My Favorite F Word is Feminism.

(My second favorite, for the record, is Fudge. Specifically the kind Great Aunt Frannie brings at Christmas)

I'm in Matagalpa now which is super cool compared to Managua, both in terms of climate and also just in terms of the general vibes it projects.  I'm working on my ISP which stands for Independent Study Project, emphasis on the independent.

Taking a phone mirror selfie while showing off my Moviestar phone. I know when that hotline bling, it is probably a mass text that I must have accidentally signed up for that sends me health and beauty tips every few hours or so. Today's was "La aspirina es el mejor exfoliante que puede existir". Also the day this photo was taken I apparently agreed to set this catchy tune as my dial tone; my Academic Director has called me several times since and says it is very annoying, but I think all the cool kids are doing it.

I have 30 days to conduct this research, first in Matagalpa and then in Managua. Unfortunately, I spent the first few days of this very limited span of time riddled with illness. When a well-meaning classmate asked "Como estás?" as good conversationalists tend to,  I muttered "sick as a dog", because it was time to stop being polite and get real. 

Though I like to think my moral fiber is strong, physically, I am frail as they come, with a close-minded digestive system and bones made of glass, no doubt. 

 I screenshotted this snapchat masterpiece myself in a feverish rage that no one else had taken what very well could have been my last snapstory seriously. This night marked the beginning of an 11-day journey of discomfort, full of Electrolit and other oral-rehydrating beverages, multiple doctor visits, and plenty of concerned mothers (S/O to Jules, Jean Louise, and María Jose- I'd die without you).

My fever reached 39 degrees Celcius and luckily the wifi in my house was working because I spent the night googling Farenheit conversions and group-messaging my U.S. mom and U.S. grandma for medical advice and virtual maternal embraces.

The low point of this night was when I got up around 2 am to use the bathroom (see initial parasite post for details), relating to Bridesmaids on a personal level more than I had ever before, and mid-journey lost my ability to see for a good 10-15 seconds.

I did not love the experience, as formative as I'm sure it could have been with the right outlook; but I literally couldn't see a damn thing, let alone the big picture.

After that, I lay on the cool tile floor for a few hours, unable to move out of fear and also self-pity.

Moments later he explained to me that you cannot live a healthy life without eating meat and that Jesus (also pictured) ate fish and Jesus ate meat, so I should to. I countered as best I could in my weak state and in my second language that if Jesus saw the horrors of factory farming and inhumane slaughter methods, he'd probably be the poster child for Veggie Fests everywhere.

In the subsequent days, I experienced a number of troubling symptoms and consumed exclusively rice, Gatorade, bananas, and "suero", the rehydrating beverage the farmacias sell. There are three farmacias in La Colonia where we live and I bought out every last one of them of all the good "suero" flavors.

If you ever find yourself in a similar situation, which I hope you don't because I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy let alone a loyal blog-reader, I recommend the "Coco" or "Piña" flavors. The powder "Fresa" kind is a lot cheaper than the pre-mixed glass bottles I've recommended, but you get what you pay for.

It turns out what I had was an intestinal infection and some different parasites. I lost some weight in the process, as we learned at one of the doctors when he graciously converted the kilograms to pounds. I should really learn to find meaning in Celcius, grams, etc. next time I decide to leave the land of the free and home of the absurd units of measurement.

The 10 odd pounds seem to have disappeared exclusively from my elbows which are pointier than ever. They're next-level pointy, like when you draw a sassy stick figure. Other than that, I'm pretty much back to normal, and I'm sure I'll gain it all back given that I am fully in charge of all my own meals now, ice cream (called "Eskimo" here, which is the brand) costs less than 50 cents, and my two-pound jar of peanut butter I bought to sustain me when the "going got tough" is already gone.

#nofilter

I chose to do my research with feminist groups in Managua and Matagalpa who are working to change the machista culture and break the cycle of violence against women.

Before I started my research, I came across this Global Gender Gap Index naming Nicaragua as the 6th best in terms of gender equality in the world. I didn't look much into how this was measured but I can tell you it's an absurd statistic, further proof that you should take everything you read, even big-name research, with a grain of salt. Or several grains, some limes, and tequila. (I'm 21, it's okay).

 I'm willing to bet whoever came up with this list never spent any real time here in Nicaragua, I doubt seriously any Nicaraguan women were consulted or asked about their lived experiences, and I would even go so far as to say the researchers probably identify as male to think there is anything resembling equality in terms of gender relations in Nicaragua.

That being said, the amazing leaders I have interviewed so far, from innovative young women to older, experienced activists, are making great strides and impressive change in the deeply engrained gender roles and stereotypes that give men so much power and control over women, that there is a separate category of homicide for when these men kill the women: femicidios.

Graphic from an organization in Managua, CDD's Facebook Page. There have been 46 femicidios in Nicaragua from January to October 2015; 46 innocent women murdered, 9  of whom by their partners. "We all have rights, the same rights of the other part of the world population. Stop the femicidios!"

The facts are devastating and the attitudes of many men towards women are deeply disheartening. Acoso callejero, street harassment, catcalls, (whatever name you call it, it's still annoying as hell), as I've mentioned before, are a part of the daily reality of women here. 

And when nearly every man you walk past at best, gives you a long creepy look, and at worst, shouts after you, or maybe even touches you, you might start to believe that this is normal, that this is okay. 

And when many girls here are taught that their place is the home and their priority should be to get married and young women are mocked by their families and society as a whole for turning 30 and remaining single (sounds like the plot of way too many U.S. rom-coms) with a dicho that translates to "the train left" but men of the same age are praised for still being "free" (this whole last part resonates so hard with gender roles in the U.S. and how adults at holiday parties respond to my brothers verses me when we respond to possibly well-meaning inquisitions that we are single), it makes sense that girls and women might start to believe they are "incomplete" without a man. And that they might think they depend on this man so much, economically or emotionally, that they start to blame themselves when he beats them and think it's okay. For me, the scariest violence is when the victim doesn't even identify that their daily reality is, in fact, violence. 

"Neither the land, nor women are territories of conquest"
street art stencils in front of Grupo Venancia, which has become my home base while I'm here in Matagalpa 

I have come across some startling statistics in this research so far and some truly heart-breaking lived experiences with those who have lost or nearly lost important women in their lives to la violencia machista.

But I have also seen some truly beautiful strong female leaders working tirelessly to change the inequity and forge a brighter future.

And just so we're clear when I say "beautiful" I mean by this definition: "(Your Mind) -This is what makes you beautiful", despite what One Direction might have taught you.

Yesterday, I went to an exhibit where a photographer shifted the focus of femicidios from simply facts and numbers to the women these victims were, how they lived, and the families they left behind. It was heartbreaking, but important. Her photos are starting a dialogue and dialogues start change.

Earlier yesterday, I went to a workshop where young girls were learning how to be soccer referees so they could organize their own games in their own communities without having to find a man to officiate the game for them. Today, though I didn't get to see because it was outside of Matagalpa, they had a tournament, breaking down societal expectations many hold that girls "shouldn't, or maybe even can't, play sports".

Two days ago, I hung out with a theater collective led by four young women from the rural communities in Matagalpa and Boaco. (We're going to walk in the march next Saturday together and I'm pretty excited because they're basically my role models and I'm always a little starstruck in their presence.) They combat violence against women by performing original works of theater in different communities for everyone to watch- men, women, and children. They explained to me that through the plays, the audience members identify with, and start to see themselves as, the characters. Whether this brings shame to the perpetrators or recognition of the violence they are living to the victims, it is powerful.

I observed their workshop with some of the young leaders (some as young as 13) they have in each of the 8 communities they work with as the girls brainstormed different NGOs and government entities that could, and should, be helping their collective, with materials, with workshops, with forums, etc. because their missions aligned.

And then, the next day, I accompanied them as they went, without hesitation, to these different organizations and ministries, like the Ministry of Education, to relay the demands the young women had come up with independently the day prior.

There is always hope. I cannot overemphasize how inspired I feel after each interview or each workshop I sit in on, and these are just examples from the past two days, I could blog for hours about all the other amazing organizations I've learned from, but I won't just yet, because I have to transcribe interviews and they're all in Spanish so the process is slow, steady, and fueled by copious amounts of coffee.

I called my Mom yesterday after I spoke briefly, and tearfully, with the mother of a victim of a femicidio.  I told her that I truly don't think I'll ever be the same. And frankly, I don't want to be.

I'll be back in my own bed December 9th, surrounded by the comforts of home I admittedly have missed, but I'll never forget what I've seen and felt and learned from these new heroines of mine.

Because before I came here, I did not know a thing about Nicaragua (except for some talking points I picked up in the required readings). I did not know about the roles U.S. policies have played in shaping this country, though I learned some from the book Living in the Shadow of the Eagle; the title itself giving a glimpse of how this presence has been felt here.

Before I came here, I didn't know about femicidios or machista culture, in general. I didn't know about the women's movement in Nicaragua and all they have been fighting for.

I didn't know what it was like to live with a family in Managua in Colonia Maximo Jerez and I certainly didn't expect to feel so at home with them or be so loved and cared for. I didn't know what life in the rural part of Nicaragua looked like or recognize the many different literacies people possess outside of academia,  and I certainly didn't know how different the realities and separation of the Caribbean coast would be.

I've learned a helluva lot so far, but perhaps the most important thing I've learned is I don't know anything. There is so much I don't know and won't ever know if I am complacent with my own ignorance.

There is injustice in the world and failing to recognize that and not working to change it is almost as bad as perpetuating it. When I get home, I'm going to keep learning and following the examples of the amazing women I've met here, and I'm going to work to fight inequality, whatever form it comes in.

As we've seen in the news the past few days, there is so much suffering and violence in the world, some of which our traditional sources of information may not even cover, though that doesn't make it any less horrifying. What can we do to spark change the way these women in Matagalpa are?

November 25th is International Day for the Elimination of Violence Against Women. So spread the word and as I told my brother yesterday via facebook message, "If you're not already a feminist, you best become one." (He already is, don't worry) because feminism is about equality and if you don't believe in that, what do you believe in?

If you denounce him, we accompany you. Confront the machista violence, the decision is yours. (Sticker in Grupo Venancia)

I know my blogs are normally relatively light-hearted with just a dash of self-deprecation but this stuff's heavy and there's no way around that. I will however leave you with not only thoughts about your own role in changing this messed-up world, but also this selfie of me and a can of dinner, so you can sleep a little easier tonight and start being impactful tomorrow.

Un abrazo muy fuerte,

Graciela 

 Our stipend during this month of research is equivalent to $18/day. My hotel costs about $9.25 a night and I love spending as little money as possible on food. Yesterday, I bought tortillas from the tortilla saleswoman near the Cathedral (cannot say enough good things about her though we met for the first time 24 hours ago), tomato sauce/paste, and cheese from a young woman in a pulpería to make a pizza of sorts for a grand total of about $1.50. Incidentally, I did throw up later that night but I think the cheese was possibly too aged, which some might consider a delicacy.

This veggie can is also often a go-to and sometimes for breakfast, I get the Nica equivalent of V-8, peanuts with raisins, and a few bananas from the kind banana saleswomen. (When buying from street vendors, I exclusively buy from women. Why? Because they've never wronged me, I trust them, and also because we had a really good lesson from a professor at the UCA about neoliberalism and gender, "a convenient marriage", and basically women need to be supporting other women because life sure as hell ain't easy and the system only makes it harder for them/us)  One night as a special treat, I bought hot cocoa powder and ate it dry with peanut butter, while pretending it was puppy chow. 

Today I woke up to a dubstep version of Adele's Hello playing outside my hotel window, which does not close, at 7:30 AM. 

***Editor's note, the power in all of Matagalpa went out as I was editing this, and I'd already sent the link out to several folks whose opinions I value highly. The owner of the hotel just brought me candles and matches, a classy move, but I needed wifi to post this proof-read version and the original was missing a good 10-12 commas and I spelled "cocoa" wrong and needless to say, tensions were high. I did, luckily, use the time wisely to play with matches and personalize the lyrics to some songs (see below). -power did come back before Julie considered calling the embassy, TYG.

TMI 4sho

~warning: the author of this post no longer has a sense of what might constitute TMI~

For anyone who has ever told me that I'm full of shit, I am sorry for ever doubting you.

Truly just copious, ungodly amounts.

The past few days have been dark, dark times. But thanks to my warped sense of humor, my newfound lack of shame, and the love and support of my beautiful host family, I know I will be fine.

Before what I'll refer to as "the extended incident", I'd been feeling great, and getting a little cocky about it. Like Dennis, I felt like my body was achieving perfect symmetry, that long lean muscle I'd worked so hard to achieve, fueled by gallo pinto and lots of maduros.

But also like Dennis, I soon fell to my demise. Even the best fall down sometimes, as they say.
(I watched this episode, Mac and Dennis Get Invinceable, on a rough day so I've included the analogy but it's a stretch we can all agree.)

I'm not going to bore or disgust you with the details, (FB message me if they're that important to you and I'll divulge), but let's just say given my home in Managua, with the thin walls that don't extend to the ceiling, my host family was well aware that I was under the weather on Wednesday morning.

I decided it was all in my head, like most of my ailments, and that I should continue eating my typical Nica fare, which includes bananas, rice, beans, and cheese, all fried of course, and also some creamy vegetables called giso. 

I've had a lot of good ideas in my time, most of which are stored in the Notes section of my phone, and I've had a lot of bad ideas, as well, and this approach to indigestion absolutely falls in the latter category.

I learned quickly from the error of my ways and put myself on the BRAT diet, (which has nothing to do with my attitude, which has been relatively positive) but stands for Bananas Rice Applesauce and Toast. I don't really eat toast and have not seen applesauce here so I stuck to the BR diet, plus Gatorade, and this Electrolit beverage the local farmacia sells, to sustain myself for the next few days.

I still wasn't feeling great and I didn't do too well hiding it from my peers. I joined a conversation about neoliberalism and feminist theory to interject, "I feel like there's an alien inside me, but not the good kind," so luckily I came across as an intellectual equal.

As it turns out, I was not too far from the truth! My host mom took me to the local farmacia again and we bought a sample cup and I did the deed and my host dad took it to the local laboratorio to find out what was wrong with me. I self-diagnosed appendicitis more than once, but my Nica mom, Maria José, insisted that I didn't have it because my brother has had it before and she knows the symptoms better than I might pretend to. 

Yesterday, after two presentations with only a respectable amount of wincing in pain throughout, the results were in, but the results were in Spanish. Also in medical jargon, which I've been known to use but never understand. A quick Google Translate and Center for Disease Control search later and I soon realized I had parasites inside me, clearly living it up from the looks of things.

My family here was bewildered by my reaction because I was pretty pleasant about it. After two days of crying unintentionally when they asked me how I was, one of which led into a sob sesh about the goddamn sexismo, I saw the light at the end of the tunnel and that light was antiparasite meds.

Given that I am not a doctor and neither is the internet, we waited for my next-door neighbor, who is a doctor, to arrive home for his free, neighborly expertise. But he never came, probably because he was working a night shift.

Luckily, this morning, I felt a little better. My dad and little sister drove me to church, the cool one I'd visited with my spanish class to see the murals, which also doubles as a medical clinic. There is nothing like describing your illness in a language that is not your own, but people can do crazy things when they're desperate. 

I showed the doctor my lab results, asked him "Voy a morir?" or "Am I going to die?" for good measure, he laughed and not in a cruel way so that means "No" and then explained to me that there are too types of parasites, intracellular and extracellular and I have both. "Que suerte" I said, which means "how lucky", which counts as a joke in my second language because it was sarcastic and definitely indicates linguistic gains. 

The lab results cost me 90 cordobas, which is a little over 3 dollars. The doctor visit cost me 100 cordobas, which is a little under 4 dollars. This was without insurance, because I have it here, but you pay cash up front and then get reimbursed after filling out a claims form.

The doctor touched my stomach and asked if it hurt and I assured him it did and with that, we were ready to get medical. He wrote me a prescription for some zinc pills to replenish my poor stomach and some antiparasite meds for the next five days, because I've never claimed to be hospitable and I want these guys out. 

The Church farmacia lacked both of the medicines I needed, because I really need my character built so nothing can be easy for me, so my dad and sister took me to another neighborhood farmacia. The meds were pricey, but still way less than they'd be in the U.S. without insurance surely, and rounded out to be less than $25. 

They had my age as 22, which is close but wrong, but honestly this whole process has probably aged me more than a year so it's fine.

My new favorite Fraternidad. Sorry, DOZ, now you're numero dos.

Kathleen just reminded me of this relevant video, but let the records show I did not contract parasites intentionally nor am I thinner because of them, but rather fairly bloated.

I don't know how I contracted these fellas, but according to my Academic Director, they're "run of the mill parasites". Nothing too crazy, I'm not that special. Probably I ate something that hadn't been washed properly or maybe my hands weren't clean when I ate or any number of cringe-worthy causes that could bring out the inner germaphobe in us all. I will say it is pretty tough to maintain good hand hygiene in places that do not have running water for many hours of the day, (so count your blessing and conserve water) but I vow to be vigilant and carry hand sanitizer and wipes at all hours- I packed almost exclusively clothes with pockets so this is possible.

I just came back from Metro Centro, the mall in Managua, where I bought several bold shades of lipstick. I never wear lipstick, but in analyzing this decision, I think it may be linked to the parasite's continued presence in my person. Not that they're controlling me and my purchasing power, but I think I feel so gross that I just wanted to wear a statement color and reclaim my identity from the bastards.

"If you would not be forgotten as soon as you are dead and rotten either write something worth reading or do so something worth writing." - Benny Franklin

I feel like I've faced my mortality a lot here, much more than I'm comfortable with, and I sure hope when that day inevitably comes, that I've done something meaningful or written something powerful. Or at least that I haven't made things worse in this messy world of corruption and inequality.

On a much lighter note, I head to Havana, Cuba this Wednesday at 4 AM at which point I will be nearly parasite-free and wholly excited. I'm going to see my Grandpa's childhood home, I'm going to learn a whole lot about my roots and the revolution and the history, I'm going to drink a mojito or several, and if my friends smoke Cuban cigars, I'm going to cough obnoxiously because asthma.

Pepa, the new pitbull puppy in the study center. Licking my Tevas and dispelling all negative stereotypes about the breed.

Last Day of Spanish classes. Wearing a Nicaragua shirt isn't touristy because I saw a Nica man wearing the same exact shirt on my walk back from class and I shouted this recognition at him before he had a chance to degrade me with a piropo and in that moment, he saw me as an equal, because I wear this men's tank often and I wear it well.

Arboles de Vida,  Daniel Ortega and the first lady marking their territory. Some suggest she is a witch. I knew that word in Spanish because I read Harry Potter.

The Party Bus!! lol jk a 6+ hour ride of relatively constant discomfort. Well decorated, though

José Angel trying to convince me not to go study, easily convinced cuz blogging instead.

Mis Pensamientos y la Costa

Tomorrow we travel to the Caribbean Coast of Nicaragua which entails a 6 hour bus ride with a *potential* stop mid-journey, if the driver feels like it, and then a 2 1/2 hour speedboat ride to get to Bluefields. We're leaving at 5 AM to make sure we get seats on the 6 AM bus, because standing on long bus rides is a thing here, people will stand for that discomfort, literally.

Given that this impending travel day is entirely out of my control, I have already begun the dehydration process because I tend to pee every hour on the hour. I plan to use the many hours in which I have to distract myself from the inevitable physical discomfort making a list of things that are realer than "the joy is in the journey." Off the top of my head, the dangers of standing in front of a microwave and the existence of Nessi, your friendly neighborhood Loch Ness Monster, come to mind.

We'll be spending a week there (2 days in Bluefields, 3 days in Orinoco, and a day in Pearl Lagoon) and I probably won't have wifi so if I miss something important on social media during my time off the grid, like #nationalsecondcousinsday or similar, please, please inform me upon my return.


When I'm back in Managua, I plan to write a strongly-worded rant on the "piropos" or catcalls that are a daily part of the reality of all women here. I can't start now because you should never go to bed angry and it pisses me off to no end, so more of a morning activity.

I'll probably write it after I go for my morning run and all my endorphins and good vibes are diluted with each "Chela"  (pale girl) or *gross pursed lip noise* sent my way courtesy of men who probably love their mothers. And what drains me most is that I'll leave here in a few months and go back to my daily life, and maybe I'll carry the feelings that come with always being gawked at and objectified with me and maybe I'll forget, but my little sister here, who turns seven in sixteen days (the countdown has lasted over a month), will grow up with this constant harassment. And she'll think it's normal.

It's not normal. And I don't think the less overt sexism women face in the U.S. is any more excusable by any means, but the constant piropos here have got me feeling some kind of way. Man, I feel like a woman.

When your Grandma sells fruit, life is always sweet 

On a much lighter note, my goal was to journal everyday while here, which was ambitious. I have not achieved this goal due to my value of sleep over everything, but I'm relatively caught up now and if you're wondering where my head's at, here are some thoughts I felt worthy of writing down- which upon rereading, some of them seem questionable but who am I to judge Past Graciela?


Tuesday September 8 (Day 13) Managua
I knocked over a thing of bananas at the market.  I didn't actually touch it, but it looked like I did and that's all that really matters because when I tried to pass the blame along, I did so in English and no one understood.

Also- confused sopa (soup) and jabón (soap), both of which I needed to buy for the Campo, but Kenny my conversation partner at the UCA helped a lot/basically did everything for me after that.

Wednesday September 9 (Day 14) Managua
Tomorrow we leave for the campo and I have enough granola bars to sustain me. It's a shame I can't live tweet all that goes down, but I'm going in rogue/without wifi.


Thursday September 10 (Day 15)- Tuesday September 15 (Day 20) El Campo- Rural Nicaragua
There's a mosquito in my mosquitero (mosquito net). I've literally put myself in a cage with a mosquito.

I took my sleeping pill two hours too early; thought we went to bed at sundown...

Friday (Day 16) 
(some of these written in a feverish haze)
Thought I was going to vomit so took breakfast off. Hopefully I can eat something or I'll waste away and become beautiful in America's unrealistic standards.

Going to check to see if I have a fever cuz chickengunya.

My fingers are swollen and sticky and clay-covered but I've done 0 sculpting, even after I wash them. What does this mean?

Is that a lizard, mouse, or cucuracha? Oh thank God it's just a lizard. Wassup, lizard.

If I have chikengunya, Imma buy myself a tub of Ben & Jerry's at all costs.

My Spanish would get really good here if I weren't so in my head or in my bed.

Saturday (Day 17)
I bathed publicly. Children stared at me like an alien until my host mom shooed them away. I think it's natural to be curious what the pale lady who came bearing gifts of jolly ranchers and Chicago memorabilia looks like under the oversized t-shirts, but it's just as natural to want privacy when showering, even when bucket showering.

Sunday (Day 18)
While making small talk, which in English I speak fluently, I said "I can hear the sharks over the mountains!" intending to comment on the drums I actually heard, pounding away for Independence Day.

Monday (Day 19)
Tomorrow I leave and wouldn't you know it, I grew attached. These people rock.

Bathed in a waterfall and deliberately nature peed over using la latrina. I am woman, hear me roar.


Wednesday 9/16 day 21
So good to be home in Managua with my family and my own bathroom that does not have killer bees or similar building a hive in it like that latrine seemed to.

Thursday 9/17 day 22 Managua
My family in Lisle has a new "brother" from Managua, which is very full-circle and small worldy and pretty trippy if you think about it a lot.

Also, Alvaro got a new pitbull puppy who definitely will change some long-held stereotypes about the breed and he showed me a new park so I can run once more!

Family Concert  @ El Teatro Reuben Dario last Friday

Carlos Mejía Godoy- he's still got it (seriously, give him a listen)

into the decor in San Juan del Sur (the place to be if you are a surfer or pretend to be)

The Joy is In the Destination

Buenas Noches, Luna.

Friday 9/18 day 23 Managua
A man in the replacement park (Parque Japones is closed for 4-7 months so I've kissed it goodbye) interrupted me mid-plank (the exercise kind, not the internet trend of the late 2000s) to talk to me and then asked me in English how I say goodbye, and I responded "Adios" because I knew that one fairly confidently.

But then he asked for a "besito", (little kiss) and I just said "Estoy sudando" or "I'm sweating", which was pretty clear to everyone present so not really sure if people are into this look now, or what.

Then I put my headphones back in and he came back AGAIN to talk about gambling, was my understanding of it, and show me his iPhone, perhaps? I literally could not have been less approachable throughout all of this because I'm no longer gullible or foolish, and I'm also fed up with machismo in general, so hoping he got the hint.

ALSO, we went to a karaoke bar which was everything I hoped it would be -aka air conditioning and running water at all hours- and more because the crowd was great, I think my rendition really changed some lives, and bottle service for $7.50 in American moola.

Saturday 9/19 day 24 Managua 
I started crying while watching Toy Story 3 with my family because when Andy says goodbye to his mom it hurts my soul. Why do we ever leave our moms and who started this horrible trend?

Tried to pretend I wasn't crying, because generally sweaty enough at any given moment to blame it on that, but I'm an ugly crier and a loud crier, the perfect storm, so there was no hiding it. All present were uncomfortable.

Sunday 9/20 day 25 Managua 
My mom here woke me up with Las Mañanitas, the catchiest of tunes, and that's exactly the sort of thing my U.S. mom would do so it felt like home. I Skyped my biological fam while they sang to me and our new Nicaraguan brother, Kevin, because not only are we in each other's hometowns, we also have the same birthday.

He ate cake with my grandparents and I watched via the internet and it was like a really weird dream that you have to journal about right when you wake up so you don't forget it, and you're not sure what it means but it's probably good.

Gram, Kevin, Papa 

Later I showed my Managua family the video Alana and Evan made me, which is Sundance worthy, and I realized my extended family understands more English than they'd led me to believe. For example, a memorable line,  "Turn the f*** up, bi**h!"

My cousin showin me the ropes.

My parents in the U.S. with my Nica mom and aunt

my birthday rash! twenty-fun!

all the corn husks we used to make Atol, a beverage 10/10 would try again

my bath my last day cuz cleanliness is Godliness

It was the best birthday I could have ever asked for, except for one minor hiccup in which I applied a lot of a new organic bugspray before my party, developed an alarming rash, and had to change into something more modest so as not to scare the guests.


Monday 9/21 day 26 Managua
Park Man was waiting for me this morning, which was unpleasant and classic Monday, honestly.

Not dwelling on it, though, because Anita brought apples to celebrate my birth some more and it tasted like home.

Tuesday 9/22 day 27 Managua
Park Man's back back back, back again. Told him I don't come to the park to talk, I come to run. He said, "Me too," so glad we're in agreement.

Harry Potter was on TV again so I got to explain everything to the fam and honestly my Spanish is better when I'm talking about my boy, HP. "Los Horcruxes son partes de la alma de Voldemort y él escogió objetos para esconder los partes." And you should see me explain dementors; it's moving.


So, I'm going to sleep now so that I'll only be mildly unpleasant to travel with tomorrow. My malaria meds are packed, I'm open to the possible side effects of crazy dreams, and if the opportunity to have my hair braided comes up in these next few days en La Costa, which I've heard it might, rest assured I will take it.


xoxo,
Gossip Graciela (considering legally changing my name or just changing it on FB- thoughts?)

I'm a Poet & I Want You to Know It (a tale of redemption and a serious case of self-diagnosis)

I returned from el campo, or rural Nicaragua, a week ago today and I have a lot of thoughts and feelings about my experiences there, as I tend to have, so stay tuned for that. While there, we had several assignments (experiential learning, jah feel), one of which was to write a little poesía, a huge part of Nicaraguan culture.

"Every Nicaraguan born is a poet until he or she demonstrates the contrary." - Jose Coronel Urtecho

I was not born here, (as you probably have gathered from my extensive knowledge of American pop culture and/or my inability to conjugate Spanish verbs under pressure), and I've never claimed to be  Ruben Dario, though I've claimed to be a lot of things in my day.

I wrote these poems when I was in a very dark place, both literally, because my headlamp could only illuminate so much, and figuratively, because I thought I was dying (more on this later- I am alive).

"Worry is a misuse of your imagination."

Short story long, I suspiciously had all the symptoms of chikungunya, a mosquito-borne illness that starts with a fever and muscular aches and then can progress to symptoms of arthritis for several months or worse.

The view from their parcela. The first time they brought me here there was a rainbow and they told me to take a picture, after the 40 minute ascent, but in my effort to be low-maintenance I had left my iPhone intentionally back at the house. So then, my brother had to take me back AGAIN the next day, even though I'd already proven I was more of a liability than an asset when it comes to working the fields and it was his day off, so the moral is I'm an unintentional diva and this view is amazing.

Some of the flowers are used to decorate the really beautiful envelopes and notebooks my mom and 3 other women make and sell from recycled paper and plants.

One day I slept in until 5:55 AM and felt pretty scummy about it.

Grinding the corn to make atol, a delightful beverage kind of like rice pudding but born from corn. The bucket is for the corn milk, not my sweat.

My first question was "What are the chickens' names?" There are no stupid questions, but this might be an exception to that rule. Luckily, I explained that I'm a vegetarian before any became my welcome dinner.

Corn does not have to grow on flat ground, it can grow on mountains. And I had a helluva time getting to the top.

The thermometer I had in my possession gave me my temperature in Celcius, a useless scale unless you're from any country besides the U.S., and so I did some admirable attempts at conversion, and initially got a temperature of 67 degrees F and later 107 degrees F, both of which led me to believe I was in fact at death's door. Instead of my life flashing before my eyes, I instead saw the disappointed faces of past math teachers, particularly Mrs. Svitak, my 8th grade teacher who definitely taught us this and taught it well, dammit.

I tried to text my Academic Director but my Nicaraguan phone had run out of "recarga", which is the money you add to your phone every so often so you can send texts and make calls or if you really want to splurge, subscribe to daily horoscopes. I had literally sent 4 texts in the 2 weeks prior and did not buy the horoscope package, so we may never know how I used all my minutes, but in my time of utter need, they were gone.

I asked my new host family, who I'd known about half a day at this point -so we were close- to feel my clammy face to see just how dire the situation was. They were concerned, probably because already that morning I'd had an adorable case of "Estómago Gringo", which left me unable to eat the breakfast and very familiar with la latrina, the latrine/outhouse a stone's throw away from the house, (which I rarely saw anyone else use so it's possible I should look into my bladder issues and seek medical attention). It was very clear to everyone that I was weak; no doubt with bones made of glass, as well, and this fever was not something to be taken lightly.

Like many a youth of my generation, in this, my darkest hour, I turned to my iPhone. It may very well have cost my U.S. family a small fortune, but I was able to send a text and get my correct temperature, which was a ripe 100 F.

Before I was blessed with this accurate information, I went outside to brush my teeth and look at the stars, for perhaps the last time. It was very beautiful, very minty-fresh, and in retrospect, absurdly melodramatic. I feel very sorry for whoever is with me whenever I am actually dying because I can't even imagine the scene I will inevitably cause.

It was from the interior of my mosquito net, facing all this adversity and illness with a mind that just won't quit, that I wrote most of these poems. It was also in this setting, that my mom for these 5 days, (quite possibly a literal angel among men/women) prayed over me and asked Señor to heal me, which He did! I feel awesome, currently. This prayer was possibly the most sincere and beautiful thing I've ever experienced and obviously I cried, I'm not a robot, and I'll never be able to repay her kindness and genuine hospitality and goodness and that is something I will always carry with me.

So, with that, when you analyze this poetry and maybe it haunts you at night, please picture me writing it during my first day in this completely new environment (which 4 days later I cried when I had to leave), clad in long underwear and copious amounts of DEET, with the intention of finishing the assignment before I got the hell out of there, to the comforts of some hospital, no doubt.



La Mente Poderosa
Me duele la cabeza
La culpa no es de la cerveza

Me parece como resaca
En mi corazón, yo sé no es nada.

Pero en mi mente, el dolor
es chikungunya, ¡que horror!

Pero, si voy a morir aquí
En mi tumba, pongan "tuani".

Translation:

The Powerful Mind
My head hurts
But it's not because of beer

It feels like a hangover
But in my heart, I know it's nothing.

But in my mind, the pain
is chikunguyna, how horrible

But, if I'm going to die here
On my tombstone, put "Cool/Chill." (Even in death, I think highly of myself)

Just Say Sí

(this poem is most heartfelt when sung)

When I find myself in times of trouble

And I can’t think clearly

Lacking words or wisdom, just say “si”.

And in my hour of darkness

Doña Rosalia prayed over me

Asked Señor for healing, just say “si”

Just say “sí”, just say “sí”

Just say “sí”, just say “sí”

Lacking words or wisdom

Just say “sí”.

And all the broken-Spanish speakers

Living in the world agree

Sometimes it’s the right answer, just say “sí”.

For though the question asked

May require much more clarity

It is still an answer, just say “sí”.

Just say “sí”, just say “sí”

Just say “sí”, just say “sí”

Yeah, it’s at least an answer

Just say “sí”.

Just say “sí”, just say “sí”

Just say “sí”, just say “sí”

Lacking words or wisdom

Just say “sí”.

Just say “sí”, just say “sí”

Just say “sí”, just say “sí”

If you don’t know the answer

Just say “sí”.

And when your mind is cloudy

And there’s somewhere else you’d rather be

Shine on until tomorrow, just say “sí”.

I woke up to the sound of roosters

And my new host family

Lacking words and wisdom, I said “sí”.

Yeah, just say “sí”, just say “sí”

Just say “sí”, just say “sí”

You might not get the question,

Just say “sí”.

Just say “sí”, just say “sí”

Just say “sí”, just say “sí”

Lacking words or wisdom
Just say “sí”.

Una Persona de La Mañana (A Haiku)
¡Callate, gallo!
Espera hasta el sol.
Quiero dormir.

A Morning Person (A Haiku only in Spanish, the translation is a short poem- just enjoy it)
Shut up, rooster!
Wait until the sun.
I want to sleep.

Quiero Tu Compasión (A Haiku)
Zancudo mordió
Picaduras, tengo muchas
Mi pobre culo

I Want Your Compassion/Pity
Mosquito bit
Mosquito bites, I have many 
My poor ass


These poems I wrote after in a much better place mentally and was able to recognize that this was a really beautiful place, physically.

La Franqueza de Una Bebe

La bebe se orinó

En la hamaca.

No te preocupes.

El piso es de tierra,

Se secará.

La bebe toma café

En su biberón

No por la cafeína,

Tenemos el café

y lo tomamos.

La bebe grita

Cada hora

A veces sin razón,

Ella aprendió

De los gallos.

La bebe come mucho;

Tenemos mucho comida.

Sembraron maíz

Trabajaron

Cada día.

La bebe juega con gallinas

Y corre en las colinas

Para decir "Adiós"

A su abuelo y tío.

Se van a la parcela.

La bebe no habla

Pero puede entender

Que la vida sencilla

Es una vida con amor.

Más Que Suficiente.

The Candor of a Baby

The baby peed herself

In the hammock

Do not worry

The floor is made of earth

It will dry itself

The baby drinks coffee

In her baby bottle

Not for the caffeine

We have the coffee

and we drink it.

The baby yells

Every hour

Sometimes without reason

She learned

From the roosters

The baby eats a lot

We have a lot of food

They grew corn

They worked

Every day

The baby plays with chickens

And runs in the hills

To say goodbye

To her grandpa and uncle.

They go to the parcel of land.

The baby does not talk

But she can understand

That the simple life

Is a life with love.

More Than Sufficient.

La Independencia (a Haiku)
Come tu maíz
Cocina tus frijoles
Propio jefe

The Independence
Eat your corn,
Cook your beans.
Your own boss.


In conclusion, having recently conquered death or at least having convinced myself I was there and then shortly after succumbed to logic, I would like to remind you all that each day is a gift, mosquitos are the literal worst, and when life gives you troubling symptoms, write some poetry- preferably not in your first language.

Also, I would like to give a shout-out to the family I lived with, though they will probably never read this blog and though our paths may never cross again. They gave me more patience than I deserved, exactly the amount of comfort food (tamales) I craved, and welcomed me into their home despite the fact that every attempt at "helping", resulted in twice as much time and effort on their part. I undoubtably would have lost it without them and this blog would have ended rather abruptly with that ship post.

xoxo,
Gossip Graciela

I'm The Ship

"A ship is always safe at shore, but that is not what it's built for." - Einstein

Given that my comfort zone extends only the dimensions of my bedroom in Lisle, Illinois, it may come as a surprise to some of you that I am writing this from the SIT study center in Colonia Maximo Jerez in Managua, Nicaragua. I'm just as shocked as you are, in fact, I often wake up not quite sure where I am and then I remember and I sort of chuckle at past Grace's expense for thinking she could handle an experience like this one with ease. 

Then, I deftly maneuver out of my mosquito net to the bathroom, where in our neighborhood the water only runs from about 2 am to 8 am. If it is not within these precious hours, I use the water from my bucket to flush and wash my hands, admire my sweaty reflection, and reposition the net around me- the princess canopy I always wanted as a youth.  The homes here are very open to circulate the air flow and such so on any given day there are a few ants in my room and we just choose to ignore each another, and a spider or two, with whom I admire greatly for eating the mosquitos and really doing me a solid/saving me from chikungunya, dengue, malaria, or just an unattractive mosquito bite blemish. One day there was a lizard of sorts but I didn't know how to ask my family how to handle that and was really too tired to bother much with it, though I did consider the iconic Parent Trap scene as I fell asleep that night. Exhaustion can really make a gal apathetic. 

the lizard looked eerily similar, maybe worked as a stunt double

took over Vince's room to pack, which was also outside my comfort zone/against every rule I've ever known

Buenas Noches Luna and La Bella y La Bestia have been huge hits with the fam, so I'm very pleased.

Was/am worried about missing the USC social scene but luckily I'm there in spirit and also in the form of my timeless 5th grade yearbook photo

If you've seen the Wild movie, that struggle of Reese putting on her backpack is what I look like every time. You would've felt very sorry for me watching me maneuver Customs when I landed and I would have graciously accepted your pity.

First breakfast together at Casa San Juan for Orientation. "I'll take a picture in case we grow attached!"- me

Toma Mi Teta was one of the most interesting tales and also sculptures in the Museum of Legends in León. My understanding of it, which is probably wrong, given I thought I was about to pass out due to the heat and Nicaraguan Spanish has it's own unique characteristics I'm adjusting to, is that she was never truly loved and men only wanted her for her huge boobs so when they harassed her  and objectified her and such, she killed the creeps by smothering them with her breasts. Kind of a woman warrior-  let this be a lesson to us all!

Here's a quick recap of the past 12 days from my journal:

Day 1/Wednesday- on the plane : I filled out a customs form with a purple marker and I can't cry because the ink will bleed.

Day 2/Thursday (Orientation)- The people are cool. I feel comfortable discussing shit with them, literally. 
I'm *cautiously* optimistic and not opening my mouth in the shower, like Charlotte in Mexico. 

Day 3/Friday (Orientation) - I like seeing what I'm made of, which it turns out is more sweat than I thought humanly possible. The man who gave us the tour of the Leyendas museum wiped a droplet off my lip and it might've been cute if it wasn't super creepy.

Day 4/Saturday (Orientation)- Guillermo read our auras at the dinner party at Aynn's house (for homestay placement purposes) and I felt like he was also reading my thoughts, which worried me. Of all the things I can control, I can't even control my own mind.

Day 5/Sunday (Homestay Move-in) - I have my own bathroom! But I don't have any idea how to get the damn toilet to flush.

Day 6/Monday (First day of School) - We are a long line of gringo ducklings toting water bottles and wearing less clothes than everyone because we can't hang. Every kid at the UCA (University of Central America) is in jeans, some in boots, none sweaty, and all beautiful.

I used plastic bags stretched out, hair ties, and an Iverson rope to assemble my mosquito net so maybe I am relatively resilient like the playlist I made for when I feel less so suggests.

Day 7/Tuesday- My family invited me to Granada this weekend, where there are freshwater sharks which is BS because sharks are for oceans, and I get to ride in the back part of the truck and maybe even bring a friend!

Day 8/Wednesday- Found my way to the parque solo aka I'm an independent woman who can run wherever I want even if men shout at me along the way. Fuck piropos. (catcalls)

Day 9/Thursday- We played soccer in the park (Gringos vs Maximo Jerez kids) and we lost but probably saw that coming. I scored two goals and showboated a lot, a real Cinderella story but way less humble.

Day 10/Friday- Went to Chaman, a discoteca, looking exceptionally mom-like because I was literally wearing my mom's dress and sensible shoes. Some dress to impress, I dress for child-rearing. Also noteworthy, wore bugspray (DEET is my signature scent) and had a flashlight in my pocket all the while. I'm awesome.

Day 11/Saturday- The family road trip to Granada in the tina (back part) of the truck was thrilling, as was our boat trip around the islands, all owned by rich people except for one owned by 5 wild monkeys who eat copious amounts of mangos and enforce their private property rights if you try to cross them. 

Jose Angel is still warming up to me.

Our soup brings all the boys and gals to the yard

Day 12/Sunday- The Mormons who live next door to the study center invited me to church after I explained that I've never met a Mormon I didn't love, but I respectfully declined because on Sundays vendemos comida.  Our house/restaurant was poppin', the soup is very highly regarded (but meat-based so can't confirm or deny its quality) and we also have music to set the mood. Blank Space played at one point and it was really a lot to take in.

You can't flush the toilet paper here, there's a garbage can you put it in instead. Ask me how many times I've forgotten this and I will pretend I didn't hear you.

My hermanita, a wonderful 6 year old, made me this work of art. Stay tuned for pictures of the artist herself and my other siblings once I ask our mom if that's okay to post on this ~highly popular~ blog.

Having been here 12 days now, (I'm basically a local), I can truly say the hardest part was the preparation and anticipation. I spent copious amounts of time packing and unpacking (estimating a 3 month supply of bugspray and sunscreen is taxing) and basically felt like I was on the horrible part of a roller coaster where you're slowly chugging along towards the tipping point and wondering if you can get out unscathed or stop the ride with your dignity in tact while simultaneously I felt like I was also slowly and painfully removing a bandaid stuck deeply in my arm hair. 

I had these pleasant feelings for the full two weeks prior to my departure and talked them out thoroughly with my therapist, who suggested at first maybe postponing, which of course made me want to go and do the damn thing that much more. I sought treatment for my anxiety, which apparently I've had for some time (I just thought everyone thinks and feels like this- s/o to the lucky bastards that don't), just 15 days before I hopped on a plane. This was insufficient time to get any medication doses correct, so your girl's going in rogue!

I find the whole thing a little hilarious, because almost anything is funny if you think about it. (Plus if it's okay to make fun of myself for my asthma but not for my anxiety, what sort of precedent are we setting here?) For the next three and a half months, I'm just focusing on living in the moment, learning everything I can, and befriending everybody and their brother if they'll let me. After all, with a mind like mine, who needs enemies?

On Thursday we leave for the Campo, where it's about to get real and also rural. I won't have wifi or things of that sort until after but you best believe my character is going to get built. Until then, my goal this week is to find a new park to run in here in Managua, because the beautiful Parque Japones is closed for 4-5 months according to security guards, despite my fervent suggestions that this is not a good idea and it's perfect the way it is.

To close this wordy post, I would like to quote my dear friend Alexi, who is abroad himself at the moment, and his parting words to me in regards to this journey:

"You're going to have a lot of diarrhea but you're going to learn a lot."

This is our bird eating some Papaya. Her name is Lola, she was a show girl, with green feathers in her hair and a dress cut down to there.

Airing out my dirty laundry is a foolish expression because this is clean.