Fruit of the day: zapote

The rains have begun and the land is changing fast. So are the things we find in the market. Today Marina brought in some zapote.

It has a very leathery skin that looks like the bark of a tree.



Inside you find a bright orange flesh and a large smooth central pit.

It is smooth and creamy--custardy rather than crunchy or fibrous and reminded me a bit of the flavor of cantaloupe. It had almost no smell at all.  It was mildly sweet and had a slightly dusty flavor--although not in an unpleasant way.

The ladies here explained that this particular fruit is native to Nicaragua, but is also beginning to be cultivated for sale further south of us. Rumor has it that the seeds are made into something intoxicating...but don't worry, we just ate the fruit.

To Worship Unmolested

"...to worship unmolested.." was a phrase I heard in public prayers many times as a child, and had no idea what it meant. I remember asking my mom in the car on the way home from the church building what "molested" meant and getting a definition that really made this prayer confusing. Eventually I came to understand that we were meant to be "grateful to live in a country where Christians could assemble to worship without persecution."

I get it-- some people don't have that privilege--I acknowledge that persecution exists and is real in our world. But it always sounded so far away to me. It is hard for me to actually feel gratitude for something that I have never known (or seen or even heard about) the absence of. It always felt a bit like standing in the desert being thankful for sand. I know, we should be grateful--even for sand in the desert--but come on, are you really??

But here in Nicaragua this phrase is coming to mean something else to me. We are blessed to have a place to meet together, a real concrete building with official church-y pews and everything. We have a microphone, a lectern, a baptistery on wheels...and oh so much more.

We have two garage-style doors that open up onto the bus station and central municipal market. We have loudspeakers playing the greatest hits of the 80's, vendors yelling about chips for sale, whistle-blowing traffic directors and buses that aren't afraid to use their air-horn.  We have drunk men joining us--sometimes quietly other times exuberantly, angrily, or incoherently. We have what can only be called "packs" of the dirtiest, smelliest, sweetest, unsupervised "market-kids" running in and out and talking to you at the top of their voices. We have mosquitoes and termites randomly visiting various parts of my body, and a children's class that meets in the same open space as the rest of the assembly. We have little old ladies who read aloud each scripture referenced because that is their level of literacy. We have feral dogs wandering the aisles, and pounding rain on metal roofs that sometimes floods in the back doors. And of course, through all of this I am trying to understand what is being said in an unfamiliar language.

Worship unmolested? Certainly not. There is so much to distract me, to bother me, to take my attention away from what I have come to do.

But it doesn't.
Perhaps precisely because so much concentration is required.

How many times have I sat in expertly lighted, perfectly temperature-controlled auditoriums, with well regulated sound systems, well planned worship programs, helpful visual displays, and let the words which had been so carefully prepared go completely unheard while I thought about who to invite out for lunch, and wrote out grocery lists, and what might be on TV that afternoon?

A new friend of mine is fond of saying, "I don't want to "sell" Jesus. I don't want to make it sound easy. You have to want Him, you have to work for Him, you have to seek Him."

Maybe it is harder to worship when we are so very unmolested. Maybe in trying to make things so easy--we make it harder to distinguish what is valuable. Maybe we need to learn to be grateful for the bothersome things--rather than the comforts.

Now I finally know what it is that those pray-er people of my childhood were trying to make me grateful for. And now I know that it is easy to confuse which things are the challenges and which are the blessings.

Matthew 5 The Message

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.