My stomach and head are turning as I am struggling to adjust from a life of rice and beans to a life of steak. In the span of 18 hours on Sunday, my experience in Nicaragua was tainted and ended as I returned home to the US.
The story begins Sunday. I had spent the first four days of my time in Nicaragua just staying in the same four block radius around the church and was anxious to get out a see a little bit of the town. After going to the church service Sunday morning, I headed to the old downtown area of Managua with my guide Rachel who had been in Nicaragua for 10 months. We saw the old downtown area that was ravaged by the earthquake in 1972. There have been a few new buildings, but for the most part, the area is a reminder of the glory of Managua that was destroyed in 1972. Thousands of people were killed in the quake and the entire neighborhood destroyed. Money flowed into the country to help rebuild, but instead of using the money for rebuilding, the government pocketed the money. This extreme corruption eventually led to the revolution, but rebuilding never really took place, making Managua an unplanned city, with no central area, that snakes in all directions.
Well, Rachel and I were looking at the old cathedral and were walking 200 meters to the Park of Peace where the President in the 90's buried tons of weapons and tanks in a demonstration of the country moving away from violence. Ironic. I thought it would be a great park to check out for a peace student! I asked Rachel a few times if it was safe to walk there and she said it was fine and that she had done in multiple times. So we started walking. We took a right turn on a small street that was only 50 meters long. As we started walking, two young men about 16 years old walked around the corner. They were walking together and as they got closer one started to walk wide of us. I felt the pit in my stomach and knew what was coming. Soon, they made a dash at us, pulling out a 12 inch machete. They first went at Rachel demanding her bag and threatening with the knife. I think I could have made a dash for it and gotten away, but instead I stood there talking her through it calmly. Much too calmly. I told her just to relax and give them what they wanted. Then they came over to me and wanted money, which I stupidly had not put in my outside pocket. I should have learned that from the last time I was mugged! But, since I couldn't easily hand them money, they found my money belt and ripped it off and then found my camera hidden in a side pocket and took that. Then they ran into a taxi that was waiting for them and drove off. Numerous people were immediately there to help us and even got the number of the taxi and the license plate number. A nice man and his family in a truck gave us a ride to the police station for free.
We gave the report to the police and had to deal with the slow, apathetic response from the police. They drove us back to the scene of the crime with two other people that had been mugged only minutes after us on the other side of the Park of Peace. They made us stand in the place where the crime happened, and since none of the roads in Managua are labeled, they had to draw a small map on a peace of paper to show where it happened. After we showed where the crime happened, we went to the place where the other couple in the police car had been mugged. That was freaky. They drove us to the other side of the Park of Peace where one of the skyscrapers had collapsed during the 1972 earthquake. Instead of demolishing the ruins however, the cement remains stayed, and now people live in the cracks and crevasses left standing, often putting up a plastic sheet over a crack in the cement in order to make themselves a home. I was happy to leave as that neighborhood was one of the scariest I have ever seen in terms of safety for me and the people living there.
Well, we finally took a taxi back after telling the police that we did not want to look at their mug shots of "criminals." We got back to the place I was staying and made some phone calls to cancel credit cards and tell our parents. The whole incident was odd. It felt very methodical to me and almost like I knew that it would happen. It brought back a lot of memories of getting mugged (much more violently) in South Africa, and it was strange to be in the police station and to tell Rachel how we should fill out the police report for insurance. I just knew way too much of what to do both during and after the mugging. This time, in contrast to the experience in South Africa, I wasn't angry. In SA, I even ran after the robbers because I was so upset and frustrated, but this time it just felt normal...and I didn't like that feeling.
I sat in my room for a while thinking about it and realized that I felt that it could happen again. I was planning on traveling to Granada and know I probably would have been safe going to other areas of the country that everyone admits are more beautiful and safer than Managua, but I also know I would have had to come back to Managua to do my research and interviews. I couldn't justify just being in Nicaragua to go to the beautiful parts and not do what I came to do...and I also didn't want to deal with worrying about safety or giving up my freedom and staying only in a small neighborhood to have that safety. So, after a little meditating on it, I called my parents and had them change my ticket home. So, 170 dollars later (surprisingly cheap) and only 18 hours later, I was on the 1pm flight home from Managua, arriving home at 3am on the fourth of July. Back in America on America Day. Who would have thought?
Now I'm left to wonder if it was the right decision and what to do now. I hate the decision in one way because it feels like a cop out. I know that I could have survived and been fine, but I really didn't want to just be fine. I think I would have been frustrated not only thinking often about safety, but more so feeling confined to a small neighborhood. I think I also felt after being there that the research would not have been as fruitful as I had hoped. The church does really great things and does them quite well. The church also has support from a variety of sources, and it would have been difficult to measure the effectiveness of a South Dakota program because most people who benefit from the church benefit from the work of multiple donors and workers. Who knows, maybe the mugging was merely the push that I needed to reassess and refine my research. I hope so at least.
In terms of dealing with what happened, I am fine physically. Nothing happened, but of course it sticks in your mind. More so for me, it has brought out memories of being mugged in South Africa which was a traumatic experience that I had hoped to kind of forget. Now, I'm home which is comforting. It's great to sit outside and talk and eat with the family, but I also know that I need to figure out my next move and won't be satisfied letting my experience in Nicaragua confine me here as well. We'll see what happens.
So that's that. Nicaragua feels almost like a dream. I was there just under a week and only saw the worst parts of the country. I am frustrated I couldn't solidify my Spanish and get an accurate picture of the country, but I am glad I got to meet the people of the church and see what good things are happening there. I hope that Rachel is able to deal with the experience. I feel bad leaving her and the people at the church, but I felt the pit in my stomach that was telling me that I had to go. I didn't listen to it and the mugging happened, so I figured that now I should listen to it. Who knows, maybe I'm just hungry.
Well, be safe everyone, especially all those peaceful friends in the far corners of the world. I hope you can all successfully arrive at the Park of Peace.
A new adventure has begun: Nicaragua! I arrived Wednesday at 7.30pm to 92 degree weather. I was picked up at the airport by Rachel, who is an American working with the Lutheran Church in Nicaragua, and their mechanic Arnoldo who promptly drove me through the sprawling urban area that is Managua. Managua has had a rough couple decades with an earthquake that devasted the city center and then 10 years of civil war, and due these events it no longer has a main area. Instead it´s a collection of communities sprawled next to a lake.
Arnoldo and Rachel got me to my hotel two blocks from the church which had a great sign in front that said "Bed and Break Fats." I ended up with a great room and head out the next morning to the church.
The church here in Managua is the reason I´m here...i guess i should explain that. The South Dakota Lutheran Church and the church in Nicaragua have a partnership in which SD helps Nica with projects and sends money and visitors. I´m here to check it out and hopefully discover if the programs are meeting the needs of the people here. So, thursday was my first day with the church and what a day it was! It was the bishop´s birthday and we had two celebratory meals and a church service led by the youth. The thing that stood out the most was the energy (and definitely not tone) of the singing at church. It was a struggle and yelling became the best solution.
Today was World Cup day of course! after squatting around a tiny black and white tv so that the church workers would still be on duty during the game, we finally made a dash before overtime of the argentine and germany game. we ran across teh street to a house turned into a restaurant. they served and sold food from their kitchen and had seating on their veranda. well, the smart nicas i was with got some food and pulled the chairs up to teh window of the house so we could watch the big color tv in their living room! eventually the entire veranda was peering through the windows of the house watching the penalty kicks right alongside the family! Mi casa es su casa i guess.
Tomorrow I´m celebrating National Youth Day by playing games with a bunch of the church youth and Sunday I´ll hit up a service and youth meeting. Then, on Monday I will head down to Granada where I will begin four weeks of spanish class and will live with a family. I wish that i had the language now! I´m doing alright, but i definitely want to have a good handle on spanish before i come back so i can get to know everyone better.
So yeah, nica is good thus far. The one thing that stands out right now is that it reminds me a lot of tanzania. same type of signs, same plastic furniture at restaurants, same pace, a ton of pharmacies, people standing around a lot, and the same heat. I don´t want to be comparing already because i know that it will probably end up being very different, but i´m amazed how much that experience still influences me.
a few other thigns that really stand out: for the low pressure icon on the weather, they have a b...which makes sense in spanish, but it´s funny to see the u.s. map and see a huge B swirling around SD. Also, in my hotel i get ESPN Desportes (spanish espn) and when they show baseball stats, everything is backwards, so instead of going 2-4, joe mauer goes 4-2. that´ll help out the old average!
whew. a lot in a little time...i´ll be updating with more stories less facts as i get settled and begin to get my head around nica. in the meantime, off to have my fifth serving of rice and beans, and I still like it!
Today I did the unthinkable: I cut my hair! It reminds me of that 60's song. "Almost cut my hair last night..." Well I did and I feel like Captain America now. Yes, I have stepped from a Euro-doo to an American GI-doo. But, my GI-doo will be a necessity in the coming days as I head to Nicaragua. I'm heading down south on wednesday and will be there for about 10 weeks. I'm sure that my short hair will help me stay cool and help me deal with limited access to showers. Wet rag showers anyone? Well, I'm excited to go. I've done a lot of interviews here of donors and participants from the SD Lutheran Church who give money to a Lutheran church in Nicaragua. I'll head down to Nicaragua and talk to Nicaraguans who receive the gifts from SD to see how they use money, if they get what they want, and what they think they need. Plus, I'll hopefully learn Spanish while I'm there.
In the meantime, a weekend full of soccer (both my brother and the world cup) and a few last minute errands and visits! Just call me up if you need an American Superhero. I'm ready now, hair and all.
It's been a great past week spending roughly six hours a day watching the World Cup and the rest of the time conducting interviews for the thesis, playing ultimate, and seeing old friends.
I've also been reading a lot and today read about something very intriguing: Unity '08. This is a new movement for a third party in the United States that will select presidential candidates based on an open internet convention, kind of like American Idol. Basically, anyone can logon and cast a vote of who should run for president on the Unity '08 party ticket, and the candidates can be Republicans, Democrats, Independants, or any combination of the other parties. People do not need to change their party ticket to vote with the Unity ticket, and the party hopes to increase participation and have enough votes to get attention from the major parties. I think it's a great time for a third party. Environmental and fiscal responsibility are issues neither party are dealing with and maybe pressure from a new party will force one of the parties to begin to change to get some votes. (Freidman wrote a great editorial about this today called "Seeds For A Geo-Green Party") This could also be a big step towards increased democratization through the use of the internet. Who knows, maybe Ryan Seacrest could be the next President! (Please vote so he's not!)
It has been a great weekend in Brookville, USA. Saturday we hosted the second annual Brookings Summer Ultimate Festival. This year we had people coming from all over the Midwest: Omaha, Minneapolis, Des Moines, Sioux Falls. I was all pumped for a great day of ultimate frisbee. Unfortunately the weather was in the 50's with rain, but we still played and had a great time. We handed out awards, had a huge pizza party, and were reminded how it feels to exercise. 
It was especially fun because my best friends from college days came to Brookings for the weekend! Dain, Nick, Peter, Ellie, Gerard, and Paul all made the trip and we had a house full of wet clothes, smelly men, and laughter. It was fun Saturday night as they all hit downtown Brookings with me. I ended up running into half of my graduating high school class at the local bars which was surprisingly fun! There's something humorous about not seeing someone for 5 years but still remember that one time when...(fill in the blanks).
We ate and had a few drinks at a sports bar in town and stopped in one other bar for an Irish car bomb when everyone started to drag. Then, just in the nick of time, a high school friend named Jen came to the rescue! She went to college in Brookings and thus took over the role of the Brookings nightlife tour guide! She showed us all the good spots and even had us dancing a little at the end of the night. 
It was so great to see different friend circles mixing, and just great to have so many fun friends around. Who would have thought Brookings had so much to offer! All I have to say is rice and balls deep.
It's been a crazy weekend. My friend Emily Dupraz, who I spent countless hours with throughout high school in school, at debate tournaments, and out on the town, lost her mother on Thursday after a long battle with breast cancer. I didn't realize how deeply it would affect me. It has brought up a lot of questions and emotions that were unexpected.
At first, I felt guilty because the tragic event brought together people that I had not seen in years, and I was happy about that. My good friend Emily Weninger flew back from Washington, DC and brought along Alison Noyes who also debated and went to BHS with me. It was crazy though because she left Brookings after our sophomore year of high school, and I don't think that I've seen her since. So, I've been able to spend a lot of time with them which has been fun, albeit in awkward circumstances. It's been especially great to find out that three random people from this small town of Brookings can all be on the same life plan, more or less. Interested in politics, big issues, changing the world, and seeing the world. It's pretty amazing to think that Brookings could produce so many interesting people. It's so great to just know people like Emily, Emily, and Alison among countless other that continue to inspire and still be there when it really matters.
The whole event has also brought up thoughts and questions about home and identity. To explain this I first have to explain the past days' events. Emily's dad was a farmer, and they lived out of town in a farmhouse in what I would consider a very traditional, rural South Dakota way. Strong people who work hard and care for others. At the wake, this persona was evident. A large portion of the people were fellow farmers wearing Wrangler jeans, tucked in plaid shirts, belt buckles, big shoulders, strong hands, and little metal attachments to their wallets so they wouldn't slip too far into their Wranglers. Emily's dad was wearing the same tie that he was wearing in her graduation photo and her brother who now farms with her dad, was very stoic, quiet, and just embodied a good, honest, hard-working description.
The funeral was similar with the same traditional South Dakotans filling the pews and comforting with a heavy tap on the shoulder. The funeral service had a country singer who did Will Roger-esque versions of "How Great Thou Art" and "I'll Fly Away." His simple, almost cheerful, speak-singing with slight slide guitar and powerful words translated a message that everyone in the congregation could understand. The pall bears were all burly, stoic, farmer with an outdoor color and wrinkles from years of honest work. They were uncomfortable in their old suit coats and ties and determined not to let their emotions get the better of them, even at this, the most emotional of times.
We headed to the interment, my first, and we sang the "Doxology" just like my Grandpa always does before meals, and as it started to rain, the pastor helped to fit everyone under the small tent. The burly pall bearers stood in the rain. In their uncomfortable suits and their hard faces, they seemed to let the rain do the crying for them. With their arms crossed looking over the interment as a man over looking a field, they watch patiently, stubbornly refusing to allow a little rain interrupt their introverted contemplations. I looked around the cemetery and to the horizon and saw farms, fields, sky, and space. This is South Dakota. The suits, the men, the rain, the fields, the strength, the Doxology, the tragedy. This is all a part of my home, my heritage, and my identity. Even though I feel removed from these aspects of South Dakota, it is in me. I could picture each of the men as my Grandpa and could relate to the stubbornness and determination of these people. 30 years ago my Grandma died, also from breast cancer. At that interment, it felt like Emily's dad was my Grandpa and Emily was my mom. The cemetery, the landscape, and the people could have just as easily been at the Bethany Lutheran Cemetery in Hurley, South Dakota as at the First Lutheran Cemetery in Brookings, South Dakota.
The frustrating part is knowing what to do with these feelings. How do I take my South Dakota identity with me into the world? Can I actually be in a different location, a different culture, and make a home? Some how, these scenes that would be foreign and perhaps laughed at by other people seem natural too me. Or rather, I can relate because I did not grow up as a traditional South Dakotan, but rather as a once removed South Dakotan. I have always experienced the "traditional" South Dakota life with visits to my Uncle's farm and my Grandpa's country church and certain aspects surround me like the landscape, the singing, and the hot dish, but really it seems that I just often visit this South Dakota culture and then return to my more culturally neutral upbringing. I am proud of my heritage, my family, my place, but I feel like I can never truly be a part of it. Yet I don't know if I can leave it either. I love the world, I love exploring, but it seems that real life, both the tragedies and comedies, are here. I know I am romanticizing, but this whole weekend has shook me and reminded me who I am and where I am from. I just don't know what to do with it.
Finally, I am also just plain sad. I see Emily and start to cry. I want to feel her numbness and her sadness in order to help her lift the burden, but I know that it is useless. I will be able to go on with my life, more aware of the blessing around me, but on the whole probably forgetful of this whole weekend eventually. Emily, on the other hand, will not forget. I just hope and pray that I can somehow bring consolation, happiness, or even momentary distraction to her. I don't know how to be a good friend, so I'm just trying to be here. And although I am not very tactful, even stupidly asking her "How are you?" on the phone when we first talked, I want her to know that I'm here. I guess that's the stoic, honest, South Dakota thing to do.
Today I put my election observation class into practice. There is an election next Tuesday here in South Dakota so today I went to the meeting for all the eleciton workers to help out and learn about elections in practice. What I learned is that only old ladies with curly grey hair can work at the elections. Seriously. There were no men there out of about 50 workers and they all seemed to have the same hairstyle and were all very friendly. They nodded at everything the instructor told them and took careful notes, even though they have done this for decades and know exactly what to expect and do. So, I am going to work on aging and will have to eventually change my gender in order to start the ever luxurious job of working the election booths in Ward 5, Brookings County, Brookings, South Dakota. It's worth the 8 dollars an hour once every two years.
