For me, one of the greatest benefits of living in Managua as opposed to a village is that there are lots of opportunities to dance. Although salsa is not a big part of Central American culture - in the town where I spent my first two years the traditional dance was actually the polka - there is a small but growing salsa scene in Managua. For some reason, most people who learn salsa here start with Cuban style - as opposed to in the US where we tend to start with a style called salsa en linea (salsa in a line).
Cuban style salsa is cool. It evolved as a schoolyard game. To play, you learn series of steps, all of which have funny names - things like Give it Some Flavor, The Finger, Festival, Roller Coaster, Tell Her No, etc. Some of the steps are flirtatious - Touch Her T (in which the man puts his arm awkwardly across the woman's chest), Punish Her (which involves slapping the girl's hand), and The Kiss (in which the man leans in a plants one on his partner's cheek).
Once you know the steps, you can dance in a circle with other people. A caller yells out names of moves, and you try to do each one correctly without making a mistake. Every time the caller says ''Dile que No'' (tell her no) you change partners.
I couldn't find a video that really does justice to how cool the circle part of the dance is, but here is a video of me dancing salsa at a recent event in Managua.
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Pole Corner
At its
best, life abroad is full of unexpected, wacky, hilarious moments. It’s this
element of the ridiculous that keeps me enjoying being here, even absent many
of the comforts and conveniences that the US US Nicaragua
If you are
open to seeing them, bizarre moments occur every day. Just to give an example, yesterday
riding on a ferry I saw a salsa video from the 90s that randomly featured a dragon.
While I was watching the video a guy walked past me wearing a shirt that said, “I
buy, I try, they die” next to a picture of a dead flower in a pot. If you enjoy
comedy of the absurd, then living out of the country can be as funny as a
stand-up routine.
Even at
home I can find things to laugh about, like the fact that the number on my
house looks like 219A when in reality it should read 279A – because whoever
installed the number wasn’t used to seeing a 7 without a cross through it. And
because this is Nicaragua
Or the fact
that the other day my roommate came home to find a group of guys installing a
metal pole in front of our house, when there were already four poles right on
the same corner. Our landlord had come out from next door and he stood shaking
his head. “I don’t know why they need to put another pole here for just one
wire. It’s not like the other poles are full.” Then he paused and laughed. “I
guess this is just going to be pole corner.” Our landlord’s response to the
situation is an approach I have found useful for dealing with the unexpected,
inexplicable events that happen constantly here: I don’t understand it, I can’t
do anything to change it, might as well laugh about it. The more I take this
approach, the happier I am.
Monday, October 17, 2011
Office Culture
I am now in my third month working in Managua. In my new assignment I am splitting time between the offices of the UN Food and Agriculture Organization and the Peace Corps offices. I have a nice mix of tasks, and I am enjoying getting to see another side of Nicaraguan culture. My Spanish is really being put to the test, too. I am learning how to write formal letters and emails, how to give professional presentations, and how to make business calls.
I’ve also noticed certain differences between office culture in the US and Nicaragua. Here is your primer on the Nicaraguan workplace:
What to wear to work
In Nicaragua you can never go wrong with jeans and a polo shirt. Almost every professional organization has its own polo, and often employees color-coordinate, so that everyone is wearing the blue polo on Monday, the yellow one on Tuesday, etc. It is also acceptable for women to wear some pretty flashy, sexy getups to work. As well as impossibly high heels. Think Latin night at the club, and you have an idea of what some women wear to work.
Working hours
The standard work day in Nicaragua is 7:30 to 4:30, with a leisurely lunch hour. This makes sense, given that the sun is shining brightly by 6 am and it is completely pitch black by 6 pm every single day of the year.
The Pecking Order
In general, Nicaraguans are more formal than Americans. This generality certainly holds true in the workplace. My first day at my new job, I made the mistake of referring to my boss by his first name without adding a title of respect – Don – in front. Luckily he is a really nice guy, and he laughed about it. But in another office, it could have been a major faux pas. Most Nicaraguan workplaces also have a very well-established chain of command. Luckily, Peace Corps has the culture of an American workplace. Any volunteer can speak directly to the Country Director, without going through his or her particular sector boss. In a Nicaraguan organization, this type of familiarity with higher-ups is uncommon.
What to wear to work
In Nicaragua you can never go wrong with jeans and a polo shirt. Almost every professional organization has its own polo, and often employees color-coordinate, so that everyone is wearing the blue polo on Monday, the yellow one on Tuesday, etc. It is also acceptable for women to wear some pretty flashy, sexy getups to work. As well as impossibly high heels. Think Latin night at the club, and you have an idea of what some women wear to work.
Working hours
The standard work day in Nicaragua is 7:30 to 4:30, with a leisurely lunch hour. This makes sense, given that the sun is shining brightly by 6 am and it is completely pitch black by 6 pm every single day of the year.
The Pecking Order
In general, Nicaraguans are more formal than Americans. This generality certainly holds true in the workplace. My first day at my new job, I made the mistake of referring to my boss by his first name without adding a title of respect – Don – in front. Luckily he is a really nice guy, and he laughed about it. But in another office, it could have been a major faux pas. Most Nicaraguan workplaces also have a very well-established chain of command. Luckily, Peace Corps has the culture of an American workplace. Any volunteer can speak directly to the Country Director, without going through his or her particular sector boss. In a Nicaraguan organization, this type of familiarity with higher-ups is uncommon.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Getting Around in Managua
I’ve been living in Managua for a couple of months now, and I must say that it is not my favorite city. There is nothing particularly charming about the place. It is a maze of illogically placed streets without names or addresses, punctuated by traffic circles governed by the oddest rules (literally, you leave the traffic circle from the inside lane, crossing incoming traffic).
Supposedly before the earthquake of 1972 levelled the city, Managua was one of the more beautiful Central American capitals, but that was before the city was rebuilt from a pile of rubble. Now, new malls, condos and gated communities rise alongside ramshackle neighborhoods, incongruous against the bedraggled backdrop.
But I am grateful to be here. I like my job, I like my apartment, and to be honest, I didn’t want to make the big a leap from a rural Nicaraguan lifestyle to a US lifestyle all in one go. In my personal journey through the stages of development Managua seemed like the next logical step. How can you go from hauling water and using a latrine to air conditioning and elevators and iphones all at once?
Despite its inconveniences, I am finding some things to love about Managua (e.g. salsa classes). By comparison, though, Managua has nothing on other cities that offer safety, convenience, and beauty as public goods. Here – and in many others cities around the world – only people with money can afford safety, beauty, and convenience within the urban environment. Those are luxuries you can find within a mall complex, or behind the gate in a gated community, or inside your Toyota Hilux, not out on the street.
In Managua you can’t safely walk anywhere. It’s just not done. There are plenty of things to do in the city, and great night life, but you can never just walk comfortably from place to place. Nor are there parks – or at least not any that are safe enough to venture into. There isn’t even public transportation to speak of. There is a bus system, but foreigners are advised not to use it, even if we could figure out the routes. Instead, we are told to take “taxis de confianza”, trusted taxis, to avoid the possibility of being “express kidnapped” (i.e. having your bank account cleared out while you are held hostage in the back seat).
In my old life, choosing to walk was the virtuous thing to do – it’s good for your health and the environment – but here that type of civic and personal responsibility doesn’t even cross my mind when I decide whether to get into a car. If anything, walking is a guilty pleasure, a risk I take every once in a while even though I know it’s dangerous. Being able to walk out my front door and get somewhere on my own two legs tops the list of things I miss about the US.
Supposedly before the earthquake of 1972 levelled the city, Managua was one of the more beautiful Central American capitals, but that was before the city was rebuilt from a pile of rubble. Now, new malls, condos and gated communities rise alongside ramshackle neighborhoods, incongruous against the bedraggled backdrop.
But I am grateful to be here. I like my job, I like my apartment, and to be honest, I didn’t want to make the big a leap from a rural Nicaraguan lifestyle to a US lifestyle all in one go. In my personal journey through the stages of development Managua seemed like the next logical step. How can you go from hauling water and using a latrine to air conditioning and elevators and iphones all at once?
Despite its inconveniences, I am finding some things to love about Managua (e.g. salsa classes). By comparison, though, Managua has nothing on other cities that offer safety, convenience, and beauty as public goods. Here – and in many others cities around the world – only people with money can afford safety, beauty, and convenience within the urban environment. Those are luxuries you can find within a mall complex, or behind the gate in a gated community, or inside your Toyota Hilux, not out on the street.
In Managua you can’t safely walk anywhere. It’s just not done. There are plenty of things to do in the city, and great night life, but you can never just walk comfortably from place to place. Nor are there parks – or at least not any that are safe enough to venture into. There isn’t even public transportation to speak of. There is a bus system, but foreigners are advised not to use it, even if we could figure out the routes. Instead, we are told to take “taxis de confianza”, trusted taxis, to avoid the possibility of being “express kidnapped” (i.e. having your bank account cleared out while you are held hostage in the back seat).
In my old life, choosing to walk was the virtuous thing to do – it’s good for your health and the environment – but here that type of civic and personal responsibility doesn’t even cross my mind when I decide whether to get into a car. If anything, walking is a guilty pleasure, a risk I take every once in a while even though I know it’s dangerous. Being able to walk out my front door and get somewhere on my own two legs tops the list of things I miss about the US.
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Live Like a PCV Challenge
The website Live Like a PCV Challenge invites people in the US to give up certain conveniences for a week as a way of approximating what a Peace Corps volunteer's life is like. Participants in this challenge choose a country and a level of difficulty (from 1 to 5) and then let the people running the website know that they have signed up. Nicaragua doesn't have its own rules, but both its neighbors - Honduras and Costa Rica - do. The whole thing is kind of silly, but reading the challenge levels definitely made me laugh.
Costa Rica's rules included things like 'Do nothing straight for 3 hours' and 'Kill your power and roll the dice to see how long it stays off.' Honduras had 'You cannot watch television but may watch soap operas and soccer at a neighbor's house' and a rule that your daily diet for the week must include two cups of coffee per day with at least 4 tablespoons of sugar per cup.
If we ever get around to making a set of rules for Nicaragua I'm sure it will include similar elements. If I were to design our challenge based on my experience I might add things like:
- The only activities permitted after 8 pm are watching soap operas and sleeping.
- If you drink beer, only drink Miller Lite or Bud Light (these beers approximate the national beers of Nicaragua in terms of flavor and alcohol content).
-Only attend social events if you can get a ride.
- Convince your neighbor to set off fireworks at least 3 times during the week, at unexpected moments.
Let me know how it goes!
Costa Rica's rules included things like 'Do nothing straight for 3 hours' and 'Kill your power and roll the dice to see how long it stays off.' Honduras had 'You cannot watch television but may watch soap operas and soccer at a neighbor's house' and a rule that your daily diet for the week must include two cups of coffee per day with at least 4 tablespoons of sugar per cup.
If we ever get around to making a set of rules for Nicaragua I'm sure it will include similar elements. If I were to design our challenge based on my experience I might add things like:
- The only activities permitted after 8 pm are watching soap operas and sleeping.
- If you drink beer, only drink Miller Lite or Bud Light (these beers approximate the national beers of Nicaragua in terms of flavor and alcohol content).
-Only attend social events if you can get a ride.
- Convince your neighbor to set off fireworks at least 3 times during the week, at unexpected moments.
Let me know how it goes!
Monday, August 1, 2011
What I Learned
Finishing the first two years of my service with Peace Corps has given me cause to reflect. I came into this experience with certain questions, which I suppose I am now in a position to answer. In one of my first blog posts (May 5, 2009) about Peace Corps, entitled “Why I’m Going”, I wrote the following:
I want to face head on some of the fundamental questions I have about life:
How can a person who has grown up with privilege find ways to give back?
What kind of work is worth doing?
How will I define myself while existing outside of my own culture?
What kind of comforts can I live without?
And what will giving up those comforts teach me about what is truly
important and meaningful?
Here are my thoughts after two years in the field.
1. How can a person who has grown up with privilege find ways to give back?
It’s harder than it seems. PC is the second program I’ve done that involved stepping outside of my own economic class (and race and ethnicity) to give back to the larger world. (The other was as an urban bilingual school teacher with the Philadelphia Teaching Fellows.) In both programs I have felt frustrated with how difficult it is for a well-intentioned person to have a meaningful impact.
Now I think the best, in fact the only way to truly make a difference – whether you come from privilege or not – is to be a full member of a community, for the long haul. The people who can have the most impact are those who are where they are to stay. So it makes sense to find something you can commit to – a school, a town, an organization – and stick with it for longer than a few years.
This is not to say that I didn't have an impact at all during my time in my site, only that my impact was necessarily limited by the short-term nature of my stay there.
2. What kind of work is worth doing?
I have had plenty of time to think about this question during my service, especially as it relates to my own career choices. I have come to the conclusion that it might not be so bad to work in an office, doing something administrative or organizational. I used to only want to work in the field, directly with needy populations; now I wouldn’t mind being a bit higher up the totem pole, where I have the opportunity to influence what gets done and how it is done. I realized that my particular strengths - in analysis, writing, organization, strategy, teaching and training - can perhaps be put to better use in an office environment.
Living in a rural community also made me wonder more broadly about whether traditional agriculture – once the holiest of holies for me – is worth preserving, given the insecurity inherent in it. I’ve wondered whether it would be such a bad thing for the peasant farmers in Nicaragua to move through the same stages of development that American farmers went through, resulting in less farmers with more land making more money in an overall less risky system. A system in which more people move off-farm, and farmers become more like business people. For me, this is a really big question, since it gets to the heart of what the goals of development should be. I’m still not sure where I stand. On the one hand, it is amazing and beautiful that some people still live in pre-industrial societies, entirely dependent on natural cycles and seasons. On the other hand, it is heartbreaking when crops failures mean that whole villages go without. I have certainly learned what a blessing it is to be able to earn a steady pay check and not have to rely on the vagaries of weather and commodity prices for my food and livelihood security.
Certainly, two years as a development worker in the field strengthened my resolve to continue in this field. A friend of mine who is exceedingly smart and who works as a public school teacher told me that the reason she enjoys teaching is that the big questions in urban education continue to fascinate her. I feel the same way about the big questions in development.
3. How will I define myself while existing outside of my own culture?
I have found that as a foreigner – especially a blond-haired, blue-eyed foreigner from the most powerful country in the hemisphere – that other people are all too anxious to define me, and I have developed a lot of patience dealing with people’s misconceptions about Americans. I have also found that how I define myself is not nearly as important as how I interact with people – humility, sensitivity, sincerity, and showing interest in other people’s lives transcend cultural lines.
4. What kind of comforts can I live without?
I can live without a lot of things. I lived for the past two years without running water, air conditioning, a car, screened windows, a toilet, a kitchen sink, a couch, a real mattress, cell phone service, consistent internet access, etc, etc, etc. Whether I want to live without them long term is another question. If anything, I have learned how very difficult it is to give up the comforts of modern life and how unlikely it is that most people with access would willingly forgo such conveniences. Which is kind of a scary conclusion, really. I went into this experience excited to live as simply as possible. I ended up feeling worn down by the small, daily sacrifices of living like many people in the rural developing world and anxious to get back into the cultural loop. I am still pondering what this will mean for my personal consumption choices and what it implies for our common environmental future. (More on this in another post, perhaps.)
5. And what will giving up those comforts teach me about what is truly important and meaningful?
I discovered that any hardship is more easily borne with a sense that “we’re all in this together”, whether it comes from being part of a family, a community, a group of friends, or even – as in the case of fellow PCVs – from like-minded people with a common mission.
I saw the importance of being part of something larger than oneself, and I was inspired by the solidarity my community showed during flooding in 2009’s rainy season.
I learned that a good sense of humor is the most powerful tool for confronting frustration, loneliness, and disappointment. Like when your leather shoes grow an inch of green mold or when ants lay eggs in your underwear.
So, with this post I am closing one chapter of my Peace Corps experience – living and working in the field – and opening a new one – living and working in the capital city.
More on life in Managua to follow.
I want to face head on some of the fundamental questions I have about life:
How can a person who has grown up with privilege find ways to give back?
What kind of work is worth doing?
How will I define myself while existing outside of my own culture?
What kind of comforts can I live without?
And what will giving up those comforts teach me about what is truly
important and meaningful?
Here are my thoughts after two years in the field.
1. How can a person who has grown up with privilege find ways to give back?
It’s harder than it seems. PC is the second program I’ve done that involved stepping outside of my own economic class (and race and ethnicity) to give back to the larger world. (The other was as an urban bilingual school teacher with the Philadelphia Teaching Fellows.) In both programs I have felt frustrated with how difficult it is for a well-intentioned person to have a meaningful impact.
Now I think the best, in fact the only way to truly make a difference – whether you come from privilege or not – is to be a full member of a community, for the long haul. The people who can have the most impact are those who are where they are to stay. So it makes sense to find something you can commit to – a school, a town, an organization – and stick with it for longer than a few years.
This is not to say that I didn't have an impact at all during my time in my site, only that my impact was necessarily limited by the short-term nature of my stay there.
2. What kind of work is worth doing?
I have had plenty of time to think about this question during my service, especially as it relates to my own career choices. I have come to the conclusion that it might not be so bad to work in an office, doing something administrative or organizational. I used to only want to work in the field, directly with needy populations; now I wouldn’t mind being a bit higher up the totem pole, where I have the opportunity to influence what gets done and how it is done. I realized that my particular strengths - in analysis, writing, organization, strategy, teaching and training - can perhaps be put to better use in an office environment.
Living in a rural community also made me wonder more broadly about whether traditional agriculture – once the holiest of holies for me – is worth preserving, given the insecurity inherent in it. I’ve wondered whether it would be such a bad thing for the peasant farmers in Nicaragua to move through the same stages of development that American farmers went through, resulting in less farmers with more land making more money in an overall less risky system. A system in which more people move off-farm, and farmers become more like business people. For me, this is a really big question, since it gets to the heart of what the goals of development should be. I’m still not sure where I stand. On the one hand, it is amazing and beautiful that some people still live in pre-industrial societies, entirely dependent on natural cycles and seasons. On the other hand, it is heartbreaking when crops failures mean that whole villages go without. I have certainly learned what a blessing it is to be able to earn a steady pay check and not have to rely on the vagaries of weather and commodity prices for my food and livelihood security.
Certainly, two years as a development worker in the field strengthened my resolve to continue in this field. A friend of mine who is exceedingly smart and who works as a public school teacher told me that the reason she enjoys teaching is that the big questions in urban education continue to fascinate her. I feel the same way about the big questions in development.
3. How will I define myself while existing outside of my own culture?
I have found that as a foreigner – especially a blond-haired, blue-eyed foreigner from the most powerful country in the hemisphere – that other people are all too anxious to define me, and I have developed a lot of patience dealing with people’s misconceptions about Americans. I have also found that how I define myself is not nearly as important as how I interact with people – humility, sensitivity, sincerity, and showing interest in other people’s lives transcend cultural lines.
4. What kind of comforts can I live without?
I can live without a lot of things. I lived for the past two years without running water, air conditioning, a car, screened windows, a toilet, a kitchen sink, a couch, a real mattress, cell phone service, consistent internet access, etc, etc, etc. Whether I want to live without them long term is another question. If anything, I have learned how very difficult it is to give up the comforts of modern life and how unlikely it is that most people with access would willingly forgo such conveniences. Which is kind of a scary conclusion, really. I went into this experience excited to live as simply as possible. I ended up feeling worn down by the small, daily sacrifices of living like many people in the rural developing world and anxious to get back into the cultural loop. I am still pondering what this will mean for my personal consumption choices and what it implies for our common environmental future. (More on this in another post, perhaps.)
5. And what will giving up those comforts teach me about what is truly important and meaningful?
I discovered that any hardship is more easily borne with a sense that “we’re all in this together”, whether it comes from being part of a family, a community, a group of friends, or even – as in the case of fellow PCVs – from like-minded people with a common mission.
I saw the importance of being part of something larger than oneself, and I was inspired by the solidarity my community showed during flooding in 2009’s rainy season.
I learned that a good sense of humor is the most powerful tool for confronting frustration, loneliness, and disappointment. Like when your leather shoes grow an inch of green mold or when ants lay eggs in your underwear.
So, with this post I am closing one chapter of my Peace Corps experience – living and working in the field – and opening a new one – living and working in the capital city.
More on life in Managua to follow.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Adjusting to City Life
I have been in the big city – aka, Managua – for one week now, and the transition has been rough. Upon my arrival, I instantly developed what is either a head cold or allergies. I’m not sleeping well, since my campo sleeping schedule clashes with urban life completely. And, on one of my last days in site I twisted my ankle coming down the hill from my latrine. So I am not in great shape. Still, I am really happy to be here.
I loved my community, but if I have learned anything about myself over these two years, it’s that I am a city person, through and through. I love visiting the countryside, but I am not cut out to live in it long term. I am so excited about all the opportunities the city presents – restaurants, dance classes, cultural events, and of course, new people to meet.
Still, getting used to city life again is a big adjustment. I have become accustomed to having a particular structure to my day, and adapting to a new schedule is jarring. In fact, I am a bit nervous about trying to adjust to working for 8 hours out of every day, at a desk! In front of a computer! In air conditioning! Will I be able to do it? So far, I have come home exhausted after every day, even though I am generally less active than I was in site. Maybe it’s the head cold or the insomnia, but I think it’s also the adjustment to a different work environment.
There’s also the over-stimulation of the city, which, come to think of it, may be contributing to my insomnia. In the campo, there was nothing to do after 8 pm. Ok, maybe not nothing. I could have watched telenovelas with my host family until 9:30. But after that, literally nothing. I don’t have many friends in Managua yet, but still it seems like there is too much to juggle. Do I want to have a drink with my friend from the European Commission? Or go with my roommate to see a concert at the Teatro Nacional? I am not used to having a social calendar at all, much less one that requires choosing one activity over another.
In July, I will be taking a month of Special Leave in the US – standard policy for PCVs extending service for a third year. Hopefully I will come back from my month in La Yunai having re-adjusted, at least somewhat, to a more urban way of being.
I loved my community, but if I have learned anything about myself over these two years, it’s that I am a city person, through and through. I love visiting the countryside, but I am not cut out to live in it long term. I am so excited about all the opportunities the city presents – restaurants, dance classes, cultural events, and of course, new people to meet.
Still, getting used to city life again is a big adjustment. I have become accustomed to having a particular structure to my day, and adapting to a new schedule is jarring. In fact, I am a bit nervous about trying to adjust to working for 8 hours out of every day, at a desk! In front of a computer! In air conditioning! Will I be able to do it? So far, I have come home exhausted after every day, even though I am generally less active than I was in site. Maybe it’s the head cold or the insomnia, but I think it’s also the adjustment to a different work environment.
There’s also the over-stimulation of the city, which, come to think of it, may be contributing to my insomnia. In the campo, there was nothing to do after 8 pm. Ok, maybe not nothing. I could have watched telenovelas with my host family until 9:30. But after that, literally nothing. I don’t have many friends in Managua yet, but still it seems like there is too much to juggle. Do I want to have a drink with my friend from the European Commission? Or go with my roommate to see a concert at the Teatro Nacional? I am not used to having a social calendar at all, much less one that requires choosing one activity over another.
In July, I will be taking a month of Special Leave in the US – standard policy for PCVs extending service for a third year. Hopefully I will come back from my month in La Yunai having re-adjusted, at least somewhat, to a more urban way of being.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)