Being a Gringo in Masaya

My day abruptly begins around 6:00AM, as the great beasts next door bark as if their fighting for the last remaining piece of meat on this planet. My buddy talks about poisoning these dogs, but I’m pretty sure that’s illegal even under Nicaraguan law. As I roll over in bed, quasi-awake from Cujo and company, I am next awoken whenever the wind blows…literally! Just above my aluminum roof is a giant tree with many loose limbs. As the wind blows the branches fall. And as the branches fall, they crash onto my roof. I’ve developed a standard response protocol for this since it happens multiple times a night: 1) I awake up in a panic 2) I scan the room with my flashlight on the off chance there is forcible entry 3) I settle down, close my eyes, and continue to dream.

When 6:45AM strikes my alarm officially goes off. I make my way to the bathroom, prep myself accordingly, and then proceed to shave and comb my hair in the absence of a mirror. No kidding, I haven’t seen myself in over three weeks. So how do I shave? Well, I’ve been using a straight-edge for about 2 years now, and have a pretty good sense of how to maneuver around my face. My only concern is that I will shave too high and encroach on my sideburns. But, since I don’t have a mirror, I guess I never really know.

When I open my door around 7:25AM I am usually greeted by my host father, Luis Alberto. Not to be confused with Luis Enrique (the son), or Luis Eduardo (the grandson). Usually, the opening of my door is like the “Bat Signal,” only for my breakfast. I plop my butt down at the dining room table, open a book and I await to eat. The style of eggs tends to vary, but there is always one guarantee – Gallo Pinto. Gallo Pinto is pretty much the “hamburger” of Nicaragua. It is fried rice and beans, and is served with almost every meal. If it weren’t for the protein, I would have a tough time downing it. But since it’s a part of the diet here, you either accept it or you go hungry.

As I trek to work at 7:45AM, I’m often surrounded by mothers walking their little children to school down the same busy street. When I arrive at my office door fifteen minutes later I tap on the glass and the security guard lets me in. Since we’re like a mini-bank, we have a security guard at all times. The only difference is I don’t have to flash a badge, then swipe a badge, and then swipe a badge again as I did in my government days. After slipping the good old “Buenos dias” to the work crew, I walk back to the little nook I share with Claudia and Sandra, turn on the fan, and fix myself a cup of instant coffee.

I work through the morning after an initial meeting with my boss and a stint in the field with the promoters, and reverse course back to my house for lunch. Like breakfast, I’m almost always greeted by a family member, typically my host mother, Maria Rosa, or the daughter, Carina. Within moments, lunch is served, usually in the form of fried plantains, fried chicken, and white rice. Aside from the inordinate amounts of grasa (fat), I really have no qualms about the food. I get my read on one more time and then head back to work.

Now, walking to work post-lunch is much different from walking to work post-breakfast. The little ones in the morning usually give me a blank stare, curiously wondering why my skin looks different from theirs. In the afternoon, however, the wonder is replaced by vigilance – as the teenage eyes lock, follow, and stare down the Gringo – until I pass.

I enter the office around 1:00PM and go through the same routine, only this time with a “Buenas tardes.” I hop on my computer, do some email checking, research, and news reading, and prep for the afternoon community outreach workshop our office conducts. When my day ends around 5:30PM I hitch a ride home from our workshop, enter my house, and am greeted again by the family, which is normally watching TV in their rocking chairs known as abuelitas. They ask me about my day, about what time I want to eat, and then tune back into the tele.

The moment I enter my room I head straight for the shower. When you combine the dust in the street, the saturating bug repellant on my body, and the sweat I accumulate walking back and forth multiple times a day, it makes for a pretty filthy Gringo. I make my way to the shower, hoping that the water is running, and ease into the cold intermittent splashes. When there is no cold running water, I resort to the cold bucket shower – which really isn’t as bad as it seems. In fact, if everyone took bucket showers, I have a feeling we’d save quite a bit of water in this world…think about it.

After dinner with the family, some chit-chat, and inexplicable high, screechy baby noises at Luis Eduardo, I typically head back to my room, figure out my plans for the evening, if any, and carry on. All I know is by bedtime I’m pooped, and really just want to crawl into bed and read a book. When I return home into darkness from another power outage, like right now, I’ll usually grab my laptop and type away under my mosquito net (which is more like my fortress by now). Before closing my eyes, I take my flashlight one last time, scan the fortress in search of intruders that will eat me alive in my sleep, and call it a day…

Until the dogs bark...again.