Reflections From the Hammock on the House of Justice

26 September 2012.  I am trying a new (for me) form of multi-tasking today—blogging while reclining in the hammock.  In my relaxed mode I see laid out before me virtually the entire city of Managua.  In the distance I see just one tall building—the only one that remains after the earthquake of December 1972 leveled the city and killed 10,000 people.  The same tall building today is the site of a 10 storey tall outline in white neon of Augusto Sandino.  Sandino was the 1920s guerilla hero who fought the US Marines to a standstill and whose name inspired popular support for the Sandanista-led revolution against the autocratic Samoza regime in the 1970s.  These are all potent symbols of the long history that makes Nicaragua what it is today.  But that’s a subject for a college history course, not a lazy refection from the hammock.

Last week we went to the town of Jinotega to visit a House of Justice.  There are 14 or more Houses of Justice spread out among the cities and rural towns of mostly northwestern Nicaragua.  These Houses of Justice are, quite often, literally houses or at most a small law office where trained justice “promoters” and, sometimes, a lawyer work to provide affordable—free—help to poor people with legal problems.  The Houses of Justice are the visible, physical component of the ministry of Centro Cristiano de Recho Humano (C.C.D.H. or, in English, the Christian Center for Human Rights.)

C.C.D.H. House of Justice in Jinotega, Nicaragua.  Gilma is second from right.

The House of Justice in Jinotega is in the office of Gilma, an attorney who both serves her paying clients and donates a very significant amount of her services free to C.C.D.H. clients who cannot pay.  Gilma told us that much of her pro bono work is in the form of mediation of disputes among poor folks who, without money, would not otherwise be able to hire a lawyer or take a case to a court.  The mediation provides an affordable, efficient, and very prompt means of finding justice for folks who would otherwise likely find none.  But Gilma also represents C.C.D.H. clients in court in cases often involving domestic violence, property disputes, and many other issues. 

The day we visited we had the privilege of hearing the story of a rural farmer who came to the House of Justice for help. The farmer does not own any land, but rather he tries to eke out a living working on the land of other farmers (also poor) and by doing the odd job of carpentry.  He has not a centavo extra to hire a lawyer.  This farmer’s brother and nephew had been convicted 8½ years ago of a very serious crime and had been in prison ever since.  Because of their  “good time served” and their in-prison training and work (for which they get an equal share of good time credit), both of the men should have been released from prison by now.  But they haven’t been released and no one in the system is pursuing their release.  Gilma and the House of Justice had taken on the case to advocate for release of the two men from prison, much to the relief of the farmer. After listening to his story for more than half an hour I asked him one last question:  What would you tell your friends about Gilma and C.C.D.H.?  His answer was simple, yet potent.  “I will tell my friends that they really care about poor people.”

C.C.D.H. is a partner of our agency, World Renew.  In the months and years to come, I, Gordon, expect some of my volunteer work in Nicaragua will be to support, in some way, the work of C.C.D.H. and its Houses of Justice.  You can learn more about C.C.D.H. by watching this brand new video describing their work. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZGNjO6VfLvU&feature=relmfu

Ah, and now the hammock has done its usual magic.  My reflections are already fading away from these fingertips.  My multi-tasking has run its course, and for now I have but one task—to nap.

Birding Missionaries

25 September 2012.  Who would have thought there were missionary birders besides ourselves?  I didn’t think so, but it turns out there are quite a few.  The last 3 weeks have brought us 3 visitors, one from Romania, one from Dominican Republic and one from Canada. (Don’t any Norte Americanos want to go birding?).  All 3 are connected with World Renew or Christian Reformed World Missions, and all were birders keen to see some new Nicaraguan species.  I had previously and cleverly asked our supervisor to insert in our job description the role of accompanying in the field all visiting birders.  Even though he hasn’t written the job assignment that way (not yet anyway), we still got the assignments.

Let me describe a little of just one of our adventures.  Steve, from Dominican Republic, speaks fluent Spanish.  Although the locals thought he might be from Argentina, it wasn’t for lack of understanding Spanish directions that we got lost.  Understand that in Nicaragua about 99% of the roads and streets have no names, and there are no street addresses as you would understand them.  Instead, we were headed for a remote lodge about 25 kilometers from the town of Esteli where the nearest point of reference was a rural bus stop.  We found Esteli just fine, but … well, here are the directions from the lodge's website:

from  Uno Gas Station number two (ex Star mart) in Estelí turn east into the road bound for Yali until you get to the fork in the road, with an old house in between the two roads. Take a left and follow the same road to the "Rampa" bus stop, then travel 400 meters uphill.

Sounds easy, right?  It turns out the Uno Gas Station had changed name to Puma, and of the three Pumas on the main highway through Esteli, none bore “number 2.”  But you are probably thinking—like me—that it should be the second one, in the middle, because counting from either direction it would be number 2.  That would be wrong.  As it turned out it was the third one we encountered—named neither Star Mart, Uno, nor number 2.  And here let me insert a word of wisdom about asking for directions—don’t ask the young man at the pump at the second Puma station; it’s the guy driving the Pepsi delivery truck who knows where things are.

Once we got on the right road headed east we looked for the fork in the road with an old house in it.  Turns out there are several intersections that look more or less like forks, and usually there was a house nearby.  The Pepsi delivery man (even he has some limitations) thought it was about 5 kilometers from the Puma station—it turned out it was 12 kilometers, but we didn’t know that for another 2 days.  So somewhere around 5 kilometers we turned left on a road, passing not far from a house between the two roads.  Expecting another 15 to 25 kilometers ahead of us, we settled in for the drive up the mountain, enjoying several stops for interesting birds along the way. 

But somewhere around 15 kilometers into this leg of the journey I begin to have doubts that a bus would ever make daily runs up and down this particular road to the “Rampa” bus stop, like the directions said.  Within a short distance of finally expressing this thought aloud, what should meet us coming down the mountain but a full-sized bus.  Thus full of false assurance that we were on the right road, we pressed on.  As the road got worse and worse, we stopped 2 or 3 times for our friend to ask if we were, indeed, on the road to our lodge.  Yes, the lodge is ahead, they always said.  A few kilometers more, they always said. 

When we were about 20 kilometers (and about 2 hours) along this road things started to really deteriorate.  Our trusty (I hoped!) Rav4 was beginning to hit rocks as we straddled gaping holes and ruts in the road.  At one point Steve got out and peered underneath.  “It looks like you have protective plates covering the important parts.  I think we’ll be okay.”  I prayed he was right.  The car’s 2 liter engine was really laboring to carry the 3 of us up some of the really steep and long grades, and then we would plunge back down into a canyon to encounter streams 10 inches deep crossing the road.  Through them we plunged, committed to finding this lodge and a great weekend of birding.

Finally, more than 20 kilometers along, as we crept up a very steep and rutted stretch I had to stop, set the brake and get out.  Before going ahead I needed to inspect the ruts, rocks, and roadway just over the rise.  Were we going to make it or would we have to turn around and spend 2 more hours going back the way we came?  If we had to go back then it would be long after dark before we would arrive (assuming we ever found the place), so I really didn’t want to do that.  We looked the road over carefully, eventually removing a couple of boulders that threatened to damage the undercarriage of the car.  Yes, we thought, if only the driver is in the car, it will probably make it up and over the rise without getting high-centered.  As we were surveying the situation, we were watched the whole time by a small family, poor rural farmers sitting on their porch and enjoying the foreign entertainment we provided.   Steve asked them one more time whether the lodge was ahead on this road, and they assured us it was, just a few kilometers ahead.

So carefully, slowly Rav4 crept up and over the hazard.  Though I feared otherwise, the worst was now behind us.  We eventually came to a bus stop.  But it bore no name, so was it “Rampa” or not?  There was no clear “uphill” from there, and 400 meters on the road beyond there was no lodge in sight.  But yet another local assured us the lodge was still ahead, so on we pressed.  Finally I saw it on the hillside ahead, looking like the beautiful pictures I had seen on the internet.  We had arrived at last.  But having gotten there, I wasn’t sure I wanted to go home.  It took us nearly 3 hours to cover the 25 kilometers (or more) on the roughest road I had ever driven in Rav4.  I knew that if that was the way to Finca Neblina del Bosque, I’d never be coming back for more birding.

At dinner in the lodge that night we met a nice Nicaraguan family, a couple with their 10 year old daughter.  How did they get there? we asked.  Oh, we drove up in our little red sedan, they said.  I couldn’t believe it.  Their tiny car made our old Toyota Camry look like an off-road vehicle!  So we started asking questions of the people working in the lodge.  Which way did we come? they asked.  When we pointed in the direction we came from, their eyes widened.  Why did you ever come that way they asked? 

Well, it was all about that fork in the road.  I have always admired the wit and wisdom of Yogi Berra, who once said, “if you come to a fork in the road, take it.”  Well, this time we shouldn’t have followed Yogi’s advice. 

The next evening around sun-down about 50 (no kidding) powerful 4x4 trucks came roaring up the same road we had driven up.  The 4x4ers were fast, loud and proud of the mud they had accumulated conquering the same nasty road we had survived earlier. 

Three-Wattled Bellbird

Once we finally got there the birding was very good.  Highlights included Cinnamon-bellied Flower-Piercer, Azure-crowned Hummingbird, and the elusive Three-Wattled Bellbird.  This latter bird deserves more comment.  A week earlier in another location we heard a Three-Wattled Bellbird and narrowed its location down to one tree, which we were standing under.  And despite 45 minutes of looking into this tree while the bird called loudly and nearly continually, we could not see it.  So it was particularly satisfying on this trip to see it fade into and out of view in the mountain mist, eyeing it through our telescope from hundreds of meters away.  God must have been chuckling when he made this bird. With its wattles dangling from its face, it suggests to me the inspiration for certain space aliens I’ve seen in the movies. 

Two days later when our time was up we drove in the opposite direction away from the lodge.  After going about 400 meters down the hill we passed the “Rampa” bus stop (at last!), and we were on our way home.  The ride back down, despite being 25 kilometers of gravel, was smooth and luxurious in comparison to the ride up the mountain.  We enjoyed every minute of it.  I guess we can go back after all. 

CRWRC is now World Renew

This month the Christian Reformed World Relief Committee, the agency for which we volunteer, adopted a new name--World Renew.  World Renew, compelled by God's passion for justice & mercy, joins communities around the world to renew hope, reconcile lives, and restore creation.  With its new name comes this new logo:

Here is a new link to World Renew's website:  http://www.worldrenew.net/

The Red Card

22 August 2012.  One of our major goals during these early months of our stay in Nicaragua is to learn about the culture of the Nicaraguan people.  The issues people face, and how they have learned to deal with them. 

Sarah (who is Peggy’s niece) works for another non-government organization (NGO) promoting health education in Nicaragua.  She came to visit us last weekend, and told us this story from the village where she lives.

Feeling offended and belittled by the demeaning catcalls men often shout at ordinary women walking on city sidewalks, a local women’s group in the village of San Ramon decided on a plan to make their feelings known—very well known.  Ten or 12 of the women went to the nearby city of Matagalpa equipped with nothing but a whistle and a red card for each.  With the whistles and cards in hand, the women began to walk through the streets of the city.

When they heard a catcall (and there were many), the group would figure out which man was responsible and approach him directly.  When they got near to him, all the women held up the red cards and blew their whistles, long and loud. 

They didn’t need to say a word, yet they got their message across in a language the men completely understood. 

“TWEEET!  A RED CARD!  TWEEEEEEEET!  Ten more RED CARDS!  TWEEET! TWEET! A dozen more TWEETS!  

And the men understood.  “You have committed a foul!  You’re out of the game! Don’t do that again!  Not ever again!” 

Some men turned their faces away.  Many turned red with embarrassment.  Their friends disappeared, abandoning them to suffer alone in their shame. 

But that wasn’t all.  The women took photographs.  Then they spoke to the newspaper.  A news story was published, complete with pictures.  And then the women posted the printed story on boards and light poles all over the city.  There the story was read by many, young and old.

Wasn’t that an innovative idea?  It so effectively called public attention to a degrading problem, but no harsh words needed to be said.  The women got to let off some steam—almost literally—but without harming anything.  Nothing, that is, except the offending male egos.  They used a humorous means to let their feelings be known publicly while clearly communicating their displeasure to the very people who caused their pain.  Surely it was a remarkable local response to a common problem for women.  I admire their courage and creativity.

First Days In Nicaragua

13 August 2012.  When I sat down to write this blog entry I was interrupted by Peggy calling me over to look at another new bird—Stripe-headed Sparrow.  We have been here only five days now, and have seen already 3 new “life birds” while looking only off the lovely deck in the back yard of our temporary home.  We are perched on the rim of Laguna de Nejapa, an old volcanic caldera that now is completely forested and has a lake in its bottom.  From the hammock on the back deck we see not only the caldera below us, but in the distance beyond we also see the city of Managua and past it is the very large Lake Managua.  It is really going to be hard to leave here when the time comes.

Our first few days here were mostly devoted to rest and details of life in a new country.  First we unpacked.  That took about an hour.  Alma, a local staff member at the Nehemiah Center, took us to a grocery store to stock up on food.  The next day we walked back to the same store, and a second one nearby to buy our telephones and a few more groceries.  Both of these stores are completely modern and fully stocked.  In them we found everything we were looking for.  Everything, that is, except my favorite sweet soy sauce, which is completely understandable since I have had to hunt all over Grand Rapids, Michigan and then again all over south Texas to find a couple bottles.  Some delicious foods are just hard to find, and I suppose that partly explains why they seem to taste so good when you finally do get to enjoy them.  I will make it a quest in the next few weeks to find just the right Asian grocery in Managua.  Today we went looking for a used car and found a couple of good prospects to consider.

Introducing ourselves to Nicaraguans, in Spanish of course, has been interesting.  Although some people have trouble with Peggy, most get it right away.  But when I introduce myself as Gordon, I most often get silence and a wide-eyed blank look in return.  I can’t tell if it’s my accent (but Peggy says it’s pretty good), or if it’s actually my name that causes this palpable hesitation.  But I am now thinking they just can’t believe their ears—because in Spanish “gordo” means “fat.”  In other words, I think they think my name is, well, Fatty.  So I play along a little.  Sometimes I add that it is like “gordito”—that being an affectionate nick-name you could translate as “dear little fatty.”  Then the wide-eyed blank stare turns into a wide grin.  I think they will remember my name after that—or at least have a memorable image in their minds when they see me later.

We are very happy to be here.

The End of Panama, The Beginning of ... Nicaragua

Wow, we’ve been back in the states for 11 days already.  Busy, busy, busy.  Visiting family, shopping, appointments.  Time seems to disappear.

I know you’re probably wondering if we made it to our goal—100 new birds species seen in Panama in June.  Well, we certainly did.  We spent 2 days birding in the old Canal Zone with Jacobo Ortega, an amazing bird guide.  We birded in the village of Gamboa and the nearby Pipeline Road in Soberania National Park.  These two spots are only 5 kilometers apart.  The first day with Jacobo we spotted 26 lifers, which put us only 14 shy of 100 for the month.  Since we were going to practically the same place the second day, only 5 kilometers away, I really wasn’t expecting to see that many new birds again.  But I was very wrong.  The second day with Jacobo we saw another 34 new species.  I was blown away.  What fun it was.  Our total for the month was 120 life birds.  For the entire 10 week stay we saw 208 life birds and 280 species in total. Wow.

  

And the Spanish lessons were great, too.  We learned a lot.  Things were really coming together better in the last 2 weeks of study.  But, clearly, we still have a lot more study ahead of us.  We are still beginners who find conversation very difficult—possible only with someone who is willing to speak to us slowly and clearly, and who has a good imagination to help them understand what we try to say with our very bad accents.  But it has been fun.

So Panama is over for us, and now things are becoming more clear for our future.  In the last two months doors have opened wide for us to go to Nicaragua as volunteers with the Christian Reformed World Relief Committee (CRWRC).  We are excited to say we have a scheduled date of arrival—on August 8 we leave Detroit and arrive in Managua.  There we’ll stay in Managua for at least the first 3 months while we continue to study Spanish, begin to learn about the peoples and cultures, and search for a home for the remainder of our time in Nicaragua.  What we will be doing there in the long term is still undecided.  I think we’ll be discovering what we are supposed to be doing as we go along.  Perhaps that’s the way it should be.  God leads—we follow.  

A Slothful Weekend

It was a slow weekend—good for things like sloths, tortugas (turtles), and manatees.  And, indeed, we saw them all, at least a little.  We took a weekend excursion with other Habla Ya students to San San Pond Sak wetlands, where we visited the research and tortuga protection programs being carried on there by AAMVECONA http://www.aamvecona.com/en/index.php?p=1.  On Saturday morning, after taking taxis from the school to the dock, 11 of us boarded a water taxi for the 25 minute ride from Bocas del Toro to Almirante.  There a bus was waiting to take us 24 kilometers up the coast toward Costa Rica past the town of Changuinola, home of the Panama Baseball League 2012 champions Los Tortugueras (The Turtle Men) of Bocas Del Toro. We stopped at the San San River bridge, and there we boarded a wooden launch to motor about 45 minutes down river to the camp on a narrow peninsula between the river and the Caribbean Sea.  En route we encountered some heavy rain, so much of our stuff was wet when we arrived.  My once shiny Panama Birds book now looks worn and formerly wet.

Our rustic accommodations did include a comfortable double bed, with mosquito netting, in a private room, so it was really just right.  The shower was downstairs and cold, but in the intense heat and humidity it was a pleasure to take any kind of shower.

When it stopped raining, we started exploring.  And napping.  While I napped, Peggy found a sloth—I think it was a three-toed sloth, but don’t know for sure.  She woke me up and we went together to look at it.  The hike was about 50 meters.  While we were looking at Peggy’s sloth, I found two others.  They all were completely motionless.  They looked like messy balls of wet hair stuck to the tree branches.  Beyond that we really couldn’t see anything else, except on one of them we could clearly see some toes.  So I guess that settles it—we saw three toed sloths.

One of the featured highlights of this weekend trip was the hope of seeing giant leatherback turtles, the tortugas for which this spot is famous.  A female will lay her eggs on the beach nearby, and about 60 to 63 days later, they all hatch and the babies emerge at the same time.  As many as 60 or 70 dig out from the sand nest within just a few minutes.  Except here there is a lot of human intervention in the name of science and protection of this vulnerable species.  During breeding season, from about February to August, teams of workers (los tortugueras) patrol a 5 kilometer stretch of the beach looking for female turtles and the nests where they deposit their eggs.  The eggs are all collected, moved to fenced enclosure near the research center, and reburied in the sand in a man-made nest of the same dimensions as the female’s natural nest.  Dozens of these relocated nests are in the fenced enclosure where a small wire and bug-netting canopy is placed over each nest.  Here a person and a dog named Mike keep constant vigil over the hundreds of precious tortuga eggs, protecting them from predators both wild and human.  We were told we would have a chance to see both an egg-laying female and the hatching of a nest full of eggs, if we were lucky.  The plan was to look for both after dinner.

But at dusk, before it was even time for dinner, we got word that there was a hatching underway.  So we trotted down to the beach were we saw two people catching the little tortugas as they escaped the nest.  Each was placed in a wheel barrow that was teaming with 3 inch long tortugas trying to scramble out with their little flipper/legs.  They asked us each to put on a surgical glove, and then they let us help pick up the little rascals and put them in the wheel barrow.  I (and others) managed to snap off a couple of photos before they said no flash photography—it might disorient the little guys.  When the workers were confident that all the babies had been collected and no more were coming out of the nest, they wheeled the barrow about 100 meters down the beach and then, one by one, we put the tortugas on the sand and watched as they scurried to the water’s edge.  They carefully counted as each was released.  My tortuga was a strong little guy, number 8, who immediately headed to the water.   Peggy helped a set of twins, 18 and 19, get on their way.  If they make it, the females from this brood will come back to the same beach in about 20 or 25 years to lay their own eggs in the same sand.  It was a moving experience to hold the little tortugas and help them start their dangerous life-long journey in the sea.  It’s so dangerous that the workers waited until all the babies had made it into the water, preventing unseen predators from getting them before they made the first short walk to the sea.

After that excitement we had dinner and by then it was about 9 PM, time to go on the beach patrol looking for a female laying eggs.   No lights, they explained, and it would be about a 4 kilometer walk one-way with another 4 kilometers back.  So off we went, walking the beach in the dark with no moonlight to guide us.  Although we all stumbled over something sometime, amazingly no one got hurt.  We all just got really tired.  By the time we got back to the camp, it was after midnight, and we had not seen a single tortuga on the beach.  Sometimes that happens, they explained, especially now as the nesting season is starting to wane.  So hot, tired, and disappointed, we all went to bed, only to be aroused minutes later by the cry “la tortuga!”  A female had been spotted about 2 or 3 hundred meters from camp, but in the other direction on the beach.  So we all got up and out again, hopeful and cheerful.  But when we got to the site just a few minutes later, the tortuga was gone.  The workers were looking for the nest, so we stayed to at least see the recovery of the fresh eggs.  They explained the tortuguas will lay the eggs in the nest, and then create several false nests to try to deceive any predators who may be looking for the tasty eggs.  To find the nest one experienced worker used a metal rod about 3 or 4 feet long to probe into the sand where the tortuga had disturbed it.  They explained that the probe slides easily into the looser sand of the nest, and rarely do they damage an egg looking for the nest this way.  Nevertheless, one time the man with the probe pulled it out of the sand, and then felt the tip of the probe and smelled it, suggesting that sometimes they do puncture an egg.  Tonight, however, they found nothing.  Sometimes that happens, they said.  The tortuga may get disturbed and leave before the eggs are laid. 

So, disappointed again, we trudged, very tired, back to our rooms.  I didn’t have the energy to look at the clock, but I guessed it was about 1 AM when we climbed back in bed, me first, then Peggy.  Peggy had barely pulled up the sheet when another cry came, “la tortuga!”  Peggy was out of bed in a flash, but me—“I can’t go out,” I said.  “I’m beat.”  So I slept.

When Peggy got to the nest, again not far from camp, the tortuga had already finished laying the eggs. But she was still there.  Peggy said it was enormous, with a very large head and bulging vitrous eyes that appeared to be crying.  The workers allowed her to touch the soft leathery eggs that had already been placed in a plastic bag for transport to the nursery.  They measure not only the mother tortuga, but also the size and depth of the nest so they can replicate those dimensions back at the nursery.  They record not only the date and number of eggs, but also the exact location of each nest.  Sometimes they get a 60% hatch rate, beating an average hatch rate of about 40% in natural nests.

I managed to wake enough to ask Peggy about it when she returned at who knows when.  I think I remember her answering before I fell back asleep again.

The next day we went out in a small boat into the mangrove swamp near the river’s mouth, not far from camp.  We managed to find a few birds, though seeing them in the dense leaves of the swamp was difficult.  While doing this, I spotted a manatee surface not far away.  Neither Peggy nor the boatman saw the manatee, but we could all see the surface of the water ripple as the manatee swam under the surface closer and closer to us, finally passing within just a few feet of the boat before continuing out of sight into the distance. 

As for the birds, we found these 4 new ones:  Collared Plover, Black-cowled Oriole, Olive-backed Euphonia (we heard lots of these singing before we finally saw one), and Blue Ground-Dove.  Got quite a few bug bites, too.

Exhausted, we are now back at home and eager to get more sleep.  It was a really great trip.