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.