Okay, I finally have time to write about my weekend. Saturday afternoon, I walked down to la UNI to check out this Victor Jara Festival. It turned out that the adult program didn´t start until 6, but I got to watch the program for children. The strangest part was when a three-person theater group performed a cautionary play about the sexual exploitation of children. It was strange because it was obviously intended for a young audience (judging by the costumes and dialog), but the presentation, while not explicit, was certainly a little mature for kids. On the other hand, maybe a frank discussion of the issue is what is needed.
That night, I went to a bar in Granada with Lesbia and some of her friends. I talked quite a bit with Roger. He lives in a house with his younger brother, who is deaf and mute. The rest of his family is in the U.S., but Roger has been unable to get a visa (young, unmarried males are considered a risk for staying in the U.S. illegally). He told me that in December, if he hasn´t gotten a visa yet, he is going to go to Mexico and try to cross the border with a coyote. He knows how dangerous it is, and expensive, too ($2000 U.S.), but he´s desperate to reunite with his family. They will pay the coyote, and he will work to repay them.
Later, after the band played the Nicaraguan national anthem, Roger told me in stilted English that this song made him feel proud of his country, and that if he died somewhere else in the world, he would want to come home to be buried.
Forget about the politics of immigration. Can you imagine loving your own country, but knowing that you had no future unless you left? Can you imagine knowing that there was a good chance of dying in the process, but still deciding to take the risk?
In the morning, I had another U.S/Nicaragua discussion with Lesbia´s mother. Lesbia´s older sister, who is a legal resident of the U.S., is due to have a baby any day. Lesbia´s mother tried and failed to obtain a visa, and she´s very disappointed. She asked me why it costs hundreds of dollars to get a visa (with the application fees and medical exams). The immigration issue is so complicated when viewed from above, so all I´m going to talk about are specific people and cases--Lesbia´s mother should be able to visit her first grandchild.
Later, Lesbia showed me her English homework. She´s supposed to memorize the Lord´s Prayer, but the copy that the (American) teacher gave to the class was full of errors (¨hollowed be thy name...¨) which I corrected.
On a more positive note, I got to sleep in a real bed, with springs (!). Lesbia´s family doesn´t have a rooster, but they do have a parrot, so I awoke to ¨HOLA HOLA HOLA HOLA HOLA. Norrrrma? Norrrrrma?¨ It was a nice change. Also, I finally got to see what pitaya looks like. I´ve been drinking the juice, but now I know that the fruit looks like a fuschia artichoke (but the juice tastes like lemonade).
Now, I´m sick. But the good news is that it seems to be the flu, not a reaction to the food or water. Mainly I have a sore throat and cough, and a fever that comes and goes. I´ve been trying to drink lots of water, but it occurred to me recently that drinking water in which I can taste and smell the chlorine may be irritating my throat more than it´s helping. The neighborhood naturalista recommended that I take Jarabe, which tastes bastante fea, but hopefully it will help.
P.S. I regret complaining about sleeping in hot and sweaty conditions, because now I think that being cold and sweaty is worse.
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