The Moaning Contest

It started immediately after the drop off of my family at the airport on April 5. Two hours in the heat-ridden cab with a running fever did me no good whatsoever. The Gatorade I lunged for at the local gas station on the way back was way too little too late. As I rolled into my house in the late morning heat, my first instinct was to get the heck out of there and find some A/C to cool down. I trucked my way back to the internet cafe, where I bought myself two hours before hitting rock bottom.

As I rolled into my house again, this time with about 20 visitors who were over for Sunday lunch, I did what I could to ignore everyone and headed straight to my room. So, there I was, inside my room in 95 degree weather, stripped down to my underwear and curled up into a ball under my mosquito net, shivering as if I was lying on a bed of ice. Of the six brain cells that were probably still functioning in my head at the time, five of them were telling me to go to the doctor, while the other just told me to fall asleep. I listened to the majority and headed out the door once again, to a nearby doctor recommended by my organization.

Just being around that white coat lifted up my spirits, but it didn't change the fact that my hydration level was suffering. As the medico slipped some oral hydration packets into my hand, I was reminded of a book I had read while in Nicaragua about the life saving importance of this substance. No doubt, the packets lifted me up immediately, but unfortunately on that particular afternoon I was up against more than whatever was contaminating my system. I was up against the birthday party my host mother was having.

I assumed my host mother's birthday would be like my host father's a few weeks prior. Not a big-to-do. Just a few family members over to share a laugh and cut a cake. But, of course, this one had to be different. Not only did the number of guests at the house balloon from 20 to 40, but my family also hired a band to play in our backyard. Since my little detached room is in the backyard, I basically sat there, with water, oral hydration packets, antibiotics, and fever - as the marching band played outside my door for 3 hours.

There is often no option, especially when you're sick in a developing country, but to take it one step at a time and hope the next day brings something better. This happened for me, as I went to the clinic, drew some body samples, and received some new medication.

Then Wednesday night came.

After completing the second dose of a strong medication with side effects, I started to feel a little on the downside again. My appetite was disappearing, my nausea was increasing, and my body was aching. For whatever reason I will never fully comprehend, my host family saw it acceptable to feed me beans for dinner. I politely declined this offering and set out to the supermarket to buy myself some instant soup. It didn't matter what I chose, because by 11 PM I was basically building a campfire around the toilet bowl.

I tried the change-in-location technique. Falling asleep on various parts of my bed. Attempting some shut-eye on the outside porch. I even took my pillow and blanket to the bathroom with me, just hoping that the proximity would cure my pain. By 1 Am I had just about lost it, and accepted that I would not be getting any sleep that night. In an act of desperation, I called the one person I knew who would be awake at that time, my friend in medical school 9 time zones away. While he did his best to reassure me, his pep talk only bought me an additional 10 minutes. I had no choice but to wake up my host family, who with connections got me to the ER within 5 minutes. Finally...someone who could possibly put me to sleep.

How could I go to the ER in Nicaragua? Well...like in the US, it's always a last resort. And the doctor was there waiting, asking me what was wrong, what I did for a living, what medication I was taking, and ordering me to a bed. He even found it necessary to keep me distracted as the tubes went in, asking me in detail what it took to get a micro-loan.

Withing 20 minutes of arriving in the ER, and after receiving some fluids and meds to kill the pain, I finally found myself falling asleep.

Until the other guy arrived.

He was probably a few years younger than I, surely Nicaraguan, and for some reason had a container of some food product pressed up against his lower right abdomen. I didn't have a clue what was wrong, but before I knew it another doctor had rushed in, asked him about his pain, and pursued the same protocol and stuck him in the bed two down from me.

I'm not sure what it is about moaning, but for some reason it serves as an audible release that some people feel necessary to either express pain or relieve pain. I guess it is kind of like sneezing, in that every person has a personal style. Regardless, this kid felt it necessary to moan so loud as to keep me awake for the next few hours. Having done my fair share of moaning earlier in the night, I felt the noises contagiously spreading, and before I knew it I was moaning as well.

He moaned. I moaned. He moaned. I moaned. It was like we were taking turns chucking 100 pound barbels to each other. And since there was no nurse to witness our display, it carried on and on and on. Finally, at around 4 in the morning and after moaning for about 30 minutes, I made an adjustment and turned on my side. For whatever reason, this eliminated the pain I was feeling. And my moaning finally ceased. Unfortunately, my roommate 2 beds down was compensating for me - and even started screaming for help.

So there we were, two boys tied to IV's in the ER of Masaya screaming...Ayuda! Enfermera! He was screaming for himself. I was screaming on his behalf, and frankly, just to have him stop moaning. I don't know exactly what time it was, but at some point he finally got an injection to kill the pain. I, on the other hand, finally got the sleep I had been longing for, a whopping 3 hours before they sent me home.

So since then? And what now?

That I do not know. After that memorable night and a rescue effort from my Dad to provide the necessary support and care, there was no other logical option but to recuperate from real home. A logical option it certainly is, but it definitely makes you think: what fortune to have options at all.

The First Visitors

Prologue (recorded on 3 April):

In about 1 hour the first visitors will be arriving in Nicaragua. And with that I have an unfamiliar set of emotions. Excitement, obviously, I’ve missed my family. But also, I have this feeling of immense curiosity.

Have I done a good job describing Nicaragua? Have I done a good job describing my job? My life here? How have I portrayed it? Will it meet, fall short, or exceed expectations?

What will they take away from this visit? Is a long weekend even enough time to take away something? If so, will they see what I see?

When I first heard that my family would be coming to visit me in Nicaragua I immediately had flashbacks to 6 years ago. I was a freshly turned 21-year old living in Madrid, studying at a well-respected university and staying with a host family about five metro stops from the magnificent plaza in Sol. I remember my Dad stirring the fire-burning alcohol, quemada, after a hearty authentic Spanish meal in my host family´s apartment. I remember my Mom commenting over and over about the generous hospitality and caring nature of my host mother, Maribel. Really...I remember just being excited and proud of my surroundings and the beauty of my host country.

I´d say that flashback became a distant memory the moment I picked up my parents and sister by Taxi on Thursday afternoon. I never thought about it until that moment, but Taxi rides serve as quite the fine introduction to Nicaragua. Think about this: a small beat up 1993 Hyundai with no air conditioning, no handles to adjust the windows, and seat belts not to be found. So let´s see, we´ve summed up the air conditioning problem, the lack of technological advancement problem, and the safety and security problem all in one ride. Once you add in the burning trash on the side of the road, and the brutal heat that never lets up you have summed up the environmental and climatic challenges as well.


Needless to say the 1 hour taxi journey to Granada made me and the Fam even more thankful as we stepped foot into a beautiful hotel overlooking the Central Plaza. Until that moment, I wasn't even sure hotels like this existed in Nicaragua. I mean the whole staff spoke comprehensible English, the customer service was beyond satisfactory, and there was a beautiful swimming pool with a mini-fountain in the central courtyard. That false sense of reality that struck me at Selva Negra a few weeks back started creeping into my mind again, but this was clearly much different. You see, my family didn't come down as tourists to Nicaragua to vacation - they came down to spend time with family. Plus, typical me, I had an itinerary planned that would surely give them a taste of the life.


Even though I started feeling a little bit under the weather, the next day ran exactly as planned. We started Friday morning with a private boat tour of the Granada Isletas, a nice touristy activity to capture the lifestyle of the country's elite as well as to interact with some randomly stranded monkeys. We followed that up with a visit to Masaya, my hometown, when my host family had us over for lunch, and where the language barrier couldn't be any more evident. I always find it a shame, really, that two nice families cannot even get to know each other because a simple language barrier. They could have everything in common - share the same values, share the same dreams - and still never know it. I did my best to play translator, but let's face it, I'm not a professional translator and I already know both families as well as I can, so my own curiosity is not really at stake here. The only thing at stake was our health, for the afternoon sun started creeping in, and we had about 4 more hours of serious heat to cope with.


After a short tour of the city and a brief stint in the air-conditioned internet cafe, the hour I had been waiting for had finally arrived. Nobody in my family knew it at the time, but as much as the heat was wearing them down and as much as they wanted to go back to the hotel, I would allow no such action to take place. Instead, our taxi took us out to the nearby suburb that lies 5 kilometers Southwest of Masaya’s Central Park and 25 minutes by foot from my home, La Villa Betania.

As our taxi rolled over piles of dirt and pulled up to the porch we call our meeting place, I could sense a shift of emotions. It was the same shift that I experience virtually every time I step foot in the Villa, the shift from sympathy to outright disbelief. Per usual, only one person arrived on time, which left my family not only a little antsy, but also wondering, is this thing going to actually happen? Indeed it did. We had a turnout of eight kids, showing up in Nica fashion between 20 minutes - 40 minutes late, with my family looking on and my Dad even taking a few minutes to play some "catch" with the kids in the neighborhood.

Without a doubt our meeting in the Villa Betania was our finest hour together. For that hour we cared nothing about the excessive heat that had beaten us down all day, the excessive amounts of dust that had stained our bodies, or the excessive grease that had filled our bowels for lunch. We cared nothing about all of the little tiny pieces that make one wonder why exactly am I here? We cared nothing about anything, because in the Villa, there is only one thing that really matters: trying to make a difference in the community.


If you know my family, you know that conversation and chatter is never a lagging concept. But for some reason, as we left the village and headed back to our nice hotel in Granada, the need for conversation was simply not there. Amongst the four of us, I think we all clearly understood what the other was feeling. And, for the first time, someone else witnessed and understood why my time in the Villa Betania always seems to make up the finest hour of my day.

Epilogue (recorded on April 14):

"This place is like living in the 1930's with internet," my Dad commented.

More correct he probably couldn't be (I can't be sure because I was born in the 80's). Regardless, the comment carries water. For no matter how well I describe it, or how many pictures I splash on the screen, no matter how many times I rant or preach, renounce or profess, clarify or confuse, or write in outright disbelief, there is truly no conceivable way to understand any single bit of it unless you actually step foot into the atmosphere.

Taking a Cold Shower

It looks innocent…doesn’t it? I mean the head looks normal. The amount of space looks adequate. Even the decor seems to work.

The truth is I feel blessed to have running water, a functioning bathroom, and a tile floor to stand on. Yet, all of these perks, while physical and beneficial, fail to deliver one integral component: hot water. Like every other unfamiliar task that presents itself, the only real option is to make adjustments – to minimize the downsides – to maximize the experience. After about 100 showers in 66 days (it’s really hot down here), I like to think I know a little bit about this subject. That said, I’ve outlined the following process to offer a dose of the daily routine, and in the event that a future situation should render you hot waterless.

Rule #1: Accept your fate

Unfortunately, taking a cold shower not only requires physical tolerance but mental preparation as well. In other words, be very clear before you step in: You will not look forward to this; you will probably not find it refreshing; you will probably not grow accustomed to it. Setting the appropriate expectations is the most important part of the process because if you think for one second that this particular shower will be any easier or enjoyable than the previous one, you are kidding yourself. Understand what lies ahead and it will serve you well in the long term.

Rule #2: Head first

One tool of the trade that I have learned to utilize is the thickness of my skull. After turning on the shower while staying out of the water’s path, you must position yourself where the water only strikes your head. You can achieve this by simply looking down and leaning your neck forward, the same way you look at your feet. This is critical because initially you want to prevent the cold water from making direct contact with your skin – it’s just painful and causes you to make awkward humiliating...ahhhhhhhhh... noises. Therefore, anticipate your pain and act accordingly.

Rule #3: The 180

While the 180 sounds tricky, its importance is actually more significant than its level of difficulty. After your forward-leaning skull adjusts to the temperature, quickly rotate your body around 180 degrees so that your head is now tilted back and is still the only body part making direct contact with the water. Remember, the key to enduring the cold shower is to avoid direct contact with the skin for as long as possible. That said, by tilting your head back the water will drip down from your skull and deflect to parts of your body. But I said no contact with the skin, right? True, but at some point you do have to wash yourself. This method puts off direct contact with the skin initially, and instead embraces the idea of indirect contact. This indirect contact or water deflection will allow you to ease into the temperature, as opposed to dealing with an all-out direct immediate shocker.*

*Some of you may disagree with this approach. You are the people that dive into the cold swimming pool to "get it over with." My recommendation is the opposite, and resembles lowering your body into a cold swimming pool one limb at a time. Honestly, it's a personality thing. Accept or reject: It's up to you!

Rule #4: Maintain temperature

After the indirect contact of the water has spread to most parts of your body, there is obviously no other option but to engage in full direct contact. By this point you should be adjusted fairly well to the temperature, and the focus should shift to temperature maintenance. It is critical to keep your body wet, because if you start to dry up in one particular area you are basically starting back at square one. For many of you this may not be a problem, but with my shower head and the minimal amount of water it sprays I have to constantly monitor this. So keep the water coming, soap yourself up, and then proceed to the final wash.

Rule #5: Acknowledge your accomplishment

As you desperately reach for that towel to provide the warmth and comfort you have been longing for, realize that you have just accomplished something. And while this in no way prepares you for an easier or more enjoyable shower tomorrow, at the very least you gain some confidence and realize that it is not as bad as it seems.

If you have any questions or concerns about taking a cold shower, please free to contact me. In fact, I have some questions of my own. For example, if this temperature was all I knew throughout my life, as is the case with most Nicaraguans, would it still feel cold? Would I even consider it cold? Conversely, if this temperature was all I knew throughout my life, how would I feel if I came across hot water?

Strange questions to ask but they certainly have relevance. Mind you, what's unfamiliar for some is not unfamiliar for all.