Country Kids (Chateles Del Campo) Official Trailer

If you've been following our recent (and successful!) kickstarter fundraising effort, you'll most likely have seen this trailer already.  The good news is that now you don't have to listen to Jason talk at the beginning!  (Jason, you have a wonderful speaking voice.)  So watch the trailer again and get excited like it was your first time.  If it is your first time, aren't you super excited??

Next I'll be working on putting together a rough cut of the entire film, so the foreseeable future will for me, be defined by a lot of solipsistic sitting in a dark room, coffee drinking, and periodic walks in the woods.

Check out the Official Country Kids website, the facebook page, and follow us on Twitter @countrykids_doc!

The making of the Country Kids title logo

Still Life

        You know what they say about what you should do when life gives you citrus fruits right? Well, life in Nicaland doesn't often give you lemons…but sometimes it does give you naranja agria.

        In this series of still lifes*, I'll show you just what to do if you happen to come upon unexpected citrus. I decided to sacarles el jugo and make some refreshing fresco de naranja, just like any respectable Nica might do after receiving a similar windfall.

Pochote

Trees in Nicaragua are super cool.

You won’t run into any boring old oaks or maples in Nicaland…instead you’ll find a startling diversity of exotic arboreal species.  And there is no tree more fun to look at or more dangerous to climb, than pochote.

Pochote is pronounced Poe (like Edgar Allen) - Cho (like Harry's old fling from Ravenclaw) - Tay (like the longest river in Scotland)

Anatomy of a Project (Vol. 4) - The Problemática

The title for this volume of the Anatomy of a Project series is “The Problemática.”  It felt natural to use the Spanish word problemática because there is no single word in the English language (that I can think of) that describes the concept quite as well.  A problemática (used as a noun instead of an adjective) is the collection, series, or totality of interrelated problems and consequences that surround an issue.  What a great word!  So, let’s take a closer look at the problemática of traditional cooking methods in the communities.

The prevailing cooking method in the communities of Los Álvarez and El Llanito is over an open wood fire.  Some families use three large stones or bricks, balance their pots on top, and then simply light the fire underneath, but many families have built (or have received by donation) stove-like structures formed out of concrete.

I call these structures “stove-like” in order to differentiate them from real stoves that actually make burning wood more efficient instead of just looking nicer.  The fact is, the stove-like abominations that most families use are no more efficient than lighting a fire between a few rocks.

Traditional cooking methods...this is a classic "stove-like abomination"

Two Fundamental Issues

Here's a slide from a presentation I made for a community workshop

There are two fundamental issues with traditional cooking methods:

Firstly, these cooking fires produce un cachimbo (a slightly vulgar way to say “a lot”) of smoke that becomes trapped in the home.  Some stove-like structures do have chimneys, but they’re really only for show.  Instead of going up the chimney, the smoke rises right out of the burners and collects in the kitchen to be breathed by women and children, just as if there was no chimney.

Most kitchens have their walls and ceilings burned black with soot.  When we had families keep track of how much wood they were consuming in a week, we gave them a nice white sheet of paper with a table for them to fill in, and when we got them back they were stained a disgusting sickly yellow.

The soot is pretty gross

Secondly, cooking with traditional methods consumes an obscene amount of firewood.  We’ve calculated that an average family (about five people) consumes about fifteen pieces of wood per day.  That’s 105 in a week, 450 in a month, and 5,475 pieces of wood in a year.  Multiply that by the number of families in the community (134 in Los Álvarez for example), and we’re talking about an estimate of 733,650 pieces of firewood consumed in one year in one small community in the smallest municipality of one of the least populated provinces of Nicaragua.  Clearly there is an astronomical amount of firewood consumed as a result of traditional cooking methods.

A casual wood pile

So, the two fundamental issues with traditional cooking methods (smoke in the house and high firewood consumption) lead to consequences for the community in four general areas: Health, Safety, Economy, and Environment.

Health and Safety

Traditional cooking methods lead to both health and safety consequences in the communities.  The health consequences are a direct result of the issue of wood smoke in the home.  The high levels of wood smoke inhalation lead to respiratory problems (one of the leading reasons among women to seek medical attention in rural Nicaragua) including chronic obstruction of the lungs with tar and phlegm, tuberculosis, asthma, and lung cancer.  The wood smoke gets into the eyes as well and affects vision, leading to additional health consequences such as cataracts and blindness.  The smoke also has an effect on the skin, causing more rapid aging, wrinkles, and a leathery texture.  When all is said and done, the daily exposure to wood smoke in the home reduces the life expectancy of women in these rural communities by about twenty years.


Along with the consequences of the noxious smoke produced by traditional cooking methods, the open flame itself leads to a slew of safety hazards, especially for children.  Both the women doing the cooking and the children who play around the cooking fire are subject to burns and other cooking accidents.  There have also been many cases of house fires (especially in the dry season) resulting from the precarious nature of open-flame cooking fires.

Part of the doctor's presentation at a community workshop

Economy

The issue of high firewood consumption has a large impact on the economy of families and by extension the communities where they live.  Family members can either go out to search for and cut down their own firewood (which is an investment of time and energy, not mention often illegal), or they can buy it.  On average in Santa Lucía, one piece of firewood costs two córdobas.  A family who consumes an average of fifteen pieces of wood a day with traditional cooking methods spends about 10,950 córdobas in a year just for firewood.  That’s $472.  Considering that the average Nicaraguan makes $2,000 a year, $472 is a very significant amount just to buy wood for cooking…nearly a quarter of one person’s annual earnings.

This amount of firewood might last a couple days

Environment

Last but certainly not least, the issue of high firewood consumption in traditional cooking methods leads to a great many environmental consequences.  The most pervasive consequence of high firewood consumption is, obviously, the problem of deforestation.  Trees are being cut down in the hundreds and thousands so that rural families can cook their daily meals, not just in the communities of Los Álvarez and El Llanito, but in all of Nicaragua.

We’ve actually calculated (with the help of a local expert who works for the Ministry of Agroforestry) how many trees are being consumed for firewood in the communities each year.  Each piece of firewood is about thirty-three inches long and three inches wide, which means that the average piece of firewood has a volume of 297 cubic inches.  Assuming one family consumes fifteen pieces of firewood a day, that same family consumes about 1,626,075 cubic inches of firewood every year.  This translates to 26.65 cubic meters of wood per year.

Average firewood size

If an average small tree has 3.5 cubic meters of volume, then the average family consumes about seven and a half trees each year in firewood.  We can then estimate that the community of Los Álvarez (134 families) consumes 1,005 trees each year, and the community of El Llanito (380 families) consumes 2,850 trees each year.  Assuming that one acre of forested land in Nicaragua holds about 96 trees, we can say that just between Los Álvarez and El Llanito, deforestation as a direct result of firewood consumption is advancing at a rate of forty acres per year.

Here's another piece of wood

And how does deforestation affect the environment you ask?  Well the ecological effects of deforestation are quite far-reaching.  For one, trees function as the earth’s air filtration system.  Through the processes of respiration and photosynthesis, trees process the CO2 in the air and produce oxygen, which we breathe.  As trees disappear, the oxygen levels and the general quality of the air goes down.

Trees also serve an important function with regard to the earth’s soil.  Tree roots hold soil in place and prevent erosion.  Erosion and landslides are a huge problem in Santa Lucía since the town is surrounded by cliffs. Most communities, Los Álvarez and El Llanito included, are located on the sides of the hills leading up to those cliffs.  Trees also provide important substances to the soil that keep it healthy and fertile.  With less trees, the amount of landslides goes up and the fertility of the soil goes down.

Another important function of trees is in their relationship with water, plants and animals.  Trees make up an important part of the riparian zones of streams and rivers, meaning that their roots prevent stream banks from falling into the water and polluting it, and their leaves provide the necessary shade that keeps water temperatures at the correct level.  The process of transpiration also has a huge effect on rainfall levels, which in turn affects the growing and harvesting cycles of crops.  Trees also provide important habitats for animals and plant species.  So as trees are cut down, we see water pollution go up, rainfall become erratic, and plant and animal species leave or die.

Let's conserve trees! Let's consume less wood!

These four areas of consequence: Health, Safety, Economy, and Environment come as a direct result of the issues of smoke and firewood consumption that surround traditional cooking methods.  The consequences are the problems that exist within the community, and they are the things that we want to change and improve upon in the economical stove project.  As we will see in volume five, The Stove Design, the economical stove provides a solution to each one of these problems in the four areas of consequence.

Looking towards El Llanito from Los Álvarez

    • (Vol. 1) – Intro to Economical Stoves
    • (Vol. 2) – Community Development…The Goal
    • (Vol. 3.1) – The Key Players
           (Vol. 3.2) - The Designers/Facilitators
           (Vol. 3.3) - The Community
    • (Vol. 4) – The Problemática ***
    • (Vol. 5.1) – The Stove Design
           (Vol. 5.2) - Materials and Design Elements

           (Vol. 5.3) - The Stovetops

           (Vol. 5.4) - The Table

           (Vol. 5.5) - The Stove Itself

           (Vol. 5.6) - The Chimney

    • (Vol. 6) – Community Workshops
    • (Vol. 7) – The Budget and Funding
    • (Vol. 8) – Designing for Sustainability


Next up, The Stove Design.  I'm going to release a neat little video with that one!  Stay tuned.

Coffee Break

I drink A LOT of coffee on a regular basis here in Nicaragua.  I have an average of at least three cups a day, and that’s a conservative estimate.  Nicaraguans drink a lot of coffee as well, and can even boast that their country produces some of the highest quality coffee beans in the world.

Unfortunately, the majority of Nicaraguans have never tasted the gourmet coffee that’s enjoyed by foodies and Starbucks patrons of the rich places the world over.  Instead, the average Nicaraguan drinks cheap, low quality instant coffee with brand names like “Presto,” “Toro,” and “1820.”  This stuff can barely be called coffee.  It’s no wonder a cup of café Presto is generally mixed with a cup of sugar.

My friend Xavier makes a paleta to stir the coffee while it's toasting

It gives me great pleasure to say though, that in certain towns like Santa Lucía, one’s coffee prospects are much sunnier.  Many families grow their own coffee and drink café de palo exclusively.  (Café de palo means “coffee from the plant.)  Although the coffee that is produced is not industrialized and not available outside of the Santa Lucian caldera, there is real know-how and tradition in the small-scale production that exists here.

A rare photo of The Pollo Brujo in his natural habitat

While I've been in Nicaragua I’ve learned a lot about the processing of coffee, and I’ve even turned coffee fruits taken directly from the fields of Santa Lucía into the steaming beverage we know and love.  This way of processing coffee has been the way Nicas have done it for hundreds of years, and I feel privileged to have been able to learn it!

These photos come from the day of my "final exam." My friend Xavier came up with the idea and basically it involved me having to do every step of the process completely by myself in order to pass.  I passed...but barely, he says.

Xavier taught me everything I know, but we also enlisted the help of an old-timer who lives across the street.  This neighbor supplied us with the pilador (read on to see what that is) and goes by the charming moniker El Pollo Brujo, or “The Witch Chicken.”  Nobody seems to be able to remember why.

Read on as we look step-by-step at the processing of coffee 

from fruit to cup, the way the Nicas do it.

Step 1: Pilar – getting to the grains 

The coffee comes from the mountain packed in sacos.  The fruits, which when fresh are a bright red color, have been left to dry out in the sun, and have turned a dark brown.  In order to get to the coffee grain inside, you have to take off the outer skin layer and an inner papery layer called pergamino, or “parchment.”  The technique for doing this is not exactly subtle, but it is certainly effective.

Basically you use an oversized mortar and pestle situation called a pilador and you beat the crap out of the coffee until the rind and the papery layer separate from the grain.  The mortar part is made from a hollowed out tree stump and the pestle part is a length of strong heavy wood with battering rams on each end.  It is tiring work and gives you nasty blisters pretty quick.  The Pollo Brujo can pilar all day in the sweltering sun, he says.

The mortar-and-pestle-like pilador with partially pilar-ed coffee inside

 Here I am pilando

And checking out my gnarly blisters

Step 2: Soplar – separating the good from the bad

Next you have to separate the unwanted bits from the grains.  To do this, you fill a small plastic pan with the coffee grains and the pulverized bits of rind and pour it from as high as you dare back into the pilador or another container.  The idea is to wait for the wind so that the lighter bits of rind and pergamino are blown away and the heavier grains of coffee fall back into the pan.  The act of pouring the coffee in order separate it from the stuff you don’t want is called soplar or “blowing”.


The Pollo Brujo says that if the wind isn’t blowing you have to whistle for it.  If you whistle, he says, the wind will come.  And sure enough, after he whistled the wind came.  But would the wind have come if he hadn’t whistled?  We will never know.

Most Nicas will use an electric fan on especially un-windy days to do their soplar-ing.  You can also use a zaranda or “strainer” to get rid of unwanted rind bits.  In order to get your coffee perfectly clean though, you have to put the finishing touches on by hand and manually take out deformed grains and heavier undesirables.

Here I am zarandeando a few grains

Step 3: Tostar – toasting!

             

Now that you have all your grains nice and separated and clean, you’re ready to toast them.  You’ll need to make a fire first and let it burn down a bit so it has a nice consistent heat from the coals.  You can toast coffee for anywhere from an hour to three hours, depending on how you like it.  The length of time needed for toasting is affected by the heat level of the fire and the humidity level in the grains.

Giving the right arm a turn

According to Xavier, the slower you toast the coffee, the more complex and subtle the flavor becomes, because more of the sugars and stuff inside the grains are released.  Unlike the Pollo Brujo, Xavier makes a lot of sense!

The grains are put in a big pot and put over the fire.  You have to stir the grains constantly so they are all toasted evenly.  This task can really help with your ambidexterity because one arm gets really tired really fast and you’re forced to switch.

Once the grains start crackling and popping and turn a dark brown, almost black color, you know they’re just about done!  I like to leave the grains so that some of them are slightly burnt or completely black.  This gives the coffee a stronger bitterness.  The smell that comes off of toasting coffee grains is absolutely unreal.  I recommend it.

This coffee is almost done toasting

Step 4: Moler – grinding!

After you’re done toasting, it’s customary to soplar the coffee again for the double purpose of cleaning out any remaining bits of rind and cooling the super-hot grains.  When the grains are sufficiently cool to the touch, you’re ready to moler or “grind” it!  This is also a physically exhausting task that works all kinds of crazy muscles in the arms, chest and back.


Xavier says that when he was a kid, his grandmother would make him grind entire sacos of coffee without a break.  He would turn the crank and she would keep throwing handfuls of coffee into the molino (the grinder), and he’d have to aguantar or “be able to stand it,” until it was done.  Imagine a suburban 8-year-old in the States doing that kind of manual labor...

The coffee, once ground, finally comes out looking like the familiar brown powder we’re used to buying in the store, with the additional perk that this coffee is still warm from the fire it's just been toasted it on, and smells better than probably anything else in the world.

The freshly toasted grains are still warm

The coffe comes out of the molino smelling absolutely delicious

Step 5: Disfrutar – enjoying the results

You are finally ready to brew up your coffee and enjoy it!  The traditional way to make coffee in Nicaragua is not with a CoffeeMate or a french press, but boiled in a pot.

There are various opinions on how one should go about doing things but I'm just going to talk about how I do it.  I usually put two spoonfuls of coffee for each cup I want to make in a small amount of water, and put the pot on to boil.  Once it’s boiling, I turn down the flame and add water until the strength is just right (you have to taste it).  Then with another cup you ladle out the coffee into the mugs and strain it through a fine-mesh strainer to avoid the free floating grounds (called chingaste).

Then you can add sugar if you want, or better yet, enjoy it plain and pure and take note of the rich subtle flavors of the coffee you just transformed from fruit to beverage.




The next post should be back on track with the next volume of the Anatomy of a Project series, but I hoped you enjoyed the coffee break in the meantime!

Bussing Yourself (Vol. 2)

        After riding public transportation in Nicaragua for about a year and a half, I feel comfortable saying that there exists an unspoken etiquette between and among the drivers, cobradores (conductors), and passengers.  Because this etiquette is so particular, it’s very easy to stand out as a foreigner if you don’t follow the code.

        Riding a bus out of Santa Lucía is generally quite nice once you know what to expect.  There are almost always open seats and it’s pretty much a given that there will be someone you know if you’re feeling chatty.  When you get on a bus that you take regularly, it’s common to greet the driver and people that you know with a friendly “Buenos días” and maybe a few weak Nica handshakes.
        I usually look for the nearest open seat next to a window that isn’t the uncomfortable one with the wheel well, but alright I’ll settle for that one in a pinch.  Most of the time I plug in the headphones, fire up the iPod, and catch up on my podcasting, but I’ve also been known to read a book or even talk with people.  It must be said though that the most common pastime for any passenger on a bus out of Santa Lucía is sleeping…and sleeping hard.  It doesn’t matter if you’re 9 or 90, people just seem to pass out on the busses, myself included—head back, mouth agape, snoring.
        At various points during every trip, it’s the job of the cobrador to pass up and down the aisle collecting the pasaje, the fee.  From Santa Lucía to Boaco, the price is 15 córdobas, but when I first arrived way back in 2010 it was 12.
        Se subió el precio, que barbaridad…
        So if you aren’t completely passed out asleep, as a passenger with a good sense of bus etiquette you’ll try to have the money ready when the cobrador passes, and you’ll try to have it as close to exact change as possible.  500 cord bills are generally looked down upon.  They’re difficult to break.  I try not to pay with anything higher than a 100.  Nothing screams GRINGO like paying with high bills.

~
        Outside of my comfort zone, travelling by bus becomes a bit more complicated.  It can be striking how little questions are asked on busses; not many foreigners take public transportation in Nicaragua, and I would venture to guess that at least 90% of the passengers on all bus rides in the country take that particular bus regularly or have taken it before.  In effect, this means that most passengers know exactly what they’re doing and therefore do not generally have doubts about when to get off, how much it costs, etc.  And por supuesto, there are no maps or schedules—that information is learned and stored in the collective consciousness.
        If you want to blend in and not draw too much attention to yourself as a foreigner travelling in Nicaragua (always a good way to avoid trouble), the best case scenario is to already know where you’re going, when to get off, and basically how much it costs.  Unfortunately that can’t always be the case.  For me, most travel outside of Santa Lucía and Boaco comes with a certain amount of unknowns, so it’s important to be able to figure stuff out without seeming like a total n00b.

~
        Every bus has a starting point and a final destination, both of which are usually written quite clearly on the front and back of the bus (Boaco-Managa, for example).  If your final destination is also the bus’ final destination, there’s no mystery there, you just wait till the bus stops and everyone gets off.  You can assume you’ve arrived.  But if you know that you need to get off at some point between where you got on and the final destination, you’d better tell the cobrador as soon as you can so he knows to tell the driver to stop and let you off.
        If you get on a bus that is standing room only (a very very common occurrence), there are a few unspoken rules to follow.  You should try to go as far back in the bus as you can, that way you can see easily when someone leaves and a seat opens up.  You also want to make sure there’s room to put your bag on the rack above the seats.  It’s no good to have a backpack on while standing in the aisle because it makes it even tougher for people to squeeze by you.  If the racks are full, you can put your backpack on like a frontpack.
        As a stander, if you’re worried about impeding on what might seem like the personal space of someone sitting in a seat, have no fear—rest assured that personal space does not exist on Nicaraguan public transportation.  It’s absolutely acceptable to lean with your entire body weight on a complete stranger.  And if I had a córdoba for all the times I’ve been seated on a packed bus with someone’s boobs or crotch or butt right up in my face, making itself very known, I would be definitely be at least 100 cords richer.
        Another thing that may surprise the unsuspecting foreigner is the utter urgency with which people get on and off busses.  If a bus pulls up and you’re waiting to get on, don’t expect for the people waiting with you to form an orderly line.  No one is thinking, “oh we’ll all get on eventually, I’ll just relax.”  On the contrary, everyone is thinking, “get the *%$# out of my way, I want a seat.”  It’s the same getting off.  On an airplane, those in the back generally wait for those towards the front to get off.  On a bus in Nicaragua, people in the back push those who are in their way until they get off.  It is literally survival of the fittest.

~
        Despite the prevailing cutthroat attitude, I’ve noticed at least one lovely and endearing aspect of bus travel that can be seen, especially in rural areas, and which hints at strong underlying traditional values.  If a viejito or viejita (old people), or a mother with a small child gets on and the bus is full, it is fairly common practice to give up your seat for them.  This warms my heart and I try to do it as much as possible.
        Even though travelling by public bus is rarely comfortable, it is also rarely boring.  It shapes the lives of many Nicaraguans who use this form of transportation every day to go to work, to go to class, to transport goods, and to visit family and friends in other parts of the country.  As someone who thinks it necessary to understand and be a functioning part of another culture in order to work within that culture, I’ve also found travelling by bus to be a big part of my own life in Nicaragua.


        In the next installment of Bussing Yourself we will, if you’ll be so kind as to humour me, consider the merchants, peddlers, and beggars that frequent public transportation in Nicaragua and valiantly attempt to name all of the cosas de horno.

• Bussing Yourself (Vol. 1)

Bussing Yourself (Vol. 1)

        If there’s one thing that epitomizes living in rural central Nicaragua, it has to be the defining experience of public transportation.  Travelling to and from Santa Lucía is an important part of my life and that of most people who live here.  Only the wealthiest fraction of the population owns their own vehicle (there are probably between 30 and 40 private vehicles, not counting motorcycles, in the entire municipality), so public transportation is what facilitates the majority of the commerce with other towns and the rest of the country.
        There are 7 busses that operate in Santa Lucía and collectively they offer services to two places: Managua and Boaco, some via the Empalme of Boaco.* These busses are not part of a particular fleet and to my knowledge are not coordinated by any kind of central governance.
        In Boaco there seems to be a transportation cooperative with which every bus that services a particular route is registered, and I assume that there is something similar in Managua, but in reality, each bus is individually owned and operated.  This means that there is a wide range of experiences you can expect to have while taking public transportation in Nicaragua…

        In Santa Lucia, all of the busses are owned by local families.  The schedule is not published anywhere.  It simply exists simultaneously in the minds of everyone who lives here.  This makes it difficult when the schedule changes.  Before going on a trip it’s customary to stop by Don Luis or Don Chico’s place (two of the guys who own busses) to make sure his bus really is leaving at 1:00 tomorrow when you need to start your viaje.  Sometimes they’ll let you know that it’s leaving 30 minutes early because they have to pick up 20 sacks of corn and 10 bundles of firewood on the way.  Alright, good to know, thanks.

~
        The busses themselves were all once school busses in the good old U.S. of A.  They’re sent down to Central America, I assume, when they can’t pass inspection in Los United.  Many still have archaic lists of rules for English-speaking elementary school kids posted up front that say, “You must stay seated,” or “Fighting will not be tolerated.”  Stenciled signs declaring that the “Number of passengers must not exceed 60” are also quite common—ironic in light of the fact that many busses are packed so tightly that people have to ride on the roof.
        In Nicaragua these old school busses (yes, they are also old-school busses) take on a whole new life.  They’re pulled out of retirement and kept running for an additional 5 to 10 years, navigating the unpaved and perilous roads that wind through the mountains, valiantly forging rivers and climbing steep grades.
        Bus drivers in Santa Lucia take great pride in their machines and work to keep them in tiptop shape.  They paint the vehicles with flames and stripes in brilliant colors and adorn the sides both inside and out with messages imploring God, Jesus, and Santa María, Madre de Dios to protect them and their passengers.  Some owners replace traditional seats with more comfortable ones, some put curtains on the windows.  My favorite bus in Santa Lucía has a flat screen TV up front that I’ve never seen turned on, but which certainly looks fancy.  Almost all busses are outfitted with ceiling rails so that the numerous standing guests don’t fall over, and most have racks installed above the seats for storing bags and boxes as well as on the roof to accommodate larger cargo.

~
        It is true that these second-hand vehicles are kept running by the almost supernatural mechanical skill of the bus owners, but that doesn’t mean that problems aren’t common.  I’ve been witness to a whole host of transportation snafus.
        Once on the way home from Boaco, the back right tire ran over a large nail on it’s way out of the city.  The bus forged a river went up a few big hills and got about halfway to Santa Lucía before a loud whining, whistling sound started making people look around in confusion.  Finally the bus stopped and the driver got out to take a look.  Surprise surprise, the tire was now completely flat.  Everyone got off the bus to watch as they fished out a jack and a spare tire from some hidden compartment in the back of the vehicle.  Everyone started to speculate as to what would happen.
        “No man, there’s no way they can jack it up enough to take off the tire…look at the incline we’re on…”
        “We’ll be here for hours…”
        “Twist it the other way man!”
        I decided to walk the last 5 kilometers home.  I heard the bus bleat it’s horn as it arrived in town later that evening.  I’d been in my house for 30 minutes.

        Another common problem is going up steep grades.  If the driver isn’t familiar with the vehicle or with the road, or that particular vehicle on that particular road, it’s probable that he will stall out and be unable to make it up some of the bigger hills.  When that happens, the driver either backs down the hill and tries again, or everyone on the bus gets out and walks up the hill so there’s less strain on the motor.
        On the road from Santa Lucía to Boaco, the most daunting hill has a name.  It’s called the Panamá.  I have no idea why it’s called that, but most people seem to have a story about it.  It’s a difficult spot because 1) it’s long, 2) it’s steep, 3) it’s windy, and 4) it’s got a river at the bottom of it and another small hill on the far side.  So if there’s cause to stop at any point on the Panamá, like the presence of another vehicle for example (the road is so narrow in many spots that vehicles generally inch past each other), it’s basically impossible to back down and try again, because the bottom is the middle of a river.  Everyone gets out and hopes the weight difference is enough for the bus to make it up.
        Obviously not all roads are as bad as the one from Santa Lucía to Boaco, but there are many that are quite harrowing and challenging to navigate in big 30 year old school busses.  Most roads are not paved in Nicaragua.  Bridges, when they exist at all, are found in varying stages of decay.  There are hills and rocks, mudslides and beautiful views.  I have to say, public transportation is an adventure in Nicaragua.  If it were to change (i.e. improve), I think an endearing aspect of rural life would be lost.
___________________
*The Empalme of Boaco (known commonly as “el empalme”) is a point in the highway system where busses from Managua can either head north to Boaco and Río Blanco or south to Juigalpa, Rama, and Río San Juan.  Check out a map here.

In the forthcoming volumes of Bussing Yourself, we’ll look at what kind of etiquette is required when riding busses, explore the term Chicken Bus, and learn about some other common forms of public transportation in Nicaragua.

• Bussing Yourself (Vol. 2)

From the Diary of Jane Venada

        I present herein a story that has nothing to do with the holidays, but that I've been wanting to tell for a while now.  As a disclaimer, none of the characters or happenings in this story are based on real people or events.  Please don't think this isn't fiction.  In other words, this is fiction.  Enjoy.

OCT 3
        I wouldn’t call Masaya clean, but I guess it’s better than some places.  Nicaragua has a trash problem that runs deeper than just not cleaning the streets.  I’ve seen mothers instruct their toddlers to throw juice boxes out the windows of moving busses...
        I know I’ll be a good mother someday.  I know how much of a difference good parenting can make in the life of a child…and what bad parenting can lead to…
        I’m glad I came down here though.  The work is on a small scale, but at least the health center is never boring.

OCT 10
  I moved in with a host family in a house across the street from the health center.  In the mornings I sit with my host sister Jessenia drinking coffee and watching people starting to line up outside.  They wait for the doors to open and the medicos to start attending.  We rock in rocking chairs and try to guess what’s wrong with them.
  The health center is staffed by 2 male doctors and a host of female nurses.  One of the doctors, Wilmer, is an alcoholic.  I’ve seen him arrive on his motorcycle and drink a can of beer from his backpack at 8 in the morning.
  The people that come to the health center suffer from a whole range of ailments.  Some come with simple colds, others have lost fingers in power tool incidents, others have dengue fever.  I mainly try to help out with the organizational problems…I’m working on my med school apps now…

OCT 13
        Last week an NGO in the city donated a computer so I’ve taken it upon myself to make a digital database of all of the patient info.  As it is, that info only exists on badly alphabetized index cards in Wilmer’s office.  I keep finding more boxes of index cards among the empty bottles of rum that accumulate in the corners like grime.
        And I think Wilmer is coming on to me…gross…I am not attracted to the smell of stale alcohol.

OCT 16 (7 pm)
  Today after the lunch hour one of the first patients admitted into the building was complaining of a high fever and full body pains.  It could have been anything really, but she was given the standard regimen of painkillers and told to go home.  I was in the back room working on the computer and I saw through the open door as the patient headed for the exit.  Just as she reached the door that leads outside she went into violent convulsions, fell to the floor and passed out.  It scared the piss out of me!
  Doctor Wilmer and I carried the woman (a young mother named Keyling) to one of the 3 examination rooms in the health center and proceeded to do a more thorough check.  When I pulled up her shirt I discovered some kind of bite on the back part of her left shoulder.  It didn’t look like any animal bite I’d ever seen.
  I asked Wilmer what he thought of it, but just then Keyling regained consciousness, groaning and shivering, feverish.  Through fits of pain she told us what happened.  Apparently she had too much pena to tell us before…she had to wait till after she passed out and seized…

  She says she was coming out of the latrine last night and everything was dark, a new moon.  The only light she had came from the screen of her cell phone...enough to cast a pale glow on the ground in front of her.  She heard stuttering footsteps and a strange raspy breath behind, and all of a sudden there was an icy cold and inhumanly strong grip on her shoulder and arm, a man she says, and she turned just in time to see him sink his teeth into her shoulder.
  She screamed and jerked, breaking free of the grip and ran to the house, tripping in the darkness.  She told her husband what had happened and he, having a bit of a temper, grabbed a machete and ran outside.  She watched from the doorway as her husband confronted the man who had bit her, now staggering towards the house.  The husband yelled at the man, asking what was wrong with him, if he knew what he’d done…in response the man lunged, arms outstretched, clearly an attack.
        In self-defense, she says, her husband swung the machete, cutting the man’s hand clean off—leaving nothing but a bloody stump.  The man didn’t even flinch…he just kept trying to attack.  Left with no other option, the husband gave a final two-handed machetazo right to the side of the guy’s head and he crumpled to the ground with a gurgle.
        Keyling and her husband ran inside and locked the doors and windows.  She showed her husband the wound and he washed it out with water.  With all of the noise, she says, her 2-year-old son had woken up and begun to cry, so she put him back to bed and fell asleep herself.
        She was in such a deep sleep that she didn’t wake up at all until 7:30 or 8 this morning.  By that time her husband had left for his job (agronomist for INTA) and she was alone with her son.  She got up and began the morning chores as usual, collecting water, putting on coffee, making breakfast, starting the laundry…  Suddenly, she says, she remembered the dead man outside.  She went out to look and found that her husband had pulled the body under a mango tree in the patio and covered it with 5 or 6 sacos.
        Around mid-morning she began to feel the fever take hold and by lunchtime it became unbearable.  She left her baby with a neighbor and took a taxi here to the health center.

        At this point in her story it was just Keyling and I talking in the exam room.  Doctor Wilmer had left shortly after she described how the machete was planted in the man’s skull, I assume for want of a drink.  I assured the girl, now wrapped up in a blanket, that we would take good care of her even though I knew there was nothing more we could do for fever, pains, and a bite on the shoulder.
       I asked one of the nurses about rabies shots and she told me that even if the girl could pay for them, it would take a couple days for them to arrive in the health center.
       I have her on suero now, IV fluids pumped right into the bloodstream.  She’s been lying in the exam room all afternoon and seems to be getting weaker and weaker and nobody knows what to do.  I think I’m going to stay with her…she’s too weak to move, too weak to go home.

        (8:10 pm)
        About twenty minutes ago Keyling’s husband visited.  He’s a tall guy for a Nica—mustache, baseball cap, early 30s.  He confirmed his wife’s story pretty much as she’d told it and was clearly very worried about her.  Keyling greeted him between fits of coughing, stutters, and shivers, her face covered in a sickly sweat.  She told him to take care of the baby, that she would call him tomorrow.
        I pulled him aside and told him I would take care of her.  He looked again at his bed-ridden wife and lowered his head.  His voice became hushed.  He told me that today at work he’d heard all kinds of rumors of strange attacks like what had happened to his wife happening all over Masaya.  There were other bites…and worse…and the only way to stop the attackers was to kill them.  I didn’t know what to say.  I still don’t…much less what to do…

        (10:40 pm)
        Keyling is not doing well.  She keeps slipping in and out of consciousness, moaning.  She’s sweating buckets.  All I can do is keep a cool compress on her forehead and change the suero bags when they’re empty.  I feel useless.
        I sent a text message to Jessenia, my host sister, telling her I’d be staying the night over here.  She hasn’t responded.
        The health center is 100% creepier at night.  The only light in the whole building is coming from the single pallid fluorescent bulb hanging from the ceiling.
        We’re completely alone.  The last of the nurses took off over an hour and a half ago.  Wilmer’s been gone since 5, surprise surprise.  I think I’m going to try and get some sleep…what else can I do?  Nothing says comfort like a plastic chair.

OCT 17 (4:05 am)
  I think Keyling is dead.
  Her convulsions woke me out of a fitful dream about 20 minutes ago.  I bolted to her side and eased her out of the seizure, holding on to her hands and pushing her dark matted hair out of her gaping eyes.  Through her pain she begged…
  don’t let me die don’t let me die by god don’t let me die I can’t please god don’t…
  I clutched her hands tighter and tried to reassure her, calm her down, but her breathing kept getting shallower and shallower.  I remember the horrible staccato rhythm of it--that’s what struck me…
  Every 4 or 5 lighting quick breaths were subdivided, cleaved, by a desperate swallow.  The amount of breaths between each swallow diminished as the minutes dragged on.
        breathbreath swallow, breathbreath, swallow, breath, swallow, breathbreath, swallow, breath, swallow, swallow, breathbreath swallow…
        It went on like that until the breaths stopped.  She died mid-swallow, her eyes wide, staring right through me.  I checked for a pulse on her wrist and neck and I couldn’t find one.
        I don’t know what to do now.  I want to cry but tears aren’t there.  I’m staring at her lifeless face, her limp hand lying in repose, bent at the wrist with fingers dangling off the edge of the exam room cot.
        I feel so stupid sitting here alone writing in this notebook.  The doctors and nurses always ask me what I’m writing…I always just say I’m taking notes,  I guess I am.

        (5:30 am)
        It’s starting to get light outside now.  I decided to sit with Keyling’s body until the first nurse gets here around 7.  I’m so tired…I won’t sleep.

        (7 am)
        I’m covered in blood.  My hands are shaking and I can barely hold this pen.  Why am I writing this?  I should be thinking about what to do next...
        The last 45 minutes have been the most horrible of my life.  I can’t explain why it happened—I can only describe it.
        Keyling was dead.  Is dead.  I saw her die, watched her breath stop, felt her heart stop pumping.  But I just killed her.  I bashed her face in with a metal stool.  Now she’s dead again.  I am looking at her form sprawled on the exam room floor in a pool of blood.  God help her.  God help me.  I didn’t even know I believed in God…I don’t know what I believe.
        I didn’t think I could fall asleep with a dead body beside me but I must have…I remember dreaming of something…I remember rotting fruit…it was sped up like time lapse photography—an orange, browning, shrinking, its vibrancy fleeting, gray mold running over the rind, then maggots, frantic hoards of flies…
        I felt a sudden grip on my ankle and jerked awake.  There was Keyling, not on the cot, not dead…moving, groaning, crawling.  She yanked me off my chair before I could gain my senses.  I screamed I think, hit the ground butt first and kicked, hitting Keyling square in the nose…her grip weakened and I was able to scramble away into a corner.
        She kept coming at me.  Her husband’s words were echoing in my head, the only way to stop them is to kill them…
        I looked around frantically and spotted the metal stool.  One of the ones doctors use.  Heavy steel legs.  Adrenaline pumping.  Tears welling in my eyes.
        Keyling was dragging herself nearer using only her arms, she seemed to not have use of her legs—they were trailing behind her.  I ran and grabbed the stool.  As Keyling lunged at me again I swung the stool in a kind of uppercut that knocked her backward but didn’t do anything to stop her.
        I hit her again.  This time she was knocked flat on her back, face up.  I took the opportunity to jam the heavy steel legs into her face.  I felt her cheek bones give way…I hit again…this time her jaw went.  Still she was trying to grab me, to bite me, to eat me.  I hit her again and again, crying fully now.  I barely saw what I was doing through the tears.
        Eventually she stopped moving and I threw away the stool, wet with blood.  I looked down.  Keyling is no longer recognizable.  Her skull is a pile of bloody mush, caved in and splattered all over.
        I am numb.
        I hear a noise at the front door of the health center.  I just looked out the window.  There are figures shuffling around in the street.  I can see a couple of them pounding on the front door and yanking at the gate.  Are they sick or are they dead?
        I guess I’ll just stay here in the health center for now and wait for help.  I’m scared.  I’m alone.  I haven’t even felt homesick in Nicaragua until this moment, staring out the window watching those nameless figures roam the streets.  I remember my parents, my hometown, my college, high school.  I can’t shake the feeling that this will be the last time.


        Merry Christmas and Happy New Year everyone!  I swear I"m not always this macabre...it's a zombie story for goodness' sake.  That's right, I've considered goodness' feelings too.

Arboriculturalism

I've been strangely productive lately so please enjoy this extra treet...(sorry I couldn't resist).

As an environment volunteer in Nicaragua, I’ve been thinking a lot about trees. Not just about the need to plant more of them in order to protect streams, rivers, and watersheds, prevent erosion, and help reduce dangerous levels of carbon dioxide in the air, but also about the incredible variety of trees and plant life and the culture of the people that live among them. Needless to say, the culture surrounding trees in Nicaragua is different than in the United States. Trees mean many things to people here: shade, medicine, food, firewood, furniture, fence posts, animal feed…the list goes on.

For the last few months I’ve been drawing these trees poco a poco, working on them in quiet moments of repose…and now I’m finally finished! Since they seem to embody a lot of the significance of trees in Nicaragua, I thought I’d put ‘em up on the ‘ol blog and let the public devour them.

This is a real tree that I began drawing at Selva Negra in Matagalpa during my group’s In-Service Training in March 2011. It’s growing on a tiny island in the middle of a lake and at that time did not sport any leaves or flowers or fruit—but that didn’t stop it from being host to a myriad of other plant life. A great majority of trees in Nicaragua don’t just stand alone, but form the substrate for other organisms such as lichens, epiphytes, and fern species. These trees are truly ecosystems in and of themselves.

This tree was inspired by a grove that the bus passes on its long trek to Santa Lucia from the highway. The roots are exposed, yet they crush and crumble the rock in which they grow, and the branches are stretched out, pushed and pulled by the force of the prevailing wind. In the dry season when I started this drawing, most of the trees truly looked dead, but this is the great illusion of many plants in the summertime. It’s pretty amazing how trees can and will grow anywhere and with any conditions, even without water for 6 months and straight through a boulder.

This tree was inspired by the innumerable fence posts that line the roads of Santa Lucia. I’d say that the general fecundity of life in Nicaragua can be illustrated no better than with the image of the fence post tree. In order to make a fence post like this, all you need to do is find a branch from an existing tree, chop it off with your machete, and plant it about 6 inches in the ground. With some rain and sun a few weeks later it’ll start to sprout little branches and shoot out roots, and after a couple months it’ll be covered in leaves. Then you can begin chopping off the branches that grow off the top for more fence posts or even for firewood, and if you need a shady place for your cows to rest, just let the branches grow out!

I hope these images speak a little more deeply than would be possible using only words. The captions I put with them aren’t really meant to explain the drawings, but to just give them a little bit of context. If you have any questions or comments about trees or Nicaragua or drawings—or trees in Nicaragua—or drawings of trees—or drawings of trees in Nicaragua—please leave them for me, I’ll do my best to answer them!

Technology Education Part 2: Cell Phone Revolution

  Computers aren’t the only big technological change people are adjusting to in my site. Apparently there weren’t any cell phones at all in Santa Lucía until 2006. In the span of a few months, the people of this small mountain town went from a telecommunications environment resembling something from 1940’s rural America, to the cell phone-saturated, internet-age situation they’re in today. I’m told cell phones literally appeared overnight.

  Before 2006, the entire town, maybe even the entire municipality, used one telephone. That’s right, there was just one public landline in the whole town, and it had to serve at least all 5,000 residents living in the central town area (if anyone knows how to translate casco urbano better than “central town area,” please let me know).

  Five years ago, the majority of telephone calls in Santa Lucía were made to or from relatives living outside of the country. Nicaraguans have had a long tradition of leaving their country and families behind in order to find work, most popularly heading south to Costa Rica, and as a result, they’ve also had a long tradition of calling back home.

  The one telephone in town was located in the Claro office (Claro is one of the two telecommunications giants in Nicaragua; the other one is Movistar) and it was operated by a guy named Osmin. Actually Osmin still works in that office today, but now he has much, much less to do.

  Back then, Osmin manned the one phone day and night, fielding all of the town’s calls. The majority of those were from Lucianos working in Costa Rica or the United States who wanted to talk to their relatives still living in town.

  So Osmin would pick up, and the person on the other end would say, “I want to talk to so-and-so and I’m going to call back at such-and-such a time,” and Osmin would say something like “Dale pues, está bien,” which translates loosely as, “Alright, cool,” and then it would be his job to track down that family member and tell them what time to come to the telephone office to receive their call.

  If you can imagine it, the office was full of people all day waiting for their relatives to call. Of course sometimes they wouldn’t call and there was no way to find out the reason. If everything worked out and you were able to receive your call at the allotted time, you had to talk in front of everyone else waiting there in the office. Nothing was private.

  It is absolutely amazing to me that the ability to communicate freely with the outside world is just five years old here. The only thing that might tip you off that there was ever just one telephone in Santa Lucía is the true fanaticism people have for their cell phones.

        Everyone under the age of 50 has a cell phone. Everyone. No joke, I know people who live in houses made of clay and sticks who use Blackberry’s.

  There is only one thing that Nicas love more than talking on their cell phones: and that’s texting on their cell phones. Just like how in English we’ve invented the verb “to text,” in Spanish they’ve invented the verb “chatear.” I text more in Nicaragua than I ever did in the States and it’s because the Nicas have an apparently unquenchable thirst for chateando.

  But I digress…back to that period of unimaginable change that swept through in 2006…

  In that year Claro apparently undertook a large expansion into some of the more rural areas of Nicaragua in order to tap into a new market (a naïve and un-tech-savvy market that I’m sure the execs at Claro were itching to exploit) and Santa Lucía was on their list. They say that even before the big red and white cell phone tower was completed, (now a prominent feature of the town center) a fleet of bright red Claro microbuses with loudspeakers on top descended on Santa Lucía and basically gave out free cell phones.

  The salesmen didn’t have to work too hard to make a veritable youth army of cell phone carriers in a single day. The phones they gave out didn’t have the chips (SIM cards) they needed, but there wasn’t service so it didn’t matter yet. Claro didn’t even start selling the chips until there was service. So people started buying cell phones without SIM cards and without service just for the novelty of having a little screen with the date and time (which of course also functioned as a handy flashlight) and a couple of games.

  Once the antenna was finished and people could finally make calls, Claro continued their exploitation not only by charging for the SIM cards, but also exorbitant fees. All of Claro’s cell phone business is pay-as-you-go, and the more “minutes” you buy, the longer they last. That is, if you buy 20 córdobas worth of “minutes” (they use the world saldo here) they might be good for 2 or 3 days and then they expire. If you buy 50 córdobas worth of saldo it might be good for 5 to 7 days before it expires.

  Using a cell phone here is a constant game. Claro has promotions every few days where if you buy saldo on that day, it’s doubled or tripled, and you can save up bono (or bonus minutes). There are also deals where you can get free text messages if you send a certain word to a certain number. You can even send saldo to a friend so they can text you.

  Oh and there are two different saldo counts, one for calls and one for texts…and this is all just among Claro phones, so if you want to call or text someone who has Movistar, you have to pay three, four, or five times more. It’s definitely true what everyone says, the people at Claro are ladrones (thieves), and they’re always inventing new ways to exploit.

  So, the horrible greed-driven business practices of Claro aside, where there used to be an aching lack of communication there is now a profound surplus of it. Santa Lucía skipped over some infrastructural telecommunication milestones that much of the industrialized world had to pass to be as developed as it is today. To go from one telephone to thousands of cell phones literally overnight is quite a jump and the culture is still adjusting (maybe overcompensating) to the change.

        And in fact, I’m pretty sure there aren’t any landlines in Santa Lucía today…but they did just install 3G.