Dr. Doolittle Would Be Proud

I knew when I left for Nicaragua just about a month ago that I'd be getting into some weird situations over the next couple of years. Midnight tarantula battles, teeth-clenching bouts of diarrhea in the middle of long bus rides, awkward moments tripping over the language barrier, eyebrow-raising food, unique folks at every turn- these are things I am expecting during my time in Central America. However, I can safely say that not even in my wildest dreams could I have predicted the events that transpired last Sunday night.

It was sometime shortly after 8:30 PM. I was sitting in my room, my thoughts deep in the frigid Yukon goldfields of a Jack London story, enjoying the cool weather brought in by an afternoon thunderstorm. As I prepared to turn in for the night, I heard a deep bellow emanate from the cow pen, which is about 40 yards from the house. Thinking it was just the dogs harassing Fortuna, our orphaned calf, I ignored it and continued getting ready for bed. However, only minutes later I heard the excited shouts and pounding footsteps of my host family outside and I knew that something was definitely up. I ran outside in my sandals to see my host brothers tying an ox down with rope, a piece of wood jammed between its teeth to keep its mouth open, and my host father shining a flashlight deep into the beast's throat.

"What's happening?!" I asked my sister Eli, who was hurriedly tearing the leaves off of a plantain frond. "One of the oxen is choking on an avocado," she replied calmly, "It's having no trouble inhaling, but it can't exhale. So if we don't do something, it's gonna rupture its lungs and die". Staring at the unfolding drama before me, I quietly wondered to myself what the Spanish word for "meat balloon" was. Having finished pulling the leaves off the plantain frond, Eli handed the smooth, 4-foot long stalk to her brother Luis, who began ramming it down the writhing animal's throat like a toilet plunger, in an attempt to dislodge the potentially fatal fruit.

Despite this valiant attempt at animal rescue, the avocado wasn't going anywhere. So we had to resort to one last desperate measure. As I helped hold down the 1,200 pounds of wheezing hamburger, Eli ran into the house and came back with the biggest syringe I've ever seen in my life. She handed it to her older brother, Eddy, who ran the 5 inches of pointed steel right into the ox's rear quarter. Before I could ask him what he had just injected into the poor animal, the ox stood up uneasily, unexpectedly calm, and proceeded to empty the contents of its four stomachs onto the ground, forcefully ejecting the avocado in a spew of half-digested grass and bile, and finishing its performance with a satisfied grunt. The answer to my question was then clear to me; there is such a thing as bovine ipecac to induce vomiting. Despite the revolting scene I had just witnessed, I went to sleep with a smile on my face, knowing that I had helped avoid a potentially horrific situation and that in the humid tropical morning of Nicaragua, a proud yet stupid ox will live to see another day.

In other news, things are going really well with training. We've had numerous technical sessions at nearby farms, where we've learned about everything from how and when to plant different fruits and vegetables, organic composts, fertilizers, pesticides, and fungicides, and the various types of leaf-cutter ants, white flies, bacterias, locusts, viruses, crickets, and moths that can wreak havoc on farm fields.

In one session we practiced different rural commercialization and food preservation activities that we can help farmers with at our volunteer sites. These included cheese-making, soy products, organic soap and shampoo, homemade peanut butter, jellies, jams, marmalades, and other products that can be made with available resources and sold for a little extra family income. Preserving milk as cheese and fruits in jams and jellies will also help families get through the lean times in between harvests. I'll admit that my scratch mozzarella needed a bit more salt, but I'll be damned if anyone criticizes the banana fritters I made.

In another session, we visited a farming cooperative whose main building was decidedly socialist in taste, as the local farmers introduced us to common crop pests beneath large murals of Che Guevara, Augusto Sandino, Daniel Ortega, Carlos Fonseca, and Fidel Castro. I don't know why, but it seems like murals of Fidel Castro follow me everywhere in this world; first my favorite bar in Russia, now a farmhouse in Nicaragua...maybe my path will lead to Cuba someday.

Out in the co-op's coffee and corn fields, we took leaf and soil samples, noting the various critters, both good and bad, that we found cohabiting with the crops. I couldn't help but notice how healthy the soil looked, a deep black earth that would make Nebraska farmers green with envy. But then I looked up from the dirt and over the tops of the corn stalks to the massive Masaya Volcano looming only a few kilometers away. I quickly remembered that this rich soil is due to geological processes that were occurring right beneath my feet. Miles below the farthest reaches of the tree roots and the underground labyrinths of the leaf-cutter ants, the tectonic Cocos Plate is grinding underneath the massive Caribbean Plate, driving liquid magma up towards the surface. The tufts of sulfuric steam that constantly rise high above the volcano's crater testify to the subterranean violence below. If there's a price to pay for such rich land, it must be the daily jitters one gets while living above a seismic hotspot.

With one month down and twenty-six to go, I feel like I'm sliding into life here slowly but surely. Of course, the protective bubble of training still goes on for another 6 weeks and I've yet to actually move into my site where I'll be for the duration of my stay. But still, I'm finding life here definitely to my liking. I hope everyone is doing well at home. I miss you all and I hope you find my posts entertaining, interesting, or at least a worthwhile 15-minute diversion from the work you should be doing. Keep in touch and keep me posted.