When we arrived we were greeted enthusiastically and immediately engaged in a soccer game. We brought a laptop and movie with us and all gathered on two of the beds to watch "Mr. Poppers Penguins." It was easy, engulfed in the New York City comedy, to forget that I was in a shack in the middle of nowhere. We ate dinner that we brought and played flashlight tag and star tipping. At one point we were all spinning around under the stars and the Nicaraguan famiy, even the shy ones, were in an uproar of excitement and joy. It delighted my heart.

 

      The five of us girls brought two two-man backpacking tents with us because their house is so small. I was prepared to share a tent with two of my sisters, however, I did not anticipate sharing the space with Audrey and three Nicaraguan girls. There was simply not enough space! At one point in the night I was so severely squished by the three girls, on top of being pushed into the awkward, hard spot between our thermarests, that, in pain, I crawled out of the tent. I wanted to find my backpack with my sleeping bag in it so that I could just sleep on the ground somewhere without getting eaten alive by local insects. To my dismay, my backpack was somewhere in the family's house that I could not get to without waking multiple people up, especially since I had no flahlight and it was pitch dark. Unsure of what to do I reverted back to the original be incredibly squished in the tent plan. Unfortunately, the thin line of space that had been mine was now fuly filled with bodies and there was no way, even if I had woken the girls up, for me to fit back in comfortably. 

 

     I was in no danger and the situation was not particularly grave, but it was incredibly humbli

ng. Rain started to fall and I sat cross legged underneath the onning on the outside of the house. The wall was not even strong enough to lean on, so I leaned back on a jagged, hand-carved post. Mud formed underneath me. In that moment I had nothing. Even a homeless person would have a rag or a piece of cardboard to put under their head, but I didn't. I had no light, no dry or warm place to lie and no back up plan. I seriously considered walking a few feet over to where two cows lay snoring, because they seemed to be the cleanest and most comfortable thing to lean on. Roosters crowed when I did fall asleep. There was snoring. A chicken pecked at our tent. Lizards and/or rats scurried about in silent moments. I eventually made my way back into a cramped spot in the tent and shortly after five the sun rose and everyone got up. We went for a walk, ate pastries we brought for breakfast and coffee that they made with beans they picked the day before from their neighbour's farm and then we hugged, smiled, prayed together and left. 

    BUT that is their life everyday. The kids don't have decent clothes to attend school in and will be doomed to the same life. If they were to be categorized according to income brackets, I am fairly certain that they would be considered to live in poverty. However, I do wonder if the life that they live needs to be changed because it is uncomfortable? Aren't they happy? I had never even considered that I took space to sleep for granted, but sometimes I am unsatisfied with life. I can't imagine a way to feel closer to God than to have absolutely nothing like I did last night, like they might many days. No plans, no ambitions, no possesions. I don't know though... comes to Neuva Vida with some of her eleven children often. She is quiet and shy but gives tight hugs and warm smiles. Her children are thin and equally timid, but incredibly beautiful. They rarely have clean or matching clothing and keep somewhat to themselves. Yesterday night myself and the four girls on my team spent the night at Maria Louisa's home with her family. Her house is smaller than my room. The tin walls, with carefully mended holes and sheets covering gaps enclose four beds frames, the frames covered in cardboard for sleeping, and a small pile of shared clothing. Outside there is one shack for cooking and one for taking a bucket shower. They have no electricity and no running water. They live a twenty minute walk from any road on an isolated bean farm. There house is at the top of a huge hill where they grow beans, bananas and vegetables. It overlooks distant mountains and foggy valleys filled with massive trees. There are cows, chickens, a horse, a cat and dogs amoung other wildlife spread out infront of their house. 

     When we arrived we were greeted enthusiastically and immediately engaged in a soccer game. We brought a laptop and movie with us and all gathered on two of the beds to watch "Mr. Poppers Penguins." It was easy, engulfed in the New York City comedy, to forget that I was in a shack in the middle of nowhere. We ate dinner that we brought and played flashlight tag and star tipping. At one point we were all spinning around under the stars and the Nicaraguan famiy, even the shy ones, were in an uproar of excitement and joy. It delighted my heart.

      The five of us girls brought two two-man backpacking tents with us because their house is so small. I was prepared to share a tent with two of my sisters, however, I did not anticipate sharing the space with Audrey and three Nicaraguan girls. There was simply not enough space! At one point in the night I was so severely squished by the three girls, on top of being pushed into the awkward, hard spot between our thermarests, that, in pain, I crawled out of the tent. I wanted to find my backpack with my sleeping bag in it so that I could just sleep on the ground somewhere without getting eaten alive by local insects. To my dismay, my backpack was somewhere in the family's house that I could not get to without waking multiple people up, especially since I had no flahlight and it was pitch dark. Unsure of what to do I reverted back to the original be incredibly squished in the tent plan. Unfortunately, the thin line of space that had been mine was now fuly filled with bodies and there was no way, even if I had woken the girls up, for me to fit back in comfortably. 

     I was in no danger and the situation was not particularly grave, but it was incredibly humbling. Rain started to fall and I sat cross legged underneath the onning on the outside of the house. The wall was not even strong enough to lean on, so I leaned back on a jagged, hand-carved post. Mud formed underneath me. In that moment I had nothing. Even a homeless person would have a rag or a piece of cardboard to put under their head, but I didn't. I had no light, no dry or warm place to lie and no back up plan. I seriously considered walking a few feet over to where two cows lay snoring, because they seemed to be the cleanest and most comfortable thing to lean on. Roosters crowed when I did fall asleep. There was snoring. A chicken pecked at our tent. Lizards and/or rats scurried about in silent moments. I eventually made my way back into a cramped spot in the tent and shortly after five the sun rose and everyone got up. We went for a walk, ate pastries we brought for breakfast and coffee that they made with beans they picked the day before from their neighbour's farm and then we hugged, smiled, prayed together and left. 

    BUT that is their life everyday. The kids don't have decent clothes to attend school in and will be doomed to the same life. If they were to be categorized according to income brackets, I am fairly certain that they would be considered to live in poverty. However, I do wonder if the life that they live needs to be changed because it is uncomfortable? Aren't they happy? I had never even considered that I took space to sleep for granted, but sometimes I am unsatisfied with life. I can't imagine a way to feel closer to God than to have absolutely nothing like I did last night, like they might many days. No plans, no ambitions, no possesions. I don't know though...