Moving:
I have moved a lot in my life. I have moved houses in different
countries, cities and rural areas, with my family and pets, with friends, with
other people’s family’s and pets, and by myself. As a child my mom did most of
the work, then as a college student I would usually come up with some
“creative” way of moving like; leaving the majority of my stuff on a blanket
outside of one of my sketchy run down living situations, where an even
sketchier person would pick it all up and- hopefully re-purpose it. I moved
every year in college between apartments in Toronto near the University, and
once to New Zealand. I moved a lot. It was always different- I was never
organized, but there was always a looming deadline, and a limit on what I could
take with me; like airplane baggage limits or apartment space.
In all my experiences the hardest part about moving was
logistics. So after a year in site when I decided to move down the street to a
different house (the equivalent of half a block) you would think it would not
be “algo del otro mundo” for yours truly with oh so much varied moving
experience.
Not so, it was by the far the most stressful move I have ever made.
But thank goodness for my adoptive Nica family.
In no other move have I have never had to be so diplomatic, or
make so many amends to “landlords”, try to manage with so much gossip, hurt
feelings, and politics. For perspective’s sake; the year before I left for
University; my parents separated, we owned our house in The Netherlands (which
we had to find renters for) we had to separate and pack-up all of Dad’s stuff
so he could move to the Ukraine, and all of my stuff to go to University in
Toronto. My mom flew to Colorado with our dog and cat, and my brother and I
flew to Washington (not before we missed our plane and my dad had to turn
around his packed up car to come “rescue us” from spending the night in the
Amsterdam airport). I never thought I would have a harder move than that, but I
did.
The actual logistics were super easy, I just had to load up my
stuff and put it into sacos, and halar it down the street. I loved my little
casita, it was perfect for me, but for months I had not felt “tranquila” there,
and had been thinking about moving. After my electricity had been cut off
multiple times by my neighbors, and someone had defecated on my front step when
I had not paid my rent in time, I decided to move, I figured out all the
logistics and told me neighbor (also my land lord) my intention of moving. He
was angry. He wanted to know what my “motives” were for moving and for me to
sign a paper saying that had taken good care of me, and fulfilled their
obligations. He told me that this was going to give them all “verguenza”. I
explained he had done everything right and I was very grateful, but that I was
moving just because I wanted a bigger place. The next evening, after I told
them I would be moving, his daughter came over crying saying “Que larrrrrgooo
esta ahora, para mi es un gran tristeza que se va ( mind you; I moved like 5
houses down) In the morning his wife came out and asked if I will still “sell”
them my “refri” when I leave, and what would I do with my bed?? And my
stove???…Suddenly, my neighbors didn’t seem to care whether I was present, but
more if “mis cosas” would still be readily available to them when I left the
country.
The flip side to all this difficulty is the family whose house I
live in now, lovingly helped me halar my things to the house “a caballo y a
tuto” they helped me clean the house to get it ready, put nails in the walls so
I could hang everything I own, to avoid those “ratones bandidos”. They moved my
incredibly heavy lavendero twice, to make sure it was where I wanted it, and
offered to spend the night on the floor so I wouldn’t be scared. Sometimes our
real host family is not the one we are assigned, but I feel so lucky I found
one that loves and cares for me so much.
The next morning I went over to my old house to ask how they had
‘woken up’, talk about baking together and the stove we are going to build in
September, and everything went so smoothly I could not believe it. After I
swung by my adoptive family’s house and they said they had 3 surprises for me!
1. They had repaired my rubber boots for me! 2. They had framed the picture I
had given them of us, and 3. They had bought the electricity cable to install
in my new house, so I won’t have to feel “tan triste y sola”. (the only
disadvantage to my new house, is there was no electricity).
I have lived in my new house all of 4 days. I have visited my
old neighbors every day, I have had lots of visitors too, who never would visit
me at the old casita because they didn’t like my neighbors, my new landlord is
the best Nica dad a girl could ask for, and today he came over after working in
the field all day to build me a “caja” for my vegetable garden and avoid
chickens as much as one can in the Nicaraguan campo.
So as usual my worrying did not pay off. I made the mistake of assuming
this move would be like any other. Really! When is any process as simple in
Nicaragua as it is in the United States? Why would I think that moving houses
could be done in one day, if it took me 3 days just to buy my gas stove. But
the preparation paid off, I’m glad I did not spread chisme about my neighbors,
and instead found an alternative and told them. It took me over 3 months to
arrange my move, from one completely functioning house to another. And it never
would have been possible if it weren’t for my adoptive Nica family!
