Tonight I am writing from San Cristobal de Las Casas in southern Mexico. I have returned here for a few days of R&R after three days of arduous bus travel from Managua. I am still trying to gather my thoughts about all that has happened in the last few weeks in Nicaragua. My experience in Nicaragua was different from any experience that I have had so far, partly because I got far off the beaten track, stayed with people in their homes for long periods of time, and for extenuating circumstances that will come to light as you read on. Nicaragua was raw, beautiful but tough, with joy and sadness walking hand and hand through each day. It was the first country where I have gotten an intimate look at the face of poverty. Sat on the stump outside the door of a house with no lights, no water, practically no food, and spoke to the people who lived there. I watched a million telenovelas, and learned all of the themesongs along with my friends Maribi and Rebecca, and giggled with them at night under the mosquito net. I bought uniforms and shoes, bags of beans and rice and cooking oil and felt conflicted every day about my own resources in comparison to the people around me and frustration at not being able to do more to help people who were struggling to survive. Above all I was amazed by the generosity that I was shown by the families that I stayed with, who all made sure that I was well-fed and as comfortable as possible in their homes.
In Jalapa I divided my time between two households, the Cardenas-Ramirez family that I wrote about in my last email, and Heydi and her two daughters Maribi and Rebecca, who lived in el campo, a little way outside of the city. In each house I felt that a strong bonding happened. With Heydi, who is my age, we shared our intimate lives, and although our lives have been vastly different due to the circumstances of where we were born and how we were raised, we found common ground anyway. She has experienced many things that I can hardly imagine. She lost her last baby when he was five hours old and showed me his little grave in the garden outside of her house. She is a strong woman, and I loved watching her as we road the crowded bus into town, she would stand in the doorway, the top half of her body outside of the bus (yes it was THAT full), utterly fearless. She liked to tell funny stories at night while we were lying in bed. She and I slept in one bed, the girls in another, all in the same room. One time when Maribi was coming home from here grandparents house she said, 'adios abuela, seeyoutoomorrow', and later the grandma asked Heydi why Maribi thought she had a tumor. In one week I felt like I had integrated into the routine of the house. Heydi and I would wake up, ride the bus to town, visit homes in the neighborhoods where PIEAT was doing work, come home, siesta, visit the neighborhood, cook dinner, watch novelas. At night three young guys from close by would come over to watch tv, because Heydi was one of the only people around who had one. The house always had a communal and welcoming atmosphere. When it was time for me to leave I gave the girls some bracelets that I had bought in Guatemala. Maribi gave me a princess dress from her paperdoll book, it almost broke my heart to accept that gift, but I couldn't think of anyway to convince her to keep it. It was given from a purely generous and loving heart, a little girl who hardly had any toys wanted me to take one of the nicest things that she had as a way to remember her.
