM THE LAW

AND…..since we’re STILLL on the subject of criminal activity and law enforcement, I’ll conclude this section with one final story. As many of you know, I am technically a “tourist” here in Nicaragua. In other words, I have what is known as a “tourist visa” that is good for 90 days. What happens after the 90 days are up? Well, it’s certainly a renewable tourist visa. I just have to leave the country and stay “gone” for 72 hours. Upon crossing back into the country, I receive a stamp that is good for another 90 days. Recently, I took a trip to Costa Rica to see a couple of friends in San Jose. We had a nice time, and I got my new 90 day pass upon crossing back over. BUT, while talking to a different friend the other night, it dawned on me that my “recent trip” to Costa Rica may have been a bit “less recent” than I thought. Upon checking the stamp in my passport, my suspicion was confirmed. Just HOW recent was that trip? Uh….about 100 days ago recent. Uh oh.
I had visions of the Nica version of the INS showing up at the door (hey, do we still have that metal pole around?)

Are you Jason Jones?????

Yes.

Come with us.

Uuummm…….Do you guys work within the same bribe system as the traffic police?

I had visions of being driven to the airport in shackles and thrown into an unmarked cargo plane. My passport would no doubt be revoked. I would be branded an international criminal and barred from ever returning to this part of the world. If I chose to return, I would have to do a reverse border run from Texas or California.

HEY!!!! YOU’RE GOING THE WRONG WWWWAAAAAYYYYYYY!!!!!!, they would shout.

NO AMIGO! I’m trying to get INTO Mexico!!!!!

The next day, I found out that I would need to go down to the local immigration office to get things sorted out. As a precaution, I had a Nica friend call ahead and find out what was going to happen. In other words, if I walked INTO the office under free will, would I ever be able to walk OUT? The information sounded a bit too promising………it could be a trap.
Well, I’ll say it again………things down here in a developing country are often done a bit differently than the way some of us are accustomed to. I walked into the office, paid three dollars in fines, bought another three months for $15 more (MUCH cheaper than taking a Costa Rican vacation), and walked out a free man. The worst part was having to go to 74 different windows to receive erroneous information at each and every one. Of course, I expected that, so it was really no problem. So once again, all was well that ended well. And as Sting said back in the 80’s, “I’m an ALIEN…..I’m a LEGAL ALIEN”. It’s nice to be back.

A Life Of Crime Part II.......Things That Go Bump In The Night

As I’ve mentioned before, I rent a room in a neighborhood called Altagracia. It’s a simple room with two doors (one that opens to the inside of the house…….one to the street), a bathroom (no door there.....good thing I live alone), and a small window. The window is approximately 12” X 24”, is located just below the ceiling, and is covered only with bars on the outside (better at keeping out PEOPLE than mosquitoes, bright lights, or the ungodly decibels of the #54 bus). Directly below the window is the V-shaped mattress on which I sleep. Between the bed and the window is a small ledge. Because I have no closet or place to hang clothing in my rented paradise, this ledge below the window works quite nicely. As a result, when in their rightful place, the clothes dangle a mere 12-14” above my snoring profile.

Because I was planning a small excursion to Granada the following day with some folks from the neighborhood, I called it a night at the early hour of 10PM. After all, I wanted to make sure I received ample beauty sleep, something I can certainly use more of. The first hour of sleep was a bit light, interrupted on several occasions by housemates returning home from a night on the town. By 12AM however, I was sleeping like a baby, dreaming no doubt of Spanish beauties and eternal beach fiestas. But it was also around the 12 o’ clock hour that things took an unexpected turn.

The first thing to come was an unusual sound. It wasn’t a particularly LOUD sound, just unfamiliar. To be quite honest, I’m not exactly sure WHAT my subconscious mind registered as the source of such a strange noise. But the second event came in the form of something much greater than a sound. The second event was an object. To be entirely accurate, I should add that it wasn’t simply AN object but SEVERAL objects. And these objects were not just ANY random objects in the space-time continuum. They were objects falling ON ME!!!!

It was at this point, the point at which random objects were suddenly raining down upon me as I slept, that my subconscious uttered the initial wakeup call. I mean the subconscious mind can only do so much on its own. It had already begun to process the events. It now needed the rest of the brain to figure out what exactly was taking place. So far, the sub had processed that objects were raining down upon us. It had also processed the fact that this made absolutely no sense, being as though we were sleeping peacefully, alone in a room behind locked doors. Beyond that though, it had processed that exactly TWO such objects had fallen upon us in the still of the evening. But as strange as that seemed, it was the third and final piece of information that seemed perhaps strangest of all. One of the objects was particularly furry. FURRY????? Yes, VERY furry. And with that, the subconscious sounded the emergency alarm and declared a level of “code ORANGE”. WAKE UUUUUUUPPPPPPP!!!!!!

The next thing I knew, I was flailing about in my bed, trying to free myself from these uninvited guests as quickly as possible. What could they be? How many were there? I thought of the cat that walked above me in the ceiling on a nightly basis. Had the feline enjoyed a particularly large dinner and FINALLY fallen through the ceiling tiles? No, I wasn’t sure HOW I knew it, by I somehow knew that whatever IT or THEY were, the entrance had NOT been the ceiling. The entrance had been the window above me. Perhaps it was the injured bat that had been in front of my room just a few hours prior. Could it have made its way through my window in search of fresh gringo blood? No, that didn’t make sense either. After the encounter with that vehicle, the bat couldn’t even fly. And whatever this was, it was SIGNIFICANTLY LARGER AND FURRIER than a bat.

And so it was at this point, still in that foggy state between sleep and reality, that the subconscious sounded the alarm for “code RED”. We were now well beyond the point of needing to wake up. It was now time to PANIC!!!!!!!!!!

Panic. Now THAT is a word with which NO ONE really wants to be associated. I am certainly no exception. I mean I’ve been working in emergency services for the last 10 years, and I generally pride myself on taking an “OK, let’s look at this for what it is…..let’s not overreact and make matters worse……everything will be just fine” approach to life and crisis. I typically enjoy a natural personality that lends itself AWAY from such things as panic or hysteria. And if I’m honest, I would have to say that I can be a bit critical of those who choose a different, more dramatic path. On that night however, I wasn’t given a choice. The internal alarm had sounded. We were now in “code RED”. It was now time to panic, and that was exactly what I did.

I continued flailing about in my bed, trying desperately to free myself from the fury of this creature (or creatures). And although I still remained primarily in the world of the subconscious (never have been one to wake up particularly easy), I realized that things didn’t seem to be improving. I realized that the more I struggled, the more I flailed about, the more intertwined I became with the beast. My current actions of mere struggling did not seem to be effective. It was now time to invoke the second half of the panic strategy. It was now time for the historically tried and true method of……screaming like a little girl.

I think it was the screaming that actually did the trick. That is, I think it was the screaming that carried me through on the final leg of the race to the world of the conscious. Because as I officially woke up, freed myself from the no-doubt rabid beast, and jumped out of bed with a gold medal performance, I realized that the screaming was indeed coming from me.

Several moments later, the screaming had thankfully stopped. I stood motionless, breathing heavily in the darkness next to my bed. I took an inventory of myself. There didn’t SEEM to be any teeth or claw marks on my body. Was it possible that I had miraculously escaped this attempted mauling, unscathed? I waited, primarily for movement. Where had the beast gone? Was it still in the bed? Was it hiding in the shadows? Was it crouched in a concealed location, UNDER the bed perhaps, planning the second attack? I continued to wake up. As I visually inspected the darkness in complete stillness, the theories continued to build in my head. I assessed the facts known to that point. I KNEW that at least one animal, most likely two, had fallen upon me. This much was clear. I also somehow knew that it or they had entered through the window above me. And as I looked to the window, I noticed that there was indeed something unusual about my small portal to the outside world. There was still something in the window. To be more exact, there was something halfway IN the window and halfway OUT of the window.

It was in THAT moment that I realized exactly what had happened. It absolutely made perfect sense. I was SURE. I had been the unfortunate recipient of a cruel prank. Someone had trapped some type of animal, put it in a pillow case, and injected it into my room through the available opening of the window. There in the darkness of the night, it was clear as day. I still hadn’t located the animal, but there was the pillow case, halfway IN and halfway OUT of the window. I was officially awake. The mind was firing on all cylinders. I had solved the mystery.
But despite the facts that backed my air-tight case, two lingering questions remained to be answered. First of all, although I had stood in the darkness next to my bed for a good five minutes now, I STILL hadn’t found whatever furry creature had been dropped into my sanctuary of peace. AND besides that, it didn’t make much sense that the pillow case, still in the window, seemed to be made out of the exact same material of a shirt I happen to own. Was it possible that there was more to this story than I had figured out?

It’s funny what the mind does, especially in a state of SUB or UN consciousness. So as I stood there next to my bed, finally realizing what had ACTUALLY taken place several moments prior in the REAL world, I had to laugh a bit, not only at the situation, but at myself. Sure enough, that “pillow case” in the window WAS INDEED my shirt. And as I turned on the light and offered a closer inspection, I realized that in addition to this one shirt, most ALL of my hanging shirts, pants, and jackets seemed to be in the process of making a hasty exit. In fact, the only hanging items that WEREN’T on a journey to the outside world, were lying motionless on my now vacant mattress. There they were, one pair of jeans……..and that furry, no-doubt rabid beast known as…….my black Patagonia fleece jacket.

The neighbors had warned me about the window in the past. I had just chosen to ignore their advice, claiming that the window was high enough to pose NO viable security risk. Without climbing the bars, one couldn’t even see that there were clothes immediately to the interior. That night however, someone HAD climbed the bars and subsequently reached through the window in an attempt to steal whatever happened to be in reach (i.e. my clothes). Unfortunately for him (or her….let’s be fair), in the haste of this well planned heist, several of the garments had fallen upon me from the ledge above. It was most likely my screams of terror that brought an interruption to the crime. As for what had brought an interruption to that beach fiesta? I’m going to have to go with the jeans. After all, they’ve got some real weight to them. But the real problem wasn’t the weight of the jeans. The REAL problem, as it turned out, was that black fleece jacket. It’s just so soft and “furry”. The more I struggled, the more “the beast” and I became mutually intertwined. It was truly a hopeless situation.

I spent the next hour or so hammering boards over my “once a window to the outside world”, as if preparing for a future life on the Gulf Coast. What I ultimately lost in fresh air and outdoor access has more than been made up for in sleep-conducive darkness and silence, not to mention the additional security for my classic collection of hanging garments. Once again, as was the case of the Panamanian bus, all was well that ended. The would-be thief returned home empty handed, and the only thing I lost that night was a bit of valuable sleep. And sure, I’m a little embarrassed over the events that transpired on that fateful Saturday night. But you have to laugh at yourself from time to time. I mean without that, you might just look a little ridiculous…….flailing about in the night.

A Life Of Crime Part I.....Panamanian Bus

Most of the local buses in Latin America are retired school buses from the US. Because American children between the ages of 5 and 18 don’t tend to carry large suitcases or enormous sacks of rice, grains, or beans to school, the buses are not designed to accommodate such loads. For this reason, when these buses are used here in this part of the world, anything larger than a Sponge Bob lunch bag gets stored in the BACK of the bus, or the space located between the emergency exit door (utilized of course as a primary entry/exit) and the last row of seats (those coveted so highly by the elementary/middle school ruffians).

Generally there is no problem with the above system, and the respective valuables of the passengers are left in peace. A few months ago however, as I found myself slowly waking up from a short siesta while on just such a bus in Panama, I realized that something could be amiss. You see, like everyone else commuting between Boquete and David that day, I too had stored my backpack in the area to the back of the old yellow school bus from Anywhere, U.S.A. And as the bus made one of its regular stops by the side of the road, I looked up in my foggy state to witness several passengers making their way off the bus.

“hmmmm…..that guy has a Dana Design backpack just like mine.”

“How nice.”

“Wait a minute……That’s MY Dana Design backpack……And it seems to be hitching a ride with that Panamanian!!!!!!!”

Fortunately, this final thought was enough to jar me from what remained of my slumber. I woke up, told my traveling companions that I’d be back shortly, and quickly made my way to the front of the bus to retrieve my belongings. Fortunately, I caught up to the pack just as it was making its way down the stairs of the bus. I grabbed the pack, the would-be-thief continued down the stairs, and as the bus lurched forward in a continuation of its journey toward David, I found myself standing in the front of the bus, holding what consisted of most of my Latin American possessions.

“Close call”, I thought. “I suppose I better hold on to this for the rest of the trip”.

I discovered later that the guy HAD taken a few things out of the top pocket of the backpack before attempting to de-bus. But the headlamp was on its last leg anyway, and I was actually more than happy to get rid of the bag ridiculously large coins from Costa Rica (my least favorite form of money in the region……who designed that stuff?????). All was well that ended well, and the rest of the year has gone pretty well for me in respect to preservation of personal property.

Unlike Panama, which despite the aforementioned exception to the rule seems to be a relatively safe nation, life down here in Nicaragua is a different story. Rather than being the exception, crime is often accepted as the norm, simply a part of life in the second poorest nation in the region (second only to Haiti). So, if you put a $2 light bulb in the porch light receptacle to have better lighting for a post-death wake, it will be stolen in the night. If you park your vehicle without someone watching it at all times, things like exterior bulbs, windshield wipers, antennas, and lens covers will mysteriously disappear almost immediately. Forget to install the obligatory “decorations” (i.e. jagged glass in cement) around the upper portion of your wall, someone will most likely climb the wall and steal brooms and mops from your patio…….all true stories from recent days in the neighborhood.

For the most part though it’s just petty theft, something common to many countries in the world. And although I’ve known 4-5 people personally who have been robbed at knife or gunpoint in the last several months, I’ve never had much of a problem in my home city. I take the usual precautions, try to stay alert, keep the laptop insured and regularly backed up on a second hard drive, don’t carry a credit card or large amounts of cash, “generally” heed the warnings of the locals, and follow the “never stop at red lights after dark” rule when riding the motorcycle. Of course my favorite strategy, one that has already saved the laptop on at least one occasion (but that’s another story for another day) is the MAKE AS MANY FRIENDS AS POSSIBLE in the neighborhood rule. After all, in my book, more friends equals a more secure living environment.

It’s not a PERFECT system. I mean NO system is really a perfect system. Regardless of its sophistication (or lack thereof in my case), all such systems are, by definition, mere deterrents. But without trying to sound arrogant, I have to say that my short list of simple strategies has served me relatively well over the last 6 months of living in Managua. It has served me relatively well that is, until last night.

…….to be continued.