La Costa Atlántica

My mother is coming tomorrow
I've got every place we will go planned
She'll be here barely a week so I want to make every day count

Of my family here:
Don Antonio (the husband of my host mother Marina who had previously been away in Spain) is a fascinating person to watch. His Spanish is incredibly difficult for me to understand; nevertheless, we manage to have a few conversations about what is going on in the world.

Baby Emily lights up the house. The energy of everyone is emboldened by her always cheerful presence. She literally is always smiling.

My little sister Maete I rarely see. While I'm at home she is at school and I leave the house to travel almost every weekend. This weekend was a rare exception. I decided to stay at home, eat lunch with her, and shoot the breeze. For that reason, on Saturday I met more family members: Janet’s two teenage daughters. I cannot remember their names only that they were 18 and 19 years old and that our conversation showed me how much I still have to learn about this country.

As we conversed in general we inevitable began to discuss poverty. I told what I had seen here in Managua: young children begging in the streets, the metal shacks, the old folk sleeping on the sidewalk. The 19 year old looked at me, shook her head and said,"claro, pero La Costa Atlántica es peor."

The Atlantic Coast is a part of Nicaragua that is very different culturally. The majority of the residents are black also called Afro-Nicaraguans and speak English Creole. The land there is much harder to work, there are fewer schools, and it rains nearly ten months out of the year.

She talks about the cyclical nature of the poverty there, the lack of good universities like those of Managua and Leon. She tells me about the young girls who bear children at the age of nine and ten.

This is the hardest thing to hear. "What if their health is in danger?" I cannot help but ask. It doesn't matter. All forms of abortion are illegal here in Nicaragua. If you become pregnant young or by rape it doesn't make a difference. You literally will go to jail if you attempt to have the procedure.

This I find hard to swallow, so I ask her if it has always been this way. The lack of abortion even if the mother’s life is in danger.

"Ortega" she simply says, glaring.

There is political turmoil here as it is in many parts of Latin America. Daniel Ortega is the current president of Nicaragua. During my stay here there have been protests against him, as the public believes he cheated his way into office. Although abortion has been illegal here for a long time, it was Ortega who supported the move to make emergency abortions punishable by a six-year prison term.

***

I used to be incredibly pessimistic about the state of the world. I would constantly say to myself, nothing we do is going to produce wide spread change; everything will always be how it will be. People will always be cruel and hurt one another.

I’ve begun to realize it doesn’t matter if that is true or not. I think of how much I value my own life and how even if I can’t help every single person in the world whoever I can help will be all the better off. That one life would be better. For that person the world would be different.

Learning about the situations of those young girls, who are in even harsher conditions than what I have seen here truly moved something in me. I know that if I had been born in different place or time my life could have easily been theirs.

For those who are fortunate there is more that can be done than just being thankful.
At least for me I feel my purpose is becoming clearer by the day.