Esteli, el diamente de las segovias

Early on in training we were introduced to volunteers from different sectors from all over Nicaragua. We began to learn certain characteristics about each department. Chinandega? Hella hot. Managua? Ridiculously hot. Matagalpa and the other mountainous areas? Fresco. Leon? Hot. Chontales? Known for their cheese and crema. Rivas? Hot and home to the touristy San Juan del Sur.

Fearing the worst, and knowing the kind of luck I have (none), I was mentally preparing myself to end up somewhere like Leon or Rivas. To be quite honest, I thought I’d be placed in a site that would allow my body to continuously develop heat rashes. That, or a location known to be infested with mosquitos. Matagalpa, Jinotega, and Esteli seemed like the dream departments I shouldn’t even think about getting my hopes up over. So I didn’t. I had several dreams (or nightmares?) about working in Rivas, sweating up a storm. Then I’d suddenly wake up and realize that I was in fact sweating through my pajamas, but only because Diriamba was just unbearably hot in the mornings. Sleeping in past 8 in the morning was nearly impossible.

About ten weeks into training, we were finally given our site placements. Two weeks before that, we individually met with our the heads of our sector and were asked a serious of questions that sounded a little something like this:

Would you prefer a large, medium, or small site?

-oh, you said small. So are you prepared to use a latrine?

Would you say you could work independently? Would like some assistance, or will need assistance?

Anything else you’d like to tell us?

My individual interview went by incredibly fast. I didn’t know whether that was a good thing or a bad thing since one of my fellow trainees had been in there for over forty minutes. Before this we were all given a series of conflicting advice from current PCVs. Some encouraged us to voice all our thoughts and opinions on where we wanted to be. After all, this was our one chance to voice exactly what we wanted from a site. Others told us to keep cool and not be too demanding because they thought it could only backfire.

Site Reveal Day came and went. I remember Kari jumping up and down, tears streaming down her face. She was placed exactly where she wanted to be. Others had grins across their face. People were rushing to the map of Nicaragua that had been placed towards the front of the room. They were all comparing the distances from their sites to their friends’ and the rest of the group’s. Meanwhile I sat and waited, my chest racing with anxiety. Here we go, I told myself. Welcome to Chinandega! Your absolute worst nightmare. But that wasn’t the case. “[My Site], Esteli!” David announced, as he handed me my yellow folder with a blue butterfly on it.

I felt a lack of emotions in that moment. My peers were excited and overwhelmed by the unknown that lay ahead of them. Meanwhile I had been placed in the exact same site where I’d been sent weeks earlier to visit a current volunteer. I knew where my site was. I had met some of the people there. The host family they had prepared for me was even the same family I had stayed with 4 weeks ago. Should I be excited? I thought. Did they know this was where they were going to place me all along? What made this an even more underwhelming situation was that I was placed three and a half hours away on a bus from the one person I wished would be close to me. My friend, and fellow Californian, the one person that misses boba, Chick-fil-a, pad thai, and pho as much as I do—Stephanie.

Cheer up, I told myself. You have everything you could possibly want. Everything you told Ma Antonia and David you wanted. And you won’t even have to use a latrine (most likely)! That much was true. I was placed in a small site near a large city, which is what I wanted. The best of both worlds. And heat rash probably won’t be a thing!

I still don’t know why exactly I was placed here, though I have a good hunch. But I also don’t really want to know the reason. Maria Antonia and David have their reasons, and we all have to trust in them.

But I love my site! I live in a small community outside the main city of Esteli. It’s wonderful. The rocky dirt roads will absolutely ruin whatever shoes I wear, but I love it! I’ve been blessed with a new loving host family (I was moved from the original house I was going to be placed in). I have a large room, with a comfortable bed and even a closet to call my own. I’ve made a shoe rack from old cardboard boxes, and a cute shelf to store all my school/ PC materials. I have a box as a bedside table. And a wonderful neighbor has even lent me one of her tables to use as a desk for the two years I’ll be here.

I’ve been able to make friends fairly quickly thanks to my efficient friend-making technique. I call it Steal All of Peter’s Friends. Honestly, without having had the remarkable opportunity to visit Peter and see his life as a PCV many weeks ago, and then return as the PCT that would end up taking Peter’s site, I don’t know where I’d be right now. I have so much to be thankful for, and Peter is definitely someone I owe so much. People in the community often say I’m Peter’s replacement, but that’s not true. He did great work here, built up relationships on his own, and succeeded in fully integrating. I’m working with something totally different. I’m not replacing Peter because Peter could never be replaced in the hearts of the people here. I’m simply here to build on his work, and continue to assess our community’s needs and do what I can to encourage them and guide them towards viable, sustainable solutions.

Like I said before, this community is small! I’ve been told it’s aboout 2,000 people, but I really think the numbers are a lot smaller. Maybe 1,000, if anything. I can walk the entire community in less than an hour. Heck, I’ve wheel-barreled cow manure from one end of town to the other. It’s not that big. The people here are wonderful, and incredibly welcoming. Some of the mother’s have even expressed motherly tendencies towards me. They treat me like they wish any stranger would treat their own children. A common comparison they make has to do with some of the community members that left Nicaragua in search of a more prosperous life in the States. I’m often offered coffee and rosquillas (cheesy cookies [biscuits for you Brits]) or bread, or sometimes even full meals when I walk into someone’s house. People thank me for visiting them. It’s unlike anything we would experience back home. One lady even once said, “Le doy gracias a dios por haberme bendicido con una visita de usted.” She thanked god for having blessed her with my visit! They warm my heart, and make the time I’ve spent here completely worth every cold bucket of water I pour on myself most nights as a shower.

I’m so thankful and grateful for everything and everyone in my life right now. From the washing machine in my host family’s house that saves me hours of hard, manual labor, to the pillow I brought from the states, my home-made cardboard furniture, my host mom & her delicious cooking, my supportive familia back home, and my friends—both PCVs and friends from home and abroad. My transition into PC life would not have been the same without you all.

Officially 2 months in site today!

Kari & I

Part of the main road in our communi

ta-daa

Caila, Steph, and I

Steph w/ all the essentials

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On a somewhat completely unrelated note, last Wednesday I decided to mark the start of the New Year with a new facial piercing. Because new year, new me, right? Nose piercings couldn’t possibly be that bad, not if every girl in Env68 besides Jane and myself had one.

This will be the year I do whatever makes me happy without overthinking future consequences, I told myself as I lay on the tattoo/dentist-like chair in the tattoo parlor. A few seconds later, and a wasted pint of blood that poured from my nose and splattered on my favorite grey shirt, I arose a new woman. A woman with a nose piercing! Who knew how this could affect my future job, grad school, or law school prospects? I didn’t know, but I also told myself it should not matter. Live your life. That was what I kept telling myself as I stared at my bejeweled reflection in the mirror of the shop’s tiny bathroom. Live your life & don’t tell your parents since you’re still living off of them and they’ll probably kill you if they find out, was more like it.

I walked out of there and continued my day in Esteli by going to my favorite fachenta café with reliable wifi. I felt like everyone I passed by was staring at the bloody, crusty jewel that now adorned my nose. As uncomfortable as I was, there was a part of me that was satisfied by what I had done. I’d finally pushed myself out of my comfort zone and done something completely out of character—because leaving my family, friends, and country to volunteer for 2 years in a developing country apparently wasn’t enough.

At three in the morning that night, I woke up. What have I done? I don’t even like this. What had I done? I’ll deal with it in the morning. About nineteen hours after the needle pierced through my left nostril, and I once again stared at my bejeweled reflection, this time in one of the Peace Corps Nicaragua office’s bathrooms, I decided the nose piercing just wasn’t me. So I took the jewelry out. Little did I know that the river of blood I had initially experienced would return with full vengeance. I texted Stephanie, afraid of bleeding to death in the bathroom, but she was hardly supportive and later told me I had been dramatic. That’s Steph, always keeping it real.

So here I am, sans-nose piercing. Do I regret piercing my nose? Absolutely not. No regrets, ever. This whole fiasco helped me realize how much I like my nose just the way it is. Even if a friend once told me I had a big nose, I like it. And in case you’re wondering, I did tell my mom. Her voice has hardly ever sounded as disappointed as she did in that moment. But it is what it is.