Bienvenido a Nicaragua

It took about five minutes for the Nicaraguan culture to sink in. As Sarah (another volunteer) and I exited the plane, we were welcomed with a massive, around-the-corner line to get through customs. At one point I don’t think we moved for literally 20 minutes. By the time we got our bags and left the airport, we were two hours behind schedule. Two hours of delay is even a stretch by Nicaraguan standards, but we learned quickly that waiting, delays, cancellations are a part of every day life.

That theme continued throughout the week, as each of our orientation activities started 45 minutes, sometimes an hour late. No worries though, I welcomed this mentality very quickly. On Wednesday we had a workshop scheduled at 4:30 PM, after a swim in La Laguna de Apoyo, one of Nicaragua’s nicest, clean-watered lagoons. Now, let me ask you this: If you give six volunteers and one program coordinator a free afternoon on the beach, what are the odds they will respect the start time of a 4:30 meeting? Needless to say, this one took the cake, and we didn’t begin until 8:00 PM.

Tardiness is hardly a major problem in this country, especially compared to the severity of poverty that can be seen on the street corners of Managua. It is not unusual to see houses the size of a studio apartment, made of cement blocks, and covered by a wood or aluminum roof. It is not unusual to see a vendor at traffic lights, begging you to buy food, water, or the latest prensa. Most disturbingly, it is not unusual to see children run up and down the streets begging for money. This reality is tough to swallow, for these kids are taught from an early age to ask people for money. Even though the money is probably going to parent or another family member, this is what the children are taught to do, and in many cases this is what they must do to survive.

The most thought-provoking activity of the week took place in Masaya, my new hometown. Masaya is known for their local markets, which flourish with crafts and other artisan works. Our group leader paired up the six of us, and gave us a scenario we had to complete with Cordoba’s (the local currency). With these 40 Cordoba’s (approximately 2 dollars), we had to find a way to heal our 1 year old baby who was plagued with diarrhea, buy the daily food ration for our family, and buy some school supplies for our 8 year-old in school. After buying the diarrhea medication 85% of our stash was gone, which left us with basically nothing to buy food and school supplies. We spent the next half hour prioritizing our purchases and bargaining with the locals. In the end, we bought half a pound of rice and 12 mini-bananas, enough food for only three people, while completely neglecting the school supplies for our 8-year-old.

This exercise reflects the decisions that many Nicaraguans must make on a daily basis. With a finite amount of money, most of which is below the poverty line, they are forced to prioritize the necessities in their lives. Needless to say, many of those necessities, like the food ration and school supplies, are neglected, and the cycle continues. There is no simple way to characterize the problem, but in Banker to the Poor, Muhammad Yunus, economist and 2006 Nobel Peace Prize winner, writes about the local villages of his native Bangladesh by saying,

“I theorized about sums in the millions of dollars, but here before my eyes the problems of life and death were posed in terms of pennies. Something was wrong.”

Bangladesh, Nicaragua, wherever - I couldn’t agree more.