Courage doesn't always roar...

...Sometimes courage is the little voice at the end of the day that says, "I'll try again tomorrow." - Mary Anne Radmacher

I received these beautiful words in an email from a friend just two days before heading out on my ISP adventure, and it has since been one of many things that has carried me through (not to mention that it replaced "diving into the shallow end" as my new mantra of the week). A little bit of courage was just what I needed, and I realized that it didn't have to come in the form of total fearlessness... If I could just pack my bags and start walking, that would be enough.

So that's what I did, and last Tuesday, I began the adventure. I said goodbye to my host family at 6am, and after 2 taxis, 2 bus rides, and a boat ride, I arrived at my destination at 5pm. Theoretically, the trip is only supposed to take 3 hours, maybe 4 at most. But what can I say? Nicaraguans have a truly admirable (and completely irritating) ability to stretch out a trip by a few (or SEVEN) hours. But that's a different story. So I am now officially staying on la Isla de Ometepe, in a community called "La Paloma" (which means "the dove" in Spanish, and I take this to be a good sign).

By the time I had arrived and settled in with my new host family, it was already dark outside. Being a self-proclaimed expert at the campo by now, I knew that one of the first things to do is ask where the latrine is located. So I did, and they pointed vaguely to the backyard. For some reason, I wandered out there without a headlamp, in the absolute dark (not such an expert move) and I was almost there when, at my feet, I heard the most horrific, mean sqealing noise that I've ever heard in my life. I looked down at my feet only to see the giant PIG that I had come inches from stepping on. I'm not sure who was less thrilled to see the other: him or me. But as I backed away from him and into the latrine, he continued squealing at me, almost as if he were saying, "Welcome back to the campo, kid." (I don't know if you have ever had a pig squeal at you, but I certainly wouldn't wish it upon you. It is TERRIFYING.) Our relationship has improved little since that first meeting, which is unfortunate, considering that I have to pass him everytime I want to use the bathroom.

The rest of the house, on the other hand, has been a little more excited to have me around (if not just to have someone to laugh at every now and then). The other day, grandpa invited me over to milk one of the cows, and when I looked up halfway through the process, I saw that two uncles, grandpa's friend, and three neighborhood kids had all come out of their respective houses to watch me. As Aynn says, "At the end of the day, if nothing else, at least you know you made someone laugh." If this is the standard of success, I have been incredibly successful over the past week.

There are 9 of us staying in the home, which is crowded, to say the least, but they are all very welcoming and inviting. My favorite, by far, is great grandma. At 90 (yes, 90) years old, this woman fits every stereotype that has ever existed of "crazy old lady." And while she is certainly the spriest 90 year old that I have ever met, her mind works like one of those 3-disc CD players. Every morning, afternoon, and evening, great grandma tells me, "I have seven sons, and one daughter. Eight in total. Now they live in Managua, Granada, and Moyogalpa. And I have more than 50 grandchildren! MORE THAN 50! And I have great-grandchildren too. These are the children of my grandchildren. My family is so large. It never stops growing..." That is disc one. Disc two consists of the previous extranjeros that have stayed with her (2 Americans and 2 Germans. "And when the Germans left, we cried. I cried, they cried, we all cried..."). And disc three is about the island's history. Sometimes (when I'm really lucky), I'll get the CD player on repeat, and our breakfast will last over an hour, with the stories cycling, over and over again... And yet, somehow, I could never get sick of them. (I just hope that she cries when I leave; my goal is to live up to that German standard.)

Now that I've talked about the bathroom and family situation, a little note on food: as of yesterday morning, I had eaten 11 meals on the island, and they all consisted of the exact. same. thing. Gallo pinto, bananas, and coffee. This is no exaggeration. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner... there has been absolutely no variety. And as much as I would normally be inclined to complain about the repetitiveness of it all, I have instead found myself humbled and in awe. I am staying with one of the more well-off families in the community, and yet they are unable to afford any accessories with their food. Their wealth is indicated by the mere fact that they eat three meals a day, all variety aside. In light of this, their hospitality and willingness to take me in has made me feel all the more grateful.

The gallo pinto/banana diet was interrupted yesterday because two friends from Managua, Nicole and Chelsea, came to visit for the day. In addition to venturing to the other side of the island, we indulged ourselves in some ice-cream and other baked goods that they brought with them (thanks dad!). It was a wonderful, wonderful little break and I have never been more excited for an opportunity to speak English. With all of those words stored up from the week, I actually became TALKATIVE for maybe the first time in my entire life.

As for my project, the research has been going pretty well, all things considered. I spent the last week shadowing and learning from the coordinator of APS-Ometepe. It is her responsibility to check up on the various promoters of the organization, so she spends her days walking from community to community and doing what needs to be done so that they each feel supported and enabled in their work. In all, we have probably walked up to 10 miles in a day, through banana groves and dirt roads and cow pastures. I had the opportunity to visit a couple of communities that are located on the coast of the island, which have suffered incredible floods from the recent rainy season; many of their houses and latrines are under several feet of water, completely uninhabitable. Among other things, I have been able to interview the health promoters and workers in the Ministry of Health about the health implications of these living conditions and the plan (or sadly, lack thereof) for recovery. This Thursday, I will move out of La Paloma and into another (slightly more isolated) community called Los Ramos, where I will shadow the promoter there as she begins a diagnostic process to identify the community's health situation/needs.

For the most part, I am very much enjoying this experience as a chance to explore something that interests me with a population who has taught me so much and continues to do so every day. In pure honesty, the days can be somewhat difficult and lonely, but I'm learning to take them in stride and embrace the company that I have been given. Still, it is in these times that I find myself all the more aware of what I've left behind and I tend to miss it/you even more than usual. At the same time, I am thankful for my time here and intent on making the most of the 11 days I have left on Ometepe!

Between Thursday the 20th and Tuesday the 25th (while I'm in Los Ramos), I expect to be mostly isolated, without internet access. But I hope to find my way to a computer before then! And certainly, after that Tuesday, I will be more in touch. Until then, adios! Take care, and I know that I miss each of you dearly.

P.S. "Abrazos de osos." Literal translation: hugs of bears. Bear hugs. I learned this phrase this week from one of my favorite Nicaraguans, and I don't know why I didn't think of it sooner. But in honor of my new phrase, I'm sending you all bear hugs. :)