Hecho en Nicaragua/Feliz Día de La Madre

That which was “made in Nicaragua” gives us reason to celebrate Mother’s Day today.

When we first arrived in Waslala almost two years ago the director of the Institute where we were working asked us (like so many Nicaraguans have since) why we did not have any children. Being over 30 years old and married for 3 years, we should almost be grandparents by now. So when anyone ever asked, we would say, “in time”… Don Edgar, our first director, responded, “Well, before you leave you need to be able say, ‘Hecho en Nicaragua!’ (Made in Nicaragua)”

Now we can proudly say our baby was, “Hecho en Nicaragua!” We are four months along and Kristin has been feeling great. We both feel blessed with God’s grace, and celebrate all mothers today, and this mom-to-be. ~Billy

Muchos Mangos!

A few weeks ago Billy had written a blog about the upcoming mango harvest. Well, it has arrived, in full force. Mangos can be so pricey in the States that they were always such a luxury when we found some for an affordable price. We would carefully cut every juicy slice out of the fruit and then inevitably Billy would place pieces of the skin in his mouth too, trying to get off every little bit of the candy-like treat.

I never thought there would come a point when I didn’t want to see those sweet, sunset-colored fruits again, but the time has come. I awake every morning to about 2 dozen mangos, dotting the landscape of our backyard. No sooner have I collected the ones that survived the fall then I hear another rustling through the leaves and Diego is out running to see what intruder has crossed over our fence. No intruder this time, unless you consider these mangos to be so, which I’m almost to the point of now. I collect the fruits that split open or succumbed to some of the birds in their fall and toss them into our compost heap, which is beginning to look like a burial ground for beat-up mangos. Diego doesn’t even begin to follow us out to see what tasty morsel we’re going to leave him in the heap; even he is sick of mangos. 

We’ve gifted literally bags of mangos, to friends in Managua, to Doña Victoria who sells us tortillas each morning, to the girls at the parish to make fresco (a sugared fruit drink),to the teachers and students at school, and to our neighbors on all sides. Then, the neighbors, in return, have made miel de mango, a tasty desert made by cooking down the mango and adding sugar and cinnamon. It is delicious, but one can only eat so much! And multiple people have gifted us some of this miel in exchange for our mangos. Billy cuts up a dozen mangos each morning and stores them in the fridge for a cool afternoon snack. This weekend some of our students are coming over to make cuznaca (a dessert dish made of mangos and milk). Billy is also taking a large sack to a cooperative of women who will make mango jam this weekend, to be sold at the farmers’ market in Estelí. In spite of all of our efforts, we just can’t seem to stay ahead of them. 

I wish we could send a bunch up to the States for you all to sample. They are incredibly delicious. Any good ideas with what to do with them? Please send us your thoughts and recipes! ~Kristin

A Song for San Nicolás

Apparently it is something of a necessity to have an official “town song.” I can’t think of any song associated with Yakima, WA, my hometown, or even San Jose, CA, where we lived prior to our move to Nicaragua. The only song remotely close to an official city song that comes to mind is “I Left My Heart in San Francisco,” by Tony Bennett. 

When INTUR (the Institute of Tourism of Nicaragua) decided to host a song competition to write and create music for a song about San Nicolás, the town came alive, like . It seemed as though people only had a week’s notice, but they immediately put pen to paper and began creating lyrics and notes in an ode to their beloved hometown. Perhaps it was the 5,000 cordoba grand prize (about $200) that inspired folks, but whatever the reason, everyone in town was anxious to have an official town song.

Idalia and one of the other teachers at school, Marihelio, came up with what they believed to be the winning lyrics, and with the assistance of the female students from La Garnacha, who are very active in the choir at church, they were confident of a win. Prof. Elbin, a known talented musician, also developed his own original song, and it seemed that there was going to be a real competition between groups at our school. 

Saturday finally arrived and the streets filled early with tents and booths of people selling tejadas (fried, plantain chips), sweet breads, and frescos (fruit drinks made of whatever the local and fresh fruit is in the season). Our friends from La Garnacha came, filling a table with their traditional wares of cheese, coffee, arts and crafts, and fresh veggies. It was another hot day and people sought refuge from the blazing heat underneath tents that were set up over rows of chairs facing a large stage, holding a prominent position in the main intersection of town.

I knew trouble was in store when, earlier that morning at the escuelita, the monthly theology classes for church delegates, the girls who had promised to provide their voices for Idalia’s song swore to me that they were no longer going to participate. At the time I brushed it off thinking, anything and everything changes at the last minute here, who knows if they’re telling the truth? In fact they were, and later on as I was sipping some of the Garnacha coffee and chatting with one of the delegados from Las Montañitas about the mornings’ class, Idalia rushed up with a panicked look on her face. She asked to borrow the front room of our house to practice their song and I quickly obliged. Marihelio came in shortly thereafter, followed by two of Idalia’s daughters, in town for the weekend to celebrate their mom’s birthday the following day. They had conscripted a few of the musicians who had formed a group from a far away community, Los Bordos, to provide some back-up for them. However, Idalia was convinced that her voice was not going to make the cut and she wanted to throw in the towel. It took all of us to convince her that there was nothing to lose, but the musicians slowly backed out as well. Later, we realize it was because their own song had musical notes too similar to the one Idalia and Marihelio had created. 

After about an hour of back-and-forth, do they compete or not, the competition began so we all cleared out of the house to hear the other contestants. I was still unsure as to if they were going to compete or not, and if so, who would be on the stage with them?

All the chairs under the shade were spoken for, so I walked up and down the street, taking photos and chatting with people along the way. There were a total of six groups that participated, a great showing for a last minute song competition. Many people had come in from surrounding communities to partake in the day’s festivities. A group of young girls from the primary school provided some folklorico dancing prior to the singing. 

When the time came for the “group from the Institute” to perform, Idalia and Marihelio slowly crept towards the stage. Idalia gave a disclaimer on the mic, “we’re not real good singers, but we think the lyrics to this song are great,” and with that, they began. It appeared that they had convinced Elbin to accompany them and so he provided some guitar music as Idalia took the mic and Marihelio slyly hid behind Idalia, presumably singing along as well, although no one could really hear her because she was no where near a microphone. It was a good effort for sure and I was secretly seething at the girls who had backed out on them, but at the same time, this is very typical. Plans don’t always go according to the way we think they will, or should, in this country. Elbin followed, singing and playing guitar by himself; accompanied only by his four year old son, who never leaves his side and always brings along his own small guitar, to “play with” his dad. No surprise, the father-son duo were a big hit and once again Elbin had the rare opportunity to showcase his talent.

As the judges took to the government building to tally the votes and decide upon a winner the MC called up groups of kids to participate in an impromptu dance competition. The excitement and positive energy continued to carry the day as the sun started to dip past the buildings and a welcome breeze began to blow through town.

About an hour passed before the judges reappeared to announce the winning group and their song. The group from Los Bordos took second prize, 3,000 cordoba, and at no great surprise to any of us, Eblin took first place! There was a lot of excitement and celebration, teasing about what he was going to do with his winnings (just shy of his monthly salary), and congratulations to all participants. 

It was truly a great day, what a wonderful idea by INTUR to sponsor such a competition, and now we have a town anthem. At last.

~Kristin

Jinotega

Last month before the busy days of the Triduum, we traveled north to the city and department of Jinotega.  Known as the “City of Mists,” because of its cool temperature and high altitude, we thought this would be the perfect place to be during one of the hottest times of the year.  Maybe it was a degree cooler than other parts of Nicaragua, but it was HOT there too.  

We arrived after our three hour bus ride and were met by Sam, our fellow VM volunteer in Managua.  We spent our few days strolling around the city of Jinotega, but there was not really much to marvel at.  The department of Jinotega produces 95% of the coffee production in Nicaragua, but being in the city we did not see any of the plantations.  Sam and I hiked the montañita, a trail that begins in the cemetery and climbs to an outlook point where you get an incredible panoramic view of the city and the valley where it lies.  At the top stands a rusty and tattered iron cross that overlooks the city.  It seemed the right metaphor for the city below.  

On Monday we traveled to San Rafael del Norte, a quick day trip from Jinotega. In this mountain town there is a devout following to a deceased Franciscan priest named Odorico D’Andrea.  He came to Nicaragua from Italy in 1954, and was someone who always worked for peace.  Since his death in 1990 many locals have attributed miracles to him, and the beatification process at the Vatican has begun to make him a saint.  There is a large church in San Rafael del Norte that we poked our heads into and marveled at the murals that line the walls of the church, which are written about in our Lonely Planet guide.  While there, a group of nuns dressed immaculately in white came in, and I knew they were excited to be there.  I had a question about a symbol on a particular statue so I decided to approach one of the nuns.  She was short, stocky, and more than delighted to explain the symbols.  She asked us if we were heading up the hill to the retreat center where Padre D’Andrea is buried.  “We’re driving up there if you’d like to go with us,” she offered.  We could not refuse this sweet prayerful woman.  We climbed in the van with five other nuns and made the quick jaunt to the hill.  We let Sam off with the other nuns who wanted to climb up the hill to the retreat center and chapel, in a pilgrimage sort of way, while Kristin and I got a free, air conditioned, ride to the top.  

When we arrived we entered the chapel, paid our respects to D’Andrea and spent a few minutes inside the museum, which is a shrine to this future saint.  They have many of his personal items such as a briefcase, priestly garments, shoes, address book, and other contents you would find in his pocket.  The had exhumed his body a few years ago as part of the beatification process and proudly displayed photos of this process and his body, partly as proof that he is a saint since his body had not decomposed.  I would not say it was grotesque, but I wouldn’t say it should be so prominently displayed in the museum.  We said goodbye to our nun friends, who had us laughing the whole time. Luckily, we got some photos with them before we left.  We made our way down the hill, and went to the other famous site in San Rafael del Norte, Augusto Sandino’s home which is now a museum (which is really now just a boarded up home since it is undergoing a remodel).  We were bummed we were not able to go in and see where the Father of Nicaragua once lived.  Supposedly there is no money to fix up the house.  

We left the following day to head back to San Nicolás, and while it was nice to spend time with Sam and see another part of the country, we were not that impressed with Jinotega.  The most beautiful part of the trip was the bus ride from Jinotega to Matagalpa, where the land was lush, green, and the famous mists trickled over the hilltops.  ~Billy

Henry and Me

The title of this blog sounds like a children’s story, but it is about my neighbor and me.  On Easter weekend Henry leaned over the fence and asked if I wanted to go to his grandfather’s house/farm.  I wasn’t totally up for it, but then realized that it might be one of the few opportunities to visit him and I also knew it was something Henry had wanted me to do for quite some time.  I told him that I would be able to go, and he just beamed in delight.  

I packed my water bottle, sunscreen, and some bananas and mangoes from our tree to offer his grandfather.  It only took 40 minutes to walk out to his farm, and it was a spectacular hike getting there.  Even though we are in the dry season and the hills are brown and thirsty, there is a majestic look to the rolling mountains that surround San Nicolás.  Upon arrival we walked down toward the adobe structure with a tiled roof (a rarity in Nicaragua) and passed through the corral of cows.  We made it to the veranda where his 92 year old grandfather was sitting back in his chair.  Cowboy hat and all, he got up to welcome me to his home.  He was the cutest little man. We talked for a bit, before Henry wanted to show me around the farm.

Santiago Orozco has lived in that house for over 50 years.  He was one of 11 kids and grew up just about 200 yards from where he lives now in a house that no longer stands.  He had four sons and one daughter (Dina, Henry’s mom).  All of his family lives in San Nicolás today, and it seems like half the town is an Orozco.  He talked of his “worker hands” and the laborious farming he did throughout his life.  He was a rancher where his nearest neighbor is not within eyesight.  Now, his son looks after the cattle and they make and sell cuajada, a Nicaraguan cheese, from the milk they get from their cows.  

When his son Ismael got up from our conversation to begin milking the cows, Henry asked me if I wanted some fresh milk.  I had drank some once before and so I said yes.  He went inside to the dark kitchen with the mud floor and grabbed a glass, put in a half a cup of sugar (no joke), and brought me the glass.  I realized then exactly what Henry expected me to do: put the glass underneath the utter, and let the warm fresh cow milk melt the sugar and then drink it down.  Uh, no thanks!  I like fresh milk, but it needs to be boiled.  I politely declined the utter to mouth milk that I was offered and asked if they could boil it first.  They did, but I still ended up with a handful of sugar running through my veins.  

Then Henry was so eager to get me on his uncle’s horse.  I was equally excited so I hopped on and went for a ride to the bottom of the farm.  I was riding by myself, and enjoyed the personal time to reflect on the scenery, my work in San Nicolás, the accompaniment I was providing, and the friendship I have with our good neighbors.  I rode up past the house, and Henry encouraged me to keep going on a different trail.  As I made my way up the trail and along the hillside, I looked out over the vast valley and western hills.  As I slowly galloped along I remembered why the name of our blog is Just Look Up.  

When I returned from riding, Henry invited me into the kitchen where lunch was awaiting me on the table: Gallo Pinto and eggs, a tortilla, a cup of coffee, and some of their own cuajada (which was cut from a block in a drawer underneath the kitchen table).  I was grateful not only for the hospitalitybut their generosity.  Grandpa came in shortly afterward and made a small plate of food for himself.  We sat, talked, and enjoyed the tranquility of life in the campo.  

Our afternoon came to a close on the porch with Santiago.  Dusk was fast approaching and we wanted to get back before dark.  Henry wanted photos of him and his grandfather and also of me and Santiago.  I told Santiago I would be back again and that I loved his home and was grateful for his warm charm.  He leaned over and gave me a hug, which is as rare as snow falling in Nicaragua. Henry beamed all the way back, excited for having me meet his grandfather, ride his uncle’s horse, sample their cheese, and sit with Santiago listening to his stories of war and work.  It was a memorable day for Henry and Me! ~Billy

Swimming During Semana Santa

The place to be during Holy Week in San Nicolás is the pool outside of town.  The pool is dry 50 weeks of the year, but come Easter time (usually the hottest weeks of the year) it fills up with water and people.  We were invited by some of our students and neighbors and we finally made it out to the pool on Holy Thursday.  Tough to say that it resembles your local YMCA, but there’s no shortage of fun.

We walked with Henry, our neighbor who continually looks out for us, the 35 minutes outside of San Nicolás to get there.  We were some of the first to arrive.  While it costs $1 to enter, our neighbors across the street own the pool and farm where it is located and they insisted on not charging us.  I went straight for the slide, and was deep in the water within five minutes after arriving.  The pool filled up within an hour and before we knew it half of our students were there.  Some were mesmerized that we were actually in the pool and wearing swimsuits!

Before leaving we were given 5lbs. of malanga and about 25 bananas, both of which grow on the farm.  It was the perfect way to spend a warm day during Semana Santa, and an even better way to become more a part of our community.  They that swim together stay together!  ~Billy