Is it over?

I must apologize for abandoning the blog. After my last post, I had to deal with some emotional repercussions of many not-so-pleasant events, and I also had to finish my final project which ended up focusing on the criminalization of Creole youth in Bluefields. I'm now back in Austin, and I have been reflecting on what was the best trip of my life.

To clarify the context behind my last post, I must explain a bit of the machismo that plagues Latin America. As you walk down the streets, wearing shorts or nun garment, men will whistle and harass you--sometimes physically--until you either acknowledge them or safely pass their zone. This happens throughout the world, but cat-calling has been so normalized in Latin America that girls accept this dehumanizing experience as validation. Both men and women work within this system of oppressing the women body by sexualizing it, and no one stands up to break these gender norms. My experience lead to a close fight with one of the cat-callers--thinking I could yell back and stop him from doing it forever. That only got me into trouble from people who rightfully gave the man the "razon" or the right to do it and labeling me as the reason why men do it. I was wearing shorts so I was "asking for it;" when in reality, I was walking back from school in the middle of a suffocating hot day, in which the heat waves would annihilate me if I wore long pants. During that week after the incident, we were reading many feminist text in class, and it solidified my perspective on machismo and my place as a Latino woman. And so with much anger and borderline hate towards machismo, not men, I wrote the poem.

As for the rest of my weeks in Bluefields, I embarked on a project titled Stand Up, Paint Back during which I studied and researched the criminalization of Creole youth in Bluefields due to the current drug trade. I was able to separate some myths from reality on drug use among youth and their black identity. I also discovered many other problems like police brutality, inhumane jail conditions (story of my life failing to get into the Bluefields jail), and political corruption surrounding youth initiatives.

I started out with an online fundraser, "Stand Up, Paint Back Campaign," and I raised $405. Then, I coordinated with a local NGO, Murales RAAS, to work with at-risk youth, create a workshop, and design/paint a mural. The mural took us three days and around eight hours every day, but that meant that I got to spend countless hours with some of the most beautiful souls I have ever met. Makel, Jian, Travon, Kedra...are all names whose stories I will carry one forever. I wish I could share them all, but I start school tomorrow and this post is already too long. In fact, I hope I can not only share their stories but also carry their stories to the people in power so they can act on youth initiatives. I am forever grateful to these kids and the Beholden neighborhood, where the mural was drawn, for letting me be in the presence of their strength, smiles, craziness, and love. I am thankful to them for protecting me as we walked in the dark in Bluefields (the light went out in the entire city), and for saving me from falling into a gigantic water puddle. I thank them for the eating ice cream, mangoes, and coconut break; and for all the pictures they helped me take as we recorded the process of painting the mural. Here is the result of our hard work:

And so you can imagine how hard it was to leave Bluefields. It's very hard being back and seeing people here in Austin who have everything in the world but care not to smile; people who live in bubbles of comfort and fear of the "other". Was it scary? Uncomfortable? Different? Yes, yes it was. And yet the whole experience filled me with courage, strength, purpose, and gratitude. In fact, the others are people like you and me. Even the most dangerous neighborhood of Bluefields, Beholden, has kids who dream just like my little brother, Russell. There are moms who struggle for their children, elders who suffer neglect and yet inspire wisdom. There are schools--although dilapidated and with their paint worn off--filled with children bouncing on their way to class. There are trees that ease the heat of a summer's day, and music that fill the heart with the same rhythm that makes every heart pump. The poor are only poor of material comfort but not of heart. I met the richest hearts in Nicaragua, and I will forever miss my Beholden friends, Bluefields and its coast, coconut bread and even instant coffee. I will forever miss the feeling of being home and no longer drifting without a purpose...I guess I will have to miss it until next summer, hopefully. 

A Journey Starts with a Panga

I apologize for the delays. I only have internet once a day, either at the university or the coffee shop nearby, and our research projects have launched forcing me to devote most of my days to interviews and readings. Please, consider donating to my mural-making project. The link is found below this paragraph. Indeed, I have much to share and update.

http://www.gofundme.com/c8yz5c

Last week (I know, I’m sorry for the delays), the group and I embarked on a journey through the lagoons and rivers to visit rural communities along the Atlantic coast: Wawashang, Pueblo Nuevo, Caka Creek, Orinoco and Pear Lagoon. The journey started with a panga—a small boat that has a fast motor but minimal security. It was honestly scary. We got soaked as the waves splashed all around us and the torrential rains decided to pour between one cloud and the other. And yet it was beautiful. Because as the sun came out, the rays highlighted the different shades of green adorning the coast with mangroves, banana plants, and species of other plants, unrecognizable to the eyes of a girl from the city. 

Our first stop was Wawashang, a wonderland of sustainable, agricultural practices geared for the community. Wawashang is lead by FADCANIC, a local organization that funds projects for the autonomy and development of the Atlantic Coast that for years has been neglected by the central government and exploited by foreign companies (United Fruit Company, hint: giant from which you get your bananas); and now the Atlantic Coast seeks to stand on its own feet with the help of organizations like FADCANIC. In the fields of lush forest and colonial houses splattered along the muddy river, Wawashang practices sustainable agriculture by playing with genetic mutations to better adapt local plants to diseases (not genetic mutations to make the plant inorganically beautiful or bigger). And so we tasted the ripe and sour fibers of pineapple, the watery and unusual chunks of “bread fruit” (hard to describe), and the refreshing waters of coconut after coconut. We even saw the fermentation and germination of cocoa plants, and I tried my favorite thing in the world, CHOCOLATE, straight from the cocoa pod. Well, I tried a white, chocolate-smelling fiber that covers the coco beans, and it reassured me of what I have known my whole life: I AM A CHOCOLATE ADDICT AND I SHOULD START MY OWN CHOCOLATE FACTORY!

Anyways, besides the groundbreaking research and practices that are revolutionizing the way agriculture is done and shared with the community, Wawashang is also the place of a school for kids from the neighboring rural communities to learn about sustainable agriculture and carpentry. Kids, the age of fourteen to eighteen, not only know about plants and composting and irrigations systems but also can carve intricate designs of doors and build stools and other wooden furniture that they can then sell to sustain themselves in the future. And the best part is that they take the teachings back to their communities. It was with much joy that I met two of the students from Wawashang: Tayrell from Corn Island and Aldin from Bluefield. Instantly, they shared with my friend Ana and I their dreams to start an ecotourism business and show the tourists, not the luxury of hotels and beaches, but instead the beauty of mother nature and the local people. They said they wanted tourists to value those who take care of earth and not those who destroy it. Their ideas were simple yet revolutionizing and very promising. Being in a place like Wawashang filled with much hope as we try to redeem ourselves from our past errors—like depleting natural resources without thought—and teach future generations the better way to grow as a society.

The second day of the journey took us to Pueblo Nuevo, a mestizo community—very poor, with streets swamped in muddy waters, and highly populated. From the port, we hopped out of the panga, walked through mud and rain, and got on what were suppose to be horses (but were more like beaten down donkeys). And so with the help of these horses, we climbed the muddy hills that eventually turned into lush gardens of trees and everlasting forest. As some of you know, I used to horse ride, and I was delighted by the ride. I even named my unnamed horse, Mira. However, my poor friends struggled up the slippery hills--falling off horses, screaming in distrust of the horses natural moves, and unfortunately complaining and missing the beauty of the surroundings (most of them are wonderful people, but that ride was a real struggle). And so when we got to Caka Creek, a natural reserve also under the guidance of FADCANIC, we were all delighted to be welcomed by delicious breakfast grown, cooked, and served in the reserve. Content, safe, and with loaded stomachs, we went on a hike around the reserve. As we balanced our way through channels of rock, vines, and mud, and as we gazed up to see the top of enormous trees that huddled in harmony as they covered the shine from the sun, we found a tapir! For those of you who don’t what a tapir is, you are not alone. It was not until I saw the hippo-meats-ant-eater-looking thing wobbling its way to our group that I realized I was in the presence of endangered specie and probably the only one of its kind in the Western Hemisphere. It was really cool! And if that wasn’t enough to call it an adventure, we planted trees, we tasted the guwey white liquid that comes from trees and is used to make bubblegum, and we walked for hours—a total of five—through more trees making us feel like we were in the middle of the jungle (and yet we were!).

By the third day—my personal favorite—we arrived to Orinoco. This small town is a Garifuna community. It has two unpaved streets and small houses, each colored distinctly in reds and yellows, blues and greens, and unusual shades of orange. It is very small and with very few people. But it is condensed with much history and identity. Garifunas are indigenous, black that migrated from the Island of St. Vincent before Nicaragua was ever a nation. They are a mix of blacks from Africa, who escaped their miserable destiny under the British, and Caribe, an indigenous group that migrated its way from Orinoco, Venezuela and made its way through the Caribbean (I am from Venezuela but I wish I had some Garifuna in my blood!). The biggest Garifuna communities are located in Honduras, but in Nicaragua, Orinoco is the epicenter of the Garifunas. Orinoco welcomed us with Punta (typical Garifuna music and dance), cassava cake (a delicious desert made from the root, cassava), and a tour of their very live and very proud community. It was after lunch that I was able to embark in a tiny, wooden boat (I forgot the exact Garifuna name) and go crab fishing. Yes, I caught five and did not fall into the water! Orinoco reminded me of community, but it also destroyed a very dark idea of what I associated with “indigenous community.” In my mind, I couldn’t detach the idea of indigenous with poor and helpless, but what I found in Orinoco was the opposite of that; I found richness in the rhythms of their drums, power in the jumps and stomps of their traditional dance, and I even found modern in their clothes and love of contemporary music (they can really dance). I also found what many have tried to take away from these communities, especially after years of marginalization and invisibility, and that is a perfect balance of honor and humility. And I think that before we make up our minds of the “others” around the world, we are obligated to meet, share, and know the others. That will be the moment when the others become humans, become Garifuna, become your friends. I know I will carry Wilson, his Garifuna family, his funky hairdo, and his lessons on how to catch crabs wherever I go.

And so after many other visits to Pearl Lagoon and Haulover and after many friends—including second-grader Nadalia who I met and played with at a school that we visited and with whom I later played, again, as I surprisingly walked past her house—we arrived soaked, and stinky, and utterly happy to Bluefields. We ended our journey as we started: with a panga.

PS: Thank you Ana for allowing me to use your pictures.

Everywhere a smile/ Por todos lados una sonrisa

A week has gone by and I have a million stories to tell. Actually almost two weeks have gone by, but I'm finally able to upload posts I had drafted days ago. A million stories sounds like a memoir, so, do not worry, I will choose some of the stories that began or finished (or both) with a smile.

During the week leading up to July 19th, celebrations take over the streets throughout the country, because it's on July 19th that they celebrate the Sandinista Revolution. Basically, the Sandinista Revolution ousted Somoza's 60 plus years of dictatorship, and, although war followed against the US-funded Contras, a new social project began in Nicaragua. Every day of that week, Bluefields held several celebrations that painted the city with joy, pride and smiles.

On Wednesday, July 16th, several dance groups performed different music traditions from the various ethnic groups found along the Atlantic Coast: ramas, meskitu, creole, and many more. Johny, one of our friends from URACCAN University, invited us to see him perform. Although we were there at 6pm, "Nica time" prolonged the beginning of the show to 8pm. And honestly, even though we went back to the hotel, had dinner, and went back to the park, the wait was worth it. From the black, green, and yellow fabrics of the dancers clothes, tracing the roots of an African past, to the beats of rhythmics drums pounding pride into the hearts of those who listened, the music ensembles resulted in many smiles among the audience. When it was Johny's turn to take the stage, he joined his group in contagious, rhythmic movements--a dance by the name of punta--inexplicable in words and only appreciated by the eyes. Johny's dance was the definition of pride, the reason to smile, and the thought "I wish I could move like that"--all in one song.

On Thursday, I went to class ready to plunge deeper into the intricacies of race, culture and identity. I must confess that my mind was a convoluted cloud of questions and frustrated grunts against the historical injustices plaguing this region. For example, the construction of black Creole in the Atlantic Coast has been a relatively new phenomenon to act in opposition to the systematic racial oppression that has never been recognized by the Nicaraguan government, following the model of other governments in Latin America that deny any history of racism in the region. What's interesting in present day Nicaragua is that, although the national government achieved a "socialist, egalitarian" revolution that is now carried by the party of FSLN, the issues affecting the black community are not only numerous but blatantly ignored. Bluefields, for example, is a booming city with no sewage system and marginalized from their land rights by the national, managua-based government.

Despite all these problems, the city of Bluefields continues to smile, and, surprising to me, the Atlantic region still emphatically celebrates the 35th anniversary of the Sandinista Revolution. On Saturday, July 19th, the main day of celebration, the streets were uniformed in red and black flags with the letters FSLN outlined in white. That Saturday was the beauty pageant during which young girls, between the ages of fifteen and nineteen and from the different neighborhoods around Bluefields, competed for the crown of Miss July 19th. To celebrate a Revolution co-opted by a chauvinistic historical memory makes sense when you see that the celebration revolves around the objectification of women through a beauty pageant. However, the objectification, especially of black women, is a disgrace in my opinion, because as leaders of the FSLN repeated the words of equality and peace, men were fighting for women's attention and whistling obscene, demeaning phrases. It makes me wonder where gender equality and the simple notion that women are people fits in with revolution and historical accomplishments. Overall, the celebration was painted with the utopian idea of achievement, of accomplishing a stagnant revolution, leaving no room to continue and honor the revolution in every sense of the word.

Bienvenida a Nicaragua? And welcome to Nicaragua?

La ciudad de Bluefields se encuentra en la Costa Atlántica de Nicaragua. En el gran rompecabezas que forma la historia de Nicaragua, Bluefields era un puerto economicamente y politicamente relevante. La mezcla de raza, idioma, y cultura se dio a través de la esclavitud, la inmigración, y el entre varios tipos de población. Los británicos invadieron estas tierras donde indígenas Meskitu habitaban en aquel entonces, y en el proceso de colonialismo y modernización impusieron la esclavitud e introdujeron el concepto de la inferioridad atada a la raza negra. Al mismo tiempo, el interior y la costa pacífica de Nicaragua fueron conquistadas por los españoles, fuerza colonial que también impuso su mando sobre los pueblos indígenas y africanos. El resultado es una historia complicada. Una historia que dividió a hermanos, que subyugó a los colores mas oscuros y empoderó a esos mas claros; una historia que construyó distintas culturas ricas en diversidad pero reforzando adversidades e injusticias para la minoria; una historia que tiene dos lados de la moneda: la Nicaragua mestiza y la Nicaragua afro-descendiente. La ciudad de Bluefields es el centro de esa Nicaragua afro-descendiente; una Nicaragua que no es reconocida por la Nicaragua mestiza.

Es mas, la desconexión entre la Costa Atlantica y el resto de Nicaragua es tan elemental que hasta en el Museo Nacional en Managua hay exhibiciones de todas las regiones menos de esas en la Costa Atlantica. Otro episodio de olvido y exclusion contra la Costa Atlantica ocurrió en uno de los taxis que tomé en Managua cuando me toco pintarme la boca con una sonrisa postiza mientras un machista de señor reforzaba su masculinidad con piropos y cuentos de "sus" mujeres. Para que no se me saliera lo feminista y ordinaria, traté de cambiar el tema y le comenté sobre mi viaje a Bluefields el dia siguiente. Inmediatamente, el señor saco su pañuelo, se seco el sudor de su frente, y empezó a señalar hacia al cielo con su pañuelo en mano. En un tono alarmante pero con sabor a chisme, me advirtió sobre los "negros" de Bluefields. "Esa gente usa brujería y son unos cochinos...mujeres mias nunca regresaron y se quedaron alla con esos." Este señor no tiene nombre porque no valió la pena aprendermelo. Pero el punto es que por más que Nicaragua tenga orgullo de su revolución Sandinista y adorne sus bancos de colores y emblemas--Nicaragua Cristiana, Socialista, y Solidaria--la dura realidad es que Nicaragua es un país dividido por la retórica y la practica de un racismo no reconocido.

Y asi que la mañana del Lunes me desperté con las ansias de aterrizar en la ciudad que tanto esperé explorar, y por eso aborde una pequeña avioneta con mis compañeros de la universidad en rumbo al puerto afro-caribeño. Llegamos en una mañana como cualquier otro día para los habitantes de esa ciudad, pero el día se transformo de miradas y algunas sonrisas con la llegada de quince gringos con sus bolsos y cara de perdidos. El Hotel de Tia Irene paso a ser inmediatamente nuestra casa cuando conocimos a Jadett, Mrs. Grace, y las otras caras que nos sonrien y nos brindan hospitalidad. Pescado frito y papas fritas llenaron mi boca de una gran alegría, y el estar a orillas del mar despertó un vigor que solo la experiencia humana puede brindar. Un cafecito y mas frutas del caribe me dejaron mas que satisfecha; me llenaron de una alegria que desbordo mi cara con una sonrisa y inflamo mi panza ya al borde de dolor. Mas contenta no podia estar.

Y asi me fui con mis compañeros a conocer URACCAN, la universidad donde estaremos estudiando estas seis semanas. Cuando nos bajamos del bus, tuve que apreciar la diferencia entre una institución como UT y una como URACCAN-claramente la diferencia está a favor de UT en infraestructura y comodidades pero hay que celebrar la oportunidad que tienen los estudiantes de Bluefields en ejercer su derecho por una educación de calidad en URACAN. Una vez que nos sentamos en el salón con pupitres de maderas y el ruido del aire acondicionado lleno el silencio nervioso del grupo, conocimos a nuestros compañeros de clase que son de la zona de Bluefields y sus alrededores. Fue con juegos y risas que rompimos el hielo para poder comenzar nuestra clase y discusiones.

La verdad que el dia de ayer y hoy han sido una corriente de lecturas, discusiones, compras exageradas de agua mineral (tema de discusion para otro dia pero preparense!) y platos deliciosos de pescado y fruta acompañados de conversaciones. Es lindo poder compartir con gente tus historias y apreciar esas historias que transforman a un extraño en "tu amigo." Creo que tuve dos "Bienvenido a Nicaragua," porque, como ya explique hay dos Nicaraguas que estoy tratando de explorar y, mas ambicioso aun, entender. De aqui al final de mis seis semanas, me veo en la obligación de continuar mis lecturas y aventuras por la ciudad para asi conocer la Nicaragua afro-caribeña, empezando por mi ya querido Bluefields con sus casitas coloridas y su gente divina a la orilla de un mar.

The city of Bluefields is located in the Atlantic Coast of Nicaragua. In the historical puzzle of Nicaragua, Bluefields was an economically and politically relevant port. The mix of race, language, and culture was a result of slavery, immigration, and rebellion sparking conflict among different populations. In fact, the English invaded these lands where the indigenous Meskitu inhabited, and along with modernization, they brought slavery and introduced the concept of inferiority attached to the black race. Around the same time, the interior and pacific coast of Nicaragua were conquered by the Spaniards, colonial force that also imposed their power over the indigenous and african people. The result is a complicated history. A history that divided brothers and sisters, that subjugated those darker colors and empowered lighter ones; a history that constructed cultures rich in diversity but also reinforcing adversities and injustices for the minorities; a history that has two sides: a mestizo* Nicaragua and an Afro-descent Nicaragua. The city of Bluefields is the center of the afro-descendent Nicaragua; a Nicaragua that is not recognized by the mestizo Nicaragua. 

*mestizo: mix between Spanish and indigenous descent

Furthermore, the disconnect between the Atlantic Coast and the rest of Nicaragua is so predominant that in the National Museum in Managua they have exhibitions about all the regions in the country except those in the Altlantic Coast. Another example occurred when I took a taxi in Managua. I was forced to paint a smile on my face, emitting a fake composure of calmness, while a chauvinistic man made inappropriate comments about women, about "his" women. In order to control my feminist impulse, I changed the subject and told him about my trip to Bluefields the next day. Immediately, the man took out a handkerchief, wiped his sweat off his forehead, and started to signal up to the sky. With an alarming tone that tasted more like gossip, he warned me about the "black people" of Bluefields. He said: "Those people use witchcraft and they are pigs...some of my women never come back and they stay with those." This man has no name, because it was not worth my time to remember it. But the point is that, although Nicaragua has much pride in the Sandinista Revolution and decorates its benches with the colors and slogans---Nicaragua Christian, Socialist, and Solidary---it is still a divided country by the rhetoric and practice of an unrecognized racism.



Monday morning I woke up looking forward to land in the city that I had waited for so long to explore, so I boarded a small jet with my classmates from university in route to the afro-caribbean port. We arrived in the morning; a normal morning for the inhabitants of the city, but the day transformed itself with stares and occasional smiles from the locals because of the arrival of fifteen gringos carrying their bags and lost faces. The Hotel, Tia Irene, instantly became our home when we met Jadett, Mrs. Grace, and the other faces smiling and offering us hospitality. Fried fish and french fries filled my mouth with great happiness, and being by the sea awoke a vigor in me that only the human experience can offer. A small black coffee and more fruits from the Caribbean left me more than satisfy; I was filled with a happiness that overflowed my face with a smile and stretched my belly to a point of discomfort. I could not have been more happy. 

And that is how I left with my classmates to discover URACCAN, the university where we will be studying at during this six weeks. When we descended the bus, I noticed the difference between an institution like UT and one like URACCAN--clearly the difference in infrastructure and comfort favors UT but it's important to celebrate the opportunity that students in Bluefields and its surroundings have to manifest their right for higher education at URACCAN. Once we sat in the classroom filled with wooden desks and the noise of the air conditioning canceling the nervous silence of the group, we introduced ourselves to our classmates from Bluefields and the surroundings. It was with an icebreaker and smiles that were started our lecture and discussions. 

Honestly, the last two days have been a current of lectures, discussions, exaggerated purchases of potable water (that will be a topic for another day; be ready!) and delicious plates of fish and fruits accompanied by conversations. It is wonderful to be able to share your story with people and appreciate the stories that transform a stranger into a friend. I believe I had two very different "Welcome to Nicaragua," because, as I previously explained, there are two Nicaraguas. And I will try to explore, and even more ambitious, attempt to understand them. From now till the end of the six weeks, I am obligated to continue with my lectures and adventures through the city in order to know more about the afro-caribbean Nicaragua, starting with my already beloved Bluefields with its multicolored houses and its friendly people by the sea shore. 

Managua: La Tierra de Sandino y los Arboles Amarillos

He llegado con mi cámara en mano y mi bolso liviano a Managua. He llegado a la tierra que me pinta una sonrisa sin esfuerzo, una sonrisa sincera, llena de dudas, de curiosidad, y de una simple alegría. He llegado a mi querida Centroamérica.

Al llegar, crucé la calle principal del aeropuerto de Managua para descansar en el Best Western Las Mercedes. El hotel paso por encima de presupuesto, pero así eligió la Universidad de Texas. Además para mi mamá, que esta leyendo el blog, era la opción mas segura y la seguridad es lo más importante; obvio. Por supuesto que la noche anterior, no había dormido al tratar de empacar 6 semanas en una mochila y media maleta. Y los nervios compilado con las ansias de viajar, no me dejaron dormir. Por eso, debo de confesar, con una pena enorme, que el primer día en Managua me la pase viendo Brasil perder contra los holandeses, leyendo, conociendo a los estudiantes de mi viaje, y durmiendo.

Hoy, el segundo día, me desperté con la energía de aventurera. Comí las frutas mas sabrosas para el desayuno, y me fui a buscar a Mónica, mi compañera de viaje. Ella ya tenía cuatro días en Managua así que ya había conocido la ciudad. Ella concordó en volver a visitar algunos de los lugares turísticos. No cabe decir pero quiero reconocer la dulzura y hospitalidad de la gente de Managua. La mayoría de los taxistas que nos toco no solo nos pasearon por sus calles contándonos anécdotas sino que hasta se transformaron en guías turísticas de museos y monumentos.

Uno de ellos fue el señor Luis Padilla que compartió conmigo su opinión sobre la Nicaragua actual: el gobierno y los corruptos, su propia situación económica como taxista, su apoyo forzado al gobierno nacional, su descontento con la falta de libertad, y su optimismo con las causas sociales. Para mi fue tan especial y impactante escuchar la realidad de un ciudadano no solo mostrándome lo lindo de su país sino también lo complicado; no solo tener la perspectiva de los paisajes y monumentos pero también apreciar la complejidad de vivir el día a día en su país. Así que con Mónica y el señor Luis fuimos al monumento de Sandino rodeado del establecimiento militar y guardando debajo de él las cámaras de torturas de la época de Somoza y la revolución. Para la historiadora dentro de mi, fue una inspiración irónica ya que de tanto sufrimiento se puede destilar memoria, aprendizaje y esperanza.

Además de la estatua de Sandino se encuentran los otros símbolos del terreno de Managua: Los Árboles Amarillos. Cuando uno vuela por encima de Managua en avión, se pueden apreciar árboles amarillos y una gran estatua negra que muchos señalan como: Sandino. La historia de Nicaragua no se puede completar sin Augusto César Sandino, revolucionario de los años treinta quien inspiró el movimiento sandinista de los años ochenta (los invito a que investiguen más acerca de este ídolo nacional). La figura de la foto [ver Blog] es la silueta de Sandino al lado uno de los árboles amarillos; estas figuras de hierro pintado de amarillo adornan las avenidas principales y representan el talento de la artesanía nacional. Además estos árboles también cuentan las historia de la revolución Sandinista liderada hoy en día por Daniel Ortega. Es más estos árboles fueron fundados por la esposa del Presidente Ortega, Rosario Murillo, pero para muchos esos árboles también representan la corrupción de esta “revolución” sin rumbo.

Y bueno, después de recorridos y anécdotas, Mónica, Luis y yo terminamos en un centro comercial viendo la gran final de la copa mundial: Argentina versus Alemania. Muchos saben que Argentina es mi equipo querido ya que me crié en Mendoza, Argentina. La verdad que fue un partido muy duro de ver especialmente estando en Latinoamérica pero rodeada de muchas camisetas que debieron de ser ambi-celestes, apoyando la identidad Latina, pero eran de colores alemanes. Y bueno ya ustedes saben el resultado así que con un silencio turbio y pesado me despido.

Mañana en la madrugada estamos rumbo a Bluefields...

I have arrived with my camera in hand and a not-so-heavy bag. I have arrived to the land that makes me smile, an unconditional, honest, and loving smile; one filled with questions, curiosity, and happiness. I have arrived to my lovely Central America. 

When I arrived, I crossed the main street in front of the airport in order to rest at the Best Western Las Mercedes (the hotel was expensive but it is what the University chose; and I didn't think otherwise; also for my mom, who is reading the blog, it was the safest option, and safety is the most important thing; obviously). Of course, the night before I had not slept trying to pack 6 weeks in 60 minutes. And consequently, I must admit, with much shame, that I spent my first day in Managua watching Holland beat Brazil, reading, meeting people in my trip, and sleeping. 

Today, the second day of my journey, I woke up with the energy of an adventurer. I ate the most delicious fruits, and I picked up Monica, my traveling partner for the day. She had already been in Managua for four days, but she agreed to revisit the tourist destinations. I want to recognize the friendly and simply wonderful people of Managua, because the majority of our taxi drivers not only drove us around their streets sharing their stories but also transformed themselves into tourist guides of museums and monuments. 

One of them was Mr. Luis Padilla who shared with me his opinion on the current Nicaragua: the government and the corrupt politicians, his own economic situation as a taxi driver, his forced support for the national government, his discontent with the lack of freedom, and his optimism on social causes. For me, it was so necessary to hear the reality of a citizen who showed me not only the beauty of his country but also the complicated parts of it; it was essential to not only have the perspective of tourism and monuments but also of the complex perspective of living day to day in Nicaragua. And so with Monica and Mr. Luis, I visited the monument of Sandino surrounded by the military establishments and hiding, underneath its foundation, former torture chambers from the time of Somoza and the revolution. 

When one flies over Managua by plane, one can appreciate yellow trees and a great, black statue that many signal towards it with the word: Sandino. The history of Nicaragua would not be complete without Augusto César Sandino, a revolutionary from the thirties who inspired the sandinista movement of the eighties (I invite you to research more about this national idol). The figure in the photo is the outline of Sandino beside a yellow tree--hundreds of others are found in every major street of the city; these iron figures, painted in bright yellow, adorn the grey and colorless streets with joy and national pride.  

And oh well, after taxi rides and stories to remember, we ended up in a shopping mall to see the World Cup final: Argentina versus Germany. Many of you know that Argentina is my team, my love, because I grew up in Mendoza, Argentina. To be honest, it was a very tough match to watch, especially being in Latin America and expecting to be surrounded by Argentinian pride and Latin American identity; only to be disappointed with german colors. And oh well, most of you know the result, so I signal my farewell in silence. 

Tomorrow by dawn we will be on our way to Bluefields...

This blog will record my travels in Nicaragua. I will be embarking on this study-abroad journey with a group of students and professors from UT to study Afro-Caribbean issues. There is also a research component in which I will work with a community on a topic of importance to them. Thank you to everyone who supported me. I hope to share lessons, pictures, and stories.
  
Este blog servirá para documentar mis viajes por Nicaragua. Realizaré esta aventura junto a estudiantes y profesores de UT para aprender sobre temas en el mundo Afro-Caribeño. También habrá un componente de investigación en donde podré trabajar con una comunidad y un problema en específico. Gracias a todos los que me han apollado. Espero compartir mis aprendizajes, fotos, e historias.