08/10- I have shelves. Edwin stayed home and made them from
scratch with Ariel, my host brother-in-law, and Jackson, the farm hand. Also
played soccer with the youth and gained respect points for still being able to
keep the ball out of the goal. Having never officially coached soccer before,
the important thing to realize is that the kids just want to play. They already
know way more than I do about soccer and all the youth here learn by watching
and participating. All informal education. All sandlot. All the time! Had the
official soccer team meeting to the tune of 50 youth from Corozal and Cuatro
Esquinas combined! The school professors came too because, apparently, these
communities (or at least select youth) don’t get along-hopefully not jets and
sharks level. Isabel and other adults were Godsends, helping coral the youth
and translate what I was trying to say in Spanish. The kids were very receptive
to the signing a contract guaranteeing their responsibility and good behavior
as well as a due of 5 cordobas to raise fund for a ball for each team. Prepping
for the meeting was shades of lesson planning; you can prepare as much as you
want, but you are still going to have to roll with it. Also planted an
almacigo, or plant nursery, using rolls of recycled New York Times newspapers
(thanks Dad!).
So I think I’m finally figuring out the frontier town that
is Praderas. I spent the whole morning just walking around, getting my
bearings. Actually went to watch the baseball parade; picture all the teams
from the Pantasma area (around 15 overall) in their uniforms lined up and
walking a big loop around town to the tune of the local high school marching
band. Very American. Reminded me of Opening Day (which is exactly what it was)
and also a bit of 4th of July. I got a call from my host dad asking
where I was since I had my camera. I was given very specific instructions to
take pictures of everyone and everything from every angle. My host uncle is one
of the coaches. The Cuatro Esquinas team is called Odorico (still don’t know
what that means) and they have bright red uniforms with blue lettering. It’s
very official. After they parade that
ends at the big field in Praderas, they say a group prayer and stand for the
National Anthem and receive speeches from the Comissioner of Baseball in
Pantasma and the Alcaldia. Finally, they receive bags of donated gear (mostly
gloves and spare balls with maybe one helmet). A glove here costs about the
same as a bike (1,800 cordobas for a family that usually lives off 30-60 cords
a day-you do the math). Felt very much at home watching the whole ceremony with
the team and the female fans too. It felt very familiar and comradery-building.
While in Praderas, decided to make pizza when I got back to the house. All the
ingredients were about 100 cords total and it made about 16 pieces.
I have gotten a
little touchy with the food dynamics in my host family, which are a little
harder to discern than I originally thought. Assuming machismo, the men get the
biggest helpings of whatever they want whenever they want. Please and thank you
do not exist, it’s “dame” or “gimme.” Food is also communal, in the sense that
just because you bought the ingredients and made it, doesn’t mean it’s yours. I
have just found that I need to step it up in being incredibly proactive and
transparent in saying key phrases like “If you would like some, just ask.” This
is in part because I’m straddling some gender roles. I’m a woman and I’m
cooking, but I’m also a gringa who gets sick if I don’t eat food that I feel
more comfortable preparing. Also, I’m more than happy to be sharing my cuisine culture,
but am not going to tailor the food to the sweet or salty Nica preferences. It
takes constant patience and communication. And my host father has a bit of a
sick sense of humor mixed with an even stranger eating habit. He’ll eat all of
everything but then say it didn’t have enough salt or he’ll jokingly say that
all these cookies must be for him and I have to puff up my gringa chest and
explain that I’m not joking and he can ask.
Edwin and I skipped across the cow-pie riddled short-cut to
Cenizabu and cautiously walked over the man-made bridge to the baseball field
to watch the team’s first double header. He and I are on the same page when it
comes to baseball. The bridge, by the way, is two long pieces of tree probably
cut from the surrounding forest and machete cut to be “relatively flat.” It’s
an optical illusion to say the least. Was the ONLY girl at the game. Couldn’t
tell if I was getting stares because I was the only girl, the only gringa, or
both. Brought my glove and a softball and they let me throw around with them in
between innings. By the way, all the vocabulary for baseball is the same with
just different pronunciation. Home run is honrun. After throwing, and after
several of my throwing partners dropping the ball to the resounding appeal of
their teammates, I think I started to make some progress. At least, on my way home, two of the players
asked if I was coming to the next game. Got home before the worst of the heat
and rain started up. Ariel’s mom, Rosaria, showed me how to make guerilas,
which are like corn dough crepes. She and Isi chatted it up in the kitchen. Isi
told me later that she loves her mother-in-law and whenever Isi leaves the
house (which is rare) it’s usually to go visit Rosaria. She lives right by the
baseball field in Cenizabu. She has the traditional calm quiet confidence that
I have come to notice in Nicaraguan women. Finally, ended the day watching the
Closing Ceremonies for the Olympics-what a blast from the past with Monty
Python and Spice Girls! Thank you London 2012!
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