Off to the Campo

I do not, and never will, claim to be a lucky person. Oddly enough, I've been lucky enough to have escaped one small detail of my life.

I have never had to “rough it.”

Throughout my dozen-plus years of Girl Scouting and twenty three years of life, you'd think I'd have plenty of outdoorsy experience under my belt. You thought wrong. My Girl Scout camping trips consisted of my troop renting a cabin, stocking the fridge with snacks and fighting over the air mattresses. In fact, my troop leader deemed hair curlers necessary camping toiletries for herself. My family was one to favor viewing nature at a safe distance, snapping a few shots, then retreating to our room in the Comfort Inn to relax. No camp-outs for the Cole family. Having not cultivated an outdoorsy side, I perpetuated the rift between me and nature by declining friends' camping offers, now too afraid with my beloved modern luxuries.

And then I joined the Peace Corps.

...to live in homes furnished with flush toilets, running water, electricity, the works. Ok well no hot water, nor oven, nor microwave, nor t.v, and plastic furniture...but the third world “works.” As of two weeks ago, I- though by no means a city slicker- had never been plunged into the real wilderness. My world was punctuated by the sounds of leaky faucets, splattering showers and humming commodes. No daily struggle just to scrape by.

And then I went to Chinandega.

Specifically, to visit my friend and fellow volunteer Olenka in her far-flung little site of Israel. She's about to finish up her service, and happens to be in the midst of making a world map (a project I'm tentatively considering), so I figured I'd kiss my convenience goodbye and see how the other half lives. Five hours of bus-riding and 20 minutes of ambling along a dirt road later, we arrive at Olenka's casita.

Let me say that on the whole, I was impressed. Olenak herself had primed me for minimalistic conditions, which my mind translated into a couple trash bags propped up by wooden posts. Well, sure enough there were trash bags involved, but as makeshift shower curtains. Her house is a government-built project house, replete with cement walls, three bedrooms and one main room. The latrine out back is defunct what with the rain and flooding, so one room has been converted into the washroom- trash bags draped over PCV piping and tucked into a bucket form the shower. To get water, she fills a rubber camping shower (think rubber watering can, but more bulbous) with water, rigs it onto a nylon cord and hoists it to hang above the bucket. Then there's the john. Or, shall I say, bucket? Emptied as needed. Yup. Another room is storage, then there's her bedroom...with a real, queen-size bed! You'll find that a good night's sleep is the last thing most people will sacrifice, even in the most modest of conditions. She too has a walk-in closet as sweet as mine- plastic cord strung from wall-to-wall with hangers. And then there's her kitchen, with a fridge, stovetop, mini microwave oven and even (brace yourselves, folks) Magic Bullet! Ah yes, the ever-handy kitchen gadget of a Peace Corps Volunteer. You're never just one click away from rich smoothies, dips, hummus, fruit juices, sauces, purees, etc. If I'm good this year, perhaps Santa Clause will bring me one? ☺

Out in her site, Olenka gets water once a day. Believe me, you'll never truly appreciate running water until you don't have it. Fortunately I've only had to endure outages of a day, but many areas of Nicaragua have scarce access to running water. Olenka gets water once a day, for one hour, and from one source- a pipe sprouting out of her front yard. Every night she leaves the faucet on, and every morning around 5 or 6 am the water comes long enough to fill up a big metal barrel. She utilizes this water throughout the day for washing dishes, bathing, cleaning, etc. and transports it via smaller buckets (she drinks only filtered water, hauled to her site once a month.) She's not even the most water-inaccessible. There are plenty of parts in the rural north, and just down the road where I am, where people only get water every other day. Hence, water is a precious commodity. Every time I turn on the spigot to hop in my shower, I mentally give thanks.

As far as the sink goes, it consists of two buckets- fresh water and used water. Or if you'd rather, you can spit your toothpaste residue into the yard. I was rather fond of that, like a dog marking its territory. Then there's the ribbed washboard, aka the all-in-one washing machine and dishwasher. I myself also have a “lavandero,” or a ribbed washboard, but with a pipe of water and separate drainage pipe hooked up to it. I give Olenka props for all the water-hauling she quite literally shoulders every day.

Though my trip only lasted for two nights, I can say that I adjusted quite nicely. Don't get me wrong- I don't envy the harsher way of life, but I can see how humans adapt to what they need to in order to survive.

Even girls like me can rough it.

I would never wish a more primitive life upon anyone. However, what I perceive as a life of hardship is for many, worldwide, a normal life. Thus arises a key question in the realm of international development; what if “development” is in the eye of the beholder? Sure, I grew up with hot, running water, air conditioning and real toilets. But plenty of people didn't, and furthermore may never even experience for themselves such luxuries. I've met plenty of people who seem content living in what Americans would consider squalor. To them, it works. When I first laid eyes on my current house I was somewhat horrified- the walls were caked in grime, the toilet reeking of another's excrement, the bedroom musty, no furnishings whatsoever. In the span of a month I scrubbed, bleached, dusted, swept, mopped and furnished with abandon. Now, I live in a quaint little home that not only do I feel cozy in, but I'll be sad to leave someday. Granted I made upgrades according to my standards of living, but I'm sure many of my fellow countrymen here would have deemed the house livable with but a handful of reparations.

I guess more than anything what I walked away with from Chinandega- aside from a killer sunburn- was a new-found sense of livability, and skepticism about the efficacy of imposed development. What to some might be a necessity- hair curlers for my Girl Scout troop leader- to others is frivolity. Case in point, you'd be hard-pressed to find a Nicaraguan in Olenka's town who has a washing machine. Likewise, you'd be hard-pressed to track someone down in the D.C. suburbs where I grew up who didn't have one. Who am I, or who is anyone for that matter, to tell another that my ways are superior, more civilized, more developed than theirs?

Maybe, it's all a matter of perspective.

Notwithstanding, I'm already counting down the days til I can soak in my bathtub in the States. Just sayin'.