When Life Gives You Lemons, Make Balloon Animals

I have never been a person to put up a good front.

There are plenty of Peace Corps volunteers who, years after their service, will nonchalantly remark about how breezy their two years were, how splendid the people were, how much they felt right at home, etc. While I don't proclaim myself to be Scrooge-like, I will be brutally honest: two years away from home are are not always breezy, there are splendid people and unfortunate specimens of human beings, and while I have forged a home in Nicaragua, it will never be on the same par as my home country.

As a PCV, an unspoken rule is that you must settle for less, everyday. For instance, I'm fortunate to have travel to and from major cities from my pueblito. That's a huge plus. The “settling” part is that the buses are shoddy, sporadic, and oftentimes crammed to the point of standing...or squatting...room only. Likewise, with cooking you make compromises. In another example, let's say you want to do laundry. First, you have to wait for a sunny day. Then, you'll have to throw your dirty clothes in a bucket or other water receptacle, add detergent, and knead it into your clothes with water until a sudsy froth forms. Then, wait a while, dump out water, refill with water, add fabric softener, repeat kneading process. Finally, rinse out clothes with water (and nix stubborn stains with vigorous dragging across washboard), and hope the sun's still out so your clothes can dry. In my case, add another element to the mix- check on clothes periodically to make sure they're still safely pinned to the line, and that no sticky-fingered fellow has made off with them. And after all's said and done, my clothes lack the luster of being machine-dried and, though clean-smelling, always look a little wilted and droopy for all that effort.

Simply put, every single day in Peace Corps you get by with what is and take your kicks when you can get 'em. And if you set your hopes too high, they will likely be dashed. Everyday is a constant remindr of where you are- the third world.

When I returned from a delightful vacation with my family to Mexico I found my birthday fast approaching. And, as I've grown accustomed, I braced myself for less. Having Christmas and a bevy of other holidays under my belt, I knew that while Nicaraguans sure know how to celebrate, the traditions are obviously different. Not to say that all holidays are necessarily disappointing, but they're just...not the same as home. Obviously. But still, however adaptable and chameleon-like you can claim to be, all human beings crave predictability every now and again. At Christmastime, you'll always see lights, trees, department store Santas, people outside grocery stores ringing the Salvation Army bell, etc. At Thanksgiving, you'll most certainly eat turkey. On St. Patrick's day, you'll see a sea of green-clad people out and about. But living in a foreign country, your traditions tend to be obsolete, and you sort of roll with the punches and eat tacos on Christmas, rally together with other PCVs to eat turkey- a culinary delicacy here- in the capital city, and on St. Patrick's Day, well, do absolutely nothing.

And so it was that I was worried my birthday just wouldn't be quite the same.

And oh how wrong I was.

First, I was invited to a lunch in my honor at my high school. For every teacher's birthday, we celebrate by bringing in a prepared lunch, putting on music, and sometimes decorating a chalkboard. So I knew what to expect. But when I walked in the teacher's lounge, I was really touched- Profesora Janet had taken the time to grace the chalkboard with a glittery, flower motif. (FYI this put the hasty whiteboard-marker-ed decorating techniques of the past to shame.) Then, we feasted on vigorón, my favorite Nicaraguan dish of yucca, pork rinds and salad...trust me, it's more savory than it sounds...and swilled one of my favorite juices here- passion fruit. The teachers, and my counterpart Jenny especially, made me beam from ear to ear.

Then, later on in the day a few PCVs arrived to spend the night and hang out. I'd invited six people, assuming three to four would show up. Well all six did, and coming from far-flung places at that. We're talking eight hour bus rides, and in one case even a boat ride. They came bearing Diet Coke (a rare find here!), birthday cake, balloon animals and hilariously endearing gifts. A couple kiddos from my community class in my town even showed up to bring me plantains and, naturally, stuck around for the balloon-animal extravaganza. When the kiddos went home, we cooked dinner and entertained ourselves for hours eating, drinking, being merry and catching up on each other's Nica follies.

It goes without saying that on my birthday, I surely did not settle. I did not brace myself for the letdown. No, I was positively, definitively, unequivocally, impressed.

And at a loss for nothing. No front necessary, the honest-to-goodness truth.

So, while it's true that there are daily sacrifices to be made, there are also pleasant little surprises tucked into the everyday tedium that throw you for a loop. Those days where I could practically smack myself upside the head and say, wait a minute, am I really still in Nicaragua? Did that mototaxi really just stop for me and not try to run me over? Did my neighbors move my laundered clothes under the roof so they wouldn't get soaked in the rain when I wasn't home? Was my birthday cake actually topped with American-style sprinkles? Is this too good to be true?

No, it's not.

And if you're me, on my birthday in Nicaragua, you really can have your cake and eat it too.

.......before your cats knock the precious leftovers splat on the floor. Sigh.


Trucking along in the daily foibles of Nicalandia,
Yours Truly