post kicking around from november

the day after the american election i had a brief converation for the kids i work with in the afternoon about barack obama and what it meant for a black person to become president in the USA. i asked them what they new about slavery, about segregation and limited rights. they didn´t know much. i had been warned beforehand that nery, the sweetest and gentlest of the six children, was racist against black people, of which there are almost none in our part of nicaragua. i didn´t solicit his opinion while i talked about obama´s election. at one point nery clapped his hands together, maybe out of boredom. i took this as a cue for a round of applause for barack obama, and everybody joined in graciously, even nery.

we gave out final exams today at los angeles de morales, my favorite of my four schools. we graded the tests and handed them back, either with congratulations or gentle chiding for the slackers, we said our goodbyes to the students and headed past the cow, down the hill and across the street. my favorite student from the class, a soft-spoken and enthusiastic kid named hector, followed us to the bus stop (a tree) and told us that today is his birthday. mairead and i wished him a happy birthday and asked if he was celebrating it...he said that no, nobody was, and that his mother wouldn´t remember it because she was away working for two more weeks. mairead dug into her backback and found him a green pen, which he was very excited about. i found a little flashlight that beth gave me for christmas (and which i have used a lot, thanks beth) and hector was thrilled. it was difficult to explain to hector that we wouldn´t be back for the next semester, that we had to go to mexico or the states or wherever. more than ever before my own plans felt very thin and very arbitrary.

lucky you

today we continued our move of the community radio organization from la esperanza up to san matteo - just five minutes up the hill and around the bend from xela, a lovely spot up in the hills from which you look down and say "holy shit this is lovely" while smoke curls up from houses throughout the valley below. it`s a four or five-truckload job, transporting all the studio gear, computers, countless bunkbeds donated by the european union, dishes, chairs...but the reigning mentality is "despacio" - "slow," there is time. i got in a good amount of soccerball juggling during breaks. luis, a younger friend of the organization who was helping out, tried to talk pro soccer with me and was incredulous when i said i didn`t know any of the teams. but he found it funny as hell that my full name is the same as that of a famous american goalkeeper. he repeated my name so many times during the day that i started avoiding him, so as not to punch him.

kevin, a former compañero of tino from their time in "the mountain" - around 13 years - drove us in the fully-loaded pickup truck. walter standing on the outside, hanging on. as we pulled out, kevin rolled down his window and says, "walter, you need anything, just scream."

kevin`s wife, adela, is a small indigenous women who carries her baby boy on her back, wrapped in a brightly-colored traditional textile. she helped us move mattresses and furniture all day, hoisting it up on her head, her son leaning as far out of the way as possible, never complaining.

a week ago i headed to xela`s parque central, waiting for a friend to go watch the coen bros`"burn after reading." marching slowly down the main street was an army of catholics - priests and students priests in black and funny felt hats flanking an enormous float carried by younger boys in purple, putting one foot in front of the other as if heading to the electric chair. which, actually, is appropriate, since the float had an enormous jesus bearing a cross made of two full trees. a marching band followed, playing funereal songs that made up with creepiness what they lacked in beauty.

i`m going to go make guacamole and beans with tortillas. you can get four hand-made tortillas for a quetzal here and you`d be a fool not to. they`re sold from the homes with the sign on the door that says "tortillas sold at all three times." these three times are different for each tortilleria, which means you can set out looking for tortillas whenever you like and you`ll find them.