White lobster, Katy and, once again, a new perspective...

Holas!

One week ago my group and I departed hot, sunny, dry Managua in a minibus at 6 AM. We wound our way across expansive pasturelands, over mountain ridges and descended into a lush, tropical rainforest. Seven hours later we arrived in Ramas, the city where the road ends. We boarded a panga, a twenty-foot motorboat, and navigated the Río Escondido. Lush vegetation and tiny thatched-roofed huts on stilts lined the edge of the river. Though we passed a few other motorboats during this multi-hour journey, we shared the river primarily with fisherman in dugout canoes. Late in the afternoon we arrived in Bluefields, an old port town in eastern Nicaragua.

The original inhabitants of this region were indigenous groups, such as the Miskito and the Ramas, though by the1600’s British pirates had established bases along the shores of Nicaragua’s Caribbean Coast, and in subsequent years, escaped African slaves and their descendents, known as the Garifuna, began to thrive in this region. Most importantly, the Spanish conquistadors who had invaded the western half of Nicaragua and obliterated many of the indigenous peoples of the region didn’t make it to the eastern half of the country before the Miskitia Kingdom, as dubbed by the British, was sufficiently prepared to fight back. England established a working relationship with the indigenous groups and together they built a strong trade economy, while the Spaniards and growing mestizo population in the other half of the country developed an independent economy. In the mid 1800’s, as a result of political tension between Spain, England and the U.S. about building a canal through southern Nicaragua, England agreed to leave the country on the terms that the Miskitia Kingdom could either become part of Nicaragua or operate independently depending on the desires of its rulers. Despite this decree, by the late 1800’s the national government of western Nicaragua had permitted the exploitation of Miskito gold mines, forests and other natural resources by international corporations, causing outrage among the region’s indigenous peoples, who then sought England’s help to mediate a peaceful resolution. Ultimately it was agreed that eastern Nicaragua, which actually comprises 60% of the country, would be an autonomous region. For the past 100+ years, Costenos have been fighting for this autonomy, as their rights continue to be compromised and their land exploited.

As you may imagine based on this history, the autonomous region of Nicaragua’s Caribbean Coast is culturally very different than the Pacific half. Creole, English, Miskito and other indigenous languages are more prevalent than Spanish and indigenous cultures, the Garifuna and other Afro-descendents maintain a strong presence. While Catholicism is the predominant religion of the west, many east coasters are Baptists, Moravians, various Protestant sects and some even practice Voodoo, like their Haitian counterparts. Reggae is more popular than cumbia and even gallo pinto is unique on the coast- flavored with freshly squeezed coconut milk. If I had been blindfolded for the journey there, I would have been easily convinced that Nicaragua’s Caribbean Coast is an entirely different country…

The morning after we arrived in Bluefields, we boarded another panga and navigated North for about an hour to the town of Pearl Lagoon, where we stayed for 5 days. A colorful and peaceful dilapidated fishing town, Pearl Lagoon is comprised primarily by Creole-speaking Afro-descendents and Miskitos. Everyone speaks English as well, and many speak Spanish too. We met with community leaders to learn about natural resource management (many people in the region eat endangered sea turtles…), the struggle for autonomy, the social problems including racism, drug and alcohol addiction and teenage pregnancies. Many Costenos face serious discrimination- west coasters look down on them and accuse them of being primitive and unintelligent or drug dealers; the national government, based in the west, provides little infrastructure and community support (for example, while west coast students each receive government issued text books, only one per classroom is issued to east coast schools); and among each other, social hierarchies and racial divisions are unfortunately prolific. Despite these problems, the people we met were welcoming and eager to talk to us about their culture as well as their love of U.S. baseball- Pearl Lagoon has a few players in the major leagues! People were remarkably reflective and introspective, and commented critically and intelligently on human nature, their quest for unity in diversity, U.S. foreign policy, and their new-found inspiration: Obama.

Unfortunately, many U.S. Americans are partially responsible for one of the most serious problems affecting Pearl Lagoon and other nearby communities today: the illegal drug trade. Cocaine addicts, the demand half of this simple supply-demand formula, are the culprits. Cocaine, produced in Colombia for the huge U.S. market, is shuttled north in boats off the coast of Central America to cities like New Orleans. When U.S authorities in helicopters and ships approach the boats partaking in this illegal operation, the drug traffickers throw the shrink-wrapped bundles of cocaine overboard (to pass as common fisherman), which eventually wash up on Pearl Lagoon’s beaches. Fishermen, who make pennies for spending hours to catch many pounds of shrimp and lobster, can make a fortune if they catch one bundle of cocaine, and as a result of this market, 40 crack kitchens have sprung up in this small community. A place where illegal drugs barely existed a few years ago is now filled with crack-addicts, which is pulling families apart, causing violence and dysfunction. Until a few years ago illegal drugs were unheard of in Pearl Lagoon, and when the first fisherman came across the packages of cocaine, the turned them into local authorities. Today youth are dropping out of school to “go fishing for white lobster” which is tempting for many; as it is, Pearl Lagoon suffers from 60% unemployment. This innocent community is being torn apart by an incredibly destructive international drug trade.

On Sunday morning I was introduced to my “host parents” for the day (because of the drug problem we were not permitted to spend the whole week with host families, so one day of carefully vetted families had to suffice). Katy and Kenly, ages 20 and 21,and their two daughters, ages 1 and 6, served as my family, and within just a few hours of talking with them, Katy poured her heart out to me in her Creole-accented English. “You’re the first girl my age I’ve talked to for years,” she told me. “I don’t have any friends… they are all addicted to drugs, so every day I stay home alone and take care of my babies. I have no one to laugh with or talk with. The girls my age tell me to drink and to smoke - that that’ll make me feel better, but I don’t do that, so now I have no friends.” She also has no job, and no formal education. She loves to bake –its what she does to make herself happy- and spends Saturdays working toward her high school degree, but with Kenly unemployed too, she can barely afford school. The family eats only one meal each day. She told me, “I can go without food, but when my babies cry because their hungry my heart breaks. Every mother wants to be able to feed her kids.”

Katy and Kenly’s situation is not unlike that of many young people in Pearl Lagoon, and probably, in some ways it is better as they have both abstained from using drugs. But, they have two children, no jobs and no home (they rent a small concrete house with almost no furniture, but will be moving out next month because they cant afford it). Kenly completed high school and Katy completed primary school, but regardless of education, employment is impossible to come by. Because they don’t own land, they cannot farm or garden, so the family depends on about $50 per month that Kenly’s brother in Miami sends down. Both Katy and Kenly love to learn, and both said that the’re willing to sacrifice anything for their children to get an education. The local school costs one dollar per month per family, which is nearly out of their reach. Katy lamented that she feels useless without work- she would be willing to do almost anything to feel that she had a purpose each day. “It’s tough,” she said. “It’s really tough to get up each day and have no commitments. I have nothing to look forward to, nothing occupy me. If I had a job this would be different.” Kenly told me that he dreams of going to college. He asked me endless questions about my studies and about various majors. He told me that he would do it all over again if he had the chance, but when Katy got pregnant when she was fourteen, he knew he needed to stay with her and to support their family. As a child he was abandoned by his mother, who tried to make a life in Miami, and was passed around to various relatives for weeklong intervals. He didn’t want his daughters to share his fate, so now he’s doing his best to raise them well. “It’s my duty,” he said, but his eyes were cast down and he was prodding at the rice on his plate, hungry but without an appetite. As Katy and Kenly spoke to me, they weren’t seeking pity. Rather, they seemed to assume that their plights were common, as they are among many of their peers, and were just happy to talk through problems that have been boiling inside. They were so earnest and honest, and thanked me repeatedly for being a real friend.

When this day came to an end I felt weighed down by the many burdens of this young and desperate family. We hugged goodbye for a while, and I promised I’d come visit again the next day. I’d asked them how much it costs to build a house in Pearl Lagoon; it’s only $500 dollars, just a little bit more than my flight to come down here…I wrote for hours in my journal that night. This is real poverty. In the campo, my family could at least grow food and work for nearby industries, cutting wood or cultivating coffee. Industry is nonexistent in Pearl Lagoon, and with no land, growing food is not an option. This situation was deeply distressing to me. There is so much money in the world, so much gluttony, and this poor little family is hungry and barely getting by. Some how though, their faith is intact. They ceaselessly hope that something good will come; that a new option will surface. Katy told that she sits on the dock some days and cries, but she needs to be strong, she said, she needs to live to feed her babies.

My friend Katie and I returned the next day and with Katy we baked a cake. Then we wandered around town for a few hours. She wanted to hold on to the last moments of our time together she said, and asked that we please return within the next few years. “It is so wonderful to have friends,” she said. “These days have made me so happy.” I left for Bluefields the next morning, and by the time I got there, Katy had left a message on my phone, making sure I’d arrived safely. She called again when I got to Managua. “Thanks for being my friend,” she said, before her phone cut out.

These days with Katy were really special to me. She embodies a struggle that I can barely fathom- a young mother with simple dreams, barely making ends meet. I am certain I’ll stay in touch with her, and though we only spent hours together, I consider her a friend too. This was a wonderful way to celebrate my 22nd birthday; I hope I’ll be fortunate enough for the rest of my life to share candid and honest moments with strangers. What a perfect way to learn about life- to begin to understand this very complicated world.

On Tuesday we returned to Bluefields, then made our way to Managua yesterday. Katy's burdens and her honest and self-assured nature left a strong impression on me- her presence and the lessons she taught me are encompassing.

I hope you are all well! Happy April!

Love,
Em