Happy Birthday, Sergio

When I was living with his family for the first two months in Palacaguina, Sergio and I would eat dinner together. There was a small, wooden table that sat in the central patio of the house and we’d sit on either end of the table facing each other. Everyone else that lived in the house would serve themselves and eat sitting in a chair or along a bench, but Sergio and I were always seated and served at the table. Oftentimes, the family would even set the table with a tablecloth and a white cloth placemat outlined with doily-esque gold designs. I received nothing but the best hospitality. His mother or grandmother would serve us. A fork, a plate of rice, beans, scrambled eggs, and a plastic, Winnie the Pooh plate with two tortillas for me. A spoon, a bowl of rice, beans, scrambled eggs, and half a tortilla on top for Sergio Luis. After one meal about two weeks into my stay with his family, I finished my meal, put my fork down, and looked at Sergio Luis. He was still finishing up his tortilla. I smiled and said, “I beat you.” He quickly finished his tortilla but didn’t say a word.

The following night, we again ate dinner together. A fork, plate of rice, beans, scrambled eggs, and a plastic, Winnie the Pooh plate with two tortillas for me. A spoon, a bowl of rice, beans, scrambled eggs, and half a tortilla on top for Sergio Luis. I ate my meal normally but watched horrified as Sergio lifted his bowl to his mouth, slightly tilted his head back, and shoveled the food into his mouth. It wasn’t pretty and a lot of the food ended up on the table and down his shirt but it was very efficient. He didn’t say a word during the meal until he slammed the bowl down onto the table, raised his arms, and screamed “I beat you!” I struggled to keep from laughing and when I had composed myself, I calmly said “You beat me because I do not eat like a dog. You shouldn’t either.” At that moment, smiling at a four year old boy covered in food, I realized I had a student that was paying close attention.

I had come to Nicaragua to teach a high school business course, but truthfully I was never very good at teaching at the high school. I was just never great at teaching a group of 50 teenagers. I struggled to get them focused. I hated dealing with discipline problems. I had few resources besides a blackboard. I had no formal teaching experience and was easily frustrated or overwhelmed. Even after classes that went particularly well, my momentary high of a job well done was coupled with an exhaustive feeling of “I can’t do this tomorrow.”

Teaching smaller groups or individuals was a better fit. It allowed for more interaction; it was less overwhelming and more rewarding. It was possible to change activities quickly and easily within a small group. But most of all it was simply less formal. In smaller groups, I was seen more as a facilitator than a teacher. Students were more willing to ask or answer questions and have fun when I was seen as a friend and not a teacher. And the most informal and enjoyable teaching I did was with Sergio Louis.

We started with colors. Blue, green, red, yellow, orange. I’d buy two small packs of candy and reveal the bags to a delighted, squealing Sergio. The pieces of candy were similar in size to Skittles, though not as tasty. I’d fish one small piece from the bag and ask Sergio to name the color of the candy. If he got it right, he got to eat it. If he got it wrong, I got to eat it. It was, perhaps, a cruel way to teach a four year old the standard colors of the world, but Sergio was a quick learner. The first time he named every color correctly he danced with joy. Blue, green, red, yellow, orange.

We didn’t stop with colors though. Over the course of two years, I helped Sergio learn how to write, how to tie shoes, how to swim, how to eat ice cream, how to sing Hail! To The Victors, how to whistle, how to apologize. He posed curious questions like “Why don’t you have earlobes?” and learned that everyone is different. He jealously asked “Why don’t I have a beard” and learned that children can’t grow beards. Our class time was informal, spent swinging in a hammock or hiding from the piercing sun under a tree, but the learning was serious and quick. And it was unusually enjoyable.

After a long day of struggling to get all my students focused on vocabulary, formulas, and homework assignments, it was always refreshing to return to Sergio’s curiosity. He soaked up, as fact, anything I threw his way. I didn’t have to struggle to get his attention, and rather than wasting time trying to teach percentages I could focus on teaching what was really important. Like how to appropriately greet me.

We’d start with closed fists. I’d bring my fist down, knocking his fist, and as if it were a direct result of my blow, his small fist would swoop above mine and come crashing down to knock my fist. This happened rapidly, and without hesitation we’d finish off the two initial knocks with a standard fist bump. There was some confusion when we were first learning, but when I started to call out the steps “Mine! Yours! Middle!” he was an old pro within days. Like any good teacher who senses his students are ready for more, I introduced a more challenging handshake; one that can be best described as the Eight Mile greeting.

We’d shake hands normally, pivot our wrists around grasped thumbs, shake while grasping each others' thumbs, slide our hands away, grip our fingertips together, pull and snap our hands back and finish with a snap of our fingers. The Eight Mile greeting proved to have a lot of steps where a beginner could get lost or confused, but we broke it down into manageable parts and practiced diligently. With time we perfected each step and slowly put them all together for the full greeting.

The final step was an easy one. We combined the fist bumps and Eight Mile shake into one, long, beautifully choreographed, impressive greeting. I’d enter the house and without word Sergio would hold his fist out giving me the queue to bring my fist down on his to start the fluid chain reaction of moving fists, hands, and fingers. After the final snap of our fingers, we’d casually move along with our conversation as if nothing extraordinary had just happened. As if we didn’t notice the jealous looks from our audience. As if a four year old and a twenty five year old hadn’t just greeted each other with an elaborate secret handshake.

After mastering the handshake, it was clear: we were an awesome teacher/pupil tandem. As a team, I could teach him anything and he could learn everything. Spending time with Sergio was the most enjoyable and successful teaching I did in Nicaragua.

---------

On my last day in Palacaguina, I went over to Sergio Luis’ house and we greeted each other with our handshake. He sat on my lap and I explained to him that I was leaving the following day. He asked why I couldn’t stay. Why are you leaving? Why can’t I go with you to the United States? And as I struggled to come up with replies, Sergio and I learned that we had our limits. The awesome pair was fallible. We learned that I couldn’t teach him things that I didn’t quite understand myself. We sat down to dinner that night and I worried –as any teacher does – that Sergio wouldn’t remember anything I taught him. That in a few short months he wouldn’t even remember his teacher. Consumed in thought, I looked up and noticed Sergio’s side grin from behind the bowl he was holding up to his mouth. He slammed the bowl down, raised his arms, and said “I beat you.” I smiled. He’d remember.

Viva Nicaragua!

For those of you who haven't seen the newest NBA commercials:



For those of you who haven't seen a Nicaraguan fiesta:

The Chamorro Family

This is an excellent article on recent Nicaraguan history told through the lens of one of the country's most famous families. If you like the article and are interested in learning more about Nicaragua, or are just looking for a good book, I'd suggest Stephen Kinzer's Blood of Brothers.

The only critique I have of the article is when in the second to last paragraph, the author describes the Chamorro neighborhood as "middle-class." I can assure you that anyone in Nicaragua dining on seafood paella and living in a "sprawling four bedroom" is much wealthier than "middle-class," and it's a disservice to the country to describe the neighborhood as such when my friends and the majority of the country struggle to get by on less than $2/day.

Go Blue!

I probably won't be winning any tournament pools this year.

Bizarre Foods

Bizarre Foods' Andrew Zimmern was in Nicaragua a couple of weeks ago filming an episode for his show. I hope/wonder if he got giardia.

Once you get over the fear of parasites, I agree with Zimmern. The best way to understand a new country is by sharing a local meal with its people. And if you can help prepare it, even better.




Buen provecho!

Nicaraguan Vampires

I'm glad I didn't read this article while I was living in Nicaragua. My "shanty" had "gaps big enough for the flying mammals to sneak through during the night," and sneak through they did. Ten minutes after my lights would go off, I'd hear my visitor swoop in and fly around. But I thankfully had a mosquito net and besides the droppings I cleaned up every morning, the bats in my house weren't too much of a bother.

The night before this picture was taken, however, was a bit less comfortable (check out the bat hanging above me). I had to sleep with my sleeping bag over my head and awoke several times through the night when the bat would fly so close I could feel it's wings hit me. There's a lot of things I don't miss about Nicaragua.



The standard Nicaraguan technique for getting rid of bats involved wrapping a clove a garlic in a red cloth and hanging the cloth from the roof. I was also told to smash garlic into the roof in the form of a cross. Neither of these worked. Go figure.

"No reason only the poor should experience this."

This is cool and presumably much more effective than a Microsoft PowerPoint presentation. Then again, a lot is more effective than PowerPoint when trying to explain poverty to rich people. Like experiencing this and living for two years here:


Also know that when US taxpayers send Peace Corps volunteers to countries with malaria and dengue fever, we provide them with mosquito nets and preventative drugs to defend against these diseases. As a Peace Corps volunteer sleeping under a US government provided mosquito net, why was my life more valuable than the 2000 African kids that died from malaria yesterday? Donate a net.

And you thought Illinois was bad

A good run down on the ridiculousness of Nicaragua's corruption, specifically "El Pacto." Living there for two years really made me appreciate our government. Warts and all.

Translating "el gordo," Aleman's nickname, into its English equivalent makes me laugh. Fat Man.

Flickr Pics

For those interested, I've finally posted my pictures from this past summer, my last few months in Nicaragua, and Brian's wedding.

You can find them on my Flickr page. Enjoy.

Bored?

"Are you bored yet?" My boss has asked me this a couple of times since I started working here about a month ago. I normally just politely respond with something like "No. It's all new to me, so it's fun learning how everything works." That's essentially the truth, I am enjoying learning something new, but I might give her the whole truth the next time she asks. It'd go something like this:

Bored?!? I woke up today and took a hot shower. That shower and the anticipation of tomorrow's is enough excitement to get me through any long, boring day without too much pain. And now I'm sitting here at a computer hooked up to high speed internet, contemplating what kind of coffee I'm going to drink today. You know that big coffee machine in the kitchen? The one that has at least 20 different flavors, each individually wrapped so that I can put the envelope in, push a button and have a hot cup of coffee within 20 seconds. Yeah, that's pretty cool too and I'm still not quite over the joy of pushing that button every morning. Besides, I still have 15 flavors to try. How can I be bored when within the next few weeks I plan on trying the MilkyWay cappuccino?

Bored? Ha! I've just finished my cup of coffee and now get to work while deciding where to eat lunch. Should I walk across the street and have something in the food court? Taco Bell, Arby's, Sbarro, Panda Express? Or maybe I'll be a little braver and venture two more blocks to Chiptole. Or maybe I'll just gamble and let the next food advertisement I see decide where I go. It will, undoubtedly, be available within a 20 minute walk of my office. Just saying that is fun and exciting.

Urgh. I've finished my trash meal and feel tired and unmotivated. I might even be a little borrr....but that's before I remember that after work I'm hanging out with friends. We'll probably do something fairly low key, relax and watch TV. Nothing too exciting unless your nights over the last two years have mostly been spent alone, under a mosquito net, with a book and an 8pm bedtime. With that in mind, copying and pasting an hour more isn't bad at all. And I'll do anything without complaint or boredom, with headphones and Pandora. Bored? Really?

Boredom is relative, and I think it's very hard to be bored in the first world (including sterile office environments) when you've experienced the boredom of rereading 7 month old Newsweeks in the third world. So until my boss takes my computer away, puts me in a rocking chair, cranks the heat up to 90 degrees, and asks me to stare at the wall, my answer will continue to be "no, I'm not bored yet." Not even close.

2008 Year in Review

January 1: Celebrate the new year in Atlanta, GA.
January 5: Fly Phoenix, AZ to Managua, Nicaragua.
January 20 - January 27: Trek around Costa Rica with two friends and a Toyota Yaris.
February - April: Read, finish most Peace Corps projects, read.
April 24 - April 27: Secretly escape Nicaragua for a Bachelor Party weekend in Chicago.
May 22 - May 27: Fly into New York, spend night, take train to Boston. Spend weekend in Boston with friends and family. Watch best friend get married. Take train back to New York, spend one day sight seeing with family. Fly back to Nicaragua.
June 10 - June 12: Poop into small glass jar three times in as many days for Peace Corps to medically "clear" me. Deemed physically healthy with no lingering parasites. Worry about status of mental health.
June 12 - July 4: Almost die from boredom, anticipation of pending close of service, and stomach parasites. Cry in realization that the shame of defecating into a small glass jar and presenting your waste to a doctor was all for naught. Worry that though you've been deemed "healthy," you're still spending some nights in an unlit, roach infested latrine.
July 5: Use unlit, roach infested latrine for the last time. Shower in cold water for the last time. Scrub clothes on concrete block for the last time. Smile.
July 6: Bid farewell to my adopted home of the past two years.
July 8: Officially complete Peace Corps service.
July 9 - July 21: Visit Central America's Caribbean beach towns from Managua, Nicaragua, to Panama City, Panama.
July 22: Fly Panama City, Panama to Houston, TX. Eat Wendy's Baconator. Fly Houston, TX to Phoenix, AZ. Return home triumphant and unemployed.
August 10 - August 14: Road trip with brother from Phoenix, AZ to Van Horn, TX in Pontiac Grand Prix. Road trip from Van Horn, TX to Michigan in 17' foot UHaul, towing a Pontiac Grand Prix.
August 14 - August 22: Relax in Michigan summer bliss.
August 22: Fly Detroit, MI to San Francisco, CA.
August 22 - Sept 1: Tour California's coast from San Francisco to Los Angeles with friends....in a convertible.
September 1 - Sept 29: Relax, readjust, and job hunt in Phoenix, AZ.
September 29: Move myself and two suitcases to Chicago, IL.
September 30 - October 29: Job hunt and walk Jake's dog.
October 31: Move myself and two suitcases to new apartment.
November 10: Start life as young professional.
November 23: Buy 40'' flat screen TV.
November 26 - Nov 30: Celebrate Thanksgiving with family and friends in Flint, MI. Smile.
December 19 - Dec 21: Give myself an early Christmas gift, spend weekend in Detroit, MI with friends and family.
December 22: Fly Chicago, IL to Phoenix, AZ.
December 22 - Dec 28: Enjoy Christmas without stress of pending return date to the Third World.
December 31: Celebrate the new year in Chicago, IL.

Here's to being privileged! Happy New Year!

Chevy Volt Now

"The EPA has now preliminarily agreed to a method for testing the Chevy Volt that would lead to at least a 100 mpg estimate." And according to some, the Volt should get a rating of 120 to 200 mpg.

What would that mean to our gas consumption over the course of a year? I don't know. But what if we assume that every new vehicle sold in the United States is a Chevy Volt? How much gas and money would we save? And how much gas and money would we save if we make the same assumption but replace the Chevy Volt with a Toyota Prius?

The first table shows gas consumption and cost in 2007. Assuming each vehicle travels 11,000 miles per year, I used the Corporate Average Fuel Economy (CAFE) standard for cars to predict the total gallons of gas used per year. Then, assuming that gas costs $3/gallon, I came up with the total money spent per year on gasoline based on the 16.1 million cars sold in the U.S. last year. In other words, if every car sold last year got 27.5 mpg, traveled 11,000 miles, and gas cost $3/gallon, we would have used 6.4 billion gallons of gas and spent $19.3 billion.

U.S. Vehicle Sales	16,100,000
Average Miles driven/year	11,000
CAFE Standard	27.5
Gallons/Year/Vehicle	400
Total Gallons/Year	6,440,000,000
Cost/Year ($3/gallon)	$19,320,000,000

Now, rather than using the CAFE standards of 2007 let's use the conservative estimate of 100mpg rating of the Chevy Volt and the Toyota Prius rating of 46mpg to determine total gas consumption and cost if all of the vehicles sold last year were Volts or Priuses. Using the same assumptions (11,000 miles driven per year, $3/gallon of gas, 16.1 million vehicles sold), the U.S. would consume 1.8 billion gallons and spend $5.3 billion if all vehicles sold were Volts or $3.4 billion gallons and spend $11.5 billion if all vehicles sold were Priuses.

	Chevy Volt	Toyota Prius
U.S. Vehicle Sales	16,100,000	16,100,000
Average Miles driven/year	11,000	11,000
Estimated MPG	100	46
Gallons/Year/Vehicle	110	239
Total Gallons/Year	1,771,000,000	3,850,000,000
Cost/Year ($3/gallon)	$5,313,000,000	$11,550,000,000

With the Volt technology, the U.S. would save 4.7 billion gallons of gas and $14 billion per year. The Prius would save us only 2.6 billion gallons of gas and $7.8 billion per year. The cautious comments of Toyota's national manager of vehicle technology, Bill Reinert, suggest that Toyota is commited to the Prius and skeptical of the Volt technology and market. GM, on the other hand, is fully vested in the Volt and the technology needed to reach its goal of releasing the car in November 2010.

It's clear that this car could drastically change the automobile, blowing away even the most fuel efficient car on the road today and saving us lots of money and gas. So rather than wasting more time talking about the GM of the 20th century, let's start talking about the GM of the 21st century and what we need to do to invest in the most innovative project currently happening in the auto industry. Let's put the Volt on the road today.

Why?

Why do we still have to read articles that state "The real problem is that many people don’t want to buy the cars that Detroit makes" when last year GM sold more cars and trucks worldwide than any other car maker? They managed to do this with less workers than Toyota, Nissan, and Volkswagen. GM's Cheverolet Malibu was named the 2008 North American Car of the Year, beating out the Honda Accord (and it has better fuel economy than the Accord!), and GM's Saturn Aura and Chevy Silverado were named 2007 North American Car and Truck of the Year, beating out the Toyota Camry and Honda Fit.

Why is Thomas Friedman saying "If we miss the chance to win the race for Car 2.0 because we keep mindlessly bailing out Car 1.0, there will be no one to blame more than Detroit’s new shareholders: we the taxpayers," when Detroit, and specifically GM, will release Car 2.0 in November 2010? Why is he willing to tout Japan's "government led electric car project" and yet spit on any effort of the American government to invest in a company developing an electric car that will destroy the fuel economy of a Toyota Prius?

Why, if the domestic auto industry problems are all self created, would a relative start up in Silicon Valley also be asking for government money to continue to develop the automotive technologies of tomorrow?

Why are we not talking about the Chevrolet Volt and what our nation needs to do to get it on the road today? Why are we willing to watch GM fail when the company holds our nation's best chance at lowering our oil consumption?

Why is no one reporting that our nation's highest paid autoworkers work at Toyota's Georgetown, KY and Fremont, CA plants?

In the follow-up memo, Toyota pointed out that workers at Georgetown and at New United Motor Manufacturing Inc. in Fremont, Calif., which Toyota owns with GM, are the highest-paid autoworkers in the United States.

Why didn't anyone remind Senators Bob Corker of Tennessee, Mitch McConnell of Kentucky, and Richard Shelby of Alabama that all of their states have always received more federal funding than they've paid in federal taxes? Before they killed the auto deal, why didn't anyone remind these senators that much of the excess federal money their states receive comes from the workers in the states they've turned their back on?

Why can the American government quickly pass a bill that shells out $700 billion to financial institutions, but can't, over the course of a month, come up with a bill that releases $14 billion to the auto industry?

Why?

Free Press Editorial

Dear Members of Congress:

Remember, too, that Detroit helped rescue America as the Arsenal of Democracy in World War II and, through GM's no-interest loans, helped jump-start the battered economy after 9/11. Now, when our automakers and autoworkers need a hand up, will America really turn its back?

Domestic Auto Industry 101

Great coverage on freep.com regarding the domestic auto industry and the bridge loans. I hope America reads this, this, this, and this.

"And indeed, we now know what happens when a society runs its industrial systems not to manufacture products but to manufacture cash.

You end up with neither."

Please do your homework, Mr. Friedman

Dear Mr. Friedman,

First of all, I'm from Flint, Michigan, and like so many others from Flint, I come from a GM family. My Grandma worked there, my Dad worked there, most of my friends' parents have worked or work there, and I've worked there too. So though I won't claim that I have an unbiased opinion, I will point out that I'll be the first one to talk intelligently about the domestic auto industry's problems and I try to avoid defending the Big Three if they don't deserve it. They're far from innocent. I will, however, defend Detroit when the industry is written off as "un-inovative" and a column suggests that its far behind/more guilty than any of its foreign rivals.

In your most recent column, "How to Fix a Flat," you suggested that the most recent $25 billion in loan guarantees to the domestic auto industry was a U.S. taxpayer bribe to innovate. In fact, in 2007 GM spent only slightly less than Toyota on research and development and was the second highest spender in the world (Ford was 6th). As a percentage of sales, GM and Ford both outspent Toyota, and since 2006 GM has increased its research and development budget by almost 23%.

I think we can agree that the most radical innovations in the car industry over the past several years have been the emergence of hybrid engines and the improvements in fuel efficiency. Therefore, I'd like to point out that though Detroit came to the hybrid game a little late, GM and Ford now offer more hybrid models than Honda or Nissan and will have more hitting dealers in 2009. GM also offers more models that have 30mpg or better than any other car company. The $25 billion in loan guarantees aren't bribes, but rather money that will be invested in companies that lead the world in innovation and in many cases are leading foreign rivals in new technologies.

And please, Mr. Friedman, spare me the easy to find headlines that make the foreign companies look like the only ones currently investing in new plants fitted to meet the growing demand of fuel efficient models. A few weeks before your headline ran in autochannel.com, a similar one ran on Reuters.com: "GM to invest $370 mln to build new engine plant." This larger investment than the Honda investment you touted will help GM offer a four cylinder engine in a third of its models and is in line with the drastic measures GM has taken to realign its product lineup.

Now that I have that off my chest, I'd like to remind you that you conveniently forgot to mention the foreign car companies that were every bit as guilty in blocking efforts to raise fuel economy standards. The Alliance of Automobile Manufacturers was a major player in lobbying efforts and includes, Toyota, BMW, and Mercedes Benz. These are the same companies that have all recently invested heavily in large pickups and SUVs, although GM, Ford, and Chrysler all offer a full-size pickup with better fuel economy than Toyota's equivalent.

Lastly, I hope we keep Silicon Valley away from Detroit. Detroit has major problems that aren't being addressed quickly enough, but the current crisis is largely due to the global economic slowdown and the freezing up of credit. The current crisis and the ongoing problems won't be solved by Steve Jobs. Silicon Valley can build a cool iPod, but it's apparently not that good at building cars.

Sincerely,
David Anderson

Work

I finished the Peace Corps on July 8. Tomorrow, November 10, is my first day of work. That means I've spent a third of the year, unemployed/traveling/hanging out/enjoying no responsibilities. I'm excited and ready to start working, but the past four months "readjusting" were a lot of fun. Now if I could figure out a way to get paid while "readjusting" I will have found my "career."

In the meantime, me a young professional.

Joe Dumars is a Genius

Thanks for the link, Doug. This sounds like a pretty legitimate argument; especially when a rival GM says, "Damn it, I am afraid Joe has this whole thing wired. He’s got everything in place to pull this off."

When will the Lions wise up and hire Duuuuuuumars as their GM?

Lone Bright Spot

This headline and article has been in the Free Press for more than ten years.

This is good...and raises my blood pressure

I'm Done!!

Only time will tell if my thoughts on my service will fulfill Peace Corps's motto, "The toughest job you'll ever love," but right now I'm just happy to be an unemployed Returned Peace Corps Volunteer.

Here's to Nicaragua.
Here's to Palacaguina.
Here's to being done!
Here's to being home!

I got no deeds to do, no promises to keep...

Reflections on Retirement

In an essay for my Peace Corps application I was asked to write about my expectations. I wrote:

I expect my service will start with feelings of overwhelming excitement and optimism. As I adjust to my new life and language, the novelty will wear thin and the reality of two years of service will stare me down like an endless abyss. Frustration, loneliness, and worthlessness, will show up throughout the two years, but will always be trumped by satisfaction and success. I look forward to periods of high highs and low lows, both of which will grow areas of myself I never knew existed. My service will be mentally, physically, and emotionally challenging, but I will love the good and the bad.

As I was recently rereading that essay, I was shocked at how well it captured my thoughts as I end my service. Although it’s probably hard to believe given the title of this blog, “A two year retirement,” and my jokes since day one that this was a two year vacation, I joined Peace Corps and came down to Nicaragua with excitement, motivation, and optimism. I didn’t simply join Peace Corps to delay the “real world.” For a variety of personal and professional reasons, I was ready to lend my time, intelligence, and effort to try to do something more important than what I was doing at the time, formatting Excel spreadsheets and getting drunk with friends. I was ready to actively help with things that I had always passively agreed with. A few months later I found myself in Nicaragua, optimistic, excited, and motivated.

It will come as no surprise to anyone that’s talked to me for more than a few minutes during my time here that my initial optimistic feelings were quickly replaced by “frustration, loneliness, and worthlessness.” So I was correct in predicting those feelings throughout my two years, but what I didn’t understand, as I naively wrote that essay from the comfort of an Ann Arbor apartment, was the upper limit (and in some cases the very definition) of those feelings. (I’m not going to try to describe those feelings. I’ve found that unpleasant honesty often gives the wrong impression to people at home and they just end up asking me why I’m still here or if I regret my decision to join, or they tell me that a few years down the road I’ll appreciate my service, implying that I hate it now. These questions or comments normally just make me more frustrated.)

I was also naive in believing that those feelings would always be trumped by “satisfaction and success.” I definitely had months where frustration and worthlessness far outpaced any satisfaction or success I was feeling, but as my upper limit on frustration changed, so too did my definitions of success and satisfaction. In the traditional sense of the word, I haven’t had much success down here. Most of the projects I tried ending up failing and most of my students, I can confidently say, didn’t really learn much from my class. But I think that if you’re ambitious enough and you spend your time trying to solve or improve hard problems, you’re bound to fail some of the time, meaning your definition of success becomes a bit more humbled. I’ve learned to find success in the simplest and smallest forms, and my satisfaction hasn’t come from succeeding, it’s come from simply trying. In the end, these small successes and the satisfaction of trying (not necessarily succeeding) has been enough to trump the feelings of frustration and worthlessness.

So with the clarity of hindsight I would have to change some of the words or at least better define frustration, loneliness, worthlessness, success, and satisfaction. But if I wrote a reflection on my service after 24 months (I guess that’s what I’m doing!), I wouldn’t change a thing in the last two sentences of my initial thoughts. In a number of ways I’ve changed down here and I believe, now more than ever, that to change or to grow as a person you have to put yourself in uncomfortable, challenging positions. You have to test your upper limit on frustration, for example. The low lows and bad times are what make an experience significant. These two years in Nicaragua have been incredibly difficult and therefore, these two years have been very meaningful and worthwhile (at least personally). It has been “mentally, physically, and emotionally challenging,” but I did love and appreciate the good and the bad.

I’m just glad it’s all over! I’m not sure I ever again want to experience anything nearly as hard. At least not before a nice, long, comfortable break with hot showers, artificially controlled climates, trash meals, DTV, close friends, and family. USA, here I come!

Head Exploding

I nearly passed out after seeing this commercial, are we really that smart?

Where you live:



Where I live:



My head is exploding.

Nicaragua Wins

After two years I still plan meetings knowing that I'll be the only one to show up. I convince myself that it'll be different this time. I cancel weekend trips, I leave friends' houses early, I Inconvenience myself to plan an agenda, to show up on time, to wait an extra fifteen minutes after waiting for thirty. You think I'd learn, but I haven't. No one shows up and I take another punch in the face. I lose. Nicaragua wins.

In this video, I'm the cheerleader and Nicaragua is the basketball.
In this video, I'm the unsuspecting spectator and Nicaragua is the sprinter.
In this video, I'm the McDonald's customer and Nicaragua is Ronald McDonald.

Nicaragua-1,000,103 vs. David-2

Chicken Soup Nica Style

Peace Corps Resume

I’ve been working on my resume and have a few different versions to explain my Peace Corps service. Let me know what you think.

PEACE CORPS NICARAGUA
Small Business Development Volunteer
May 06 – July 08
•Implemented entrepreneurship, business management course in conjunction with Ministry of Education, teaching 320 high school students and resulting in 38 temporary, profitable micro businesses.
•Created community bank offering an informal savings and loan program to 37 members who traditionally fell outside of formal banking environment. Loaned more than $2000 and promoted the creation of small businesses through micro-credit.
•Organized a local and regional business plan competition, coordinating with government officials, Ministry of Education, and local small businesses. Locally raised $100 to support competitions and strengthened relationships among public/private organizations.
•Provided consulting services to local businesses, improving accounting, inventory management, customer service, and marketing.
•Trained and evaluated 3 secondary school teachers in the instruction of small business course.

PEACE CORPS NICARAGUA
Small Business Development Volunteer
May 06 – July 08
•Completed more than 50 books (fiction and nonfiction), increasing reading output to more than 2 books per month. Read and studied more than 5 Pulitzer Prize winning novels.
•Acquired no less than 5 cases of acute diarrhea, defecting in a small, plastic receptacle 2 times to examine and identify contributing factors such as local worms and parasites.
•Eliminated 10 pounds of needed body weight in a 12 hour period with as many visits to a large hole in the ground which also doubled as a toilet.
•Banged my head against a large concrete wall in frustration, boredom, and craziness once a month for 24 months.

PEACE CORPS NICARAGUA
Small Business Development Volunteer
May 06 – July 08
•Humbled by a 27 month Nicaraguan, third world bitch-slapping.

I want to be safe at home

I was supposed to spend the day making cookies with my host family. Instead, I found myself frozen in the back of pickup truck racing backwards down a mountain. As the truck narrowly missed a tree and the steep cliff approached, I should have been trying to plan some sort of escape. All I could think of, however, was how good a no-bake cookie would taste.

My friend, Oliver, had called me in the morning and invited me to tag along to a rural community where an NGO he works for had built a small school. They had called him in the morning and wanted some pictures of the school with the smiling students in front of it. It seemed like an easy mission, and although I wanted to go I initially declined since, as I mentioned, I had already planned on making cookies for the day. Then, after a little further thought I decided I could make cookies any day, but I would never again get the opportunity to travel to this small, rural community. With the “you only live once” mentality I cancelled my engagements and said “vámonos!”

Oliver picked me up in a red, early 1990s Toyota pickup that he had hired at the bus station. Besides Oliver there was the driver, a mumbling older man that I didn’t understand, and two “helpers” along for the ride. I climbed into the back of the pickup truck with Oliver and one of the helpers, a guy about our age who introduced himself as Victor Victor, and we set out.

The first leg of our journey went well and as I enjoyed the view of the mountains I was pleased with my decision to go. Even better I had decided to let Oliver sit closer to Victor Victor who had started to badger him with questions about digital cameras, the Backstreet Boys, and other gringos he knew. I pretended I didn’t know Spanish and just listened in as Oliver awkwardly explained, “No, Victor Victor, I will not buy you a digital camera, but yes, I do like the Backstreet Boys.”

We easily made it to Telpaneca, a small town about an hour north east from my town, and then turned off the highway onto a small, mountain road towards our final destination. As we got higher up the mountain, the weather turned cold, rainy, and windy, and I soon realized that this community was a lot further away than I had originally thought. Two and a half hours into the trip, we came to an old, one lane bridge with a broken down truck in the middle, blocking the way. With no possible way of getting past the truck, we had to decide to walk the rest of the way or turn around defeated. Cold and wet, I tried to convince Oliver that another hour walking to the community wasn’t worth it. He wasn’t hearing any of it and decided to continue on in the rain. After a long, muddy hike up the mountain we made it to the community, about three and a half hours after we had left my town.

A couple of community members rounded up the students while Oliver and I enjoyed lunch at a teacher’s house. The rain let up, the students showed up, we took some good pictures, and things looked like they might turn out after all. Though it started to rain again on our way back to the truck, we made it back a little before schedule and thought the worst was behind us. Then I remembered that we still had a two and a half hour trip through the rain on a small, muddy mountain road in an old pickup with bald tires, no wipers and a mumbling old man driver. A little nervous, I got back into the back of the truck and we set out in the rain.

When the truck picked up any type of speed, it was difficult to see where we were headed with the rain pelting us harder and harder. I just knew that driving in this weather on this road was not a good idea. Tensely gripping the side of the truck, I watched through the rain as the truck dodged potholes, rivers, and cliffs. It was freezing cold, we were 30 kilometers from the nearest town, and I was sure we weren’t going to make it. Luckily, when we had to stop to wipe the windshield off, the guys in the cabin threw us a large plastic tarp that we could throw over us to shield the rain. Oliver, Victor Victor, and I huddled together, threw the tarp over us and the truck took off. Out of site, out of mind. Now that I couldn’t see what was coming or where we were heading, I relaxed and convinced myself that the driver knew what he was doing.

Another 10 minutes we drove like this. Oliver, Victor Victor and I sitting down in the back of a pickup truck covered with a black tarp reeking of gasoline. I made the unfortunate decision to let Victor Victor sit in the middle of us, so not only did we bump shoulders every thirty seconds as the truck maneuvered through the potholes, he also fired questions at me. Freezing cold, soaking wet, and completely annoyed that I had even decided to come on this trip, I was in no mood to explain to Victor Victor that I don’t like Linkoln Park and that a discman costs $60. When we stopped a second time on a steep incline to clean the windshield, Victor Victor hopped out of the bed of the truck to help and I thought I might take the opportunity to put Oliver in between us again. We didn’t make it any further though.

The truck had stopped on a huge hill. Victor Victor quickly cleaned the windshield and was helping push the truck when the tires started spitting up mud and the driver realized he didn’t have enough momentum to get it going again. Stuck on the hill, the driver put the truck in reverse and slowly started to descend the hill, looking for a flat piece of the road where he could potentially gain enough speed to climb the hill. At this point, Oliver and I were still in the back of the truck peering out of the black tarp. The road looked like a small stream, the hill looked really steep, and Oliver and I traded expressions that said one thing, nervous.

The truck begin to crawl backwards down the mountain before it started to gain a little more speed than I thought necessary. Then, like a rollercoaster at the top of the hill releasing the train from the belt, I felt the brakes give out and the truck started careening down the road gaining speed. Oliver and I sat there frozen, watching as a large tree got closer and closer. It was at this precise moment when I should have been thinking of a way to bail, but things were happening too quickly and all I could think of was the chocolaty, fudgy taste of the cookies I should have been making. I hated myself for deciding to come on the trip and for convincing myself that I could make cookies any day.

I snapped back into reality as I watched the large tree narrowly miss the back bumper and the truck continue towards the cliff. Almost immediately after the tree, the truck fell into a large pothole on the edge of the cliff and it sat there balancing, deciding whether she wanted to fall and take all of the truck’s passengers with her or if she wanted to stay, nervously shaking…cliff, road, cliff, road. Oliver and I jumped out the back and the three men in the cabin hurried out as well. Safe on the road, we rehashed what had actually happened and reviewed the precarious position the truck was in. Then we realized the precarious position we were in. We were all dripping wet and cold, we were 20 kilometers from the nearest town/house, we didn’t have cell phone service, and we were left with only about an hour before nightfall.

Walking up the mountain with his cell phone over his head, Oliver ended up finding service and we were able to call Telpaneca’s mayor’s office and a fellow volunteer that lives in Telpaneca. Since we only had a couple of minutes left on the phone card, we weren’t able to talk for long and we were left a little confused as to whether or not the mayor’s office was sending someone, but they rolled up an hour or so later with a large Toyota Hilux (this story would have been exceptionally better had they arrived in a Chevy Silverado). They managed to pull the small truck off the edge and out of the pothole with a large chain attached to the Hilux. As they were working, the mayor told Oliver and I about another truck and three guys that tried to get up the same hill and weren’t so lucky. The truck’s brakes went out and rather than veering to the left-hand side of the road like we did, it drifted to the right and raced off the steep cliff, killing all three people on board. I felt sick to my stomach when he finished his story.

Victor Victor, Oliver, and I hitched a ride back into Telpaneca with the mayor, arriving around 9pm. Victor Victor was going to Somoto to find a mechanic while the driver and the other helper stayed in the mountains by the truck to make sure no one tried to steal it through the night. We stayed in a hostel and though I was wet, stinky, muddy, cold, and still hanging out with Victor Victor, it felt really nice/secure to lie down safely in a bed. We took the 5am bus back to my town and after saying my goodbyes to Oliver and Victor Victor, I got back into my house around 6:30am, 16 hours after I had initially planned on getting back. I relaxed a little, took a shower, washed my muddy clothes, and then made my way over to my host family’s house. That afternoon we made the best damn cookies I’ve ever tasted.

Leisure

My friends and I recently built this hammock system. Not as nice as a proper wallow spot in a L-shaped couch but about as close as you'll get in Nicaragua.

Teamwork!

The Sad Truth

Two months ago one of my best friends in my town collapsed in her backyard. Her family quickly found her and rushed her to the town health center where they took her to the department capital, Somoto, in a small, run down taxi. From Somoto, she was taken for a three and a half hour ride in an ambulance to a public hospital in Managua where she and her husband were told to go back to Somoto. There was no space and the doctors weren’t available. Since the ambulance had already left, they made the return trip in a school bus. After a stroke, eight hours of travel, and little consultation with any medical professionals, she returned to the same spot where she had collapsed in the morning.

A couple of days after the stroke, I was able to visit her in her home where she was recovering, and though I had been in her house several times before, I wasn’t prepared to see what I saw. Her husband led me into their dirt floor room where they had the small bed that she, her husband, and their 3 year old daughter share. My friend was half asleep with a bandana tied around the lower half of her face, covering the drooping, right hand side of her mouth. Her face was swollen and her glassy eyes rolled around cartoonish-like. A four inch foam mattress sat atop an old metal bed frame that sagged under her weight, nearly touching the ground. Above her, two plastic trash bags were tied to the cinder brick walls in what appeared to be a feeble attempt to catch the water that got through the old tile roof when it rained. The room was damp, dark, and horribly depressing.

I stayed in the room and visited with her and her husband for about 45 minutes. In my year and a half here, I’ve never felt so distinctly the divide between rich and poor. She was struggling to recover from a stroke, holed up in a damp, dirt floor room, sleeping on an old mattress under a leaking roof because she happened to be born in Nicaragua. I wanted to take her to the States. Take her to a hospital where they wouldn’t kick her out. Get her the care that would have prevented a 30 year old woman from having a stroke. Put her in a room worthy of a human being. Give her a small handful of the opportunities that I’ve been given.

While I was sitting in the room, her husband handed me what they always share with me, a cup of coffee, a warm tortilla, and a Nicaraguan cheese, cuajada. In her normal, joking fashion, my friend said, “Ahh, David, you’re used to everything now, even tortillas with cuajada.” I smiled and agreed, but it wasn’t true. I’m not and will never be used to the cruelty of chance and circumstance.

The next Daddy Yankee?

Sometimes I hate Nicaragua

This happened to my house a week ago.


Then I found this the following day. I've slept with one eye open since.

Roads in Nicaragua

This is why I'm currently evacuated to Managua. I took this movie when I was stuck in a rural community 6km from my town. It used to be a road, but with the rains it turned into a river.

What's New With Me

Since I last posted, I've been home to the states, finished up a major part of my project and survived a "hurricane." Here it all is taken from an email I sent out a couple of weeks ago.

As far as getting back from the states, it was a lot easier this time than it was when I came back after Christmas last year. It was still hard, but I’m just in a much better position now. When I cam back from Christmas I still hadn’t even started formally teaching, so all my work was ahead of me and I still didn’t really know what I was doing. I also came back and the entire month of January was vacation here so it was long and boring. This time most of my teaching is done for the year and everything is just so much easier now that I’ve been here awhile longer. I’m much more comfortable with my work, with my Spanish, with my friends, etc. so it was easier to come back to. It also helped that I have less than a year left to go and am planning on coming back again in December.

When I got back I had two really busy weeks. My class ends with a competition where all of the student business groups present their work and their business plans in the town. The best groups move on to a regional competition where they compete against other schools that have a PC volunteer teaching the same class, and the regional winners go on to a national competition in Managua. So, when I got back I had two weeks to finish teaching the class and organize the local competition. It was a lot of work, but ended up going pretty well.

I had all my groups present in class and from each section I picked the two or three best groups to present at the local competition. We used the town rec-center to hold the event. The first hour the kids sold their products at little tables and whoever showed up could walk around and look at the projects. Then when the power finally came back on (we had to wait for about an hour) each group presented for 8 minutes in front of 4 judges from the town and turned in their final reports. After the presentations, the judges picked the 3 winners that will now compete at regionals. It sounds like something pretty easy to pull off, but it was hard.

The night before I finally got the certificates sent to me from Managua but they ended up having an incorrect name on them, so I went to the internet café at night to make new ones. In the middle of making them, the power went out. The power goes out everyday here from 7:30am until 2pm so I asked the owner if she would open the next morning at 6:30am! She said yes, so I woke up at 6am and made the certificates. Unfortunately she didn’t have certificate paper so I went to a little office supply store here and banged on the door at 7am to see if they had any. They didn’t so we just had to use normal paper. Then I showed up at the rec center and realized I was the one who was supposed to clean it before the event, so I had to recruit kids around the town to bring mops and brooms to help me. When I finally got that done, I went back to the school to take the speakers, microphone, tables, and chairs over with the truck I had arranged to use. Not surprisingly the owner of the truck had decided to go to a different city that day even though he told me he’d be around. So with no other truck available, I recruited more kids to help me carry everything over by hand. I made two or three trips carrying tables and speakers on my back! The people in my town kept yelling at me, “David!! Por que esta trabajando como un burro?” David!! Why are you working like a donkey?

When we finally got started, things went well and I was actually really proud of my students. You think throughout the year that no one is getting anything, but some of them were listening. Granted these were the best 8 or 9 groups of the 24 or so I had so I’m not working with a high percentage of listeners, but nonetheless, I was really happy with the work they did. And it was nice to see them excited about the project and what they had done. It was funny watching them present…they were really nervous, shaking even at some points. My students are mostly 15 years old so most of the time they’re all tough and too cool for school, so it was great to see them so out of their element. When we were finishing the competition I even remember thinking that I wish I could be around for next year’s, so that goes to show what a high point it was for me.

Anyway, since then it’s been great. Now that most of my teaching part is over I’ve told my teachers that I’ll happily still plan class with them, but I’m not teaching anymore. This means I show up for class and help, but really don’t need to do anything…I’m really just preparing the three groups that are going to regionals. It’s a lot less stressful and less frustrating like this. Now when class is cancelled or it doesn’t go well I can just shrug my shoulders and go back to my hammock.

As you can imagine though I have a lot more time on my hands now, so I’m starting to plan some new projects. I’m currently rounding up about 20 names of good students in third year that I can give little classes to after school. These are the kids I’ll teach next year and I would like to give them some classes on leadership, teamwork, communication, presenting, math etc. that will really help them next year with my class. I’m going to try to do this after school where the youth group normally meets so I can kind of kill two birds with one stone. Prepare next year’s students and revitalize the youth group building which isn’t being used at all right now. We’ll see if it works.

I’m also going to try to start a bank like the bank I started at the local school at the community school I teach. I’ve had one meeting with them and things went well but then we never followed up on it, so I’ll have to be a bit more proactive. It sucks to always have to be the cheerleader.

The hurricane was really anticlimactic. All the volunteers around my area were moved to a larger city where we stayed in a hotel for 2 days. Nothing happened where we were (it was actually fairly nice out) but it did hit Nicaraguan’s Atlantic coast really hard. It’s actually been a lot worse here since. Last weekend I wasn’t around my town but apparently it rained horribly hard which explained why half my house was flooded when I got back. You can imagine I was happy about that.

Currently, I'm out of my site and staying in Managua until further notice. It's been raining for a week straight so Peace Corps evacuated a large portion of volunteers to Managua. My town is fine, but I couldn't get out to my rural school because the rivers have risen so much. On my way into Managua we passed a huge sink hole in the middle of the highway. It looked like an earthquake had hit. It'll be interesting to see how long we're holed up in Managua.

Third World Safety = First World Lawsuit

Mid-Service Interview

Peace Corps volunteers here in Nicaragua put out a quarterly magazine for volunteers which among other things includes printed interviews with all the volunteers that are ending their service and all the volunteers that are beginning their service. An exit interview and an entrance interview. I’m obviously not quite finishing my time here yet, but since I’m exactly half way through my service in Palacaguina, I’ve decided to post a mid-service interview. Here it goes…

Nicknames:

Dabeeeed (long “e”), Daveeees (long “e”), gringo de cero, Saquir del futuro (my neighbors claim that a six year old kid named Saquir looks like me. Hence, I’m the Saquir of the future.), chele (slang term/name used for anyone fair skinned), Profe, Teacher, Hombre David

Favorite Saying:

Va a dar su vuelta? – This is asked when I’m wondering around my town making the three or four visits to the houses of the families and friends I have here. You making your rounds?

Voy a hacer un mandado- Living in a small, small town is hard and the gossip is fierce. I can’t leave my house without one my neighbors asking me where I’m going or running into someone I know who asks me the same. Initially, this was annoying…why do I have to tell them where I’m going every time I leave my house? Now, I’ve learned how the Nicas handle it and it works like a charm. All I have to say is “I’m going to run an errand.” I can say this no matter what time it is and what I’m actually going to do and the questions stop. There’s a nice, unwritten agreement to quit asking questions when you get this response.

Adioooos- If you walk by someone here and say “hello” it means that you’re planning on slowing down and chatting for a few minutes. Luckily, you can conveniently say “goodbye” and quickly convey that you have no intention of talking at the moment. This is great at ending unwanted conversations before they even start.

Ni quiere a dios – God doesn’t even want it! After anything describing something undesirable, you can add emphasis to just how undesirable it is by saying “God wouldn’t even want it!” This is used A LOT. In my case, I like to use it with older people that I don’t know well because it’s a surefire way to make them laugh. For example, they might be asking me what Nica foods I’ve tried and when they ask me if I’ve tried their famous cow stomach soup, I’ll reply with all the emotion in me and a wrinkled up, disgusted face, “Ehhhhh…Ni quiere a dios!” This is met with all the little, old ladies looking amongst themselves confirming that the gringo actually just said what they heard, and it’s normally followed by hearty laughs. Stupid gringo.

Si dios quiere – If God wants it. After you make any type of commitment to do something in the future, you can end your promise with “If God wants it.” This is super convenient when you’re not sure if you really want to be a part of the commitment. For example if I try to set up a meeting with someone, we’ll plan it for the following day at a given time, but the conversation might end with me saying “see you tomorrow” and the man or woman saying “If God wants it.” How do I argue with that? If they don’t show up (this is often the case), I’m comforted knowing that it’s not their fault. God just didn’t want the person to walk the three blocks to my house or call me to say God didn’t give him the motivation today to have the meeting.

Hay mas tiempo que vida – There’s more time than life.

What have you done during your service?

I’ve learned Spanish, I’ve been laughed at, I’ve lost my dignity, I’ve read a lot, I’ve written a lot, I’ve cleaned my house one million times, I’ve taught a business course to 16 year olds, I’ve sweat, I’ve started a community bank, I’ve filled my quota of awkward moments for the rest of my life, I’ve helped out some businesses with accounting, I’ve appreciated my family, friends, and life back in the states more so than at any other point in my life, I’ve pretended like I know what I’m doing, I’ve learned a lot and taught a little, I’ve spent countless hours hanging out in rocking chairs talking about when the power will return.

If you could change one aspect of your time here so far, what would it be?

I’d make a little extra money every month. I’d come into my service knowing more Spanish than I did. Though the latrine really isn’t that bad, I might spend some more time searching for a house with a flushing toilet. I’d also change my roof to the much cooler tile roof.

What will you miss?

I’ll miss my five year old best friend/son, Sergio Luis. I’ll miss being able to show up at anyone’s house around lunchtime and be given a huge plate of food. I’ll miss the collective scream of excitement of an entire town when the power returns around 7pm. I’ll miss the coffee and biscuits that I get when I’m hanging out at my friends’ houses. I’ll miss being able to immediately round up a countless number of kids to play soccer, Frisbee, football when I’m sitting in my house bored. I’ll miss my hammock. I’ll miss the excited looks I get when I say “adios” to the 5-10 year olds that stare at me. I’ll miss my students that want to learn. I’ll miss working within an organization that is filled with passionate, caring, optimistic hard workers that believe in what they’re striving for.

Who/what would you bring back?

I’d definitely bring back Sergio Luis. It’s not that he has a terrible life here…quite the opposite, but I wish I could give him all that I’ve been given. I’d bring back the finger wave gesture to say “no” to anything. The lazy days…not all of them, but it’d be nice to have one or two every week in the states. I’d bring back the ability to have a best friend that is 5, another that is 25, and another that is 65.

How has the Peace Corps changed you?

I shave once every other week, not once every other day. I haven’t worn a shirt and tie in a year. I walk more slowly because really, there’s no rush. I no longer use the most efficient routes from point A to point B, I use the routes that offer the most shade. I’m much more patient. My friends in the states are 21-28 years old, while my friends here are less than 16 years old or older than 50 years old. I’m more outgoing. I dump a lot of salt on everything. My table manners are worse. I’m less judgmental. I’m over my aversion to public toilets. I’m more assertive. I show up to all engagements 30 minutes to an hour late. I’m more laid back.

Gained weight/lost weight:

I’ve lost about 10 pounds that I couldn’t afford to lose in the first place.

Would you do it all over again?

This is hard to say. I would definitely still do it if I was the same age and in the same situation I was in last year when I started, but I’m not sure if when I’m done here I could sign up again for another 27 months. It might just be too hard to ever want to do it again. Ask me two years after my service.

Have you thought about leaving early?

I’ve dreamt about it a lot, but I’ve never considered it seriously. I’ve just occasionally wanted to get Dengue Fever or break a bone so that I can get a couple of free weeks in Managua or the states.

Things you’ve missed the most:

Family and friends, trash meals, hot showers, carpet, couches, delivery pizza, Fall, Winter, anonymity, customer service, manners, having my own car, draft beer, Big Ten Burrito, Qdoba, clean streets, UM football, privacy, washing machine and dryer, new music, Best Buy, Borders, American convenience.

Parasites

The most recent parasite that I had. Disgusting.

"It can also be transferred from animal or human feces."

Check out my published photo in the newest edition of Schmap Atlanta. Click on "Photos" and scroll through to find my name under a picture of Atlanta Underground. Cool.

Pictures

Two links to pictures taken while Zach and Brent were braving Nucca-ville. Enjoy.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/14075148@N00/

http://www.flickr.com/photos/sweettasteofindia/sets/72157600396363715/

Teaching

During the first few months in my site, I became more familiar with the book from which I’d be teaching, and I thought that it was fairly straight forward. I had been here long enough to realize the Nicaraguan public school system would present a lot of challenges, but as for the class material I figured we could manage. Unfortunately, I greatly underestimated the challenges and the difficulty of the material.

As I’ve described in previous blogs, the Nicaraguan classroom is generally a small room that shares a back and front wall with other classrooms (picture a large rectangle split up into three or four classrooms). The upper half of the side walls are windows that allow a bit of air to pass through, thankfully. Unfortunately, those windows also let passing students to stand “outside” of the classroom to stare, whistle, cat call, or disrupt the students receiving class. This additional noise is added to the general chaos that results with 50 fifteen year olds inside a small classroom at the same time. I have to yell to teach. In short, the classroom environment is not conducive to learning. The lack of school-wide rules creates more problems.

In general, a 45 minute class lasts 30 minutes at most. Just long enough for the teacher to sit down in front of the class, read a few definitions, and then quickly return to the teachers’ lounge. She might leave the class with some work to do or let a student finish dictating the lesson to his classmates, but regardless, the class is left unsupervised. So, the last 15 minutes of class is normally recess, meaning the following teacher spends 15 minutes rounding up her students and getting them in their seats. This is, of course, when the teacher shows up. It’s not strange to have two or three teachers just not show up to work, leaving more than a few sections of students free, without supervision, for 45-90 minutes blocks. With short classes and absent teachers, it would make sense to have a rule that requires all students to remain in the classroom during class hours. There isn’t and the students, not surprisingly, take advantage of their free time. Last week, as I was arriving to my class, I watched a kid outside of the classroom pick up a desk, raise it above his head, and body slam it to the ground. Not once, but three times. I shrugged my shoulders, hid a smile and ignored the problem. If it were my way, that kid wouldn’t even be allowed outside of the classroom, thus avoiding the body slamming problem. So, in my book, since they (the teachers and principals) created the problem, they can fix it. It won’t be fixed though. To go along with the lack of rules, there’s also a lack of consequences.

Now, I’m not yet old enough to have completely forgotten about my high school experience. I can remember the troublemakers, the disruptions, the lack of respect for authority, etc. I imagine that I share a lot of my frustrations with any teacher in the states. But, in the states, the teachers and principals always have the trump card…grades. If you acted up too much or didn’t turn in your homework your grades suffered accordingly. I thought I would have the same leverage here.

We are asked to turn in grades about once a month. In my first month, I graded all of the homework and was slightly discouraged when many of my students didn’t turn in anything. I put their names on the board, I talked to them after class, I told them they could still turn it in and get some points. Most of them didn’t care or listen, so when I tallied up the scores, I had almost 20 students in every section who were failing the class (below 60%), not because they were doing poorly on homework or quizzes, or because I was grading strictly, but because they didn’t do anything. Nothing, zero, not one piece of work handed in. I turned in the grades to my counterpart so that she could turn the final copy in to the principal’s office, and when I saw the final grades that were on the students’ report cards, two kids had failed. The 18 or so other students that should have failed were “bumped up” to 60% or above. Why? Because a teacher that gives too many failing grades will lose her job. I have since left all of the grading to my counterparts.

I suppose the line between passing and failing is arbitrary anyway, right? The difference between 59% and 60% doesn’t mean much unless a school system has decided that 60% means you’re passing and 59% means you’re failing. And if you’re applying to college an admissions officer doesn’t care if it was 59% or 60%, passing or failing, you’re still not getting into college. But, again, that’s not the case here. Students who move on to university take a short entrance exam and if they have the money to pay tuition, they’re accepted. So, a student here could do very little in high school, count on being “bumped up” to 60% in his classes, graduate high school, take a university entrance exam, and become a university student the following year.

All of this can probably explain why Juan Antonio turned in a recent test half blank. When I quickly looked over the test and handed it back to him, mentioning that half of it was blank, he took the test back, waited five minutes and turned it in again half blank. It wasn’t that he didn’t know the answers, (immediately before the test we had done a review which included all of the answers) he just didn’t want to do it. He scored a 14/60…and passed with flying colors. I’m not sure I would be bothered to write the definition of a market if my grade didn’t matter either. Whether you’re body slamming desks, failing to turn in homework, or turning in half finished exams, there are few consequences.

Given the poor environment and the lack of consequences, it should come as no surprise that my students are a lot further behind than I had anticipated, making my class much more difficult. For example, I did not anticipate that my students would have a hard time with a market study because I assumed they knew what a market and a survey was. When I realized that wasn’t the case, I explained that a market is a group of people with specific characteristics. Going on our third week teaching market study, I still have most of the kids yelling out “a place where you sell and buy!” when I ask them what a market is. As for explaining what a survey is, I patiently described the purpose and how we do one. I have kids in the front of the class act out surveyor and surveyee. I give them examples and finally, ask them to come up with 10 survey questions about their business to ask potential clients. Why would creating 10 questions be easy though, if you’re 15 and have only ever been asked to copy and memorize? In the end, I have a counterpart that says I give the students too much work and maybe 5 or so kids in each class truly understand what I was trying to teach.

In the coming weeks, I’ll start teaching unit cost for a product and the groups will begin setting the prices on their products using a defined % profit margin. If a group has a product that costs C$10 to make and wants to make 10% profit on each product they will set its price at C$11. Simple enough…if you know some basic math and understand percentages. Unfortunately, the teachers don’t even understand percentages. Each month when we turn in grades we have to have 100 points exactly because no one understands how to turn 140/150 into a number between 0 and 100. I foresee problems for my students and partial insanity for me.

This insanity will be added on to the feelings of frustration/worthlessness that surround me when I show up to class and find an empty classroom because class was cancelled for unexplainable, inexcusable reasons and no one bothered to tell me, or when I lose the first 15-20 minutes of class because most of my students and my counterpart don’t show up on time, or when my counterparts are changed in the middle of the year without telling me. Two or three times a week, I want to throw up my arms in the air and quit. I want to shake all the people I work with and get a logical, rational answer to my question, WHY???!!! I want to pick up a desk and body slam down to the ground.

But, when things go well, when I can tell my students are paying attention and learning something, when someone answers a question correctly, or when I have a counterpart teach a class correctly-beautifully!-I want to move on, continue trying and improving. I’m losing on most levels, but the few wins and the small successes keep me in it.

So, here I am just shy of the halfway point in the year. We’re certainly not where I thought we would be at this point, but I didn’t anticipate some of the problems/challenges. My expectations and standards are drastically lower than when I started the year, but even with the drop, they are higher than what my students are used to; and that’s what I hope for now, that my students are challenged and held to a higher standard than what they’re used to. They’re not going to learn everything that I want them to learn in the class. Maybe they’ll pick up a few things here and there…maybe not. But, I hope, in the end that they expect more from themselves because they had a teacher that expected more from them.

Communicating like a Nica

When I was home over Christmas, I shared with my family the Nicaraguan custom to point with chin and lips (not your hand or finger) when you want to point out a location. So, for about two weeks we walked around the house puckering up our lips and laughing. With this in mind, I share with you how to communicate like a true Nicaraguan.

· When you want someone to repeat what they said or you don’t understand: Squint or scrunch up your nose.

· When you want to say hello to someone across the street: Extend your arm parallel to the ground at waist level. Put your palm up and extend your neck so your chin points up.

· When you want to say someone is stingy or cheap: Flex your bicep and tap the bottom of your elbow with your opposite hand.

· When you are talking about money: Extend your pointer fingers and slide one across the other as if you were peeling a carrot.

· When you want to say no: Extend your pointer finger and aggressively wag your hand back and forth.

· When you want to say someone has a lot of money: Extend your pointer finger and thumb and hold them out in front of you so that they form an invisible outline of a giant stack of money.

· When you are talking about drinking beer or rum: Extend your thumb and pinky finger (the hang loose sign) and hold your thumb at your mouth. Move your hand up and down as if drinking from a glass.

· When you want to say something is crowded or full: Touch all fingers and thumb together on one hand.

· When you want to eat or are talking about eating: Hold your palm in front of your mouth, fingers together. Snap your fingers back and forth near your mouth.

· When you want to refer to your diarrhea: Make a fist and lock your elbow into the side of your body. Move the lower part of your arm up and down while grimacing.

· When you want to point to something: Pucker up your lips and aim where you want to point (also works to jokingly indicate that your friend is crazy when he’s telling a dumb story).

· When you want to get someone to come towards you: Extend your arm in front of your body and move your wrist up and down with your fingers pointed towards the ground.

One Dollar a Day

In my research leading up to joining the Peace Corps, I read a lot about the number of people who live on one dollar or less a day (1 in 6 people in the world). Reading that number from the comfort of a $720/month apartment, it was hard to even imagine how that was even possible, one dollar per day. Though the number still shocks me, 11 months into my service I have a much better idea of what one dollar a day means.

I get paid 3600 cordobas per month, the equivalent of $200 per month or $6.67 per day per month. This monthly salary is certainly higher than most people within my town, yet I still manage to spend every last cord every month. Since I’ve been keeping track of where I’ve been spending my money, I’ve found that almost a third of my salary is spent on what I define as “entertainment.” This includes anything that I buy or do that isn’t needed, such as a night out with friends, a trip to visit another volunteer, gorging myself on McDonald’s or Burger King when I’m in Managua, going to the beach, having a beer or some rum, etc. Now, I could make a strong case that this “entertainment” is actually an absolute necessity considering it’s the only thing that keeps me sane here, but for the sake of argument, I’ll say it’s unneeded.

So, if I subtract a third of my salary (3600-1200) that I spend on completely unneeded things, I’m left with 2400 cordobas, $133.33 per month or $4.44 per day per month. At this level, I can still live very comfortably and still have a lot of unneeded expenses. For example, I am able to rent my own house, to buy expensive gringo food like peanut butter and olive oil, to use the cyber café, to have a cell phone, and to eat meat a few times a week. But, you can imagine that this isn’t the case when you make 2400 cordobas per month and you’re supporting a family of four or five.

My good friend here is a teacher at the local high school, making about 2500 cordobas per month, $139 per month or $4.63 per day per month. Her husband occasionally has part time work, but is mostly unemployed, so the family lives on and depends on my friend’s salary. $4.63 per day per month divided by the four person family means each person lives on about $1.16 per day (defined as moderate povery). They all share a bedroom, in a house with 5 other extended family members. They eat rice, beans, and tortillas everyday with an occasional serving of meat. Besides a few trips to neighboring cities, they rarely leave the town. In fact, a couple of weeks ago when I asked her if she could come to a training conference two hours away, she couldn’t go because she didn’t have the 15 cordobas to pay the fare. $0.83 cents.

Unfortunately, the teachers, including my friend, are the lucky ones within the country. It’s a horrible monthly wage (the lowest in Central America), yes, but it’s still a monthly wage that is almost always paid and paid on time, unlike the majority of the other work that is available. According to the Central Bank of Nicaragua, 64% of the people employed are working in the informal sector performing such work as producing foods for local consumption, making handicrafts from local materials, or working as tailors, shoemakers, shoe shiners, carpenters, etc. They are self employed, making little money month to month, and at times, making less than what’s needed for survival. 48% of the population lives below the poverty line, making Nicaragua the second poorest country in the western hemisphere (Haiti is number one).

So, given the money that most people are living with, my salary of $6.67 per day puts me at a level that very few in Nicaragua reach. Tack on to my salary the health benefits I have through Peace Corps and an American credit card, and I'm one of the most fortunate persons in my town, despite living at a level that is lower than any I've experienced in my life. And though I now have a better idea of what one dollar a day means and I can see everyday the people living at that level, I'm convinced I could not do it. Whether I'm sitting in a $720/month apartment in Ann Arbor or a $27/month house in Nicaragua, one dollar a day is not right.