(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.
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| #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.
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| 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.
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| "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.
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| 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?
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| 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.
