Adios Means Aloha in Nicaraguan

     Yes, I know the language is called Spanish not Nicaraguan. But here in Nicaragua, as is the case with any language in any country, the Spanish is different. As you well know, the French in Cajun country is different from that of Alberta’s French and Paris’ French. English is different in South Africa and England and the United States. For that matter it differs in the Northwestern US from the Deep South.

     In Jinotega people say good-bye using the word “Adios.” That should not surprise anyone. Even the most “un-bilingual” (I just made that word up, but write it down – it will be Webster -recognized in a few years.) know what “adios” means. But it is used as a greeting as well, similar to the way Hawaiians use the word “Aloha.” When passing someone on the street or entering a room “adios’ is often uttered. Does that seem strange? If we look at the literal meaning of the word it becomes clearer. “Adios” is actually “a Dios”, or “to God.” It is a blessing. So it is nice when someone greets you with “adios.”

     In my time working with Spanish-speakers in Texas, Mexico and now Nicaragua, the language has thrown me a few curves. There are many examples of words used differently here than in other Spanish-speaking places. The name of a fruit we enjoy here in Nicaragua can, in other places, be a slang version of the word for breast feeding. When used outside of this region women in the know will give you funny looks. By the way, I had to have it explained to me because I had no idea why I was getting strange, “that’s offensive” looks from Spanish-speaking friends in the US. I thought we were talking about fruit!

**Editorial note: I am in no way close to being fluent, but I have improved my skills by living here. It was once presumed that speaking English louder and slower magically caused Spanish speakers to automatically understand. Although amusing, this is false. Another faux-fact about Spanish is that placing “el” in front of a word and an  ”ō” sound on the end of English words makes them Spanish. You are EL WRONGO! This is also false, but slightly more entertaining.**

     The following is a guide, a key, if you will, to conversations in which I have been involved, or of which I personally heard (or used) the incorrect word, while attempting to endear myself to Spanish speakers with my bi-lingual skills. The blue is the English speaker; the red is the Spanish voice; italicized is the word in question; the black is what I thought I was saying and their response: and underlined is the word I actually said. I invite you to read each conversation as written, and then reread it replacing the italicized with the underlined word.

     While at a medical mission in Mexico…

• Abre sus osos, por favor.   Open your eyes, please.
• ¿Que?  What?
• Abre sus osos, por favor.  Open your eyes, please.
• ¿¡Que!?  What!?
• ¡Abre sus osos, por favor!  Open your eyes, please!
• !No lo intiendo!   I don’t understand!

The word I meant to use was “ojos” (pronounced ō-hōs). The word osos (oh-sōs) means “bears.”

     Another individual repeatedly gave these instructions on the same medical mission:

• Use dos gatos por ojo.  Use two drops per eye.
• ¿Que?  What?
• Use dos gatos por ojo. Use two drops per eye.
• ¿¡Que!?  What!?
• ¡Use dos gatos por ojo!  Use two drops per eye!
• !No lo intiendo!   I don’t understand!

The word she meant to use was “gotas” (pronounced gō-tahs). The word gatos (gah-tōs) means “cats.”

Needless to say after being told to open the bears and put two cats in each they went home concerned that vision was the least of their worries.

     This one took place in a Bible class and is on Sheila as she introduced a lesson to the children. She knows I’m including this story. Didn't say she approved, but was warned.

• ¿Te gusta pescado?   Do you like sin?
• ¡No!  No!
• Ustedes creen sus padres le gusta pescado?  Do you think your parents like sin?
• ¡No!  No!
• Ustedes creen Dios le gusta pescado?  Do you think God likes sin?
• ¡No!  No!
• ¡ Es cierto! Pescado es asqueroso! Todos odiamos el pescado! That’s right, sin is gross! We all hate sin!!

The word Sheila meant to use was “pecado” (pronounced peh-ka-dō). The word pescado (pez-ka dō) means “cooked fish.”

Do you think the children were wondering why God doesn't like eating fish?

C O L C H Ó N

     Finally, my greatest vocabulary/mispronunciation/bring-a-malpractice-suit-against-my-tongue occurred when I first moved here as I prepared our new apartment for Sheila’s arrival. The conversation took place between a co-worker and me as we walked among some furniture stores in downtown Jinotega. I did not become aware of the mistake until later that evening as an acquaintance explained how she misused the word previously. I was horror-stricken as I sat wondering what this new associate thought of me.

• Hermano Luis, necesito un nuevo cachone.  Brother Luis, I need a new mattress.
• ¿Que?  What?
• Necesito un nuevo cachone para mi cama.  I need a new mattress for my bed.
• ¿Que?  No lo intiendo. What? I don’t understand.
• Necesito un nuevo cachone para mi cama, un queen. I need a new mattress for my bed, a queen.
• No.  No.

And with that he turned and walked away.

Later that night at dinner I learned this:

The word I meant to use was “colchón” (pronounced kōl-chōn). The word cachone (Kah-chōn-ā) is a slang reference to a homosexual. Go figger! I just asked a man I barely new to help me find a “new homosexual for my bed, a queen.” Upon returning to work the following morning Luis had a huge smile and I just started laughing amid the apologies and explanations. Fortunately, help arrived in the form of 

a translator.

     We frequently receive requests for mattresses from various entities around the department (state) of Jinotega. Now when I go to the warehouse in need of a mattress, where Hermano Luis is the manager, I practice saying COLCHÓN in my head several times, then pronounce it very slowly, once I begin my request.

“Oh be careful little tongues what you say…” 

Interview with a five-year-old

As I write this I am sliding around in the back of the van as we wind our way up the mountains to Jinotega.  The cacophonous babble assaulting my ears is slowly forming the Spanish I was just beginning to understand when we last left.  The bigness of the valleys; the street-side vendors with iguanas, fish, barrels, fruit, and furniture; the thickets of trees all in bloom; the families plodding along with bags of goods on their backs—all flashing by the windows as this trip to the states comes to a close—feel oddly like some sentimental music video.

Ever have one of those moments? This trip has really been a time of reflection for me. Maybe that’s bad. I know it can be scary. So many moments these last few weeks have felt like orchestrated moments in a classroom—“What am I meant to learn here?”

One of those moments came while at my brother’s house in Oregon. It was the day before my sister-in-law’s funeral, family had gathered to talk and eat, and my great-nephew was getting antsy. He was ready to be home and he was the kind of crabby a five-year-old gets when it’s dark outside and the treats have already been eaten.

To distract him, we sat down to play “interview.” You know how to play—you make that same I’m-taking –you-very-seriously-face that you’ve seen on Bill Cosby in  those old clip shows that try to get kids to say something embarrassing about their parents. Here’s a partial transcript:

Me: So what is your baby sister good at?

T: I don’t really know. Nothing really. She’s a baby

Me: I bet she’s good at crying.

T: Yea sometimes. She used to cry more than she does now.

Me: How ‘bout your grandpa? What’s he good at?

T: Everything, really . And also building.

Me: How ‘bout if you get big and you have a son? What will he be good at?

T: Well, I don’t really know.  I’ll probably be good at something, and then my son will watch me and be good at it too.

Me: Do you ever mess up and do bad stuff?

T: Yea. I get really mad and throw a tantrum and then I’m in trouble.

Me: How ‘bout your Grandpa? Does he ever mess up? What does he say when he gets mad?

T: No. He doesn’t ever do anything bad.

Me: Not ever? I bet he gets mad…what does he say?

T: No. He doesn’t say mad stuff.

OK—I know, the kid sounds like some kind of crazy kiss up. Or that his grandpa must have been holding cue cards covered in candy bars—but he was so very sincere.  And don’t forget the circumstances: this grandpa that he can find no fault with is preparing for the funeral of the woman he loves, and this boy is crabby and tired and probably a little overwhelmed by all the unfamiliar family swirling around the kitchen table. And yet he reports that his grandpa doesn’t say mad stuff and he never does anything bad.

What would a five year old say about me? There have been some occasions this very week in which my behavior would definitely not be five-year-old approved.

I’ve thought a lot about this interview.  I’ve wondered if my brother is so very self-controlled, or my nephew has an unrealistically rosy view of him. But I realized those two ideas probably can’t truly be separated.  Don’t we often behave in the ways people expect us to? And don’t we often see in people what we choose to look for? I wonder how much of the admirable in each of us is a product of the admiration of those who love us.  After all, isn’t that the model we’re given? 

Romans 5:8  But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.

He didn’t wait for us to be worthy to show us how much we are worth to Him. And we are drawn to live in more and more worthy ways when we become aware of the price He paid for us.

Ephesians 4:1 ...I urge you to live a life worthy of the calling you have received.

As I look around me in this familiar, alien place—I can’t help but wonder if how I see my circumstances impacts how I will experience them.  If how I see the people around me will impact what they may become.  I hope I will see a land full of worthy souls—and that I will be found worthy among them. Maybe even in the eyes of a five-year-old. 

Rio Coco Revisited, Part III

Rio Coco Revisited, Part 3 of 3

I just returned from my third venture to the Rio Coco in the remote northern border of Nicaragua. Here are the facts:

·         Goal: Three days, six communities

·         Purpose: Take Christmas gifts and candy to about 800 children and distribute eye glasses to about 90 people those whose eyes warranted them based on a previous trip.

·         Theme: Rain

It was the best of times. It was the wetest of times…

Monday, Day Four: Tuburus and San Andres

     We got up early once again and loaded the boats in the drizzle. The final two legs of the journey lie ahead of us today.

     The community of Tuburus is the second largest village on our journey. In many ways it seems to be the poorest. The signs just seem to point that these people have less and their brawls over piñata candy, although good natured, were nothing shy of frightening.

Crawling for candy in Tuburus

     As is the case with many of these communities, livestock roam freely. Finding a piñata place where there is a tree with a branch high enough and terrain free of bovine/swine blended mud is a challenge. With the amount of rainfall and the bare feet trampling and pushing through to get the sacred candy, the mud was inches deep. If only it were only mud. Maybe the most disgusting and sad thing I have seen is watching children battle for a piece of candy that is covered in mud, etc. And yes, I have already begun to develop a plan so that can be avoided next year.

     Did I mention that there is a wonderful organization out of Lubbock, Texas called “Dress A Girl” that makes dresses for girls? One of the gifts many girls received on this trip were dresses. The Mision Para Cristo staff who manned this trip was comprised of the following: Luis – a 20-year old, single man who was taken as strong muscle and who has been trained to help fit eyeglasses; Marwell – a mid 20’s single man who went to translate and is also trained to fit eyeglasses; Alberto-MPC’s School Project Coordinator, our river trip group leader, father of Luis and three other boys; Deyra-taken for the sole purpose of cooking for the four of us men and the four boatmen and was out of sight and in the kitchen the whole time; and yours truly. If you read carefully, you will notice there is no one in the group with experience in sizing dresses for girls.  Alberto took on the responsibility because I had been charged with making sure we had some “usable” photographs of the girls in their new dresses and the other two guys had piñata and boys’ gift distribution duties. Before long during our second stop Alberto was waving the white flag and asking me for help: too many dresses and too many recipients for one man to manage alone.

     Allow me to interject an editorial note: We watched as apparent greed was a part of our stop in Tuburus and other places. I think what we would perceive as greed is a manifestation of a parent’s fear for their child who might miss out on a rare opportunity.

     At each gifting opportunity we refined the process until it worked smoothly at our last stop.

     The candy wars were second only to the melee of gift distribution. Mothers literally pushed me backwards, using their children as battering rams, in order to score a new dress. It was just sad. To find we were short some gifts shifted our situation from sad to almost scary. We were surrounded by people who were more than just disappointed. (We were ultimately able to make some adjustments to make sure everyone received something.)

"If he doesn't give me a dress I'm gonna smack him in the head with this baby!"

     Even in the face of poverty and fear, I witnessed a scene of compassion. In this remote place, much as is the case in any developing country, clothing for children is often at some level optional. On the Rio Coco children age three and under often wear only a T-shirt. This is mainly for potty training years--diapers are scarce. For children seven or eight clothing may be limited to a pair of shorts or underwear. It’s no big deal for them or those around them and as visitors from a culture where clothing is mandatory one becomes more accustomed to it, similar to the adjustment we southerners must make when we see a women breast feeding in public. 

     This morning I heard a small child screaming. It appeared that the one-and-a-half to two year-old was miserable from being in the rain, and probably forces unseen as well. She wore only a rain-soaked cloth diaper and was perched on the hip of a girl that was probably seven, maybe eight years old. The older girl, whom I assume is big sister, briefly put the younger child on her feet, took off her own shirt, and wrapped the toddler in it. Down to the final dress in the stack, I stepped over to the big sister and slipped it over her head as I had now done probably 75 times in two days. She immediately took the dress off, wrapped the little one in and headed down the path.

     San Andres is probably the core of the communities on the Rio Coco. It has a health center, police station, and a military base. They even have a store. They are also the largest community and have special housing facilities for mission-type groups.

     It is probably my second favorite community. I have spent more time at San Andres and know more of the residents there. It was home base for my previous trips on the Rio Coco. It, like all the others, is wrought with poverty and multiple special requests by its many residents. God smiled on us as he smiled on San Andres this trip.

     Luis and Marwell found a way to mass distribute toys that was equally fun, efficient and fair. The piñata was still a muddy mess, but managed in a way that even the little kids got candy (and very muddy) and was a big hit.

Five new dresses

     The dress distribution also went exceptionally well. They girls formed a line at the door of the church. We allowed five in at a time, sized the group, gave them their new dress, photographed the group and sent them out the door happy. I was getting concerned as I could see that the number of dresses in my pile was insufficient for the line forming. Alberto came in to check the progress and we shared concerned glances. As it turned out, he was concerned because he had found more dresses needing to be delivered. As word spread through San Andres more girls showed up. When the last new face entered the church there was one dress remaining. God knows how much we need.

The last dress

     Bath #3 was more Huggies. “One and Done,” it states on the package. “No chance in the world,” replied my physique.

    

Tuesday, Day Five: On the river

     In spite of all the rain, and the fact that the final day was a ten hour boat ride in wet clothes that were suffering through their third day of use, and with the heaviest rain so far, God still provided. The Rio Coco is a beautiful place. Just before the most torrential rain we were blessed with about 30 minutes of wonderful sunshine.

Even reptilians need a little sun once in a while.

     As it turns out, 30 minutes is enough time to make my cheeks rosy (and my arms and my neck) and to get some wildlife moving that we might miss otherwise. God has a unique way of reminding us that He is in charge and, although He wants us to manage blessings we are provided, He will make all things work for good for those that love Him and who work according to His purpose. (Rom 8:28)

Briefly, we saw blue skies as the clouds went to rest.

Rio Coco Revisited Part II

Rio Coco Revisited, Part 2 of 3

I just returned from my third venture to the Rio Coco in the remote northern border of Nicaragua. Here are the facts:

·         Goal: Three days, six communities

·         Purpose: Take Christmas gifts and candy to about 800 children and distribute eye glasses to about 90 people those whose eyes warranted them based on a previous trip.

·         Theme: Rain

It was the best of times. It was the wetest of times…

Sunday, Day Three: La Esperanza and Pankawas

     To no surprise at all we awoke to rain. We packed up our belongings, said our farewells and set our sights for an hour downstream to La Esperanza. The school made a nice setting for the piñatas and gifts because the rain never let up. It was a dry place to do the work ahead of us.

     It appeared that there would be a brief respite from the rain as we traveled to these mid-trip communities. Appearances can be deceiving and its wasn't long into the short 40 minute trip that we found ourselves in the middle of the river in what can only be described as a deluge.

     Pankawas, one of the places I had visited previously- I think I will have to deem as my favorite. Not only is the community just a step higher on the aesthetic scale based on how it is perched high on the banks of the Rio Coco with an incredible backdrop of mountain peaks, but the people are friendly, welcoming and engaging.

     This is where I met 104 year-old Cesar Something Something. (I never could quite understand the second and third names and he was not sure if he is was 104 or 105.) The church building where we made our temporary home in Pankawas is an elevated structure as one might expect to find along a river. The steep steps up to the entrance are spaced wide and are made of bamboo. This is done so animals, such as the multitude of dogs, pigs, horses and cows cannot enter the building. It is difficult climbing for most everyone over the age of 45 or so. Cesar climbed the steps as we were handing out the last of the glasses. It was no small task for the hunched-over centenarian who walked with a long stick. But he placed his stick next to the steps and pulled himself to the raised floor. I did not remember recording an age like his when we listed eye glass recipients. I asked him if we had checked his vision on our last visit and he said, through Marwell, “No. My vision isn’t great and it’s not going to get any better, but I won’t need it much longer.”

Cesar

     My heart softened even more for Cesar as he explained that he had heard there were other Christians in the area and he wanted to just come and welcome us and thank us for visiting him and his community.

      Time in Pankawas wrapped up as three little girls who lived next to church wanted pictures taken so they could see themselves in the three-inch screen of my digital camera. I went one step further by showing a video of them all dancing earlier. The best part was how they laughed and hooted as they watched themselves dance around and be silly. My favorite part was when they would try to dance then run around and see themselves before their image left the screen. They were great.

Mugging for the camera

     Using a generator to light the place so we could work and Deyra could cook provided the community with an added benefit. I noticed small group after small group enter the preacher’s home – a place too small to hold too many – and finally gave into the curiosity to see what was going on inside. The preacher owns a TV and DVD player! Electricity means entertainment had come to the village in electronic form. So what do the indigenous people of the Rio Coco watch? Are there movies available on DVD in the Miskito dialect? Is there at least a Spanish option so a few of the villagers will understand the plot? NO! Crammed into a very small space was about twenty mostly Miskito-speaking people watching as Chuck Norris (pronounced Chooook by the locals) rescued all the people in the movie using only his hands, feet, smarts and English. They watched the whole movie without subtitles or translation of any kind. Fortunately, Chuck Norris movies seldom need dialogue to follow the plot. And it rained. Movies are good for rainy days, especially if you have electricity.

     Bath #2 was just me and the Huggies. “Now More Refreshing” declares the packaging. “Sufficient” declared my mindset.

Rio Coco Revisited - Part 1

Part 1 of 3

I just returned from my third venture to the Rio Coco in the remote northern border of Nicaragua. Here are the facts:

·         Goal: Three days, six communities

·         Purpose: Take Christmas gifts and candy to about 800 children and distribute eye glasses to about 90 people those whose eyes warranted them based on a previous trip.

·         Theme: Rain

It was the best of times. It was the wetest of times…

Friday, Day One:  Carmen

     It rained while we loaded the truck, en route, while unloaded the truck, while we ate and while we tried to sleep. The first day was a travel day and we left Jinotega for the four hour drive to Carmen where we would load the boats and depart early the next morning.  We ate dinner and went to bed early so we could get on the water for the initial five-hour leg of the journey.

     Sleep did not come easily as about 20 minutes into the almost quiet I once again parted my hammock like Moses did the Red Sea and crashed to the floor like Pharaoh did with the waves. I lay on the dirt floor for ten or fifteen minutes before realizing that I could not sleep there. My audience was much smaller for this rendition of “Holland v. Hammock II” leaving me and only one other to relish the (literal) gravity of the situation.

     After setting up hammock #2 and nearing the dozing stage I realized that the two humans in the room were not the only creatures sleeping there. I did not know until the next morning that hens were roosting on the luggage. Sleeplessness continued as the rooster who slept under the room crowed continually until the 4:30 alarm went off. All night my only thought was, “Why couldn’t the chicken dinner have been rooster?”

Saturday, Day Two: Tazalayni and Shiminka

     It rained all day in amounts that ranged from slight drizzle to heavy downpours.

Boating in the rain in the Rio Coco

     Tazalayni is a tiny community. In fact, we only found four families living there. We distributed the goodies we hauled in our dug-outs, broke a piñata, and were told of a plot of land that had been donated as a site for a new church building. I, along with my friend and translator, Marwell, began the trek to see and photograph the site with a local community leader as our guide. The walk took us up a small hill, down a steep grade and across a creek. It was fun because we slipped and laughed all the way to the creek. I was excited as the $3.50 mud boots I’d purchased for the trip had already earned their keep. It is at this point that I threw my camera bag to Marwell and asked him to take pictures as I set about other business at hand.

Anxiously awaiting gifts in Tazalayni

     As a by-product of the rain (have I mentioned that it rained?) the muddy creek bank held captive my right boot, leaving me with a mud-soaked sock and foot and the curiosity as to what bovine additives that mud might contain. With nothing on which to balance placing my foot in the mud was the only way to garner enough strength to get the well-grounded boot out of its temporary home. I finally emancipated it in a yank-and-toss motion, throwing it and watching it float away from me downstream. It hung up in a bush and I one-foot-hopped to it, dumped the water from it, and squished my foot back inside.

     I climbed the hill, returned to the community and waited for Marwell. We said our, “Isahveys,” (goodbye) and all slid down the mud to our boats and headed to Shiminka.

     Shiminka was almost less eventful. It sits on the edge of the Rio Coco about an hour from Tazalayni and is where we bedded down (or in the case with hammocks, up) for our first night on the river. The party for the kids went very well and the community was grateful. The kids wanted to play with “the gringo” and those of you who know me know that I am always up for some fun with the kids.

     As we sat on the porch a group of about 8 boys, ages 6-11, would walk by and I would growl at them. They would try to get close enough without my biting them. I never really was going to bite any of them and finally one got close enough for me to squeeze his knee in what turned out to be a massive game of “How a Horse Eats An Apple” (Como un caballo comer una manzana?) They laughed, I laughed, parents laughed – a good time was had by all. Loco Gringo! Loco Gringo!

     I bid good night to my new friends and headed to gather my items for a bath in the river, something that moved up on the list from “pretty good idea” to “imperative” once I slipped on the hill and did the eight foot mud slide on my backside. It was raining – again. The rain started coming down harder and the thought of making a trip down the mud-covered bank and back, safe, clean and ready for bed was growing more unlikely. But wait a minute! Doesn’t the meteorologist in the US sometimes call rain a “shower?” Problem solved. I stepped behind the building where my hammock hung, took off my shirt, dropped my pants, and got all lathered up. All clean! The rain water from the clouds has got to be cleaner that the river water, right?

     I started the rinse process and like the miracle that Noah experienced--the rain stopped. Soapy, shampoo-y, and half naked I looked up at the clearing sky and thought, “God has a sense of humor that only God could have.” I imagine He chuckled at the sight of me, but He sent a down pour to rinse me off. I dried off, half dressed, returned to give my feet an extra dose of Huggies Wet Ones wipe-down and prepared for bed.

      Nicaragua, and the Rio Coco specifically, is a place ripe with mosquito-transmitted Dengue Fever. It is important to use a mosquito net and repellant spray (or both) to protect yourself from something very un-fun. As I started to lay down I realized I had not sprayed. With the moisture in the air humidity is incredible. It’s like being in a place that is the offspring of August in Houston bred with August in New Orleans. It is miserably hot. Here is a quick method for cooling off. Dowse yourself with the Outdoorsman Level of mosquito repellant. The 50% DEET will burn away the top layer of flesh –the hot, sweaty layer- and instantly cool you down like shaving with a rubbing alcohol. It really works!