Tuesday, December 6, 2011

last days in Nicaragua: a heavy heart

Per usual, I apologize in not keeping up the blog as frequently as I should have. I was prepared to write about my last couple weeks, when on Monday morning, I was shocked with the news that one of my good friends from home died suddenly on Sunday. Sam Rathnow, a neighbor, a former Manual alumni, and above all a friend, was one of the most genuine, kind, and well-rounded people I have ever known. Coming home to see him over breaks was always such a pleasure, as he welcomed you with open arms and that incredibly handsome smile. He was always so interested in what you were doing or what you had to say, even though he was accomplishing great things on his own, finishing up his senior year at Appalachian State University. I was so excited to share my stories of abroad with him, as he has spent a good amount of time in Nicaragua himself.

It is with a heavy heart then, that I head home a day early in order to attend his memorial. It's hard to have proper closure of my life-changing semester, and to have proper closure with his passing. Also, this tragedy opened a similar wound left by the death of another incredible friend of mine, Gus McCravey, who passed over the summer; both 21-year-old vibrant, young men.

For my final project however, we're required to reflect on ourselves as "agents of change," and this opportunity to write allowed me to express not only things I've discovered over the semester, but the struggles I've had with the passing of two friends. I'm presenting my writing below, as well as picture of Sam.
Sam on one of his many travels.
Dedicated to Sam and Gus:


There’s an old saying, and I’m not sure of its origin or who was the first to say it, but I’m sure it is something that all of us have heard: “the only thing that is constant, is change.” We all understand that the world we live in today is one of rapid change, with the increased technology that has occurred over the past century allowing us to buy things with a click of a mouse, to send a message through a phone. Change is not only constant, but it is everywhere around us. Change is slow, change is sudden, change is personal, and change is large-scale.
            When thinking of myself as an agent of change, it’s often hard to believe that I have much effect on anything outside of my personal context. I am one; one voice, one body, one mind. It is the ever-present argument of the democratic system, “I only have one vote, so what does it matter?” But to think in this way is stifling, selfish, and incorrect. The changes of the world may seem like large entities of thousands, too big to count and too powerful to measure, but it’s ignorant to ignore that they often started as a power of one, of two, or of few. The changes started within the inner-workings of one, and their ability to arrive at a place within themselves to embrace and embody their motives for change.
            The author Robert Pisnig, in his book Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance states, “The place to improve the world is first in one's own heart and head and hands, and then work outward from there.” To be an agent of change then, one must be certain and comfortable in their ability to enact such a transformation outside of themselves; it won’t work if you are not fully convinced and believe in what you are fighting for. This is where I sit, currently, as a 21-year-old young woman swirling in a world of uncertainty, trial-and-error, and becoming. In popular culture, the teenage years are painted as being painful, tough, and filled with anxiety and angst. However I think this is a misconception, because no one warned me how hard the twenties were going to be.  My years as a twenty-something have consisted of a relationship, a break-up, a devastating moral misstep and continual recovery, three new countries, new anxieties, new friends, and the tragic loss of two excellent ones as well. My strength, endurance, and soul have been tested in ways I’ve never imagined, and my continual blooming in life has only showed me that, as they say, it only gets harder.
            Just as the twenties are filled with beauty and curiosity, they are equally as complicated and hard to digest. I am discovering slowly the complexities of life, the deep trenches that were not too long ago unknown to me, as well as the high peaks that are hard to climb but worth the struggle. It’s a constant wonder of, “am I doing this life thing right?” What will I make of myself, how will I treat others, will I make my mother proud, am I living a fulfilling life, will I be happy with what I am? It seems that the entering of adulthood and the continuation through life is filled with this wonder, and that this is just the beginning. And all the while, as we’re pondering these incredibly boggling questions, we must continue to stay positive, experience life with happiness and gratefulness, and remain humble. Just as the musical artist Michael Fronti says, “sometimes the hardest thing to do is just to stay human.”
            While I strive to make myself an agent of change, I must first be securing who I am. It is a conscious struggle at first, in which we leave our inner kingdoms of self and look outwards to the world community. It is our incredibly unique ability as humans to be freethinking individuals that can simultaneously enact change and be conscious of our ability to do so. The author David Foster Wallace succinctly explains in his 2005 Kenyon College Commencement address this battle: “The really important kind of freedom involves attention, and awareness, and discipline, and effort, and being able truly to care about other people and to sacrifice for them, over and over, in myriad petty little unsexy ways, every day.” As beings on this planet, we are all in this together; if I live my life in such an “unsexy way” then I hope that others are sacrificing in ways that will help me as well. We can find beauty and change in everything; the birth of new relationships, the loss of others. Each is a lesson, each is a chance to make a change in us, to turn around and make a change in others.
            So this ever constant change in the intricacies of life? Yeah, I’m still working on that part. I’m still digesting, still marinating, still looking for the answers. We all are, and that’s the beauty of this crazy space and time in which we exist. I hope that with each step I take I am building another block of myself, another stride toward a greater change in the world. It’s the belief that as one, I do matter. My vote counts. My voice can be heard. My body can move. But I first, must embody the change in which I hope to cause. I want to conclude with the end of the poem, “Here Am I,” by Anis Mojgani, an award-winning spoken word poet, that deals with the questions of life: “Like some cats say, something is better than nothing / Feet are smarter than an engine / And dreams are stronger than thighs / And questions are the only answers we need to know that we are alive as I am when I have the mind of a child, asking why is 2 + 3 always equal to 5 ? / Where do people go to when they die? / What made the beauty of the moon? / And the beauty of the sea? / Did that beauty make you? / Did that beauty make me? / Will that make me something? / Will I be something? / Am I something? And the answer comes: already am, always was, and I still have time to be.”

Thursday, December 1, 2011

Volcano Cerro Negro

Rachel and me in our volcano boarding jumpsuits

someone from our group flying down the mountain!

La Concepcion Volcano, Ometepe Island

Dylan staring up at the awesome waterfall we hiked to

Last sunset on the water for us in Nicaragua

Dylan and me on the dock

Monday, November 21, 2011

the last couple of weeks in Nica

Hey there! Sorry for another hiatus in writing... time seems to fly here and I never realize how long I've gone without posting something! So I'll update on some things that we've been doing in Nicaragua over the past couple of weeks.

Since Nicaragua is really safe in relation to the rest of the Central American countries (except for Costa Rica), we're encouraged to travel on our own on the weekends. Which is great, because we've been to a different place every week and they've all been incredible. The first weekend we took a day trip to Laguno de Apoyo which was perfect for sun-bathing, swimming, and kayaking (except for I forgot my bathing suit and had to swim in shorts and in tshirt). The second weekend we made it to Granada, a colonial town that is about an hour and a half away that has become very touristy in the past couple of years and is great for going out. We took Saturday to go to a market and a short boat tour of the giant Lake Nicaragua (the island that we're going to this weekend, Ometepe, takes 3 hours by boat to get to from Granada!). That night we went out on the town, which I have to say was great for a change to go to some fun bars, and then the next day Rachel and I went to a spa and got cheap cheap massages. The place was absolutely beautiful, and the receptionist was from France so I got to use a little French as well! The weekend trips are nice because, as much as we love our families, it's nice to get out and eat nice food from restaurants and sleep in hostels and the works.

This past week we spent the better part of 4 days in our rural stay in Nicaragua, in a region called Miraflor, which translated means "see flowers." I would say it's probably one of the most beautiful places we've been in Central America; mountains beyond mountains of green and trees and coffee fields. But as I picked up my camera to snap my first photo, realized that it was dead. I was SO BUMMED. The food and the scenery was absolutely amazing, and it was so tranquil in the mountains, it felt as if we were taking a relaxing retreat.

However, our tranquilo week was met with a crazy weekend. We traveled to Leon on Saturday morning to stay in a very cool hostel by the name of Bigfoot, that offers trips to the nearby Cerro Negro volcano for nothing else but... volcano boarding, which when CNN ranked the top 100 things to do before you die, was seen as NUMBER TWO. We hiked up the volcano (which is a certain type that I've forgotten the name of but it's made from it's own ash) with a wooden sled, which only took about an hour at most. Once we got to the top we suited up in giant orange jumpsuits and protective goggles, looked down the slope, and freaked out because it was so steep you couldn't see the bottom. I sat down on my sled to go and chickened out because I was so scared! But no worries, I went after two more people, and it was definitely one of the CRAZIEST THINGS I'VE EVER DONE. You're down the slope in under a minute (if you try at all to go fast), and I made it down at 71 kph (or 45 mph)! We came out looking like coal miners because all the black ash comes flying in your face, and you can't scream unless you don't mind volcanic rocks in your mouth. Rachel, Anna, and Maggie beat me by going 78 kph and 77 kph, but one guy broke the top 5 record by going 84 kph! Unfortunately, a Norwegian girl, who ended up going 81 kph, fell and broke her collarbone. I guess doing the 2nd most thrilling thing in the world does come with a risk.

This weekend we're heading to Ometepe and I'm so excited to be doing some hiking! But in the meantime, this week we're heading to a Nicaraguan baseball game, and then on Thursday having our own little Thanksgiving. Hopefully I'll get the chance to be doing some cooking for everyone!

Only 18 days until I come home! I'm feeling very ready for some Louisville in my life.
Becca

pictures soon!

Friday, November 11, 2011

nicaragua beach pictures

pool playtime

surfing lessons!!

rachel and me on kayaks at sunset. can you believe this view from our house?

catchin' fish on my birthday!

rachel and me on the sunset cruise for my birthday

last sunset

Wednesday, November 2, 2011

finally in Nicaragua!

hello all! I am finally writing my first post from Nicaragua, our final destination on this whirlwind of a semester. After a 3:30 am departure time, a 10 hour ride, and 3 border crossings, we made it into the capital city of Managua, but then immediately got on another bus en route to San Juan del Sur, the beach town where we rented a house for our fall break week.

Rachel, Eric, Dylan, Charles, Laura, Georgia, Dylan's sister Andrea, and myself, made it to Rivas, an inland town just about 25 minutes from the coast, just after sunset. Unfortunately, there were no more buses to take us to San Juan, so we hopped in taxis, directing them to the only hostel we knew the name of. The taxi drivers told us they could drop us off at the foot of the hill, but couldn't drive up the dirt road due to the poor conditions from rains. When we arrived, a police truck met us at the entrance and agreed to drive us up, but unfortunately the hostel only had 2 empty beds... and there were 8 of us. The police said that they would take us into the town to another hostel, but they seemed kind of sketchy about the whole situation. When we got back in the truck, 3 of us were in the cab with the rest in the bed, and Laura thanked the policeman for their help. They looked at each other and laughed. Kind of weird. Then they dropped us off about a mile from the hostel, claiming they couldn't take us any further but then asked us to write down our names. Also weird. We were so tired and hungry that we didn't care, and just agreed to take taxis into town. We finally ended Casa Oro, a really great surfing hostel right in the heart of San Juan, and we were so pleased to find that we got free drink tickets and breakfast in the morning.

The next morning after some grocery shopping we were picked up by the property managers of our house and driven out to our absolutely beautiful beach-front home. Honestly, we did not deserve such an incredible place. It had a pool, gates that opened up to the sand of the beach, and A/C in every bedroom (a luxury we had been dearly missing). We spent the first couple days lounging, reading, sea-kayaking (cuz the house had those too!), surf lessons, and partying... of course :). On my 21st birthday which fell in the middle of the week, we went back into San Juan and took a sunset booze cruise, which was absolutely amazing! We were able to stop and swim, fish a little, and just listen to music on the water while the sun went down. We had such incredible weather the entire week, I don't know how we got so lucky. After the boat trip we went into town for a beach front dinner, where a large table of old white folks were also celebrating their friend's 50th birthday. I had had a little too much to drink (it was my 21st,  I'm allowed to!) and went up to the man whose birthday it was and told him, "don't worry! your not as old as my dad!" Oops.

Just as getting into San Juan was hard, getting out was almost harder. We called a cab for 9 am, a reliable one that our house keeper had recommended, so that we could catch the 10 am bus. They never showed, so we called kind of upset because we were going to miss the express bus. They told us that there was a giant truck stuck in the mud in the middle of the road that leads to our house, and that they wouldn't be able to get through. So we packed up all of our stuff and started walking, completing nearly two miles once we had reached our taxis. It was hot, humid, muddy with tons of puddles, and by the time we got there, I was not the happiest of people. Our cabbie was so great though and took us straight to Rivas so that we could catch the next express bus... which we also barely made. But we ended up in Managua safe and sound.

Needless to say, the entire week was exactly what we needed with tons of sleep and fun, gearing us up for the last six weeks of our semester. We've had two days of classes and moved in with our host families for the better part of the time spent here, and I can tell the time is going to fly. Rachel and I are living together in the house of Dona Marta, the sweetest little woman I've ever met who refers to us as "mi chicas." Both of our professors for our poli sci and history classes are such intelligent and strong women, and I'm really excited for learning more about Nicaragua's history.

Ciao!
Becca

pictures soon!

Friday, October 21, 2011

a poem.

Here is a poem that I chose to write as my personal reflection for my time spent in El Salvador. Birthed from growing frustration and confusion over the actions and philosophies of my country, this "manifesto" is something that I wish I could read to every United States citizen; just some food for thought:


The Mad American's Manifesto



Embrace slow.
Realize that not everything
should be pre-packaged and ready
in 90 seconds.
If all moves so fast, memories
and feelings will fail to
catch the train at the station.
Redlights only seem like
their taunting time if you think
the world stops for you.

Accept being average.
Our buildings do not need
to exceed the clouds,
our defense department does not
need to bully all the weak kids
in this global classroom.
Didn’t you see the movies?
The jock always peaks in
high school.

Seek the necessary.
Neighborhoods do not need to sprawl
like cancer cells.
Three cars ARE too many, and
your dog doesn’t care to watch
the Weather Channel at all hours.
Cross-breeze makes for a great A/C unit.
A balanced diet goes beyond
your belly.

Question everything.
There’s no need to raise your
hand anymore, the world will
show you its answer. When what
you witness and what you’re told
don’t equalize, you’re
solving to find the Truth. Living
in a daze of treated information
will only clog the arteries of
knowledge.

Challenge your default settings.
If you’ve sworn allegiance to
your own flag, your thoughts will
live in a dictatorship. Fear the
weight of reality, but be surprised by
your soul’s strength.
Let judgments be followed by curiosity
and child-like optimism. This earth’s
people are not one-size-fits-all.

Welcome responsibility.
Knowledge enjoys permanent residence here; let it.
Do not ignore your own Truths; do not quarantine the past.
Plant trees, sit with suffering’s citizens,
avoid those who enforce the status quo.
Care for water. (I cannot emphasize this enough). 
Practice consciousness, practice humanity.

Wednesday, October 19, 2011

tragedy in Central America

I'm not sure how televised or talked about it is in the U.S., but there have been devastating rains and storms throughout all of central america for the past week. we woke up last monday morning, grateful for a cooling from the rain, but unfortunately it never stopped, and really only grew in power. the group hasn't experienced the flooding firsthand, but the majority of the lower region of el salvador and guatemala is devastated by flooding that is greater than when hurricane mitch hit in 2008.

there is a community we visited two weekends ago called nueva esperanza, which has an incredible history: during the war this community of about 600 were driven out by the army, forced to live in the basement of a church for upwards of 6 years, displaced to refugee camps in nicaragua, and then finally returned to land that, for the first time, is legally entitled to them in the bajo lempa region. we caught wind of news today that the entire community is now under water, and most everyone was able to evacuate except for a few who are now awaiting either boats or helicopters to come. however even more sad, is that the agricultural co-op they've developed over the last 15 years or so, which yields coconuts, sugar cane, mangos, corn, and cows, is now completely ruined. a good majority of this community relies upon the small profits from these farms for their sustenance.

being in central america as a traveling student from the united states feels so crippling. we are so close to the victims, having even made friendships with many, and yet we are leaving the country on saturday to go on a vacation to the beach for our fall break. our directors told us that if we get the opportunity to volunteer this week they'll let us know, however, the reality is that we are able to pick up our things and leave these countries that have given us so much, when they are in their greatest need. of course I will carry their story and my experiences with me forever, but it is a perfect example how far removed our privileged lives are from the poor and oppressed, who are continually the worst off in such disasters, and are the last to be attended to.

so, long story short, if you could keep these people in your thoughts, prayers, energies, or whatever works for ya, please do so, as they'll need all they can get.



A mural in Nueva Esperanza. Translation: "We build a free town."