A reflection from my first real Central American experience...

I had the chance to visit southern Mexico two years ago. I spent ten days visiting homes, sharing meals, and hearing speakers who shared with us about the poverty situation. We explored the theme of ethics in a society of poverty. Throughout our trip we were accompanied by a Catholic nun who spoke no English. Despite the language barrier, it was easy to see that Lucy was a very compassionate person who truly cared for people. One of our last days in the southern part of the country, and also our last day with Lucy, we did an activity where we were asked to list some key words/themes that stood out from the past week or so. Words like community, injustice, poverty, hope were common on our papers. After we discussed what we had come up with, Lucy stood up to speak. She told us that all of us were missing something important—the most important word that should have been on all our lists. And that word was Love. She told us how love covers all of those things that we had written. Even though we had seen so much pain and poverty, love was still there. Perhaps in those times of pain love is not very apparent, but that does not mean it is not present. 

Unexpected Pie

Tonight I met three friends at the Fryn' Pan to share some hot chocolate and supper (or, in my case, just a cinnamon roll). Our conversation was great, with the usual topics of religion, God, and Christianity. (Everyone discusses these topics all the time, right?) Towards the end of our time there, our waitress insisted on us getting some dessert, but we were all so full. Shortly after we had received our checks, the waitress came over and placed a piece of chocolate creme pie in front of me. As I gave her a confused look (I had just eaten a huge cinnamon roll...), she informed me that it was from a gentlemen in the booth next to us. I glanced over, gave a quick awkward thank you, and quietly asked if any of my friends would help me eat it.

Thinking I had a creeper on my hands, I hesitated to stay at the restaurant after my friends had left (I was planning to stay by myself and do a little homework). But I did anyway, thinking that I could either ignore the man or tolerate a little small talk. 

He came over, telling me that he "broke the ice" with the pie because he had been listening to our conversation. He heard how I was saying that my faith has changed--how I don't really "pray" anymore and haven't read scripture for my own personal growth for awhile. He told me that I should really try to get back into "meditating" and reading the Bible--just by spending a few minutes every night doing that. "It will help you hear that still small voice in your head that will tell you what to do," he told me. He kept saying that he didn't know what God wanted me to do, but if I spent time with God, I would soon be able to focus and hear God's voice. I thought I was talking with a very "Christian" man who felt it was his duty to convert me...or convert me back into a "better " Christian with more open ears to what God is telling me.

As we continued talking, I asked him how long he had been a Christian. He told me it was somewhat complicated, and actually that as a teenager, he was driven away from the Christian church. He had met too many "Christians" who thought their way was the right and only way and anyone who thought differently was damned, stupid, or deeply fallen. He hasn't been to church since, nor does he consider himself a Christian.

So I asked another question: what scripture empowers him? I was trying to see what he would suggest for me to read, because he had been telling me to read more scripture. He told me he doesn't read the Bible. Confused and a bit taken aback, I asked him, "So do you even believe in God?" 

"I believe in a god," he told me.

"But not the so-called 'Christian' God?"

"Right."

He told me how he had found his belief on his own and in a whole different religion. I still could not understand how this man was telling me how to be a "better" Christian, even though it was not the tradition in which he found his faith. I questioned him about this, and he responded with, "I want to help you find whatever takes you in the right direction... We need more good people in this world." He thought that my "rediscovery" of scripture and meditation with God would help me become a better person in general. He had made it clear that he was not about to impose his beliefs, rather try to understand where I had come from (the Christian faith) in order to help me.

After about a half hour of chatting, I glanced at my watch and realized I needed to get going. As I stood up to leave, he pulled a necklace out of his shirt with a pentacle on it. "I practice Wicca," he told me.

I had just been told how to grow my relationship with God from a man who practices what is often considered witchcraft. How much he actually practices this religion, I don't know. But his concern was not in how he practices his beliefs, but how I ought to practice mine. I found this chat a bit hypocritical, and I did not like that he was telling me what I needed to do, but the whole conversation was so very intriguing and a bit inspiring. This man's interest was in helping me become a good person, regardless of whether or not I believed the same things he did. He did not care what God I was finding my trust in. He was only concerned that this belief/faith/trust/religion would motivate me to be a better person. I do not know much about the Wicca tradition, but maybe this is its teaching. Maybe it's his own philosophy. Either way, it fascinates me.

Could you imagine if more folks of different religions communicated in such a way when doing inter-religious dialogue? I do not think it's helpful to assume you know what a person needs to do to grow in his or her own personal faith, but if we could have more interest in trying to understand where people are coming from and maybe not get so caught up in the details of religion and tradition, maybe then we could seek out more ways to be "good people" rather than let our differences take over and hinder our conversation and learning.

Thank you, Wicca man, for the pie.

"Our Father..." who art right here.

(I wrote this on December 17.)

I was wondering what it would be like to come back to the states and return to worship. Considering my “worship” experiences in Central America included a Sunday service at an evangelical Christian church, a Mayan ceremony, and a “progressive” Catholic mass, I was excited to return to my roots and worship within a Lutheran congregation. I was also interested to see if my view of God and faith had actually changed as I thought it had and if this was really true once I stepped back into my comfort zone, aka a Lutheran congregation.

Nothing really seemed different or hit me until we reached the Lord’s Prayer. I barely got past “Our father…” before I found myself changing up the words of this so well-known prayer. Almost instinctively I changed “who art in heaven” to “who is here with us” and “thy kingdom come, thy will be done” to “Thy kingdom come and be done now” and “give us this day our daily bread” to “give everyone some daily bread.” I wouldn't allow myself to recite the traditional words. Perhaps it is just the wrath of John Shelby Spong and his words still convicting my mind, but I just couldn't recite the same words that I have known since childhood.

I haven’t really had a chance to actually “talk out” how I feel like my faith has changed over the past four months (even seven months including changes I felt over the summer), but I have told people that my faith is one aspect of me that I feel has changed. After studying liberation theology and seeing so many empowered people, I can no longer limit my God to someone who is “arting in heaven.” My God is arting its Godself in every single person that I met in Central America and every person I continue to meet. For me, God is no longer “out there,” no longer just in heaven (whatever that means).  God has been revealed to me via Nicaraguans, Salvadorans, Guatemalans, Panamanians, and my fellow U.S. students and study abroad staff. Each person had a little God in them—actually, each one of them was FULL of this God in which I now hold my belief.

Hunger pains.

I keep thanking God that I did not acquire any illness during my time in Central America. However, my hunger pains are different since I've returned to the states. I don't know if my stomach shrank, or if it's just readjusting to food, but the first sign I know that I am hungry is not the normal grumble from within, or even lightheadedness, but a sick to my stomach I'm-going-to-vomit feeling. Luckily, I have not vomited, and the stomach pains are getting less intense.

Ironically, this painful hunger seems to align with some fears and desires I have now. While abroad, I felt myself change. I started thinking about things I had never thought about before. For the first time, I felt real anger at the systems that maintain oppression in the world. I saw true beauty in people and learned what it means to be selfless. I discovered the power of history in shaping the future. I felt passion in a new way.

People keep asking me how I'm "adjusting" since I've been back. Honestly, I don't want to adjust. I want to maintain this person who I became in Central America. I mean, I don't want to be miserable or distant because I'm no longer abroad, but I don't want to forget what I've experienced...or worse, not let it continue shaping me.

When you ask me this question about how I'm "adjusting," I will tell you, "Good! I really am feeling fine about being back." This is an honest answer--you'll see in my eyes and hear in my voice both excitement to begin another semester, get back to work, share stories from CA, etc.; and sadness of having to leave such a beautiful area of the world and the people I came to love.

But honestly, having this response is fulfilling my greatest fear. I don't want to be the same Hannah I was in August. I don't even want to be the same Hannah I was in May before I worked in a leadership role at camp and grew in so many unexpected ways.

I hunger to continue changing. I hunger to be passionate. I hunger for joy--true joy. And perhaps my stomach is serving as my reminder. But the pains are getting less intense...what happens when the hunger pains go away?

Someone once said that when the trip ends, the changes really begin. I hope and pray that's true. I don't want to return to ignorance and complacency. I cling to the memories of Guatemala, El Salvador, and Nicaragua with a firm grasp in a tight fist...trying to figure out just what I should do with them and how to "live out" what I've experienced. And I hope that I don't squeeze everything out of this rich fruit of memories without making some damn good juice.

Beneath the peel.

(Click to see larger photos)

Dime cuánta agua habrá de caer del cielo, 
para que me quite la pereza y este mal.

Soy los hombres y mujeres que trabajan en la tierra,

fumigando el alimento que después te comerás.
Soy de bananera, soy del trigo, soy del maíz.
Y nadie pregunta por qué tengo miedo al sol,
Por qué tengo extraños dedos,
Por qué no puedo dar de mamar.
Y nadie pregunta qué tengo por dentro,
serpientes y santos corruptos,
divinos del banco mundial.

("Canción tóxica" por Perrozompopo)

They live under sheets of plastic—cooking, sleeping, and living off a few basic foods supplied by the government and thriving off each others’ determination.  Five hundred individuals call home an area filled with hundreds of tent homes, made of plastic and cut wood, filled with rock furniture and hammocks--located across the road from the national palace and the tallest building in Managua which houses the congressional offices.  This is the result of a march that occurred almost five years ago. Six different times, folks have marched from the city of Chinendega to Managua, in protest of the use and affects of the pesticide known as Nemagon.

As early as 1958, chemical companies have known that this pesticide can cause serious health implications for anyone exposed to it. In 1979, the EPA banned the chemical in the United States. But the fruit companies (currently known as Dole, Del Monte, and Chiquita) continued purchasing and applying this dangerous pesticide on Central American banana plantations until 1986. By 1993, almost 17,000 plantation workers claimed to have been affected by this harmful chemical. A few of the many health problems related to nemagon include sterility, blindness, liver damage, kidney failure, lung cancer, brain cancer, miscarriage, joint damage, and breast cancer…just to name a few.  The people we met in the community have also lost their homes and land which they’ve lived away from for the past few years. Even if they wanted to return to Chinendega or wherever else they marched from, they would have nothing to go back to. Some are blessed to have children outside of the community that send them a little money (a new type of remittance). Many are living with fatal diseases, and many have already been lost.

As we spent time with this community, I could sense their pain. They told us that this is not a political struggle—the government has in fact responded to them by giving them food, water, electricity, some medical attention, and is now building them houses. (During our interview with the community’s council, noise from the construction of these houses across the road filled the air.) They were selfless enough to tell us that they don't want to distract the government or keep them from helping other Nicaraguans. Even if the government has not provided the best assistance with legal matters dealing with the transnational companies, the people are oober grateful for what the government has done for them; they just wish the transnational companies that actually applied the chemical would show even a fraction of the attention that the government has.

As we did research for our projects, we came across a few court cases, in Central America and the U.S., many times resulting in forced payment by the companies to the victimized workers, but many noted that the results of the cases often ended up in appeals by the companies. (I don’t know if that’s correct law terms…essentially, the companies found some way out of having to pay…either by claiming false evidence or lying witnesses.)  Many indemnifications have been issued, in which the companies paid a small sum of money to many workers; there was an instance in 1997 when thousands of workers received $100 if they signed not to sue the companies. One hundred dollars to compensate for over 20 years working in contaminated fields and living even longer with the resulting illness or the inability to have children. A lousy $100.

As I researched this issue, talked with the people, and created a project, I found myself so angry. I find myself so disgusted with the companies.  I understand that these companies need to look out for their own well-being, but how can they look at these affected people who are living with chronic conditions and not have any sympathy? They argue that it is debatable whether it was nemagon that caused all these people’s problems. They argue that some people claim to have been affected when they didn’t even work in the fields (women, for example) but fail to recognize the fact that the pesticide remains on the plants, even through packaging (where women mostly worked, even though they did cover in the fields and chemical application sometimes).

Through this frustration, however, I see faces shining.  I see the face of Altagracia and her pride of the Purisima altar. I see the face of the old woman whose first communication with me was a huge smiley hug. I see the face of Guillermo as he tells us about his life. Such beautiful people. Such a sad circumstance.

“We are fighters,” one woman told us. These people continue living in silent protest. Their presence is impossible to miss as you drive through Managua. Nothing will ever compensate for the pain, sorrow, and death these people have experienced. “We just want the transnationals to become sensitized,” they tell us. They are looking for someone to take responsibility and recognize them as suffering human beings—not to give charity, but to simply give them some acknowledgment.

For more info on the nemagon struggle, check out http://www.bananasthemovie.com/ and what the trailer, read the facts, get informed. Also, this photographer captured some great photos a few years ago. Make sure to scroll down and check out the pictures: http://www.opticalrealities.org/Central-America/Nicaragua/Nemagon-Survivors/10317166_Lzevs#713060564_r9PHp.

Even though I only spent a few hours with them, the people I met in the community forever have a place in my heart. When you eat a banana, think of these people. Think of what went into the production of that one simple fruit. Look beyond the sticker on the peel and examine what's within.

WOMEN: in factories, campo, and cooperative

I have met so many remarkable people within the past few weeks. Most of these people represent one of the most marginalized groups of people in the history of the world: women.

Confusion.
A couple weeks ago, we had the opportunity to visit a free trade zone near Managua, where 150 companies produce their goods and services, employing almost 74,000 Nicaraguans.  All of the products produced and services provided (it's not just maquilas/factories in the industrial park--there are call centers, agricultural sects, among others as well) are exported.  The only thing that remains in Nicaragua is the employment and the small amount of money given to the workers which they call a "salary"...minimum salary within the zone is $123 per month (the "basket of living," aka the amount it takes to buy necessities of food, shelter, etc. is around $400 per month).  This is the lowest in all Central American free trade zones.  We were concerned also about the working conditions as well, considering the rumors we've heard in the past about free trades having pretty horrible conditions and low labor rights.  We had the chance to visit one of the factories, and I was a bit surprised by it.  We walked into the florescent-lighted building where hundreds of women (and a handful of men) were at sewing machines and tables beneath hundreds of fans.  They were assembling North Face and Colombia jackets.  The conditions under which they were working were not appalling, but probably not the most comfortable either. We were told that this factory was about in the middle regarding if it's "better or worse" in working conditions and labor rights.

I was very torn after this visit. These women make next to no money...but it's still something--it's still a little bit of money to bring home to their families each night. And even though their working conditions might be poor and they might not have many rights as workers, they still have jobs. As one of the men from the free trade commission told us--even if they feel that their dignity is insulted, these women are not going to stop providing a salary for their families. There is no excuse for the need of such low-paid and uncomfortable employment. But what else are these women supposed to do to provide for their hungry children? Having to choose to be unemployed or work under undesirable conditions--what a horrible, yet inevitable, consequence of a ridiculously capitalist and consumerist world.

Inspiration and beauty.
Last week we spent three days in the BEAUTIFUL mountains, living in the Sontule community on the Miraflor natural reserve (just a few miles away from the city of Esteli). We had the chance to meet with an incredible group of women.  They are part of a women's cooperative working with many projects in their community, such as vegetable gardens, coffee production, teaching English, tourism, and gender rights. These women have truly combated the machismo (essentially, the  inequality between men and women) that is embedded in Nicaragua culture. Before organizations like this began, one kind-hearted Dona Lucia told us, the women would be "living poverty" in their house.  Now, rather than staying in house, taking care of the kids and cooking, these women have learned their rights and empowered themselves and now are truly developing themselves, their families, and their communities.

My host mom was the president of the women's cooperative.  During our many hours of hanging out with the family in the kitchen, she shared with us her story of empowerment and learning, and how as she became more aware of her rights as a woman, her marriage really changed.  Her husband was very different during the first few years of marriage, she told us.  But now after both husband and wife have learned the inequalities that fill so many Latin American families, both share in all the responsibilities of the house.  Our host dad spent just as much time over the stove as our host mom.

Anger.
Just this morning, we visited a development center near Ciudad Sandino, the poorest urban area in Nicaragua. In addition to seeing and hearing about so many great development projects that are truly arising from the people, we got to meet with another cooperative.  These 15 women and 3 men have been working for almost four years to organize themselves and to build a processing plant for cotton. They have even built the huge stone building with their own hands and sweat...with no pay. They remain an organized group, but have no salary to bring home to their families for Christmas. Sadly, if it weren't for the greed of foreigners, they would be a lot farther along in their process.

Awhile back, they hired a company from South Carolina to help them find someone from which to buy spinning equipment in order to make yarn from the cotton. They found a retailer in Venezuela, placed their order, and paid the $150,000 down payment. A little while later, their order arrives...but it's faulty equipment and not what they have paid for. Now, they are in the process of getting justice and hopefully getting some decent equipment, but the company that they worked with has jipped many other clients and is on the verge of bankruptcy. Until this issue gets resolved, they continue to wait...and continue to have nothing to bring home to their families.

The sadness lying behind the women's smiles was painful to see. I could tell that this empowered group had truly become a family. They have worked next to each other for so long. Why do they keep going? They have hope. Hope that soon they will actually be able to see more results from their continuous hard work. They also have pride. They have been able to construct a beautiful building...now all they need is the equipment to actually allow them to start working with the cotton.

I am so frustrated at the selfishness that someone can have and the pain and sadness a company's greed has brought to this beautiful and hardworking group of people.

Perseverance and real change.
The women of Nicaragua--from my host sister to our professors to Pastor Katia...to the leaders of feminist and woman's movements who have visited our classes--continue to inspire me. I have often asked myself, how much change can actually occur when so much injustice is embedded in the culture, in the political systems, even in the families? But these women, by combating machismo, learning and upholding their rights, and speaking out with their own voices, have shown me what true empowerment means and that change really can happen.

History in the Making

“…we come into the world with a ball of yarn to weave the fabric of our lives. One cannot know exactly what the tapestry will look like, but at a certain moment one can look back and say: Of course! It couldn’t have been any other way! That shiny thread, that stitching couldn’t have led anywhere else!” (Gioconda Belli's beautiful words that I think are a great take on each of our own histories.)

History. The word makes me cringe. In my three and a half years of college, I’ve managed to avoid any classes with the ‘HIST’ header, but now I find myself in a history class. (And, on top of that, a political science class, too. Yuck!)

Before I get more into how I am dealing with these adventures into an untrekked territory of my academic self, let me share with you a bit of my recent history. Last week, my friend Laura and I spent over 45 hours on buses, met tons of interesting people, and officially visited all the Central American countries (well, except Belize…but depending on who you ask, Belize can be part of either the Caribbean or Central America). After leaving El Salvador, and passing through Honduras and Nicaragua, we arrived in San Jose, Costa Rica, where we spent a day and a half. We went to the national symphony, which is by far one of the highlights of my trip; found a really sweet diner down a happening, NYC-feel strip of shops and hundreds of pedestrians; and spent a good hour and a half at a local souvenir shop, talking with the workers. Besides that, we did a lot of hanging out in the TicaBus hotel and getting ripped off by taxi drivers. (Costa Rica is expensive!) San Jose was a beautiful city. A shorter bus drive later, we found ourselves in Los Balsas, a small more-rural community near Santiago, Panama. Laura spent two months in this community some four years ago, so we were privileged to have a connection with her former host family who oh-so graciously allowed us to stay with them for four days. It is a great community, where youth spend their evenings hanging out at the cancha (basketball court), your thoughts are your only privacy, and, at this time of the year, everyone prepares for the upcoming independence celebration. I'm glad I got to spend most of the trip in this smaller, non-touristy part of Central America. It was more like our weekend rural homestays during our study program rather than a vacation, but it gave me yet another perspective of life in Central America. We did manage to spend a day and a half in Panama City before our 25-hour bus ride up to Managua, Nicaragua. I got to see the famous Panama Canal and some beautiful sites of this unique and interesting city, full of run-down apartments and eye-catching skyscrapers on the peninsula.

We arrived in Nicaragua on Sunday, where we settled into our temporary guesthouse/CGE office building, located just a block away from the president’s house. On Monday, we began our classes. We've only had class for three days, but let me tell you--Nicaragua is the perfect place to (confuse yourself) study history or politics. I have already gained a new appreciation and interest for both topics. Nicaragua is full of a complex and unique history that angers me, makes me laugh, and intrigues me all at the same time. Nicaragua has a president who comes from the revolutionary political party, but whose party wouldn’t call him “revolutionary”; is currently struggling against Costa Rica for river rights; is the second poorest nation in the Western hemisphere with one of the highest literacy rates; has found ballots in dumps during election time; consists of two totally different cultures of very distinct geographical and social characteristics (the Caribbean  and Pacific coasts); and has spent many years fighting against, compromising with, and accepting and refusing money from the United States. And this is just the beginning of the many things I’ve jotted down in my notes—the beginning of my attempt to understand this complicated and unique small triangle of a nation.

We are staying in the capital city of Managua. On Tuesday we took a small tour where we saw Lake Managua, the national cathedral and palace, low-income housing projects, and some other parks and monuments. From the recent rains, the lake is terribly flooded; we were told that it will take at least two years for the water to recede to normal level. Who knows how many houses were wiped out not only here in the city, but the whole country. Managua is not like any city I’ve ever visited. The presence of many trees and two in-city lakes add to the city’s beauty. It lacks organization, and it’s normal to see a nice building right next to some very poorly built shacks (or tents) that serve as people’s homes. Directions are not typical—you give directions with the terms arriba (“up,” or where the sun rises), abajo (“down,” where the sun sets), al lago (toward the lake), or south. Also, there are not many tall buildings—the tallest I’ve seen is maybe six stories high—because of the earthquake in 1972. Managua is still a city under construction—structurally, socially, and politically.

Our group is living in a very lively neighborhood, or barrio, called Batahola. The people here are the sweetest! The small house where Laura and I are staying houses a small pulperia (more or less an in-house store), and the house is probably just a bit smaller than my house in Rock Rapids (which is not very big…we fit five people in it comfortably, but any more would have been difficult). But here our family consists of eleven people, including Laura and me. Our host mom runs the store and takes care of everyone and our host dad drives taxi. Their four children live here, too, and one son’s wife and two kids and one daughter’s daughter, too. And to prove just how small of a world this is, the daughter studied for a year in Council Bluffs, Iowa. It’s a pretty happening place—people stopping by the store all the time, kids always playing or the baby totting around in her walker, someone always enjoying a show or a game on the TV. I went walking this morning, just to find myself being greeted and waved at by all our neighbors. We live across from a basketball court/soccer field and the cultural center, where classes in English, music, painting, jewelry-making, cooking, and other things are taught. Although Managua can be dangerous (and I’m aware of that), I feel safe in this neighborhood and there are always people around, watching out for each other.

Our days this week have looked like this: the bus picks us up at the cultural center and brings us to the Center first thing in the morning, we have class in the morning, eat lunch at the Center, take some time in the afternoon to study and use internet, return to Batahola around five, chill with our host families, eat supper, do homework, sleep. The conversations and interactions that fill our time in class, with each other, and with our families are priceless.

I am falling in love with yet another country. Nicaragua’s people are beautiful, intelligent, and very warm. People keep asking me how Nica compares to Guatemala and El Salvador, but honestly, all I can say in regards to comparison is that it’s different. I’ve loved all three countries, and all in different ways. I am truly embarking on something new: exploring topics, questions, and themes I’ve never explored, seeing “poverty” in a new way, and learning more about politics than I’ve ever wanted to learn. But beautifully, I am gaining a deep appreciation for politics, history, and their complexities, and I am become ever more exposed to the thread that binds every topic together.