Beans and Rain

'I’ve come here to get eye, to do more than just get by

I’ve come here to test the timber of my heart.

And I’ve come to be untroubled in my seeking;

And I've come to see that nothing is for nought.

I’ve come to reach out blind, to reach forward and behind

For the more I seek the more I’m sought.'-Joe Pug

Welcome to El Lagartillo, where the people are kind, the food unbelievably strange and tasty, and where it almost Never. Stops. Raining.  There are so many things to say, I’ll try to condense it as much as I can.  May I remind you, because of my… shall we say, lack of Spanish skills, I’ve been doing a lot of listening and a lot less talking.  This fact may increase the amount of things I feel the need to say as of now.  The less Spanish I speak, the more I need to write.  Let’s hope by the end of December I’ll have very little to say- that means my Spanish has improved!  

I think a cast of characters will help this process along.  (In no order of importance)

Balta: she works for Hijos Del Maiz and lives in a beautiful house. I get to live in this house too.  She is absolutely wonderful and even though she knows some English she doesn’t use it with me (so I can learn faster). For that, I like her even more.

Jose Angel: Her son. He’s 16 I believe and a great storyteller.  I ask him one question and he tells my story after story and I love it.  Because I can understand most of it- his gestures and facial expressions are of high value.  He plays the guitar a lot and is very good- he likes to play some American songs that I know the words to. In fact, the other day I sang along to that classic 90’s hit: “Whatever it takes, whatever it makes, I will be right here waiting for you!” I tried to explain that it’s a cheesy song. I don’t think that word translates. If it does, I don’t know it.

Maribel: She lives with us too. One of Balta’s cousins.  She is a teacher at Hijos Del Maiz as well and cooks up some very good arroz y frijoles.  She has two boys:

Claudio: He is 4 and really fun.  He helps me with my Spanish- it’s quite humbling, in fact.  He loves it when I read him Spanish folktales- most likely because I read slow. J

Ricardo: He is two and oh so cute. You know those kids you meet and you tell yourself, “That is the cutest kid in the whole world.”?  Yeah, he is one of those.  His Spanish may be better than mine too.  But at least I can pronounce ‘por favor.’ One word- that’s all I’ve got on a two year old.  Also, I don’t cry when someone tells me no (usually).

Norma: She is my first Spanish teacher (they rotate every week).  She is patient and very helpful and I like her a lot.  She has a husband who is from Canada. I haven’t met him yet and I have this theory that she doesn’t want to introduce us because she doesn’t want me to be tempted to use English. Clever woman.

Cano: The house cat.  When she isn’t sleeping on the porch, she is crying for food. The ninos kick her, which is sad.  But you wouldn’t believe the decibel at which she meows.

There are many more people that I’ve met, but these are the one’s I interact with the most.  Also, Balta has so many family members that she’s introduced me to, but it was really hard to remember all of their names considering all the “newness” that surrounds me.

So… after 9 days in El Lagartillo, I can list a few certain facts:

1. I love chickens.  Everything about them.  They prance around this village like they own the place. Maybe they do.  Have you ever taken special time to watch a chicken walk or run?  It’s hysterical!  The way their heads bob in tune with their feet, as if some invisible thread were connecting the two.  I couldn’t imagine having to walk like that; where every step you took, you head lurched forward.  People here may think I am slightly off my rocker because I’ve mentioned a few times to anyone who will listen how much I love watching the chickens.  But really, if you haven’t watched a chicken chasing a moth, you must.

2. God has a sense of humor.  All summer (and people can attest to this), all I wanted was rain.  Even on my kayak trips I was thirsty for rainfall, despite how uncomfortable it is for many.  I felt dried up, and I knew the land felt the same.  Coincidentally, I just finished reading Kingsolver’s “The Bean Trees,” in which a couple quirky but strong women find themselves living in Tucson together out of happenstance.  The protagonist writes: “the whole world was looking parched.  When you walked by a tree or a bush it just looked like it ached.”  All of this to say: I asked for rain all summer and didn’t see it.  I get to Nicaragua and the Rain. Hasn’t. Stopped.  Funny.  I am thirsty no more.

3. Rain boots are on the list of top five best inventions in the world (just short of frozen yogurt and toilet paper).  They are fantastic.  No matter the conditions, your feet are dry, clean content.  Can you imagine?  I am rather certain that people have won battles and conquered tasks of great importance because they were wearing rain boots.  Just ask anyone in Lagartillo during the rain season.  Best 6 bucks I’ve ever spent in Esteli.

4. My dad is a smart guy.  As I finished up my packing into my small-ish backpack, he told me that if he were I, he’d pack running shoes. “I don’t have room!” I replied in my I’m-about-to-leave-so-I’m-anxious-and-cranky voice.  “And I’m not you,” I added.  He just smiled, shook his head, and said, “I know. Just sayin’.” Ok.  I listened.  And packed my running shoes. Good decision.  After the incessant rains stopped a couple days ago, I ran.  It takes 7.5 minutes to reach the end of the road (where the bus stop is) by fast foot.  Therefore I run back and forth a number of times.  And it is wonderful.

5. Mosquito nets may not always work.  If you want proof, come down to Nicaragua and take a look at my feet and ankles.  Yikes bikes.

6. The word for stretchy in Spanish is “estretchos.”  I find this hilarious.  I learned this because in one of my lessons, I had to fill in the correct verb for a sentence that said, “Julia likes to wear her stretchy pants.”  I thought two things: One: Me too!  And Two: Nacho Libre… “sometimes, when you’re an adult, you wear your stretchy pants in your room- is for fun.”

I absolutely love where I live.  It is a beautiful round home with an open living room area.  The kitchen is simple and there is a somewhat-upstairs where you can overlook the entire area.  My room is exactly what I need and I couldn’t have asked for a nicer place to live.  It’s simple here, I suppose, compared to the U.S.  But it’s preferred- at least for me it is.  They have a bit of solar electricity in their house, so we get a little light at night.  We also watch more movies than I would have imagined- we all huddle around my computer in the evenings on the porch and swat the big bugs away from the screen.  I really enjoy these evenings: when I’ve exhausted all the Spanish my brain and mouth can spit out for the day, we can somewhat understand the same language for a couple hours.  Whether the audio is in Spanish or English, there are subtitles in the other.  It’s magical. 

view of the granada trees from my room

my room!

view from the roof

front yard´; outside the kitchen

There is a place out back to take bucket showers and to wash your clothes.  The first time I washed my clothes I used way too much soap- I was back there pounding the suds out of my towel for at least thirty minutes.  If I develop carpal-tunnel syndrome years down the road, I’m blaming myself for miscalculating the ratio of water to that blue, gritty, powder-like substance.  My hands are sore as I type this. Woops.

Turns out it is very very wet here.  Not only does it rain, but anything that can soak up moisture does so with grandeur.  From paper to dishtowels to every piece of clothing: each item is practically saturated.  It’s funny because this summer I was taught to avoid anything that soaked up moisture: “don’t pack cotton!”, I would preach.  Well, I packed myself a whole lot of cotton.  And I don’t regret it.  Here, that doesn’t matter.  Any kind of ‘gear’-polypropylene, gortex, whatever- doesn’t account for anything here.  People just deal with it.  Things get wet- so what?  Perhaps more of us (myself included) need to adjust our definition of comfort.  I watch the chickens in the yard as it pours- for shelter they huddle close together in the small shade of an orange tree.  If anything, discomfort brings people closer together.  Discomfort happens.

It’s a good thing I like rice and beans.  We have it for almost every meal and I love it.  We also eat corn tortillas, about four different types of banana/platano, homemade cheese from the cows here, and lots of other fruits and vegetables that I can’t remember the names of.  But I promise they are all good (except for noni, which is a fruit that grows right outside the kitchen. They make it into juice and it tastes pungent and not worth drinking. At least to me).  Most of you know how much I love to cook and bake, but I haven’t had to do any of that since I arrived.  I had forgotten how good food tastes when someone else cooks for you.  It isn’t just the food, it’s the intention: I’m feeding you because you live here because I’ve welcomed you here because I want you to be a part of this community.  That’s amazing.  I am so thankful for that. 

Turns out this is the right place for you if you think yourself low maintenance (which I, in fact do).  When I was a baby my mom could plop me on the couch and I would just sit.  Perhaps stare off into space, drool, maybe smile a bit.  I was a content, observant little kid.  Not much has changed, apparently (obviously I don’t find myself drooling or staring…. this was a bad analogy to begin with).  It’s certain I was anxious weeks and days before coming here, but once I got here, I sort of became a fly on the wall who you occasionally have to feed and entertain with simple questions like, “do you have siblings?”  Worry not; my Spanish has improved to where I am no longer a fly… I’m like that quiet kid who says something funny every once and a while.  “You’re more than that,” you are thinking.  Yes, I know.  I am a part of this community and for that I’m very grateful.  But I can make a few jokes in Spanish now.  And now I laugh because I get the joke, not because I am unsure of the conversation that’s taking place around me.

My temperament fits here, that it for certain.  When I arrived I thought I’d start working or studying right away.  But everything comes natural here.  Also, when it rains a lot, not much can happen.  You must be patient, and you must relax.  I’d much rather learn Spanish here than any other place- here there is time to take it all in and to enjoy the community around you.  I play with the kiddos, I help Maribel in the kitchen, I sometimes sing while Jose Angel plays the guitar.  Meanwhile, my mouth is trying to keep up with my brain as I become more of a conversationalist each day.  Believe it or not, I’m an inherently shy person- opening up and using the Spanish I do know has been difficult for me.  Each day is a process.  But I absolutely love it… maybe not the small colony of bug bites surrounding my calves or the smell of the pooperia (also known as a B.I.F.F, a John, or a whole in the ground).  But sometimes it takes a little stink and a few scratches to experience comfort and joy.

One last story, before I catch the bumpy bus back to Lagartillo (how is that for alliteration?).
 

I have a small theory that any Beatles song can change the oh-so small world of any individual.  Day three in El Lagartillo: I awoke to, of course, more rain.  Hay mucha lluvia!  However, at 6:18 a.m., the clouds parted in order that I may take my first bucket shower in Nicaragua.  Maybe if my Spanish had been better, I would have asked Maribel if I really do use that bucket of water-sand mixture that’s been sitting in the cold rain for days.  She would have told me, “No, pobrecita!  The water that comes from the hose over there is much warmer.”  Perhaps I prefer learning from my mistakes, instead of simply asking for help.  I am surprised that my stubbornness actually followed me to Nicaragua (If you want a satisfactory bucket shower, go for a run first). 

After my first day of lessons, I was feeling victorious and defeated at the same time, if you can imagine.  Most of what was taught to me by Norma, my teacher, was a review.  Which is great.  However I realized how much more work my brain needed to do over the next four weeks.  A LOT.  Also, the rain makes almost anyone depressed.  So, after my classes, I found myself trudging back to Balta’s in a Charlie Brown-like manor; wondering why it had taken me four days in a foreign place (where I haven’t spoken much) to feel lonely.  But as I crossed the river on the slippery bridge, I heard Jose Angel’s guitar.  I had to smile.  It’s as if something knows exactly what you need at exactly the right time.  Maybe that’s God.

I joined him on the porch, listening to his strumming and singing.  He asks me if I know the song “Let it Be.”  Lucky for him I don’t know enough Spanish to give a sarcastic response.  “Si, claro” I reply.  He plays a little bit, but I get out my computer to play the song on speakers, to “refresh his memory,” as he would say. 

I started my morning with unnecessarily cold water and fleeting moments of loneliness.  No, mostly I don’t know what I’ve gotten myself into- but whatever it is, it’s beautiful and not to be avoided.  Jose Angel and I found ourselves on the porch, listening to those melodic, beautiful words as the rain keeps falling: “Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be; shine until tomorrow.

Let it be.”