Como un Nicaragüense...

Last night, I told Róger that I wanted to eat real Nicaraguan food, like a Nicaraguan. He took us on a long walk through the city and as we got closer to our destination, the streets grew dark and ominous. There were few people walking around and the buildings went from normal to dilapidated and dirty. Róger kept assuring me that it was safe, but I couldn´t help but think that in the states, this was the type of place people took you to die. As we rounded a corner, Róger reached out and pointed to a dark alley way behind an abandoned, tin Coca Cola stand, telling me that that was where the restaurant was. I didn´t protest, but I won´t deny that I was very apprehensive.
We reached the Coca Cola stand, made our way around it and into the alleyway, and in a single moment, everything change. Along with the pale, warm, welcoming light came the rich smell of chicken cooking on the fryer and the sound of laughter and chatter. My reluctance disappeared with the sight of women in brightly colored aprons carrying large bowls of gallo pinto to the handmade wooden tables and chopping heads of cabbage for Nicaraguan style coleslaw. The restraunt was covered by tin roofs and surrounded by tin walls. There were long plastic tables adorned in floral table cloths and tubs of salsa right in the center.
I wanted chicken, but it´s very expensive here, so, instead, we each got a plate of gallo pinto with coleslaw, fried Nica cheese, a torilla and a smal pedazo of carne asada. It was amazing. I don´t like coleslaw, as a general rule. In the U.S. it's drenched in mayonnaise. I´m not sure what they put on it here, but the coleslaw is to die for. You mix it in with your gallo pinto (red beans and rice), take a bite, chew it, swallow, then take a bite of the crisp tortilla. The cheese is...interesting. I decided to try it despite the fact that last time I was in Nicaragua, I found I didn´t like it. Even fried, it was really salty and odd tasting, but they eat this Nicaraguan cheese with everything. The carne asada was so savory and mouthwateringly delicious! It was such a small piecec and it was so good, that everytime I wanted some, I'd take a tiny bite, just so I could make it last throughout the meal.
Our visit to the restaurant was the first time I'd had an experience with street children here in León. I met many on my last trip to Nicaragua, but they were in special organizations that were helping them learn. These boys were actually living in the streets and begging for money. A lot of the street children here are addicted to glue (they sniff it). It starts because it's cheaper than food and it makes the hunger go away, like a lot of other drugs. That's why anyone will tell you not to give them money because they just buy little baby food bottles of glue with it.
The boys came around while we were eating, sticking their dirty, scraped hands out and asking for some change. It was really hard to decline them. It was also really hard because here we were eating our food in front of them while they were starving. Róger didn't finish his food and he offered it to me but I asked him if it was okay for me to give it to one of the little boys instead. One of them had left, so when I spotted the younger one with the oversized shirt and big, brown eyes, I wrapped the rest of the beans, coleslaw and cheese in the tortilla, motioned him over and gave it to him. He took it without a smile or a thank you, but I didn't mind. Atleast he had some food.
It made me really upset, to see that. Especially because I know that it´s really hard to help children like that. Róger says that sometimes when people try to help them, it's impossible because they don´t know anything other than stealing and begging. I also learned last year that it´s really difficult to get the children off glue. A lot of the ones that voluntarily go to detox programs ending up leaving and going back to the streets. It's hard, when all you want to do is scoop these suffering children into your arms and show them that that isn't how life is or should be. Unfortunately, for them, that's all they know. It's like when we went to visit La Chureca last summer. It's the dump that takes up a third of the city of Managua. People live and work on the dump. For most, sifting through the trash is their livelihood. There is a church in the dump, a school on the dump and even a health clinic on the dump. They've made homes and lives for themselves on top of mountains of garbage. When we went, we visited the place where the children stay while their parents work, if they're not in school.They didn´t have water, the day we came. They were happy, though. Happy to play with eachother, color with us, play fútbol with us, climb all over us. I realized, as I sat at the table with a baby girl, Anita la Senorita Bonita, in my lap and a laughing boy, Victor, next to me, that many of these children didn't know anything outside of the dump. As far as they were concerned, this is how the rest of the world lived, and because of that, they had no reason not to be happy. Many of them will probably never know anything outside of La Chureca their whole lives.

6 days down, 29 to go...

I´m here, in León, Nicaragua, finally, where the sky is bluest I've seen and the sun beats down on you mercilessly. The buildings are brightly painted, the roofs red tiled and the sidewalks cracked and dirty. I walk to and from class everyday drenched in sweat, clutching a liter of warm water in my hands. It's incredible here, though.
I´ve been here for a week and I feel like I'm on a completely different plant. I remember it being a certain way and I prepared myself for it, but then I got here and, like last time, it just blew me away. I can´t even... it's hard to put into words almost.
Walking through the isles of the supermarket is bizarre. Hardly anything is the same. It's not bad, either, but still. They sell squares of refried beans in plastic packaging and peanut butter is $20. Here, people go to the supermarket almost daily, because they buy their food by the meal instead of buying bulk until it´s time to refill the pantry. Not to mention I paid a little more than $5 for beans, lettuce, orange juice, sour cream, tortillas and jam. Here, when a woman walks down the street, every man, no matter the age, watches her intently, craning his neck until she's disappeared around the corner. It still makes me a little uncomfortable, but it's normal here and I figure I'll be used to ignoring it in a few more days. The driving here is horrendous, but surprisingly, few accidents occur. For Nicaraguan people, street lanes, stop signs, red lights and pedestrians don´t really mean anything. They honk at you, bikers and other cars as a forewarning. This means, "Get out of my way, I have somewhere to be and you're not going to deter me." Even the keyboards here are crazy. It takes me 15 minutes longer to type everything because I have to press shift with every button until I find the right punctuation key. It's frustrating, needless to say.
I eat mangoes for breakfast and lunch. They're juicy and sweet and delicious. I feel like a little kid, with mango stained lips and sticky fingers. It´s my favorite part of the day, coming home to a fresh mango. I eat a lot of eggs, too. Eggs, rice and refried beans. I haven't gotten sick of it yet, but in about two more weeks, I´ll be prepared to kill for just a little pedazo of meat...