Dad and Sean: Part 2

 So then we went on a tour of the Isles of Granada, in this little motor boat. Marcos, our driver, knew a guy who knew a guy...

 Sean in the boat soaking up the rays.

 Dad doing the same

 So each island was owned by a rich Nicaraguan and the majority have since changed hands to rich Americans, rich Europeans, and rich Costa Ricans. There is one thing in common....rich.....

 It is really nice scenery though.....

 And a rich veterinarian bought a neighboring island to his house and rehabilitated four monkeys. They are so cute and rather trained; they come for food.

 This family is one example of the beach-front fortress trend.

 One of the basic boats with teenagers and members of the Nicaraguan families who watch or house-sit the fortresses.

 And there's one for sale. Oooooooo quick let's buy it!!

 And we visited the Masaya Volcano. Our driver, Marcos, looking into the sulfurous smoke of the volcano.

 Sean loves being super close to the potentially dangerous and altogether still active volcano.

 Real smoking coming out. Real lava and magma that you can see at the bottom.

 The cross at the top. We couldn't walk up to the top because there had been recent seismic activity elsewhere in the country (darn you San Cristobal!!)

 The boys, both American and Nicaraguan, enjoying the smokey spa treatment.

 And did I get to mention that we had to wear hard hats, like construction ones. Sean loved the style. Dad liked to nap in the back.

 Me with the boys by the volcano.

 There was an old fort a few miles away from the Volcano. Samoza, the evil dictator bad guy, used it in the 70s and early 80s to hold any Sandinistas. He would hold them, torture them, and feed them to tigers and lions at his house or throw their bodies into the volcano. Anybody wondering why the Sandinistas got rid of him. The prison tour ma.de a lasting impression on everyone. The fort is now maintained by the Grenada Boy Scouts and is a popular hangout spot for high schoolers.

 The perimeter of the fort on the top of the hill. You can see the high schoolers hanging out on one of the security posts Masaya and Grenada.

 Dad on the main grounds of the fortress. The holes you see between the main wall and the ground, are the only air and water holes for the prisoners.

 The view from the front of the fort.

And me with Smartypants who woke Sean and me up at around 6AM the following day, so I just let her walk around until she settled by my head. She knows who Mom is.

Sean and Dad: Part 1

 Dad and Sean in the Hotel Cafe in Jinoetga. We stayed there (in yes, the all wood room) watching the Big Bang Theory marathon and taking a day trip to pack up my stuff in site in Cuatro Esquinas.

 View of Jinotegan mountains from the road.

 View of Matagalpa from the road

 First cafe we got to after arriving in Matagalpa and the boys experienced some Matagalpan coffee and smoothies at Cafe Barista.

 Sorry this one is so blurry, but the boys are standing just inside the Cathedral in Matagalpa.

 Sean next to his new ride......no seriously, just standing in the walkway of the Gallo mas Gallo store

 And Sean in front of the Carlos Fonseca museum (which was closed) taking a picture with one of the main men of the Sandinista starter kit.

 The boys impersonating Carlos Fonseca statue in the Central Park.

 The rainbow--can't you see it!?!

 We made it to Granada!!! A little late (because Dad just had to try to get a t-shirt that had the town of Tipitapa on it).

 Sean trying his first hand at feeding the remaining kitten, Smartypants. The other 3 went to members of my community and our driver, Marcos. He's like a pro!

 Except when it comes to having to kidnap the escapee. And Smartypants is smart!! She gets away!!

 But she definitely has a favorite. I felt a little jealous. She preferred snuggling with Sean while he was playing Gameboy. And everybody is happy.

 A happy boy and his Americano breakfast of omlette, bacon, pancakes, and watermelon! In the hotel in Granada.

 The ridiculously large room Sean and I had in Granada!! Like ridiculously large room!!  I think I went through more culture shock coming from my site to this hotel (that had controlled AC and a Jacuzzi!!) than I did from Nicaragua to the States.

 Inside the Cathedral of Granda. You know... the big yellow one that's in all the tour books and pictures.

 Our car...faithful steed that packed more luggage than was it was probably designed to, but we did it.

Yet another church. Dad kept thinking they were churches and cathedrals based on their size, but the yellow one is the cathedral and all the rest are churches.

Pictures of the whole family

I know I didn't have my camera with me when I posted the Menagerie story, so here they are along with some others.....

    

 The kittens, all four, snug as bugs in a rug (or one my bed blanket). This is the day after they opened their eyes and started moving around. Fatso is the big one second from the left, Crybaby is the white and gold one next to him, Suicidal (kept jumping off the bed) is the farthest to the right and Smartypants is the farthest to the left.

 The box of recycled newspapers and magazines the gosh-darn termites got to while I was away in Managua for the last medical visit.

 My other pets, the bats. They were in my house before I got there and I like to think they keep some of the mosquito population down. They are kind of cute and little, and if they could just manage to stop flying RIGHT by my head, we could live in perfect harmony.

 And this is Sombra, the 4 month old puppy I adopted when I got back from my last medical visit. I knew that I was getting more and more discouraged with the little I was able to get done before getting sick again, so I thought I might try at least taking care of some animals to pass the time. I will admit that that was one of my favorite weeks before leaving for the States, just bottle feeding the kittens and training Sombra (Spanish for Shadow) while listening to iTunes podcasts. Oh, and Sombra likes to sleep anywhere....literally anywhere.

She made that box home all by herself. I just added the old piece of blanket. Sombra came from a typical Nica house with no leashes or dog houses, so anything is like the Ritz compared to living on the floor. After washing 3 times with the anti-everything soap, I let her hop up and sleep with me when she started whining during a storm. She fits right under my arm on my single bed.

The watchful guardian. She guards the house and protects it from other dogs and chickens, etc. For the first week, she was super submissive and I couldn't get her to leave the house. I had to yank her around on a leash, then I just carried her in my shoulder bag. After a few days like that, she just doesn't want to leave me, so she follows me everywhere, even to my neighbors' house and the latrine. Devotion.

Med Evac

So, after spending the week before the holidays in the Peace Corps Office in Managua, I had a serious sit-down with the PCMO who was handling my file. What had started out as a day-trip to Esteli for the Va Pues magazine meeting had turned into a second round of the inexplicable rash I got a little less than a week ago. So, the good news is that it means I am probably not allergic to Cipro, but the PCMOs admit that there is really nothing else they can medically do in Nicaragua. And thus the discussion began about Medically Evacuating me home to the States to get checked out. Just to clarify, MedEvac means you are sent to DC or your Home of Record and you have 45 days to recover and get medically cleared to return to service. This protocol is meant for Volunteers in all sorts of situations, normally much more serious (broken bones, serious surgery, etc.), but the PCMOs also discussed the practicality of giving the body 100% chance of getting back to a baseline of health. And then I got another bacterial infection while here this week in Managua....which decided it.

Dad and Sean are still coming and we are still going to enjoy the Holiday Week as much as my health will allow, but I will also be packing and organizing my things in case the evacuation turns into a medical separation. The PCMOs have been incredibly supportive and helpful in getting all the information and paperwork set-up and staying positive. They have been very honest about the various moods that go along with Med Evac. The Assistant Director for the whole PCNicaragua also sat down with me and regaled me with 2-3 other stories of Volunteers who had been fine during all of Training and been completely prepared for site and their service and then could not acclimate to the new climate or for whatever reason, spent the first year of their service too miserable to be effective. "You're not the first, and you will certainly not be the last, and there is no shame in taking care of your body." Thanks Miguel!

Since Peace Corps has been my dream job since I was in high school, and even though it is just an evacuation, it's still a blow. There is a small sense of relief, knowing that it's not just me and that I used all my options available in country. There is also disappointment and a little anger that my body does not seem to be able to get used to my site when other Volunteers don't have problems (or just don't say anything). There is also anger with my site and community, as it is most likely the contaminated water and food that is playing a critical role in this whole thing. There is also overall sadness (that I am getting better about accepting) in that i was just getting warmed up to living on my own and settling into a routine while getting projects set up for later in the New Year. While these may still happen, it is like being thrown into a limbo similar to waiting for my Peace Corps post. I am also anxious that as of right now I haven't had a lot of overwhelming positive experiences in my site (in part because I haven't been in my site that often), so I don't feel I have a resounding reason to go back. However, I have probably spent equal amounts of time in site and in Managua, which is not efficient or effective for getting projects done that require building trust and personal relationships. Hard as it is to admit, Peace Corps is also only 27 months, and I would rather not damage my immune system in the long-run. And there is still the basic fact that I have no idea what is making me sick, which means that if I don't go home, I will returning to a place that I do know will continue to make me sick. That just doesn't seem very smart. But one step at a time.....

Book Review: Living Poor

Living Poor: A Peace Corps Chronicle

Moritz Thomsen

Thomsen is a 40 something Agriculture volunteer in Ecuador. After a few medical false-starts, he settles into the quaint little town of Rio Verde and thus goes the process of completing his service. As a volunteer, his projects (the size and scale) and his willingness to use his living allowance to help fund them and his neighbors astounds me. This book came at the perfect time as I am starting to see the deeper levels of relationships, both good and bad, in my own community and starting to become disillusioned by the mechanism and paradigm of poverty while also coming to grips with the dynamic and two-way  street that is development. As a Volunteer you hear stories about PCVs who were practically adopted, but this glosses over the subtle (and not so) requests for money and gifts and attempts to put a pricetag on the gringo. Thomsen describes this perfectly as the “search for a patron:” for someone who will take care of you, who will do what you have been trained to think you can’t-support yourself. I laughed and cried throughout the struggles of the chicken project, the fishing projects and the trials and tribulations of the co-op. And the eventual financial understanding of the community, where a dollar is a fortune, is heartbreaking but familiar. There are hilarious moments interspersed as well, like machete fights, miscommunications, overturned fishing boats and of course the rides into the city crammed into a truck with livestock inside and on top of the vehicle. Thomsen does make a profound difference in the lives of Ramon, Orestes, and Vinceta, his co-op corps, nit at what price? As he says, “living poor is like being sentenced to exist in a stormy sea in a battered canoe, requiring all your strength to stay afloat, living wave to wave.” We are taught as Americans and PCVs to develop, to improve, to better people. But it’s impossible to do this equally for everyone. So benefits are unevenly distributed and then the jealousy and isolation begins. Like the city kid who is shunned by his own for going to college, the corp co-op members are threatened and almost destroyed by petty rumors and exasperated fueds. The people will truly be happy when they find peace and success within their own culture and customs. Projects fail and flounder because people are afraid of change, afraid to trust, and afraid and threatened by what change might bring: the audacity of hope is crushed by the comfortable familiarity of abject, but communal, poverty. There’s no way the people in Rio Verde or Thomsen could have known the social consequences before they happened but it is heartbreaking to read how the co-op general store suffers from theft and the storekeeper can’t help himself from buying too many new things.  There is Ramon, who uses his money to take his wife out of the town to give birth in a hospital and start a life properly nourished and nurtured (Protein deprivation for the 1^st 5 yearsof life permanently destroys up to 25% of human intelligence). We are taught to think this should be the norm; that with new money, everyone will be Ramon and invest in health and education. But the truth is that the Ramons, who are the shunned city kids (to beat the metaphor into the ground), are the exception and the material luxury goods and status symbols are too tempting in addition to a lack fo experience and knowledge of how to invest and save for long-term planning. I knew development was hard and dangerous, but this 1^st hand account of a PCV stands as a warning and a guide for my own roller-coaster of feelings towards paradigm of effective and sustainable change.

Book Review: Walk in the Woods

A Walk in the Woods: Rediscovering America on the Appalachian Trail

Bill Bryson is funny. Let’s just get that out of the way. Ok. This travel journal recounts the exploits and adventures of Bryson and his friend, Katz, as they, like so many others, try to walk the entire Appalachian Trail. For those of you who don’t know, the AT is more than 2,000 miles long and you have to climb to the highest point in almost every state on the East Coast. Spoiler Alert: they don’t climb the whole thing in this book. But that’s not the point. I will also brag a little in that I have done sections of the AT (including the great Katahdin, which Bryson does not summit). But he has summited Mt. Washington in New Hampshire, which is still on my bucket list. But that’s not the point. It’s not the competitive athletic nature that abounds in this novel. Quite the contrary, Bryson mixes anecdotal accounts of the day-to-day, with its typical bumbles and blunders, with lesser-known information about the history of the trail and the nature and government surrounding it. Granted the majority of this information comes when both men are still invigorated by the initial days in the south, but I appreciated Brysons respect for the little towns that he stumbles upon and what they used to be.  I didn’t know about the dangerous Pennsylvania coal fire towns or that the AT was originally meant to be a string of hostels and basically vacations and retreats above treeline, which, depending on who you ask, it kind of is. But my favorite parts resound with the funny frustration of preparing for an adventure that sounds much better in your head than when you are schlepping along ridgelines; the packing list, the food, the backpack posture, the weight, where to clip things, your first time at the outing gear store with the guy who is clearly (ridiculously even) more experienced and intense and excited about carabeaners (not sure how to spell that) than you. And then there are the bears. Pardon my French, but the best line of the whole book comes as Bryson is describing what he would do if not one, but 4 bears, came into his tent: “ Why, I would die, of course. Literally shit myself lifeless. I would blow my sphincter out my backside like one of the unrolling paper streamers you get at children’s parties- I daresay it would even give a merry toot- and bleed to death in my sleeping bag.”  Bears are an issue along the AT, but nowhere near to the obsessive degree to which Bryson makes them out to be. But it’s still funny. And the characters along the trail are priceless, including Chicken John who keeps getting lost on the trail and the woman who keeps clearing her ears by snot-rocketing. But it’s the purposeful meditation that comes with putting one foot in front of the other, and becoming “a walker” that was the most powerful. Walking through nature and history is one thing, but having the fortitude and the discipline (or the lack of social life) to decide to partake in some of the most grueling walking there is on the East Coast, takes a personality that one might say is similar to that of those that would join the Peace Corps. You know what you are getting into in the outline, but not in the details, not in the day-to-day. And it is the same personality that has the ability to adapt to the daily challenges and also incorporate breaks and rewards in an otherwise punishing and awkward life decision. And most importantly, as Bryson comes to terms with not having actually completed the full length of the AT, it is about knowing your limitations and taking joy in all the accomplishments, getting a great deal more out of the experience that the start and end points. And don’t care what anybody says: if you climbed one mountain, you hiked the AT and if you lived in a foreign country for 27 months working for development, you did the Peace Corps. 

Heads Up It's a long one to update everyone since Thanksgiving

The Medical Saga that led to the Menagerie

I had heard so many stories of PCVs being gifted pets by their community or taking in strays. The Volunteer who came before me had 2 dogs. And did I tell you she had 2 dogs. By the way, as every member of my community says, she had two dogs….and she left them both here, where they cried for weeks after she left. So, my community is not so much concerned with my having pets as they are with what will happen to said pets after I finish my service. Nice. But anyway, to start, I was promised a puppy German Shepherd, Traviesa, whom many of you have seen in pictures on this blog. I made the amateur mistakes of believing the word of a Nicaraguan (this may sound harsh, but you will understand once you’ve lived here) and falling in love with an animal that wasn’t under my rood yet. I then left for IST, or Training, for the last weekend in November. This was followed shortly thereafter, with the Medical Saga of 50 Shades of Diarrhea. Needless to say, the Medical Staff wanted to check me out. Because I was in Managua on a weekend, the Bioanalysis lab was closed and the Medical Staff preferred Metropolitano, the state-of-the-art hospital that is even nicer than Porter Hospital in my hometown. It’s actually kind of disgusting and sad how developed this one little spit of land is in a country that is just one step above Haiti. But I digress….

So Metropolitano apparently can email you your test results or you can check them online with a PIN. I have never had a problem with giving blood before, but Mr. It’s-Sunday-so-it’s-a-slow-day-and-I-am-the-worst-male-nurse-ever decided to go fishing around in my arm and then had the nerve to tell me to calm down, breathe, and drink some water. I did more than 10 tests over the last 2 weeks; blood, platelets, urine, parasite, amoebas, cryptosporidium (no idea on this one), the works! I had stayed in a hotel in Jinotega for the week prior to IST because I self-diagnosed a bacterial infection and a fever. The test results in Jinotega pointed to not one but 2 bacterial infections (2 for the price of one) and it’s quite likely that at least one was the same infection from the week before.  I stayed in the hotel to be closer the lab and have a little more control over my diet (and be closer to a modern toilet and hot water). The results from Metropolitano came back with lower bacterial counts (yay for antibiotics) but a new yeast infection. Oh boy! But that came two days after the fact, because the entire hospital network was down, and the Peace Corps Office was closed on Monday. Thank God for the pool at the hotel! The PCMO I had seen most often also wanted to check me for parasites that do not show in other tests, so between walking back and forth to the office, the hotel, and the lab,  I checked my email.

 There was a general email to all PCVs titled “Cats.”  A volunteer in Masaya had found a stray cat in her house and had begun taking care of it when it has given birth to 4 kittens in the next couple of days. This poor girl is not a cat person and is about to COS (finish her service) on the 14^th of December. So she wanted to know if anyone wanted some cats. Well, in my current medically downtrodden and emotional state, I replied that sure I would take them. She texted me asking how many I wanted. I replied that they looked too young to separate and she replied that it would be best to keep them all together. Sure I’ll take them all. And, thus I spent a week in Managua as “that girl with the kittens” moving from hotel to hotel with a big cardboard box with holes punched into it. Needless to say, all the other Volunteers staying in the hotels wanted to see and ooooo and ahhhhh over Mom and kits. And a big thanks to Hotel Los Pinos for letting me keep them in their hotel while I went to appointments.

By Thursday I was more than ready to leave, and the tests had all come back negative. Still was not feeling 100%, but once the tests come back negative, there is no reason for the PCMO to keep you in Managua.  The doctor asked me how much of my current situation might be psychological………………………………yeah no not going there. She did offer to send my report to a specialist and to the Medical Office in Washington to see if there was anything a new pair of eyes might be able to get. But, with the holiday season coming up, that might take a little while. So I gathered my things at the hotel, shoved Momma Cat into the box and tried duck taping it shut with the help of Hotel Staff, grabbed the bag of worms (I was also carting worms since IST to hopefully use for vermiculture-they did not make it sadly). Momma Cat managed to escape in the taxi, but the driver helped me shove her back in before finding out that I had missed the 8AM bus to Jinotega and waiting with a very pissed off Momma in the Mayoreo bus station. The bus driver refused to let me have the box in the bus, so he loosely tied a piece of string around the box and threw it up on top of the bus. Unfortunately, after the 3 hours bus ride, I simply took the box and walked to the next station to get the bus to my site. I did not notice until it was too late, that the box was much lighter and not moving. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, Momma Cat had escaped en route. Don’t know where, don’t know when, but somewhere along the highway, or in the bus station, is a very confused white cat with yellow and black splotches. Luckily, I was able to stock up on baby formula and a bottle. Based on e-How.com “How Old are Your Kittens?,” I was able to determine that the kittens were somewhere between 2-3 weeks old, since they had just opened their eyes  and ears while staying in the hotel. I was able to stay with a Volunteer en route to my site so I wouldn’t have to walk to my house in the dark. She fell in love with the kittens and we snuggled them and coddled them for hours. I got them back to my house the next day and they have become the things-to-see for all the youth in Cuatro Esquinas. The first few days were rough bottlefeeding, in part because the baby bottle teat is about 10 times the size of Momma Cat’s teat and I can only imagine how scary that looks coming at you, but once they got hungry enough, we have all become pros. Words to the wise; it’s easier to wrap them up, it’s easier to do them in turns multiple times, the little nails don’t hurt that much, they learn to pee and poop on their own within the 3-4 week period.  So that’s how I got 4 small mouths to feed. But wait, there’s more……

Once I got back to site, and spent a full day getting used to the feeding schedule for the kittens, I hiked up the hill to see Traviesa. She was still there, but Dona Coco told me, sheepishly told me that they actually weren’t selling the puppy. I begged and tried to understand why they would go back on their word and even offered to pay for her, but her son said that the pup had gotten bigger and started following him and he wanted to use her to work the cows, so no. I was literally in tears on my way down the hill. It may sound really cheesy, but  I had told so many people about that dog and had made myself believe that once I got healthy and once I got back I would get a dog and this just seemed like one more way in which I was still an outsider, out-of-sync and running out of patience. Dona Coco told me I could wait 3 months until the mother gave birth to her next litter, but I walked down to the pulperia (general store) where Dona Moncha also had a few smaller black puppies. She had not vaccinated them or given them vitamins like Traviesa had, but I was emotional and irrational and asked her if she was selling them. One for 100, she said. Done. The next day I returned and bought to bigger of the two. I had to carry her back to the house, because at 3 months, she is not leash-trained and also terrified of everything. I had already bought dog food in Jinotega on the way back to site. The first night she did what any puppy in a new place would do-she peed and pooped in the house. Thank God for concrete floors that are easy to clean. I named her Sombra (Spanish for shadow) because she is all black except for a little marking on the front of her chest. I washed her with flea and tick soap, which was exciting because she can kick and squirm for a puppy. I easily got just as soaked. I walked with her into Praderas to buy a real leash and collar and vitamins and parasite meds. Everyone in my house drinks filtered water, but God only knows what Sombra eats when she goes outside. She was nice enough to take the hint after I tied her up outside to cry for a whole morning (literally cry and howl) that she was supposed to do her business outside. She refused to leave the house to go to town, so I carried her in my shoulder bag the whole way there and then dragged her the whole way back on the new leash. She’s starting to get the idea. She will not let me go anywhere around the house though without following; latrine, kitchen, take a shower at my neighbors, etc.  She is neutral with the kittens at least. But that is how I got one more mouth to feed. Current total is 5, not including myself. And she hops into bed with for the night now that she’s clean. It’s almost like home again to have something to cuddle and talk to.

By the way, I am not turning into a crazy cat woman. At least 3 other volunteers have already claimed kittens once they are older and the volunteers come back from their vacations. Still haven’t figured out what we are going to do with the animals for when Dad and Sean come….will have to see if they can feed on their own. Fingers crossed. I do love how my community understands that I hardly leave my house now, because I am taking care of “los ninos” or the children. According to them, because I don’t have actually children of my own, these are my kids. My kids have taught me to be patient, and to expect less of my day, to take it slow and develop manageable routines. And they are also just funny to watch. As any single or new mother would admit, the days fly by when there are at least 3 feedings in them. J