Bulls, Corn, Elections (these things deserve another blog)

       There aren't many feelings comparable to almost witnessing death. We are currently in San Fernando’s “fiestas patronales,” which are festivities celebrating the patron saint of the town. Every community in Nicaragua celebrates their “fiestas patronales” for about two weeks once a year. When one takes into account the multitude of the communities in Nicaragua, this means that there is always a party happening in Nicaragua. Always. So anyways, there I was, at a “barrera” (bullriding event), watching drunk men throw beer cans at the ground as small, barefooted children run to pick the cans up (to sell for about two cents), and then watching these drunk men strap themselves to the back of an enraged bull. These men who had been drinking 10 cordoba liquor were not the trained professionals that come out of bull-riding unscatched. It was very plausible that at any moment a bull's hoof would crush a fallen man's head, and yet the crowds cheered louder with every discombobulated soul that attempted to get on the bull's back and louder still with every lurch, flail or fall.  I think I know now what it feels like to be a Roman peasant watching a gladiator fight. Barbarically exhilarating. 

       Depending on whom you ask, there is a birthday custom here in Nicaragua of pegging the birthday boy/girl with an egg. I am not sure how valid this claim is, but I wasn’t going to question it, and I diligently waited for the birthday to happen of someone who I could hit with an egg and not be scared of later. Jeison, the ten year old of the family I live with, was the perfect opportunity. I struck him with an egg early in the morning on the day of his birthday. I gave him a big hug, said “felicidades!” and crushed an egg on the top of his head while his mom, brother, and sister witnessed and laughed. It was a very satisfying experience to crush an egg on an unsuspecting child. Although, he can’t say he wasn’t warned, I’d been joking about it for the past week, and he had a good sense of humor about it. To make up for it, I gave him a cute picture, two t –shirts (which I picked out a couple sizes too big, every time I see him I am surprised by what a wee little guy he is) and twenty cords. Twenty cords is less than a dollar, which actually goes a looong way here, you can get a media libra de cuajada for 18, which is delicious, freshly made cheese and what I’ve been using as my main calcium source for quite some time. I don’t think Jeison will buy cheese with his twenty cords, but maybe he’ll put it in the bank?

       Speaking of Jeison, I like to think my presence here will enlighten him on the great-wide-world we’ve got out there. I was flossing my teeth the other day and he looks at my dental floss and asks me, “Haaaylaaayn (that’s how my name is pronounced here, in kind of a sing-song way, it’s cute, just ask my family), hay calzones de hilo dental?” Jeison just asked me in a sincere manner if there is underwear made of dental floss… Confused, I looked over to the drying line that had my and his mom’s underwear flapping in the wind. My underwear is by no means scandalous, but I could see where in comparison to underwear of “more coverage,” my panties cooould possibly resemble dental floss. I appreciated his critical thinking, but corrected him, letting him know that most underwear is cotton in different styles, and that none are made from dental floss, then retreated to my room before laughing to myself and writing this blog.

       I’m currently putting the results on an encuesta (survey) that I’m doing in San Fernando on suicide.  San Fernando the municipality with the highest number of suicide attempts in Nueva Segovia, which is a department that already has a high number of suicide attempts. My theory is that Nueva Segovia is the forgotten part of Nicaragua, it’s not the ritzy Granada, there’s no impressive volcanoes to see or board down like in Chinadega or Leon (although right now I am pretty happy that my site is, safely tucked into the mountains, and not in potential lava flow), and we have no famous beaches like Rivas or Managua, and therefore the people feel lack of opportunity and hope. The capital of Nueva Segovia, Ocotal, only has 40,000 people.  It’s a place that many Nicaraguans have not even been to themselves, it is a forgotten and neglected land where the people work hard, and when you hear about the wild “creencias” of Nicaraguan culture (such as taking a cold shower when you are hot can hurt you, reaching into a fridge if you have a fever can hurt you, apparently it’s bad to mix cold and hot), this is where a lot of them come from. If I weren’t placed in this Northern land, there would this whole other world of Nicaragua that I would not have experienced.  I wouldn’t be milking cows, traipsing through mountains that have just been declared “landmine free” from the war, learning the ins and outs of coffee farming, or trying “chica bruja” (the witch’s tit, look it up) while eating corn products. There's something to be said for this part of Nicaragua, and I hope to spread that knowledge.

      The life of a cell phone was lost yesterday. It was victim of an opportunistic crime. I went to Jalapa, one of the cities very close to Honduras and site of PCV Carli Dean, the hostess with the mostess, for their Corn Festival. It was the reunion of the Dolores Dream Team, which consists of PCV Natalie Pritchett, Carli Dean, and me, who were all in the training town of , you-guessed-it!, Dolores, Corazo. Jalapa’s “Feria de Maize” celebrates all that is corn, as if Nicaragua already does not embrace corn enough. The Dream Team conquered carnival rides that I’m pretty sure someone must have died on by the end of the night- just imagine the Gravitron without seatbelts. We also stomped around in the mud, and then semi-washed our embarrassing-muddy toes to go dancing in the name of corn. La Feria de Maize was a great time and comes highly recommended all AG (agriculture) volunteers, as well as the coolest volunteers of other sectors. However, my luck ran out when I played Russian Roulette with my cell phone placement. I had my phone out while waiting for the bus, talking to my many friends, while the bus quickly pulled up and immediately a lot of people crowded around the entrance to board the bus. I put my cell phone in my pocket, actually thinking to myself “Whoa, my phone is pretty vulnerable right by, but, hey lemme get a seat!” It was crowded getting into to bus and when I got to my seat I see my cell phone is not there. I called it immediately with my friend’s phone and found that my phone had already been turned offI made a distraught gringo plea at the bus, saying I’d compensate if someone could find my phone, I wouldn’t do anything, or please at least give me the SIM card with all my contact info. I got nothing but stares and a few whispered "gringrita." The bus driver tried to help me out and said we wouldn’t leave someone handed over a cell phone. After a few sad minutes, I accepted defeat and said “ya nos vamos.” I was more upset at losing my numbers than I was at losing my cell phone, I worked hard to find those friends and contacts! I know, I know, it was totally a crime that I had set myself up for, but things like that never leave you with that warm-fuzzy feeling.  However, after all is sad and done, being one cell phone down after eight months of living in Nicaragua is much better than my cell phone track record in Miami.  Either way, I won’t be getting an iPhone just yet…. unless they’ve come up with an app that can solve robbery problems. 

       On a final note, elections are coming up here in Nicaragua as well (for the mayor)! Election day here is November 4th, and depending on where in this country you live, the debates might be getting heated (the debates here are a little less official and may involve rocks). Go get educated on the political situation in your country, as well as other countries, and appreciate that although our governmental system is not perfect, your vote actually DOES count, and we've got an alright set-up in the great EEUU.