Si, Si, Si*

I've discovered that I have developed three ways to say "yes" in Spanish.
The first is the kind of quiet "si" with the question-sounding inflection. It's the most common one. I use it when I have no idea what was just asked and I don't want to have to ask them to repeat themselves. I can only imagine what types of things I have said yes to. Once someone told me that their friend died. At first I didn't understand what they said so I said "si."
I've been told that when I speak in Spanish all my phrases sound like questions. That's because half the time I don't know if what I'm saying is correct vocabulary or grammar. So when I say something like "I went hiking this weekend", it sounds more like "I went hiking this weekend?".

The other "si" is my confident one - when I know what is going on and I can accurately answer "yes". It's usually to a question that I have heard a lot of like "do you have change?" or "are you tired?".

Lastly, my favorite is the "si, si, si". When someone asks me something and I figure it's important enough for me to understand - I'll usually ask them to repeat, sometimes a few times. When I finally figure what's been asked, and I can truthfully answer yes, the word deserves to be repeated a few times.

"You appreciate being able to run in your own language after stumbling in another one"

*I know, there is supposed to be an accent on the "i" in "Si", but I can't figure out how to add accents on blogspot

** I couldn't figure out what photos would go along with this posting, so I decided to add photos of some of the people I've interviewed for my job.

In the family

It has been brought to my attention (by those who are not on Facebook) that I haven't shared much info. about the family I am living with here.
One of my biggest concerns before coming here was my living conditions. It was recommended that the interns live with local families, to get a true sense of what life is like in Nicaragua. I was more than skeptical. I had had an ..ummm...unfortunate experience with a home stay when I was younger. I have also been living on my own for a few years and I enjoy my own space and routine. I don't share well.
I ended up being very lucky with the family I'm living with.
The owner of the house is Graciela, a 26 year old single mother of two. Her daughters are Ginger, 11, and 8 month old Valentina. Ramona is the live-in maid who goes home once a month to visit her 3 children.
It's been quite the learning experience living with someone who is my age (actually, I'm 11 days older) and who is a mother to a pre-teen.
The family has been incredibly accomodating and generous with me. They are game for anything. Whether it's hiking a volcano with a 25 pound baby in your best sandals, or collectively complaining about the opposite gender.
Ginger is an excellent translator for my terrible accent and embarrassing grammer; Ramona is teaching me how to cook with a gas stove; and Graciela's cheeriness is infectious. And the baby is just adorable.

Playing with words

The other week, I found myself sitting in a parking lot, filled with old North American school buses (now used as city buses in Nicaragua), asking a 73 year old Nicaraguan what life was like during the Sandanista revolution - and I thought, "Is this really my job?". I don't really know how I got so lucky to be able to spend days visiting people, asking them questions and taking photos.
Then it hits me when I'm faced with the task of writing their stories. At first, I found the blank page pretty daunting and was afraid to start putting words to paper, in fear that whatever I wrote would stick. But practice makes perfect. I'm starting to get into the writing habit and am learning my own methods for writing. The ability to sit down and play with words, and create a story out of a blank page is something that I'm starting to look forward to.
So, in case anyone is wondering if I am doing any work - here are links to stories I wrote for the MEDATrust website. These were my first stories so be gentle. I hope that in five months time you will have seen plenty of improvement.

Rebuilding in the face of disaster:

New Hope in the Heart of Nicaragua

It's not easy...being clean

I've been meaning to write something about cleanliness here in Nicaragua - and now I feel like I have some perspective to write about it clearly.
One of the first things I noticed here was just how dirty everything was. I couldn't help but focus on the dirt, the bugs, the general dampness and "ickiness" I felt. Everyone told me I'd get used to and soon enough wouldn't notice the dirt. I was skeptical but I believed them. I don't know when it happened but I do find myself more comfortable of the dirty factor. I'm starting to train myself to not notice all the garbage on the street or the stray dogs using the streets as their personal bathroom. I'm getting used to seeing ants in the kitchen, to having bugs magically appear on my body and the amount of dirt that appears on my face when I wash it in the morning (this after having washed it before going to bedOne thing I noticed, that made me change my opinion on cleanliness, was seeing how much people clean here. And how thoroughly they do it too. They have definitely put my cleaning habits to shame. The other week, I watched in amazement at how the cleaning woman where I live (Ramona) cleaned out her mop. She just kept washing it - when I would have deem the mop "clean enough" way sooner. And the floors are cleaned once a day - at least. Thanks to Ramona, I actually think my house in Nicaragua is cleaner than my apartment in Toronto ever was. Now if only those pigeons/dogs/mice/rats would stop making so much noise.

Acclimatization, the adjustment phase

It’s been one month since I arrived in Managua. At the same moment it feels as if I just arrived but also that I left Canada ages ago. It’s like being stuck in some strange time warp. In the first month, it has been a fine balance between fitting into my new environment, while keeping my own identity.
There have been a few “concessions” or “adaptations that I have made.

For starters, I’ve started drinking coffee. I don’t know how it happened, but I crave a coffee now. Tea just doesn’t really do it for me. I don’t know what I’m going to do with the 200+ teabags I have.

It took a few weeks, but the watch came off. It was initially taken off for safety’s sake – I was going to the market for the first time and my host family advised me to leave the watch at home. But, except for one day last week, the watch hasn’t found it’s way back to my wrist. I’ve started getting used to “Nicaraguan time”. I'm asking “what time?” less, because I’ve learned that the only answer I will get is “later”.

I’ve also started eating chicken. Sometimes. Chicken is basically in every meal here. The word “rooster” is used synonymously with “the best” – so the animal is kind of big deal here. If I wanted to eat in Nicaragua, I would have to start eating chicken. It has been a bit tougher that I thought it would be. It’s like eating something like grapes for the first time in 13 years. An acquired taste.

I’ve had to adjust my wardrobe a bit here too. In an “after-latte high” I bought a pair of pink heels. I still haven’t really worked them in yet – but I’m slowly moving away from the gringa flip-flop and into something more Nica (meaning: non-flat and dressier).

I’m getting used to the cold water showers (by adding a bit of boiling water), the muggy heat (sometimes) and the various farm animals in the city (I think I have a pig as a neighbour). Every once in a while I do manage to sneak in some of my own guilty pleasures. It feels paradoxical to be lying in bed, in sheets that were washed by hand, listening to dogs & roosters & gheckos & random birds while at the same time watching an episode of Gossip Girl on my Ipod.

To the doctor

After 2 weeks of sniffling and attempting to find tissues in Nicaragua, I decided it was time to go see a doctor and try and see if I could somehow get rid of this cold.

A very helpful colleague at the office made an appointment for me with an ear, nose and throat specialist, Dr. Jorge Robleto. The appointment couldn't have come at a better time. Two days before the appointment I lost my voice - which is pretty frustrating when my job basically relies on being able to speak.

I think it was partially worth getting sick just for the experience of visiting a Nicaraguan doctor. First, I need to preface this by saying that Dr. Robleto worked in the private hospital. I paid about $29US for the appointment. Considering the average income for a Nicaraguan is less than $300US/month, you can appreciate how expensive a private doctor would be for a local.

The medical instruments the doctor had were basic at best. My ears, nose and throat were checked out with the use of a lamp, and a round mirror that was attached to a headband. I felt like I was living in the '40's. Not that I really know what it was like to visit a doctor in the '40's but it's what I gathered it would be like from movies. The doctor then drew me diagrams to show me basically that I have a lot of mucus in me. I was prescribed nose and mouth spray and some allergy pills, but after a few days of use, I'm questioning their effectiveness.

It's also been recommended that I rest, don't use my voice, don't drink or eat anything cold (that's tough in 30+ degree weather)or eat anything acidic like the delicious pineapple.

I hate to complain that I have nothing to do - but I'm finding resting and relaxing a bit challenging and frustrating. Especially since I don't have the comforts and distractions of home. There are so many things that I want to go out and do, new things to see and experience - but I have to wait for my cough and sniffles to go away first, or I'll just keep getting worse. I'm anxious for the day when I am fully recovered and am so busy that I'll be craving a day of doing nothing.