When San Nicolaseños Leave San Nicolas

Nicaragua is about the size of Pennsylvania, and yet most San Nicolaseños have never left it. In fact, if you ask almost anyone in San Nicolas where they've been in Nicaragua, most people will tell you they've traveled to Esteli (the closest city), Managua (the capitol), and maybe Granada (Nicaragua's token colonial city). Whether it's because they don't have the money to stay in a hotel or because they are just content to remain in the one place they know so well, people live their entire lives within the three paved streets of San Nicolas.

Aside from the San Nicolaseños who leave to work in the US or Costa Rica, most people seem perfectly content staying in San Nicolas. But when an opportunity arises, like it did last weekend, to check out another part of Nicaragua for a day, people crowd onto the bus.

On Sunday, the Catholic church in town took us all on a religious field trip to a town called San Rafael del Norte, in the department of Jinotega, just a couple of hours from San Nicolas. At an elevation of 3,517 feet, San Rafael is known for being the highest elevation town in Nicaragua. It's also the birthplace of the wife of Augusto Sandino, Nicaragua's most renowned national hero. But probably most importantly (and the reason the church decided to go there in the first place), San Rafael del Norte was the home to Father Odorico d'Andrea.

For someone as locally famed as the Italian priest Odorico d'Andrea, not many people seemed to know much about him. We walked through the Odorico museum and saw the chairs he used to sit in, the sandals he used to wear, and the “holy snot rag,” as Davie called it, in which he used to blow his nose. But every time we asked someone who he was, they just told us that he was a dead priest. Maybe we just weren't asking the right people, we thought. In any case, there seemed to be an odd sense of mystery surrounding Father Odorico d'Andrea, even before we found out about the mystique of his dead body.

I never knew this before, but in the Catholic tradition, if someone dies and their dead body is “incorrupted” (meaning that it doesn't start to decompose right away), this is a sign of sainthood. This, apparently, is what transpired with the body of Father Odorico d'Andrea, who died in 1990. And for this reason, among others, Father Odorico d'Andrea is at least locally considered a kind of saint.

Anyway, we went to a morning mass at the church on top of the biggest hill in town with the rest of our San Nicolas compañeros, and lots of other worshipers, spilling out of the church. Then we all walked around the town, checking out the grand cathedral in the center of town and the soccer game happening in the central park. The elaborate murals in the cathedral depict the life of Jesus. In one notable mural of the perplexingly dark-skinned devil tempting the milky-white Jesus, a Franciscan brother standing near us pointed out the devil's resemblance (whether intentional or not) to Nicaragua's president, Daniel Ortega.

The whole day in San Rafael, as we walked around being tourists with our fellow San Nicolaseños, I felt like we were a group of kids dismissed for recess or a bunch of puppies let off their leashes. For Doña Nila, whose home has always been San Nicolas, or Profesora Idalia, who works six days a week, not having a specific place to be at any given time is rare. In an unknown place with the time to explore, our group of San Nicolaseños walked around all day with a sense of giddy excitement, buying bags of tajadas (banana chips) and commenting proudly to shopkeepers on how much cooler the weather was compared to San Nicolas. But at the end of the day, everyone seemed eager to climb back on the crowded bus and start home to San Nicolas, the place that they know best in the world.

Why Not All Rural Nicaraguans Are Poor: San Nicolas's Social Hierarchy

Before we arrived in San Nicolas, Nicaragua, I naively assumed that everyone here would be of a single social class – that is to say, that everyone in the campo of Nicaragua would be poor. This assumption derived from the fact that Nicaragua is the second poorest country in Central and South America (only after Haiti), and that much of this poverty is concentrated in rural areas.

But now that we've been here for eight months, I've realized that it is completely simplistic to label everyone in San Nicolas as “poor.” It's true that if you compared San Nicolas salaries to salaries in a similarly rural American town, San Nicolaseños would come out earning many times less than your average John-Deere driving Hoosier. If you're comparing Nicaraguan campo-dwellers to American country-dwellers, it's certainly fair to call Nicaraguans “poor” (without going into the loaded negative connotations of that word).

The nuance lies in two categories: 1) The fact that the general cost of living here is much cheaper than it is in the US, and 2) The fact that within the admittedly poorer San Nicolas economy, there are fairly significant differences in salary and lifestyle between different classes of people.

Here are some examples, to give a general idea of how much things cost here:

• A pound of sugar = 9 cordobas, about 35 cents.
• About a pound of any organic vegetables = 10 cordobas, or 38 cents.
• A dozen cage-free local eggs = 36 cordobas, $1.38
• Water bill for a month = 70 cordobas, or $2.70
• Electricity bill for a month = 100 cordobas, $4.00
• Renting a small house for a month = $50

Although I haven't done the research to prove it, I think I can safely say that the ratio of salary : cost of living still turns out significantly lower here in the Nicaraguan campo than it would in small-town USA.

That said, I think our neighbors across the street, who own several businesses and huge tracts of land, would be insulted to be called “poor” just because they live in the Nicaraguan campo. Though overall, people here in San Nicolas earn less money than their counterparts in the US, there is still a thriving hierarchy of social classes, with distinct differences in incomes and levels of luxury.

The family who lives across the street from us, for example, have a nice house with a tiled floor and plenty of furniture. They recently renovated their house, installing glass windows and a porch. They own a lot of land and animals, a pulperia (convenience store), and a public pool, and have been able to put their daughter through medical school in Managua.

On the outskirts of town, on the other hand, lies the neighborhood “La Base” (because it used to be a military base during the war). In La Base lie several tiny cement shacks, with only one or two rooms and outdoor kitchens. Houses like this are often built by the government, who will build you a simple house for just $3,000 if you can't afford to build one yourself. The only catch is that all government houses display a number and a color scheme, so everyone knows if you live in a government house. People who live in these houses might own small tracts of land or help other landowners farm their properties.

We were curious about how much the workers make on the organic farm where we volunteer one day a week, so we asked our friend Ariel, who drives a truck for the farm and helps out at the market. Ariel told us that no matter what they do or how long they've been there, all of the farm employees earn the same: around $4.50 a day, or a little over than $100 a month. At first we were shocked. How could Ariel possibly support his wife and one-year-old daughter on a salary of $100 a month? Even given that food is cheap here, that seemed impossibly meager.

Ariel explained that it actually isn't too difficult. During the day, he works for La Garnacha's organic farm, but in the evening he goes home and harvests his own crops on his own small plot of land. And the beans and corn that come from these harvests – that is the food that his family lives on. When he subtracts the small monthly electricity bills and the cost of diapers for his daughter, most of the rest of that $100 is disposable income for his family.

Teachers at the public high school where we teach earn a little more, though their wages still seem a little stingy for the amount of schooling that they've had. All teachers, including the principal, earn between $250 and $300 a month. Many of these teachers are women, which means that they are probably bringing in a second income for the family.

At the top of San Nicolas's economic pinnacle (almost literally) are the people who have worked in the US, or who have family living and working in the US. Kids at school carry around iPhones that their parents who live in the US sent them. One such San Nicolaseño went to the US to work and came back to build a gigantic mansion (at least by San Nicolas standards) on the tallest hill in town. Now you can see this blatant statement of wealth for miles around.

In general, it's fair to say that the people who live in San Nicolas seem richer than the people who live in the tiny communities farther out in the campo. In San Nicolas, probably a majority of houses have nice tiled floors, which for some reason seems to me like the ultimate indicator of wealth. In the campo, houses mostly have dirt or sometimes cement floors. In San Nicolas, more people cook over a gas stove, have refrigerators, and get their water from the city. In the campo, people mostly cook over a fire, eat only food that doesn't need refrigeration, and get their water from a well.

Of course, a few things are universal. For one, everyone uses latrines – plumbing lines don't exist this far from the Esteli. And another thing, everyone – no matter their income – owns a TV.

I have yet to understand how these different social classes interact or what it means to be part of a particular wealth bracket here in the campo of Nicaragua. I haven't noticed any wealth-based segregation or exclusion among the kids at school, but that doesn't mean that it doesn't exist.

I know I still have a lot to learn about the inner workings of the San Nicolas class system. But it has certainly been humbling to realize that my assumption that there would be universal poverty in this Nicaraguan small town was seriously misguided. In the end, this assumption only benefited my own self-image as the benevolent American volunteer.  

The Guardabarranco

We've spent months scanning the Nicaraguan countryside for Guardabarrancos, hoping to catch a glimpse of the elusive, elegant Nicaraguan national bird. And now all of a sudden just in the past three weeks, we've seen almost ten of them.

If you are anything like us, you are probably thinking, "How beautiful can a bird with the name 'Guardabarranco' possibly be?" But before you get all judgmental, check out these pictures.

The word "Guardabarranco" means "ravine guard" in English. But having seen so many of these beautiful creatures recently (and therefore beginning to bethink ourselves experts on the topic), we decided that these long-tailed, brightly colored birds needed a more elegant name in English. Therefore, in a fit of creativity one day, we took it upon ourselves to dub the Guardabarranco, henceforth, the "Royal Highland Quill." Brilliant.

Unfortunately, a quick google search proved our coined name irrelevant. According to Wikipedia, the Guardabarranco already has an English translation: the turquoise-browed motmot. As fun as it is to say the word "motmot," we still think that the "Royal Highland Quill" is a more apt name. So please, feel free to refer to the Guardabarranco as the "Royal Highland Quill" when the subject arises in your personal conversations.

Anyway, the Guardabarranco is native to Nicaragua and seems to be a symbol of national pride. Both males and females have long, elegant tails (almost like quills) that they use for mating. We haven't yet figured out the sound that they make.

Yesterday we discovered a little road that makes a loop around the countryside just outside of San Nicolas, and along this road we spotted at least six guardabarrancos flitting along from tree to tree, gracefully waving their tails. "Calle Guardabarranco," we called it. (Wikipedia didn't dare to defy us this time).

Art From the Earth

In and around this part of Northern Nicaragua, art arises from the earth. Local artists might not have the resources to buy expensive art materials, so they use what they do have: the rocks in their back yards, the pine needles on the ground, the crinkled onion skins discarded from their last meal. From what seems like nothing, they create beautiful organic masterpieces. The following are just a few of the local artists who we've encountered.

Don Alberto Gutierrez, Rock Sculptor

Don Alberto is probably the most famous local artist. An old man with frazzled white hair who lives deep in the mountains, he has turned his back yard into a maze of sculptures carved into the faces of rock cliffs. He drops everything to take visitors on tours of his sculptures – elephants and serpents, indigenous heroes and the baby Jesus, the twin towers and mythic animals – each of which has its own story. Sprouting from the rock between these painstakingly carved sculptures are plants; Don Alberto has discovered that if he just chisels a little hole in the rock, he can plant orchids in that hole and they will grow from the rock.

Although he has never learned how to read or write, Don Alberto recites poetry to his guests. And as you walk through the jungle of plants and trees in his back yard, he dashes off the path with a spryness that defeats his age to knock down a lemon or pull up a pineapple for you. Of the few possessions he has in his tiny one-room house, Don Alberto keeps a huge stack of notebooks signed by the thousands of guests who have visited him over the years. And as he leads you among his plants and his art, he murmurs, “Que paraiso.” What a paradise.

Carmelo, La Garnacha Stone Sculptor

As you walk down the single road in the tiny village of La Garnacha, Carmelo's studio and sculpture store is one of the few stores you see. He is usually working away in his outdoor studio, carving figures from stone or wood. He creates indigenous figurines, smooth stone pots, religious wall-hangings, paperweights – all perfectly smooth, and all out of natural materials.

Carolina, Pine Needle Jeweler

The La Garnacha Association – a collection of organic farmers, cheese-makers, and artists – also sells jewelry made by a women's collective, although they live in Mosonte, about two hours north of Esteli. These ten women, who are all related in some way or another, create jewelry out of the pine needles that carpet the ground near La Garnacha. They gather up bushels of dried needles and, using thread, twist them into beautiful earrings, necklaces, and headbands. When my parents visited, my mom bought a bunch of this pine jewelry; if you are interested in ordering some, you can purchase it on her fair trade website: www.bluedoorfairtrade.org/.

Candida Gamez, Paper Maker

As Candida walks the streets of Esteli, where she lives, she always keeps an eye out for bright colors; she's never embarrassed to be seen rooting around in her neighbor's trash cans for discarded paper. Nicaragua doesn't have any kind of recycling program, so this is Candida's way of using recycling to make a living. She collects thrown-away paper and all kind of organic materials: banana leaves, flower petals, corn husks. The day that we made paper with her, we used some greenish egg cartons that someone had thrown away and some dry onion skins. She blends these up with water in a jumbo-blender and then uses a screen attached to a picture frame to create paper. When it is all dried, she makes greeting cards with this beautifully recycled paper.