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