Humility has a tail

Humility.
Not something we talk about too much in the U.S.
Not something we celebrate too much.
I had previously only thought of humility as an antidote to pride. Not something to pursue for its own sake.
Since moving to Nicaragua, I have met several people who have taught me a lot about the loveliness of humility. In fact, if you had secretly peeked into my heart around August of last year you would have seen an entire section dedicated to feeling quite proud of how much I had learned about humility. Accepting a new role that isn't dependent upon my "awesome skill set as a professional educator".  Realizing my worth as a servant doesn't depend on my abilities or knowledge. Oh, yeah. I'm getting good at this humility thing.

I listened today to an electrician and a dentist discussing solutions to problems and kept thinking; "Everyone is a professional until the power is turned on." We can all see solutions to problems that cost us nothing. The real professionalism is knowing what to do when things go wrong. Anyone can "be" a doctor, as long as no one is hurting. Everyone is confident of their solutions to a plumbing problem until the water is turned on.

And I left the U.S. as a skilled professional. I was the one who people called when a problem wasn't easy to solve. By giving up that part of myself for this new role-- I thought that meant I had learned what I needed to about humility.

But I was wrong. Real humility has a tail.

These last few weeks I have been completely knocked off my feet by teeny, tiny, powerless, terrifying mice.

Mice live all over the building where I live and work. As we go through a period of construction, these mice are particularly disrupted and run around through my living room/office, kitchen and bedroom. If I leave my "house" and go out into the rest of the building, they are still there--dashing to a less busy corner or cupboard.

Now, in my old life another thing I took pride in was my practicality. Need a deer dressed out? Got some nasty stuff that needs cleaning? Got a snake you need removed? I'm your brave, logical, practical gal. I can do those jobs for you! Sure, I may not be your most fashionable friend, or the most hip--but practical? That's me.

Only now I am not. Now I'm irrational, emotional, and powerless. Now, a teeny, tiny, tail dashing across the living room sends me running (well, walking quickly at least) into the street trying to catch my breath. Night time scratching noises behind the wardrobe start the tears flowing.

I know.

I KNOW it is illogical and ridiculous. I can hear in my own ears the self-righteous speeches I made over and over about "not teaching fear" and "subjugating emotion to reason". I was the girl with pet snakes and tarantulas and every other odd critter you could name. How am I now controlled by the shadow of something scurrying behind a shelf?

Oh, humility. I have much to learn.
With your tiny, scurrying, mouse-y tail, you are teaching me anew about how weak and frail I am.

There is no version of this story that isn't embarrassing. There's no way to explain my sudden dash into the street that lets me maintain an illusion of power, control, and independence.

Being driven to tears by an itty-bitty brown mammal that has lived among humans in every country in every epoch requires me to admit my frailty. Requires me to humble myself in front of family, co-workers, and even strangers.

Yep. Humility has a tail.

I wish I wasn't learning this particular lesson right now. I confess: I hate these mice. I jump. I run. I cry. I am embarrassed as my rational mind argues with this new fear rushing through my body. I am humbled.

Like many things in Nicaragua--it is hard. And it makes me better.
Colossians 3:12

Fruit of the day: mamey

Walking along the street today, we saw this. No, it's not a rock or a softball. It's mamey. (be careful--there is another fruit that is sometimes called mamey or sapote which is very different. This will explain.

The fruit was very heavy for it's size, and the skin was leathery and bark-like. Inside there was a smooth orange pulp and 4 gigantic woody seeds.

It tasted great. I ate half of it right away. Most of the "new" fruits I've tried have taken a while to grow on me, but I really enjoyed this. The flesh was a bit like mango in texture, and super-duper mild in flavor. Not so achingly sweet as some other tropical fruits. Unfortunately--there was a down side: the smell. Now, I can't be sure if mine was over-ripe or if this is normal, but there was a decidedly unpleasant smell. Something vaguely familiar in a chemically way, mixed with "something has gone rotten in the school fridge" kind of a smell. I found myself being careful not to inhale as I took a bite. Terrible. Really, it smells just awful. But it tasted so nice!

Now, about half an hour later--my stomach is ever so slightly upset. Reading here I find that mamey has a reputation as a fruit only to be eaten in moderation, as it is reputedly hard to digest. Once again, I should do the research before the experimenting.

100 ways I know I'm in Nicaragua

Just back from a border crossing into Costa Rica to renew our visas. I was struck by how different things can be just on the other side of an imaginary line on a map. So in honor of our hundredth blog post--in no particular order--here are 100 ways that I know I'm in Nicaragua.

1. trees full of flowers
2. white pineapple
3. "Que onda?"
4. fire on the mountains
5. learning my new names "Hermana Cherly, Chilo,  Chela, and Chellita"
6. being married to "Don Yonatan"
7. rain begins--no body's walking pace alters a bit
8. "La Prensa, La Prensa, La Prensa..."
9. family of five--one motorcylce--no problem
10. cardboard door mats
11. cold drinks from a plastic sack
12. bag full of chickens
13. giant vegetable baskets
14. rolling down the windows for the first cool air as you drive up the mountain to Jinotega
15. blood tests with no vacuum tube needles
16. blood tests with no lids for the vials of blood
17. tiny ants in the keyboard
18. giant leaf cutter ants in the street
19. ants in the sink, shower, couch, hallway...
20. fireworks
21. Cordobas
22. keys, keys, keys
23. the sound of angry pigs early in the morning
24. moldy cabinets
25. mosquitoes: there is no off season
26. gallo pinto: breakfast of champions (or lunch, or dinner...)
27. "Yo tengo gozo en mi alma, gozo en mi alma, gozo en mi alma y en mi ser..."
28. the coffee
29. nacatamales
30. watching old women sorting dry beans
31. clicking lizards (yes, lizards make noise, and it's loud)
32. the smell of fresh bananas
33. "Do you want chicken and rice, or rice and chicken?"
34. shelf stable milk (suspicious snarly mouth here)
35. monkeys for sale
36. banana trees in flower
37. cacao!
38. the buses
39. carrying everything up on your shoulder or head
40. the never-ending, usually disappointing search for cheese
41. "Que busca? que busca, que busca chela?"
42. malanga
43. coffee drying in the streets, the valley, the sidewalks, the hillsides...
44. howler monkeys calling across a valley
45. after a gust of wind, hearing "Why does my mouth taste like poop?"
46. knowing the answer to that question
47. someone giving you their number (place in line) at the meat market
48. learning about--and struggling to accept the realities of class distinctions
49. market-kid hugs
50. bromeliads
51. THE ROADS!!
52. kisses and handshakes at every meeting
53. coconuts fresh from the tree
54. swerving to miss livestock in the road
55. people before tasks, relationships before rules
56. rain on a corrugated metal roof
57. hot stone-ground tortillas
58. accepting that things take time
59. bats in the cool of the evening
60. always wearing shoes
61. the smell of passion fruit on the stove
62. parrots
63. laundry day in the river
64. calla lilies growing in a field
65. an unexpected bond with other expats
66. the wind in your sweat standing in the back of a pickup
67. coconut palm trees
68. chatting from inside the bathroom with visitors outside the apartment
69. grocery store shopping like visiting a museum ("ooo...ah...look at that!")
70. the excitement and encouragement of an arriving US group
71. the different excitement of watching them leave
72. "alabare, alabare, alabare, alabare, alabare a mi Señor"
73.  hoof beats on cobblestone streets
74. chaya in butter
75. windows that open in to unexpected places
76. sore arms from shredding cabbage
77. the fine art of standing in a doorway enjoying street theatre
78. plantain chips
79. hitchhiking?--totally normal
80. church schedule: ends at 8--still standing in doorway at 9:15
81. our love affair with our electric fan
82. learning to be available, and to value those unexpected "talks" that (looking back) were the important tasks of the day
83. stars from the rooftop
84. building a fire under an enormous pot of soup
85. some of the best jokes on TV are the funny translations
86. being able to walk to anyplace in town
87. machetes: the duct tape of Nicaragua. It can do everything!
88. appreciating the surprise "recess time" when power outages or fumigation send everyone out into the streets
89. learning to lay in a hammock. No, not that pool-side kind--the old kind.
90. cold jocotes
91. James 2: 1-12 acted out in real life at each Sunday service
92. working out James 2: 13-25  the rest of the week
93. a deep and new-found appreciation for the marvels, and rarity of modern plumbing
94. iguanas: it's what's for dinner
95. coffee and picos (honey bread)
96. the panic on Jonathan's face when they call on him to speak in church
97. the smell that stays with you after cuddling with some kids who don't get to bathe
98. volcanoes! with lava and smoke and fire and everything
99.  4:30 am--the city is hopping. 7 pm--shops boarded up, streets empty
100. seeing God at work

Fruit of the day: carambola

I feel like I am lying with the title of this post. Exactly zero people I know call this fruit carambola. That is a word I got from a translating site on the internet. Locally, this fruit is known as "melocoton". You have probably seen it and called it "star fruit".

hmm...wonder how it got the name star fruit?

I think I would be a bigger fan of this fruit if it was called carambola instead of melocoton. "Melocoton" or "durazno" is translated "peach". This really couldn't  be less like a peach if it had feathers or feet. It's not bad--it's just not a peach--which can confuse your mouth when you tell it to say, "Pass me a peach." and then feed it a star fruit.
The skin is waxy, and the inside is juicy and firm, but without a classic fibery-fruity texture. Kind of like a very firm grape inside. It is tart without being citrus-y. The yellow ones (I'm assuming more ripe) taste very different from the green ones. Green they are like a grape-textured sour apple. The yellow ones taste slightly more floral, a touch sweeter, but still very tangy.
Another way star fruit is not like peaches is the price. I will definitely be filling up on these melocotons  and not the duraznos!

12 melocoton for 6 Cordoba (about a quarter)

1 can of melocotons for 90 Cordoba (almost 4 bucks!)

Fruit of the day: Dinosaur Eggs

I wonder, will it be a boy or a girl, or a velociraptor?

So a friend took me to find the lady who had boxes of these dinosaur eggs for sale. She insisted on calling them "melon chino" (Chinese melon) even though they were so obviously the offspring of a gigantic lizard. 

Once you cut into them, you'll see they look just like a cantaloupe. The flesh is lighter in color, and I think the flavor is lighter as well. Aside from being the kind of fruit that some eight year old boys could be obsessed with, they are also a very handy size. Just right for one person for lunch.

If Shaving Cream Tasted Better…

I am a protester. I suppose that technically makes me a protestant, but I’m pretty sure I was one of those before now.

This is the face of a protester.

I recently had a course in local economics, sponsored by the country of Nicaragua, and hosted by Misión Para Cristo. Let me begin with a little background to the person you see on the left. There have been some great protests in the history of the world. This is not one of them. There have been many violent protests. This is not one of them. There have been some long-lasting, highly impact-full,  world changing protests in the past. This is not one of them. There have been protests led by inspired, inspiring, inspirational leaders. I am not one of them.

On 25 March 1965, Martin Luther King, Jr led thousands of non-violent demonstrators to the steps of the capitol in Montgomery, Alabama. King told the assembled mass: ‘‘There never was a moment in American history more honorable and more inspiring than the pilgrimage of clergymen and laymen of every race and faith pouring into Selma to face danger at the side of its embattled Negroes."

I submit, in light of my own non-violent protest, this paraphrase: “Never has a moment in Nicaraguan history existed in which no one was honored less, or less inspired than by the efforts of one missionary who refused to shave during his vacation.” It all began as I was contemplating how incredibly low-priced everything is here.

For example: Dinner for two, at  newly opened Olivo Restaurant here in Jinotega, comprised of filet mignon, all-you-can-eat salad, potatoes, fresh veggie medley, a soft drink and [are you ready for this? OF COURSE NOT! One cannot prepare for this!] fried cheese cake. It is every bit as rich and wonderful as it sounds, if not better. Total cost: $8.00. Remember that is for two people. One slice of cheesecake at Saltgrass Steak House in the US costs $8.

Fried Cheesecake – to die for (or apparently from, if you are not careful.

More details on death by cheesecake in a moment.)

Example #2. Visiting the big city, in this case Managua, as Sheila and I did last weekend, we took a few minutes to become mall rats en route to a meeting at the US Embassy. As part of our journey we went to the food court of this very modern mall and Sheila went for the Pizza Hut while I headed to Burger King. In our Jinotega home hamburgers (and just about any edible beef) are number one on my Food-I-Miss-The-Most list. I was in hamburger bliss as I made my way through the double with cheese. Total cost of my lunch $6.00 – and I would have paid more!

The royal family of burgers can keep their cardboard crowns. Gimme the burger!

Example #3: In a land that lives day-to-day, and in an area as close to the open market as we are, fresh fruits and vegetables abound. Some are common to us like carrots and potatoes, while others are more foreign like jocotes and malanga. Bananas are in season now and, unlike my mother country, when you buy a bunch you are not choosing the pre-divided bunch of 4-8 your neighborhood grocer hand selected for you. Rather, buying a bunch of bananas is really a bunch. Meaning, whatever that tree from which they were cut produced and was harvested is how it is sold. They are still green so they will last longer. They are fresh and tasty. How much for atypical bunch like in the photo below? $1.22, based on the current rounded exchange rate.

That's not a bunch.

That's a bunch. Each of these bunches is roughly the same size as the fire hydrant in the back ground.

There are many other examples of great value here such as the triple-dip sundae that costs $1.42 at Eskimo Ice Cream, or the fact that we fixed a very healthy soup for about 300 people for $1.77. The soup mix was free and the only cost was seasoning and vegetables, but c’mon, man. At $2 per bag of soup that’s still only about a nickel per person. My hair cut costs only $2.85 (and comes in a choice of two styles: less or none.) My shoe shine only costs 50 cents.

Final Example: My newly assigned cholesterol and blood pressure medicines (refer to fried cheesecake above) for one month are only $9 total.

Stay calm, get a little exercise, take all this and everything will be fine. Oh yeah, don’t eat anything but grilled chicken and raw fruits and vegetables. Fried cheesecake: NOT on my new list of foods.

Sheila's kitchen talents keep me happily fed.

So maybe you are thinking that this post started out as a complaint of some sort worthy of a protest. Well, you are right. Protests can be a catalyst for change. Or they can just be silly. Just as Jason Bateman & Matt Damon refusing to use a toilet in protest of the lack of access to clean water in the world, or Costa Ricans protesting against the USA because it snowed at a soccer game, or the countless hunger strikers who paved the way by saving money and not eating, I am protesting in a way that means absolutely nothing to anyone else.

Here's what happened. Of the three local grocery stores here, I entered the one that most usually carries American-made brands. With plenty of money I set out to buy the two or three items I needed – or so I thought. I left with only one item – shaving cream. You see, I had used all of my fancy US imported Edge Gel and decided I could not shave cream-less. I placed the can of Gillette and my other two items, along with the 200 Córdoba bill ($8.16 USD at the time), only to find out I did not have enough money. I looked at the register and saw that I had only enough for the shaving cream (which at the time of this purchase was becoming VERY necessary.) 197 Córdobas ($8.04 USD) was the cost. I took my very precious shaving cream and cupped it close to my straining heart so that no ill could come to this very valuable possession.

The Unholy Grail of Shaving Cream

Upon arriving home I carefully placed the shiny, silvery can in a place of high honor – a place reserved for chili powder and cilantro seasoning as neither is available here.

Checking later I found that even the cheapo, non-gel shaving cream goes for just over $6. Is it the cost of printing shaving cream labels in Spanish that raises the price, or some secret embargo to protect us from a foam-based crime syndicate? I know not!

And so I protest. What do I expect the world to learn from my scrubby salt-and-pepper colored facial hair? Nothing. I expect some of those with whom I spend a great deal of time will suspect that I am older than they think, but really, I expect nothing. But c'mon, Man! Eight Bucks?!? I could have had steak and fried cheesecake. FRIED CHEESECAKE! Obviously, if shaving cream tasted better I would not have to stage this protest that only means something to me. But since it doesn't or at least I am not willing to “acquire a taste” for it I will continue to protest until this blasted itchy beard gets on my nerves to the point that I shave once again. That time could be any second now.

One simple message to Gillette, Edge and all you other shaving cream producers: Tell Nicaragua to sell it cheaper, or develop a better tasting one, preferably one that is low in fat and cholesterol.

Fruit of the day: oranges?

OK. So something that I have noticed here in Jinotega is that specific names for every single thing are not that important. There are several dozen types of mangoes around here--but they are all just called "mango". Imagine the big grocery store in your town--now replace all those apple varieties with different mango varieties. But make sure all the signs just say "mango". Soft, yellow and the size of a plum--purple and orange and as big as a cantaloupe--sweet and soft, sour and firm--yellow, green, purple, orange, peach. Just mango.

It's also that way with oranges. Oranges grow all around down here. Some are ripe when still green, some are yellow and splotchy, some are--well, orange. But I mean really, really, I'm-going-to-a-large-university-in-Texas-orange.  Big  and full of seeds and juice, or small meaty mandarins, and some--well, some aren't really oranges at all. But in the market, lots of things are called "naranjas" (oranges).

the grandmother of a sister at church brings these in from the mountains for us sometimes

My last trip to the market I encountered some truly ugly, weird looking citrus. I asked the guy what they were called, and he said "beer oranges". Another person I asked said they were "lime oranges". 

but seriously, it was really bumpy

a large central hole and very yellow flesh

I took a bite and my face imploded. It was more sour than a lemon--and, just different somehow. In the same way that grapefruit and lime taste different from oranges or lemons but all have something in common--this was like some lemony, orange-y, cousin. After eating just one segment, I decided to juice them. Although they seemed very dry compared to the oranges we usually have around here, just two fruits produced almost a pint of juice. 

I hear you yawning. This is your exciting tropical fruit of the day? Oranges? But let me show you another fruit called "naranjas".

ok-technically this is called "naranjita" which is "little orange" even though it is much bigger than a mandarin orange

The skin is thin and smooth like a tomato, and the fruit feels heavy and juicy. Inside it is full of tiny seeds and a creamy beige pulp, surrounded by a fruit meat that is pear-like in texture.

My guess based on the best help google image search could provide is that it must be some type of persimmon. But big, and the flavor was not astringent as the persimmons were described to be. It was mild. Maybe like a slightly bitter raw potato. Only sweeter. I confess, I did not finish it. It went straight to the kids outside, who ate it all spitting out some of the seedier parts.

So---you say tomato, I say potato: and everything around here is evidently just called orange.