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a public school in Ayote
This is where we led the workshop (or rather, JULIANNA led it!) Since the last journal entry concerning Puerto Cabesas, we then proceeded to travel to a small town called El Ayote. Actually, I don´t even know that Ayote should qualify as a "town": it´s a tiny, hole-in-the-wall, out-of-the-way place in the middle of the mountains in Nicaragua´s Southern Atlantic Region (RAAS). It consists of a few muddy roads, lined with sagging little buildings that look like they can barely support their own weight, let alone the weight of the heavy rain that purpetually pounds down on them, turning the "streets" into muddy cess pools. It´s the kind of place that if you blink twice, you would miss it. Thus, you can understand my shock when I was informed that El Ayote has recently been classified as an "urban" area by the Nicaraguan government. "It´s a city," I was told quite seriously by my companions. Apparently we have very differnt conceptions of what qualifies as a "city"!
Actually, the term "city" is just one of the terms that I am coming to see is totally relative. When I first arrived in Managua, I was surprised at how slow-paced life there appeared to be, and at the low-lying, sprawled out set-up. "More like
a small-ish city", I thought to myself, "like Brampton or something. Hardly qualifies as a CAPITAL city". Hence my surprise when I was told by the ppl in Nueva Ginea that they prefer to live here because "life in Managua is so hectic! So busy and crowded, everybody stressed...". "Yeah, right", I thought, "try visiting Toronto!". As for Nueva Ginea, when I first arrived here (a place even SMALLER than Managua), I felt as though it was a tiny village. It seemed to me a random place for a University campus, and figgured that URACCAN must be to Nueva Ginea what Western is to London, or Queens´ to Kingston-- the central hub and main raison d´étre for an otherwise sleepy town. But having since travelled to El Ayote, I can now appreciate that Nueva Ginea is in fact a bustling CITY, at least by Nicaraguan standards, and thus a totally logical place for a University. Like I said, "city" is a relative term.
The trip to Ayote consisted of a gruelling 7 hour school-bus ride, in which we were crammed in like sardines so that I came to feel uncomfortably familiar with the random strangers´ bum that happened to
a kitchen in El Ayote
our hostess (a friend of Juliana) fed us for the 2 days we were in Ayote. When we first passed through the narrow allyway between to houses and took a seat, I thought we were in a barn. The floor was dirt, the roof a tarp, and there were only three walls: leaving one side open for the chicekns and pigs to roam in and out. Later I realised that this was in fact the family´s living and dining-room. This is the kitchen, adjoining... be pressed against my shoulder as I perched with 3 other ppl on a 2-person seat. On TOP of that, and the crying babies, was the fact that there are NO bathroom breaks at all: and the unpaved roads make for bumpy fare-- virtual torture for a full bladder! I swore that on the way back I would go pee FIRST, and not drink a thing until we arrived. Well, the bus ended up showing up early at 2:30 am instead of 2:45am, and I had yet to go pee! I was practically in tears, and begged them to wait for me. So I stumbled down the unlit corridor of our "hosedaje" (hostel), since there is no power Ayote until 11am, and out into the courtyard. There wasn´t time to make it to the outhouse, so i just "popped a squat" in the middle of the backyard! (since there was no light, no one could see, and luckily I was wearing a skirt...) So I sucessfully empited my bladder...all down my own leg! But what else could I do?! The bus was honking, and I didn´t have any toilet ppr on me: so I stubled blindly back down the corridoor
me & Sandinista posters!
This is me posing against the wall of the living-room (or barn) that i described. note the pics of Sandino decorating the walls...Apparently not EVERYONE is anti-Sandinista here... and ran for the bus, which was just pulling away (with all my stuff, and the only 2 ppl I knew in te whole town!). I was practically in tears. From Ayote we went to Juigalpa, where we transferred and took another 5 hour bus ride (again, no bathroom breaks) to Nueva Ginea. When we finally arrived I was so filthy, sweaty (and no doubt STINKY from my bathroom experience) that I rejoiced at the idea of a nice wash in Juliana´s shower (read, "bucket"!). Since that encounter, I have a new found appreciation for the civilization that is Nueva Ginea: electricity throughout the night, indoor toilets, and running water (occasionally, in the morning). All of which are un-heard-of luxuries in El Ayote.
the second concept that I have learned to be relative here in Nicaragua is TIME. In Canada no one would ever dream of challenging "daylight savings" time (ie. when we gain or lose an hour). But here this is HIGHLY contested territorry. The people have taken a stance
against daylight savings, refusing to change their clocks...or their habits and schedules. Thus, the country is divided into two: those who go by "hora official" (official time: being
mostly government institutions and --apparently-- busses), and the majority who go by "hora vieja" or "hora del sol" (old time or sun time). I find it very interesting: it is a manifestation of Nicaragua´s rejection of all the external changes that have been forced upon them due to globalization, and indeed since Colonialism. As Juliana explained to me, rejection of "hora official" represents rejection that things have to be SO just because the West SAYS SO. "Time was only invented as a means of controlling ppl, so that the work day could be timed and wages rationed", Juliana told me. "Here, we have always done things according to the sun. Why should that change just because someone far away says it has to?" And indeed I had no response. Going by "hora vieja" seems good to me: beings as I have never been on time for a single thing in my LIFE! It provides me with an hour´s lee-way, so that I can always say "Oh, I thought we were going by hora veija. Sorry!". So far that seems to have worked! 😊
Finally, the (VERY important) matter of "good coffee"...IWhen i first came to Nicaragua, I was very
excited to try the home-roasted, Coffee "a palo" that I had read about in my travel guide. So far, I have yet to try any, as everyone hear drinks (dreaded!) instant coffee. Pondering this fact, I thought my inductive skills were very sharp when I announced to Juliana (full of anti-American sentiment and youthful, anti-capitalist idealism) "Isn´t it terrible that Nicaragua´s main export is coffee-- yet Nica´s can´t even afford to drink it in their own homes? They export the wonderful beans that they grow, so that rich Westerners can buy them, while they´re stuck drinking "instant", "(I frowned to show my disgust and disapproval). Juliana looked confused, "But why would we want to drink coffee from beans?", she asked me. I was flummoxed by this, and thought she must not have understood, "Well, it´s so much RICHER, and bolder in taste...It´s what they sell at all the expensive coffee shops in the West", I replied. "Ugh! We hate that stuff.", she told me: "Home roasted coffee is only for the poor. Those who can afford it drink instant". This did such a number on my poor, Starbucks-craving, dark-roast-loving, French-bean-mixed-with-Italian-roast brain, that I could think of nothing to say. Apparanely
the workshop we lead in Ayote
the horrible trip to Ayote (and subsequent loss of my snadals) was for a purpose: we went there to lead a workshop for the local women, to encourage them to form a set of demands with which they could then bargain with local politicians. With elections looming in November (they only occur once every 5 years), our goal was to assist the women of Ayote to get politically organized. My contribution to this noble cause was basically nill: I was relegated to taking pics... "good coffee" is another relative term!
One final note: remember the two ("poor, impoverished") little girls who live nextdoor, who befriended me? If you recall, I gave Marie my sandals when she told me that she didn´t have any. Well, in the mad scramle (in the dark) to catch the bus when we left El Ayote, I forgot to pack my other pair of black chinese sandals. Leaving me with only the white, Old Navy flip-flops that I was wearing (and am still wearing, and will be until I can afford to buy some shoes...). But "It´s OK", I told myself, "she needed them more than I do". Well, upon our return from Ayote I saw her (Marie) playing outside...wearing another pair of sandals. "Did you buy some new sandals?", I asked her, smiling. She looked confused. "No," she relpied. "Well, where are the ones that I gave you?" I asked. "In my house", she said, and skipped away. I was confused, and decided to let it slip. Today I saw her outside again...wearing yet ANOTHER pair of (high-heeled) black sandals. It occurred to me that little children LIE. I feel very suckered... yet another lesson learned, I suppose!
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