Category: 2017-2018 Tufts 1+4 Fellows

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Stories About My Time In Nicaragua: In 2 Parts

by Nadia, Tufts 1+4 Participant

I have been having a hard time, lately, in deciphering how I feel, why I feel that way, and dealing with the inevitable aftermath. This experience has given as many valleys as it has mountains. I’ve teared up thinking about staying a whole other 8 months as much as I’ve teared up thinking about eventually having to leave. As a result, I have had to fall back on various coping methods I know well. Some have worked out fantastic, and some have not. Some cost money, and some are just better decisions than others. One of the methods I keep using without even really trying to do so is that of expressing myself through written word.

lovely, lovely, lovely, lovely, lovely, lovely,
sugar sweet soft skinny sickly suave
honey yielding tender flesh
baby doll glass-eyed twinkling
sparkle                *        !

are you busy? are you going?
can you answer?

girl come back
girl come
girl is you hungry
girl is you wanting
girl is you is you is you
will you will you will you
are you are you are you
smiling smile mine

touch
me, dream come true, sit awhile
i can show you God
Destroyer of Worlds, Sin Punisher
i can show you sharpened teeth

who will i who will i who will i
all the coins are silver
and in the broken mirror, shine
blood
the drip drip drips on my shoes
but you can spit shine those
you can be my payment
you can be my sugar, neighbor,
have you any sugar
for me

for me the law is resold
bought with empty pockets
show me your claws girl

girl don’t close your eyes

girl i want my pound of flesh
and this tongue is the scale

come a little closer
stay a little longer
walk a little slower
smile a little wider

Buenas is my middle name

estoy bien señor
sugar sweet sun-burnt sap
silence
silence
silence

g o n e

welcome home
alone                living?                here                viva jodido

aquí soñamos con la fuerza
de nuestra Madre, Esa Señora,
si Señora, nuestra ave, nuestra Dama,
la lluvia

lluvia
llueve
llora
llore
y en la distancia viene todo-

la vida crece solo por crecer
square feet by square feet
plastic do confine this land
fences do not call themselves fences
but it alright

the sand is soft

we name our disasters the names
we might call our daughters
and shut our eyes so tight
we cannot help but see
the ocean rolling-

sweeping expanse of froth
at the mouth, no one does that
with a frown

(ain’t you heard, the first
sign is always a smile-
pointed glint and you
too proud)

something cursed happened here

if you stand too long here
there are souls pushing, scratching,
digging their way back to the Heaven
that was denied them
and you.

you still
you silent
you looking
you gate fence
you daughter’s name

something cursed, something powerful happened
here is a curse, here it happened
curses happened here, this land be
here not a curse but this an alphabet
we don’t decipher

enscribed painstakingly
pain
staking
ly
by…

i don’t think it was the claws that did dig
and my feet do look monstrous in this light

how funny every church face West
yet I wake up East
going South
looking North

walking backwards into the arms
of snapping, wailing winds I cannot see
and my eardrums hollow

promises color the walls
and Names echo,
smiles, frowns, glints, sparkles

this not a story I know
this not an ending I predicted

what i mean to say is
i would like to think that
Land Like This
would be littered with Old
Stories, Promises, Tales, Names-

none of them mine
and i think that might be

an omen

—
There’s nothing wrong with giving into your inner poet sometimes and spilling angst on a page, whether it be ink or pixels. To bottle it up is the only wrong choice here. This that I’ve uploaded is a fraction of what I’ve written. Imagine if I hadn’t written anything at all and instead had chosen to keep it locked up in my chest. I would have exploded into a mountain of purple prose by now if that was the case. Few hear it, so let me be the one to remind you: poetry’s main purpose is to let go of the garbage you’ve been holding. Let yourself let go.
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In Defense of Traveling Alone

by John, Tufts 1+4 Participant

My day to day life isn’t a constant battle anymore: I’m officially one month into my bridge year. I’ve settled in with my host family, and I’ve started working full-time at my internship. It isn’t that my life comes easily at this point, but I have reached a point where I want to push myself a little bit further to see where it takes me. So, a couple weeks ago, I threw myself into an uncomfortable situation: traveling to Matagalpa alone.

The rest of the group planned to go up Thursday morning, but I opted to go a night early. Part of me didn’t want to wake up at 3:30 AM to catch the 4 o’clock bus, and another part of me looked forward to trying it alone. I wanted to show myself that I could manage a bus ride with my Spanish skills, and see what that experience would be like. People have always told me, “Growth happens when you’re uncomfortable,” what better opportunity than traveling alone?

I wanted to arrive as early as I could in Matagalpa, so I headed to the bus terminal right after my morning Spanish class, around 1:00. I had originally planned to ride one of the smaller vans, which leave whenever they fill up instead of running on a set schedule, but by the time I got to the station the only choice I had was a chicken bus. When the attendant told me “él chicken bus,” and pointed to the end of the row, I had no idea what to expect. Would there be live chickens on board? No—at least not this time. The bus I was going to ride on was a refurbished school bus, with the added bonus of an area on top for sacks of produce, luggage racks inside, and two bars to hold on to if you ended up standing. The silver lining of showing up over an hour and a half early was that I didn’t have to stand. I sat for an hour, practically alone in the sweltering heat, before the bus even moved. During that first hour, I thought for sure I was going to pass out from heat stroke at some point on my three-hour ride. At about 2:00, more people showed up and things started to get crowded.

By the time we pulled out of the station, every seat was full, and there were well over 100 people on board. As far as I know, school buses have a max occupancy of somewhere around 75 people, and I was a little worried about how safe the ride could be. It took me a while to come to peace with this, but, in reality, this is the go-to mode of transportation for many people. Once I realized that, I was able to calm down a little and not worry about the bus rolling over at every turn. About five minutes into the ride I realized I was most definitely in the wrong seat; I hadn’t even realized that there were assigned seats, but at that point, there was no plausible way I could switch. I was grateful to be sitting next to the window; once we got moving it was a little cooler, but every bit of breeze was appreciated.

I sat through a Russian-pirated, Spanish-dubbed version of “It” (2017), not understanding a single line, until we got to Matagalpa. I got off the bus sweaty, stiff, and gasping for fresh air. I managed to find a taxi pretty easily, and eventually made it to the hotel I was staying at. Settling down, I felt a wave of relief. I sat on my balcony and looked out at over the center of town, asking myself if it was really worth all the discomfort. Breathing in the mountain air, I knew it was. I felt like I had accomplished something, and I was proud of myself. The sense of achievement for navigating Nicaraguan public transit–a system I still don’t understand–on my own, made every moment on the bus worth it. I felt like I had put myself on the line, and it paid off. While in the future I will most likely opt to travel with friends, if not solely for the company, I am glad I took this opportunity to push myself to do something uncomfortable and new.

Matagalpan street; I started to find my way around the city after walking around on Thursday.
Row of chicken buses at the Matagalpa bus terminal, Friday 9/15, as we left Matagalpa.
View overlooking Matagalpa, taken from the top of one of the many hills around the city.

Photo Credits: Nadia Rosales

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Guinea Pigs are Food, not Friends

by Max W., Tufts 1+4 Participant

On Sunday, I ate a guinea pig

And I liked it.

Last week, my host father told me we were going to have cuy (aka those hefty, big-eyed rat pets) on Sunday for my sister’s birthday and that I could invite a couple friends over to join in the feast. Here in Ecuador, cuy is a local delicacy and beloved among many Ecuadorians (in a slightly different way than guinea pigs are beloved in the United States). I was skeptical though; I had seen people preparing (impaling them on poles 3 inches in diameter and spinning them over hot coals) cuy on the street, and I cannot say that it made my mouth water. However, I was willing to try it. When the day came, my family pulled out the portly rat–rotators and un–gently lowered the animals onto the pointy ends. My friends and I had the honorable duty of spinning the poles, while my host sister painted the cuy with a mystery sauce, literally using a paintbrush. We spun and spun, until someone told us they were done being spun. My host father slid the four small crisped corpses from the pole, chopped them into pieces, and served them to us. When I first got my portion, my only utensil was a spoon, just like at every meal in my house (my only explanation for this is that they eat a lot of soup), so I poked and prodded at the flesh for about 5 minutes until I realized it was hopeless. Cuy does not have that much meat on it to begin with, and the meat that is to be had has to be earned. The only way to eat it is to rip the meat apart with your hands and sometimes teeth, when your hands aren’t sharp enough to do the job. 

There is something different about eating something entirely with your hands, especially when that something is a small animal. It feels more primal, more vicious, but also more real. In a weird way, I felt more connected to the animal I was eating than if it had been filleted into neat identical, breaded pieces and I had sliced it up with a fork and knife. In the United States, we are experts at disconnecting ourselves as much as possible from our food. Our meat comes in the form of hot dogs, hamburgers, chicken nuggets; very rarely does it resemble anything close to a once living breathing animal. It was refreshing to experience food in this new for me, yet very old way.
 I had never eaten an animal smaller than a small chicken before, so I don’t have much to compare it to, but imagine a very juicy and salty big rat, and you are basically there. The small slivers of meat I was able to tear off from the body seemed to melt on my tongue like a snowflake does when you bring it inside to show people. I also had chicken and salad and potatoes and obviously rice to go with it, and it was one of the best meals I’ve had in Ecuador.
Another strange aspect of Sunday was how I approached the meal. On the one hand, I was having my friends over to my house for the first time to meet my family. That’s the mindset I went into it with. I introduced them to my host parents and siblings, I showed them my room, and we played basketball in my backyard. Later however, as I was sitting there with my friends eating those small creatures, I realized that, yes, I have known my host family for about 3 weeks longer than my friends, but that’s barely anything. We are just three gringos eating guinea pigs with these nice Ecuadorian people, who, without the 1+4 program, I probably never would have come within 100 miles of. It was a pretty surreal moment. I realized how much I already feel like a part of the family even though I’ve only been here a few weeks. And also how strange and special this experience is, to be taken in by and live with some random family for nine months in a completely unfamiliar place. And to think that they signed up for this without even knowing my name? What if I was annoying and insufferable? What if I am? What a risky undertaking. It is a pretty crazy situation, and I am so grateful to be a part of it. 
The painting of the guinea pigs.
Meat on the left is chicken, meat on the right is not chicken.
A cuy pen at the urban farm that I work at. Cuddling is not encouraged.
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Trip Reflection Sandwich

by Nadia, Tufts 1+4 Participant

This is a story about a jungle, some buses, ugly men, my absolute resolve to have the worst time possible, and a bus stop.
This is a story about learning to expect nothing; expect with an open heart, mind, and hands.
This weekend, I took my first out-of-city trip with the other León kids to Macizo de Peñas Blancas. We first learned of the nature reserve from our in-country staff, Luis. It was hard not to be enamored by the picture painted: a sprawling jungle full of Nicaragua’s native flora and fauna, a hike to the top of a waterfall for amazing views, and hiking through a river! It sounded like the perfect plan, and really, how could it go wrong?

This morning, Linnea, Brenna, and I discussed our highs and lows of the trip. We talked about it like this: one high from everyone, one low, and one more high (for a trip-reflection sandwich, as Linnea described it). It wasn’t until this discussion that I allowed myself to let go of my cynical, bitter, jaded tendencies- that I do love so and consider to be my main personality traits- and reflect positively. So, without further ado; this was my trip-reflection sandwich.

The first high I had was one I did not expect, and it wasn’t even one that happened to me, really. While the group was in Matagalpa, we happened to walk past the central park and past a clothing vendor. As we walked past, Brenna pointed out a denim jacket excitedly. All of us had a collective “yeah I could see you wearing that” moment and moved on to focus on getting coffee. Over the course of about two hours, the decision was made that it was time to try our hand at bartering to get Brenna that jacket. We thought we would have to try to haggle down a 200 córdobas jacket to 50 córdobas. Even though 200 córdobas would have only worked out to be about six dollars and fifty cents, the cheapskates inside us all reared their ugly heads, and we prepared to pull out all the stops: sickly-sweet voices, good cop and bad cop techniques, the classic “pretend to walk away until they give you a special discounted price” move, opening an empty wallet, crocodile tears, and the works. Of course, we planned to do all of this in half-broken Spanish while the stronger Spanish speakers stood in the back to jump in when needed (read: me). Brenna walked over, ready to haggle something to a fourth of it’s price. All of us stood with bated breath as we waited for the initial price point.

Then the vendor told her the price: 50 córdobas. Despite how it must have looked and how it was made obvious we were complete novices at hard line bargaining, we took the offer immediately and tried not to scream too loud. Unfortunately, I don’t have an image of the exact moment when the vendor gave us our ideal price.

Having a victory come to us so easily was exactly the boost we needed to carry us through the next few hours of waiting for our hostel to open. The funny thing about the whole mess was that the six hours stumbling around the city were actually the most casual, aesthetic six hours I’d ever spent anywhere. I hadn’t known I would love Matagalpa so dearly- initially, I had wanted to skip that leg of the trip entirely. Cities never breathe the way we want or expect them to breathe; the process of taking pictures I knew would be beautiful was one of my favorite parts, to be honest. Here’s some evidence of that. 
This was a mural we saw as we left the bus station.
All over the city, telephone wires had bundles of moss around them. The birds were delighted to stand on them.
This particular hill was killer to climb. We had been awake since 3 AM, had the disappointment of a lifetime by the front desk of our hostel, and were forced to walk the city to kill time. Despite that, the high hills made for good views at the top.
One last shot of Matagalpa from the bus station before leaving with a dash of Linnea to spice up a good sky view.
This shot was at the end of our massive hike. To get back to the hostel, we had to do a final walk through a coffee field.
Near the end of the hike, Linnea found herself suddenly without a shoe and the mud found itself with an extra shoe. Linnea was fine posing in a flamingo pose for this picture.
The low point was one I could not have avoided in any capacity: the bus rides. Without getting too far into the nitty-gritty, we absolutely had moments where we chose to sit on each other instead of deal with standing next to strangers that had no respect for physical boundaries. I would have rather had the chance to sleep, but I was too paranoid of something happening to let myself relax.

I didn’t want to let myself be dragged down by the bad moments of this trip, though. The second high was actually post-trip. Linnea, Brenna, and I were walking to the bus station from the hostel within the jungle. Just as we began to go uphill enough to see the road, we caught the sight of a bus pulling away in the distance. In our screaming panic to get to the bus station at a dead sprint, we turned the corner to see everyone sitting calmly on the side of the road, chatting it up. In fact, the bus we had seen was going the wrong way and we had about 20 minutes of downtime while we waited for the right bus. The mist was just rolling over the top of the mountain- a place we had spent hours hiking to just the day before. Getting time to slow down, take pictures of the jungle mist, and finally know that we weren’t on the verge of missing an appointment like we had been the whole four days- in that moment, I was content.

Every trip is full of highs and lows- brace yourselves for cheesiness- as life tends to be. There were legitimately points during that weekend in which I wanted to lie down on the ground and never get up. Even in quiet moments, I found myself desperately wanting to be back in León and to be done with this whole trip.
In the end, I think we often let ourselves be swept up by our expectations. Fun fact: I didn’t want to stop a day in Matagalpa. I wanted to spend an hour at most in Matagalpa and immediately move on to Macizo de Peñas Blancas.

Stuff happens. Expectations change. What’s important on a trip like this is to breathe first and think later. What we failed to do was give ourselves space and time to inhale the Nicaraguan air and just be. When we were forced to slow down, we were forced to enjoy ourselves; to be happy.

At least, I was. I am disgustingly bad at just being. That weekend, I just… existed in Matagalpa as we stomped up hills with our phones out and cameras on. I just existed at the bus stop from El Cuá to Matagalpa while it rained gently and we giggled our way through photo shoots.

So, I was let down by the hike, yes. Matagalpa, however, exceeded my wildest expectations simply because I had none. Funny how that works out.
It’s okay to mess up. This program is nine whole months. Being forced to accept that you were wrong and that the country was right is a blessing- I’m sure that in eight months when I am on the plane from Managua to Salt Lake City, I will be thinking less about my perfectly-executed plans and more about these moments; these moments where I lived on my own terms, in my own time, on my own two feet, with my mind blissfully blank. These moments are how I will learn to live with myself.
Linnea’s mother requires photos of her daughter to hang on the wall- I provided.
I, however, also provide more aesthetic shots that make everyone look like they’re deep in thought or deeply in-tune with nature, as opposed to trying not to laugh while making serious faces.
This is a shot of Brenna glancing at the mist and very pointedly not at the horse’s butt in front of her.
One legitimate shot of a fellow deep in thought!
One legitimate photo showcasing the wonders of a rain poncho in the jungle of Nicaragua and Sophie’s perfectly photogenic, well-practiced, natural smile. Not sponsored by rain ponchos.
10/10 would not go on this hike again but would definitely post these pictures on Instagram again so that’s basically going on the hike again if you think about it.

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Dear Class of 2018

by Trevor, Tufts 1+4 Participant

I was stuck under an endless rainy cloud, with no idea of the intentions for my education.

In high school, I was rarely learning lessons applicable to my future. I was memorizing information, not retaining it. I felt like I learned more about how to study the structure of the standardized mess rather than the proper why I study…
Because of this learning environment, I began to lose purpose for education.
Instead of learning for the sake of learning, I began to focus heavily on the results–the grades, the score. I became obsessed with perfection and in the midst of time packing up and moving away, I seemed to lose all direction.

And after spending hundreds of hours crafting essays of perfection, taking entrance tests that the system deems to measure “college readiness,” and obtaining the spotless transcript, I chose to step back and take a risk on the bridge year.

That spontaneous decision led me here today; to a foreign country where I don’t even know the language. Yet, I would rather be in another country that I know nothing about than to continue through a system that depletes my love for learning.

In Brazil, I learn new things every day. Every hour sometimes. And although I may not be learning how to memorize the oxidation reagents of carbonyl or the formula for solids of revolution, I’m learning equally as impressive things. I’ve learned how to communicate without words, how other nationalities perceive America, the importance and perplexity of language, how to make a metaphor for the bridge year literally out of anything, why it’s essential to understand various cultures, and how to keep calm with clever, but malicious, Capuchin monkeys.

So this is for you, class of 2018, and the generations that follow you. If you are entering the college application process, listen closely: you are not alone in this daunting process. Every other class before you has embarked on the same journey. So, if you’re anything like me and find yourself constantly frustrated with the system or you wish to divert the path of normality, maybe consider taking time to travel to a place you never thought you would. Take time to meet new people, expand your horizons, learn a new language, and develop a fresh lens.

I know the decisions you are about to make are going to be hard ones, but those are the most fun. I regret nothing about my decision, even if I had to choose between where I should be and where I wanted to be.

Yeah, Brazil is a crazy mess for me and I am constantly confused; however, I am developing more and more direction each day. I’ve only been in Brazil for a month now and I have already recognized that this eight month journey is a test like no other.
A test that shreds your expectations in a beneficial way.
A test that gives you a dose of life readiness, which is way more measurable than college readiness.

And the first question for you is not why take a bridge year, but why not?