Walking History Lessons

Almost everyone I visit with here, brings up the war at least once during our conversations, but now that I am closer with people (and maybe my Spanish is getting better) they have started telling me more. I spend a total of probably 10 hours this week just listening to war stories. I can’t believe how real it all is to them, to this day. The last war between the Sandinistas and the Contras (funded by the U.S.) was not long ago at all. A lot of the people my age were babies and don’t remember any of it, but it affects their daily lives by how much their parents remember. They are told not to confide in friends because you never know who may turn into an enemy, and they are reminded that everything can be taken away from them in a second.

I think this is one of the biggest cultural differences I may be observing on a daily bases, is that my generation whether U.S or European did not grow up with parents who lived through a war, the affect of which, I have observed, remains in the minds and the places long after the bombs have stopped going off and soldiers have left. As my “adoptive families” are telling me stories it is so real, especially when they tell me where they all happened, all of which I know because they are right in my community. The stories they account are not of one side or the other but the ugliness of neighbors killing neighbors- the horrible things that went on- rape, robbery, young buys dying in combat, bombs killing innocent people, sleeping in a hole in the dirt to escape cross fire during the night, These things are truly horrible, and even though I studied so many different horrible wars in my many types of history classes and have heard of all these horrible living conditions during war (and worse) it is so different when you are hearing it from the generations who lived it and seeing how it affects their  lives and that of their children’s.

Hearing all of the stories I am shocked. I can not imagine the strong men I know here, running away from bombs, grown men sobbing to their wives about the tortures they witnessed or teenagers running from shooting soldiers in a line of zig zags, I cannot imagine if they had been caught how many children who run around wildly all over the place wouldn’t exist, more than anything it is how vividly the combinations of their words and faces paint a picture I cannot imagine in this incredibly beautiful country.

The end of this unplanned week of history lessons, I had a trip planned to go visit the grandparents of my closest family friends here who lives by the giant lake I can see from my town, (but can never seem to get to, which makes sense since it turns out it is a good hour hike away from here). As I walked I could not believe my luck of living in such a beautiful place, and meeting such friendly people. As we are walking and talking, going along happily and laughing (as I always do with this particular family) they start pointing out places where the stories they have recounted to me earlier took place… “That is the tree where the two men were executed” “That is the house that was a prison, where my husband and father were” and later about ten minutes before we ended our hike she points to an overgrown abandoned plot that could have had a house once but now only two fence posts are visible and tells me “that is where our old house used to be before they took it from us” She explained to me how two soldiers arrived in the middle of the night and called them out of their house. They split up the husband and the wife (they had the baby sleeping in the house) and were trying to take the woman with them for “night-time” entertainment. Her husband was unarmed and powerless against two soldiers on horseback, but the horses they had tied to the fence posts were shocked by something (even though she swears there was no noise) and they both leaped up at the same time, and galloped away dragging the fence posts with them. The soldiers had to leave the woman (my friend, and surrogate mother here) and chase after the horses. For this reason she says the now missing  fence posts were an act of God and gave herself, her husband, and the baby time to go to a neighbors house. The next day she moved to a convent and her husband was put in prison.

 I can’t explain how juxtaposing these concepts and feelings are. Here are the people I laugh and relax with at least once a week, taking me to visit a lake and to eat a “mountain of food” they always put food in my stomach and a smile on my face but now when I see them I also want to hug them and apologize for any part my country had to do with their pain and resulting struggle in their lives.

Reflecting on being an American, at first I felt incredibly lucky to be an American, for the protected life we live, that, but the war in the middle east has been on my mind as well this week as well. Coming from a country who has been involved in many wars but has not seen this type of violence on her soil, I think it is really difficult for the majority of us to even try to imagine the hardships and horrors of war, and the nearest thing we may be able to relate to is September 11^th. I have been feeling especially patriotic about this upcoming ten year remembrance, ( so much so that I actually am going to my friend Vanessa’s house for the night, just because I feel like I want to remember it in some American kind of way with an American) But after all the recounts of war I removed from American-centric focus, This Sunday is not just ten years of American soldiers dieing and fear of another attack on American soil but also  ten years of people in other countries, other families who I don’t know living through the exact conditions I am having such a hard time believing in right now. I do no want to undervalue the Americans who have suffered for the now ten year war, because I realize even though I may not like all of the actions we have taken as a country, it is also these types of actions that protect us from suffering war on a first hand basis, but it  makes me really sad that people have to live in the fear and ugliness that accompanies a war of any kind, and it makes me even sadder to know that even when the war does end for America, it will continue much more permanently in the family’s accounts and daily reminders of where a house used to be, where so and so used to live, where someone almost died, and by all those people who are no longer there.

Walking History Lessons

Almost everyone I visit with here, brings up the war at least once during our conversations, but now that I am closer with people (and maybe my Spanish is getting better) they have started telling me more. I spend a total of probably 10 hours this week just listening to war stories. I can’t believe how real it all is to them, to this day. The last war between the Sandinistas and the Contras (funded by the U.S.) was not long ago at all. A lot of the people my age were babies and don’t remember any of it, but it affects their daily lives by how much their parents remember. They are told not to confide in friends because you never know who may turn into an enemy, and they are reminded that everything can be taken away from them in a second.

I think this is one of the biggest cultural differences I may be observing on a daily bases, is that my generation whether U.S or European did not grow up with parents who lived through a war, the affect of which, I have observed, remains in the minds and the places long after the bombs have stopped going off and soldiers have left. As my “adoptive families” are telling me stories it is so real, especially when they tell me where they all happened, all of which I know because they are right in my community. The stories they account are not of one side or the other but the ugliness of neighbors killing neighbors- the horrible things that went on- rape, robbery, young buys dying in combat, bombs killing innocent people, sleeping in a hole in the dirt to escape cross fire during the night, These things are truly horrible, and even though I studied so many different horrible wars in my many types of history classes and have heard of all these horrible living conditions during war (and worse) it is so different when you are hearing it from the generations who lived it and seeing how it affects their  lives and that of their children’s.

Hearing all of the stories I am shocked. I can not imagine the strong men I know here, running away from bombs, grown men sobbing to their wives about the tortures they witnessed or teenagers running from shooting soldiers in a line of zig zags, I cannot imagine if they had been caught how many children who run around wildly all over the place wouldn’t exist, more than anything it is how vividly the combinations of their words and faces paint a picture I cannot imagine in this incredibly beautiful country.

The end of this unplanned week of history lessons, I had a trip planned to go visit the grandparents of my closest family friends here who lives by the giant lake I can see from my town, (but can never seem to get to, which makes sense since it turns out it is a good hour hike away from here). As I walked I could not believe my luck of living in such a beautiful place, and meeting such friendly people. As we are walking and talking, going along happily and laughing (as I always do with this particular family) they start pointing out places where the stories they have recounted to me earlier took place… “That is the tree where the two men were executed” “That is the house that was a prison, where my husband and father were” and later about ten minutes before we ended our hike she points to an overgrown abandoned plot that could have had a house once but now only two fence posts are visible and tells me “that is where our old house used to be before they took it from us” She explained to me how two soldiers arrived in the middle of the night and called them out of their house. They split up the husband and the wife (they had the baby sleeping in the house) and were trying to take the woman with them for “night-time” entertainment. Her husband was unarmed and powerless against two soldiers on horseback, but the horses they had tied to the fence posts were shocked by something (even though she swears there was no noise) and they both leaped up at the same time, and galloped away dragging the fence posts with them. The soldiers had to leave the woman (my friend, and surrogate mother here) and chase after the horses. For this reason she says the now missing  fence posts were an act of God and gave herself, her husband, and the baby time to go to a neighbors house. The next day she moved to a convent and her husband was put in prison.

 I can’t explain how juxtaposing these concepts and feelings are. Here are the people I laugh and relax with at least once a week, taking me to visit a lake and to eat a “mountain of food” they always put food in my stomach and a smile on my face but now when I see them I also want to hug them and apologize for any part my country had to do with their pain and resulting struggle in their lives.

Reflecting on being an American, at first I felt incredibly lucky to be an American, for the protected life we live, that, but the war in the middle east has been on my mind as well this week as well. Coming from a country who has been involved in many wars but has not seen this type of violence on her soil, I think it is really difficult for the majority of us to even try to imagine the hardships and horrors of war, and the nearest thing we may be able to relate to is September 11^th. I have been feeling especially patriotic about this upcoming ten year remembrance, ( so much so that I actually am going to my friend Vanessa’s house for the night, just because I feel like I want to remember it in some American kind of way with an American) But after all the recounts of war I removed from American-centric focus, This Sunday is not just ten years of American soldiers dieing and fear of another attack on American soil but also  ten years of people in other countries, other families who I don’t know living through the exact conditions I am having such a hard time believing in right now. I do no want to undervalue the Americans who have suffered for the now ten year war, because I realize even though I may not like all of the actions we have taken as a country, it is also these types of actions that protect us from suffering war on a first hand basis, but it  makes me really sad that people have to live in the fear and ugliness that accompanies a war of any kind, and it makes me even sadder to know that even when the war does end for America, it will continue much more permanently in the family’s accounts and daily reminders of where a house used to be, where so and so used to live, where someone almost died, and by all those people who are no longer there.

The Three Week Stove

When you want an item here, you do not just go and purchase it. It is not fitting with Peace Corps budget or with Nicaraguan mannerisms. With a month into site I was feeling like I had started figuring things out, but the search for the stove proved there is much I have yet to learn!

Today I put together my gas stove and what a happy moment when the little burner flickered! Getting that stove (even though in itself it is a rather simple thing) was about a three week process and involved sweat and tears but I know it will be worth it!

Now some of you may be thinking I am being dramatic (which I am very well known to be from time to time) but the thing is that you need to remember I am doing everything in another language and in a place I am totally unfamiliar with…It is like when I was searching for school supplies in Toronto and kept asking people where Paperclips was (because I mixed it up with Staples), accept now it is in Spanish and BOILING hot outside! So how did I get my gas stove???

Well first you need the stove stop and while I was in a bigger city called Matagalpa ( for a doctors appointment where they diagnosed me with scabies- a fun skin disease where little critters build tunnels under your skin) Anyway, I saw a really nice stove top there for a great price, so I said I would come back next week. When I came back a week later… it was gone…but another volunteer told me he was sure I could get one in the market in Jinotega, so I walked around searching and looking at prices, I had found some in surrounding stores but they were all way over a peace corps budget, so finally I braved the market, which to be honest I have kind of been avoiding because it smells, and has all these loops that I get lost in, also there are never prices so you have to know which price to start bargaining at.  In the market people kept directing me to different places, just by someone’s name “go to Juan Ramon’s booth, I think he had some…” (this happened to me so much throughout this process and I think the torture of it lies in the false hope of thinking that you may finally have encountered what you are looking for- only to find that it is actually Juan Ramon’s uncle who has them and he lives on the other side of town---but not to worry because Juan Ramon’s brother-in law has a taxi and can take you for a small fee) Anyway when I got to my final booth where I ultimately ended up buying my gas stove- the women assured me that this guy Nathan had them, but he wasn’t there right now- “Well, when will he be back?” I said “oh, latter” well I was fed up and just about to leave- who knew what later could mean so I went to get to my bus thinking that I would have to come back the next day and spend an outrageous some of money, but my bus had already left – and by chance I went back hoping he would be there- he was and he gave me a great price and his store had couches which I relaxed on until my next bus. Before I continue I just want to say that even though the experience was stressfull it wasnt the fault of the people helping me, they were all really nice and patient and didnt give me higher prices just cause I was a froeigner, the frustration lied in my mentality and inability to work the system here.

Now I had the stove top and just to get the gas tank, fill it, and get the tube and a bulb thing to control the gas in take.

The gas tank, was lent to me by a neighbor which is so nice because they are really expensive to put a deposit down for, and I never would have been able to get my gas stove this month if I had to buy it. The only thing was that the neighbours didn’t have it at their house, it was at an aunt’s house in the city, once again chasing the family connections! J This family is really sweet and one of the daughters went with me into town to go pick up the cylinder, which was relatively easy because she could explain everything and didn’t get lost all the time, like I do. The only thing is, in Nicaragua you don’t just walk in to someone’s house and get what you need and leave. You visit! A lot! And then go visit the neighbours and then take a walk through town so they can show you their nieghbourhood. By the time we had wrapped everything up (a full day of visiting) I didn’t have time to get the tank filled, so a volunteer who lives in the city was nice enough to let me store it at her house (I could have stored it at the Aunts house as well but then I would have had a whole other day of visiting to look forward to). I got the phone number of a guy who will come by and fill your tank for you and we left for home.

Finally, yesterday, I decided that I was going to do whatever it takes to get this gaint cylinder of gas on to my bus and take it back with me (something I had been dreading) The thing is buses are REALLY full here, but they also don’t say no to anything, they carry big milk jugs, giant bags of rice and beans, huge wooden beams, they will stop and pick up anything but they will charge! Little did I know taking my gas tank on the bus would be the least of my worries, when I did finally show up for the bus 3 minutes before it was scheduled to leave they looked at me, asked me if the tank was going to Sisle (I guess they know my on the route- even though I have trouble remembering which of the yellow school buses with ribbons and music blarring- is my school bus) Anyway they grabbed the super heavy container effortlessly and put it on the back as pulling away, and i was running to jump on so my cylinder wouldnt leave without me. then when I got on a young guy from my town was there and he carried it on his shoulder to my house.

But the challenge of today was not the incredibly heavy, bulk gas cylinder, it was the 1 meter piece of tubing and bulb cap for the gas tank, small but incredibly hard to find. People I asked told me to go to the main store which sells everything you could need for your house (and where I got my bed), it is called Gallo mas Gallo and literally means Rooster more Rooster- it is always my land mark in town because it is a big blue sign that rises high into the street and has an obnoxious looking yellow rooster on the front. Anyway, they did have some types, but there are three types of gas tanks here and apparently they all have different bulbs and tubes and as she informed me multiple times I got the least popular one and I wouldn’t be able to find it here. Well I did find it but she was right it was very difficult. Someone gave me directions for a place on the otherside of town that carried my type of tube and bulb. The way they give directions here is hard because they assume you know where things are “Walk up to the hospital and then one block before the park turn west and go for two blocks until you hit Adelia’s store and then go up to the second park and the GASZ is half way between there and the church” after pouring down sweat and walking up to several wrong houses (the store’s are mostly in houses which also makes them hard to tell apart) I found it!!! In the store where I got directions the first time, I came back three times after being lost and the third time they drew me a map. Then on the street when I had walked to the health center instead of the hospital a guy walked me the 8 blocks to the hospital. Then when I got to a store that was NOT the GASZ and almost cried when the lady told me she didn’t know what I was talking about, she went and asked someone and gave me directions. Once again the frustration was all mine, and not the fault of the icnredibly patient and friendly Nicaraguans.

 It was heaven on earth when I reached that room full of gas cylinders (they carried all three kinds, red blue and green) The room was nice and cool and there was just one guy watching t.v., there were no shelves and no cash register and for a split second I thought they wouldn’t have the damn tubes and bulbes but only the cylinders, I was ready to fall to my knees- but when I asked him, he knew exactly what I was talking about- pulled out the tube and the bulb and it was done!

Finally, I called to have my gas tank filled and called a taxi to take me to the bus, when I got in I gave him the wrong bus station and when I realized my mistake he said, “don’t worry love” and turned around without fussing about missed fairs or wasted gas…the laid back culture can can work in your favour when your not trying to get something done in an anxious state of mind!

When I got home and set it all up (with the help of my neighbours) and they were so impressed and thought it was so beautiful I realized how strange it must be to them that I have been so impatient to gt this gas tank set up and to rush back to town today to get some utensils, vegetables, and a pot, when they have done without it for their whole lives and even though they would love a gas stove and convienient food in packages, they can not afford it. But here I stress out because I wonder if my living allowance will get me through all the new purchases I need. I am starting to come to a realization that I am not living at the same level as them, even though I am living with them, and I often feel a lot of guilt for this. It is a strange internal battle of missing the conviences from home but seeing how much more convienet my small income here makes my life in comparison to the members of my community, who look for wood everyday, make tortillas by hand every day and eat the same three staples everyday if they can afford them. As I was walking around town feeling frustrated I realized, this was a lesson just like all the development work projects, and maybe not getting what you want right away (which people here are pretty accustomed to) is one of the bigger lessons I will learn here- but who knew it would be a lesson learned while trying to buy a stove.

My New Address in Jinotega

Alicia Harvey PCV
Apartado Postal #8
Jinotega, Nicaragua
América Central

Please send any packages via USPS. Nicaraguan customs will confiscate anything from FedEx or UPS