Choque Cultural

Literal translation: culture shock, or better yet, culture collision. Every now and then, I stumble across a word/phrase that I like more in Spanish than English, and this is one of them. I can´t think of a better way to describe my past week than to say it was a "cultural collision." Right before our three hour bus ride to el campo, we were told a little bit about what we were about to experience. Our group of 18 students was going to split into three groups, each to a different rural community. These communities had never hosted students from our program before, because the program always chooses new and different communities. In this way, our program director explained, we are guaranteed a far more authentic experience.

"In essence, we sacrifice quality control for authenticity," she said.
...Not exactly the kind of thing you want to hear as your program director waves good-bye and the bus pulls away, beginning our week-long excursion.

So what did this translate to? Well, I ended up staying in a community that is nestled into the mountains, WAY THE HECK UP THERE. After the three hour bus ride, we drove another 2 hours via bed-of-the-truck to this wonderful, beautiful, incredibly strange community called "El Jicaro." It consists of 500 people, which is semi-misleading because it is so spread out that each family really only interacts with one or two other families. Speaking of isolation, I found out very early on that this community has never received foreign visitors before... in other words, they had never SEEN a white person before.

Talk about "choque cultural."

My dear, awkward host family didn´t have a clue what to do with me. I can honestly say that the first fifteen minutes after my arrival were THE MOST AWKWARD MINUTES OF MY LIFE (and if you´re reading this, you know that I´m prone to awkwardness as is). After walking to our house, I was invited to sit in the chair on the porch, where the family proceeding to sit in a circle around me and just STARE. I smiled, then looked away, then looked back only to discover that they were still staring, so I looked away again, and this continued for about five minutes. I was racking my brain, trying to figure out what questions I could ask or what things I could say, but every word that came out of my mouth was met with... more staring. And painful, painful silence.

I can´t tell you how much relief I felt when, after fifteen minutes (or what felt like 34 hours), my host mom asked, "Would you like me to show you where the latrine is?"

Never in my life have I been so excited to see a latrine. The second after I responded with "I would absolutely love that!" I realized it was slightly too emphatic. I was slightly less enthusiastic about this when I discovered that the letrine is situated right next to the pigpen... literally. I'll leave it to you to imagine the smell of THAT area.

The next five days followed in this pattern of awkwardness, but there were some wonderful moments interspersed in there. Some highlights:

-My friend Jessica and I taught the kids how to play hide-and-go-seek and sardines, and they LOVED it. They taught us how to play "the blind chicken," which consists of blindfolding someone, and all sorts of craziness follows.

-My first morning, I was invited to help my host dad milk our cows. All I have to say about this is that it´s tough work. After we finished with the first cow, my host dad asked my little brother, Juancito, to bring out half a cup of coffee. When he returned with it, my host dad squirted milk from the utter into the cup, then handed it to me and said, "Cafe con leche!" I laughed nervously and asked, "For me?" to which he commanded forcefully (as only a Nicaraguan man can do), "Yes. Drink it." With all eyes staring at me, I gulped it down, only to find that it was the most delicious thing I´d ever tasted. As I was drinking it, I thought to myself, "I will probably get a parasite from this, but what a way to go." (Don´t worry... I think somehow I managed to escape el campo without a parasite.)

-Every day, I walked fifteen minutes down the mountain to the well (which is really just a hole that collects rainfall) to bathe. I took some of the best bucket showers of my life there. But then, I had to walk fifteen minutes back UP the hill, barefoot in the mud, and would take shower #2 when I arrived at the house. The whole process seemed a little unnecessary to me.

-After begging my host dad to take me with him to plant beans (I begged because the point of our excursion was to experience both gender roles), he finally let me come on the third day. So I went out to the field with the dad and my four brothers. After three hours, I collapsed under the shade of a tree and started pouring water into my mouth, and my dear host dad came over to me and said, "Shall we go home now?" I nodded pathetically, and now I think I fully understand and support gender division of labor (to an extent).

-I made tortillas from scratch! Every morning. Like, we´re talking cut the corn off the husk, ground it up, mix it with water, and cook it over the fire. This was the real deal. Then, I proceeded to eat tortillas, beans, and cheese (which I later found out was curd) for every meal for the next five days. And coffee. Oh, the coffee. Family (minus mom)- you´d all be in heaven. But really, the campo was fantastic in the sense that they produce EVERYTHING that they eat. Beans, corn, fruits, vegetables, milk/cheese, coffee... EVERYTHING.

-I had a true "Nicaraguan time" experience when, on Sunday, my host brother took me to church. Drop all preconceived notions of church. We walked an hour and a half up the mountain, sat in the church for five minutes (we made it in time for announcements), only for the pastor to say, "We´re going to convene later tonight instead! Enjoy your morning." So we turned around, and walked an hour and half, back down the mountain. Unfortunately, I can´t tell you just how typical this is.

-I rode a mule.

-I woke up at 5 every morning, and went to bed at 8 every night. Because there is no electricity or running water, you get up when the sun rises, and go to bed when it sets. Not gonna lie, I LOVED THIS. It really catered to my inner age of a 65 year old woman.

There is so much more I could write, but if you´ve made it this far, you´ve already read enough! And you´re a champ for sticking with me. Overall, it was an incredible experience. Certainly one of the most trying of my life, and hopefully at some point I´ll get a chance to write about some of my reflections from the experience as well. But for now, know that I love you all, and miss you dearly.