Maybe I’m doing this wrong.
Maybe I shouldn’t be posting notes about the slum such as it's officially called La Carpio. Or I shouldn’t be writing that it was initially set up by Nicaraguan squatters and is now ‘home’ to 35,000 people. Or that most live below the poverty line. Or that part of the site borders an active landfill site.
Maybe what I should be doing is uploading pictures of cute slum kids playing in the dirt. Or showing photos of myself smiling in front of picturesque rotting shacks. Or posting comments like ‘And this is the putrid stream just outside their house, we avoid it like the plague LOL ;-)’.
So in the meantime, if you want a picture of what it is like, take a dump in your toilet, imagine you live in it and that you‘ll never get out, and then take a photo of yourself next to it. Don’t forget to smile.
…
Father Felipe and his wife invited me for lunch.
I had just finished painting a makeshift table for them. We sat in his hovel cum house cum church and we talked and ate. They had disagreed on the colour of the table. Father Felipe said it was fine. His wife wasn’t so sure. I jokingly asked him who was his real boss, God or his wife?
He smiled. Then he said, ‘Before I found God, I used to beat my previous wife.’
I looked at him. I didn’t know what to say. What can you say? OK, by the way, these beans are delicious? We chewed in silence.
I blame a lot of things on religion but it sure worked for him.
…
Don’t worry, cute slum kid photos to come.
Thursday, 25 March 2010
More Notes From Managuacita
Maybe I’m doing this wrong.
Maybe I shouldn’t be posting notes about the slum such as it's officially called La Carpio. Or I shouldn’t be writing that it was initially set up by Nicaraguan squatters and is now ‘home’ to 35,000 people. Or that most live below the poverty line. Or that part of the site borders an active landfill site.
Maybe what I should be doing is uploading pictures of cute slum kids playing in the dirt. Or showing photos of myself smiling in front of picturesque rotting shacks. Or posting adjoining comments like ‘OMG this is the totally putrid stream just outside their house... we avoid it like the plague... LOL ;-)’.
So in the meantime, if you want a picture of what it is like, take a dump in your toilet, imagine you live in it and that you‘ll never get out, and then take a photo of yourself next to it.
Don’t forget to smile.
…
Father Felipe and his wife invited me for lunch.
I had just finished painting a makeshift table for them. We sat in his hovel cum house cum church and we talked and ate. They had disagreed on the colour of the table. Father Felipe said it was fine. His wife wasn’t so sure. I jokingly asked him who was his real boss, God or his wife?
He smiled. Then he said, ‘Before I found God, I used to beat my previous wife.’
I looked at him. I didn’t know what to say. What can you say? OK, by the way, these beans are delicious...? We chewed in silence.
I blame a lot of things on religion but it sure worked for him.
…
Don’t worry, cute slum kid photos to come.
Maybe I shouldn’t be posting notes about the slum such as it's officially called La Carpio. Or I shouldn’t be writing that it was initially set up by Nicaraguan squatters and is now ‘home’ to 35,000 people. Or that most live below the poverty line. Or that part of the site borders an active landfill site.
Maybe what I should be doing is uploading pictures of cute slum kids playing in the dirt. Or showing photos of myself smiling in front of picturesque rotting shacks. Or posting adjoining comments like ‘OMG this is the totally putrid stream just outside their house... we avoid it like the plague... LOL ;-)’.
So in the meantime, if you want a picture of what it is like, take a dump in your toilet, imagine you live in it and that you‘ll never get out, and then take a photo of yourself next to it.
Don’t forget to smile.
…
Father Felipe and his wife invited me for lunch.
I had just finished painting a makeshift table for them. We sat in his hovel cum house cum church and we talked and ate. They had disagreed on the colour of the table. Father Felipe said it was fine. His wife wasn’t so sure. I jokingly asked him who was his real boss, God or his wife?
He smiled. Then he said, ‘Before I found God, I used to beat my previous wife.’
I looked at him. I didn’t know what to say. What can you say? OK, by the way, these beans are delicious...? We chewed in silence.
I blame a lot of things on religion but it sure worked for him.
…
Don’t worry, cute slum kid photos to come.
Sunday, 21 March 2010
El Clasico
Forget Manchester United v Liverpool.
Forget Celtic v Rangers.
Forget even Real Madrid v Barcelona.
This is El Clasico. This is Saprissa v Alajuelense. This is the two top teams in Costa Rica facing off.
This is beating drums. This is fireworks lighting up the sky. This is smoke bombs. This is streamers littering the pitch. This is chanting. This is holding your baby in one hand while you flick the finger with the other. This is football.
¡Vamos Saprissa!
Shame the game is shit.
Tuesday, 16 March 2010
Notes From Managuacita
We had just arrived for another day in Managuacita, little Managua, as the inhabitants call it. We walked the short route from the bus stop to Father Felipe's place. He always comes with us. He says it isn't safe for us to walk alone. I thought he exaggerated.
We crossed a man who put his hands together in the shape of a gun and pointed them at us.
'Fuera, gringos, hijos de puta,' he shouted. Get out, foreigners, you sons of bitches.
I looked at the other volunteers. We were here to try to help, to try and make things a little bit better. We walked past him, blinking in the harsh sunlight, lost in our own mixed thoughts, staying close to Father Felipe.
...
I had cut off too much wood.
Father Felipe lacked materials and I had cut off too much wood. I was wasting what little he had. I felt bad. I apologised.
'Only God is perfect,' he said with a smile.
I don't believe but I believe in what he is doing so I let him have the benefit of the doubt.
...
Sometimes I forget that I'm working in a slum. Sometimes I'm on auto pilot and I take my surroundings as normal. Then a gust of hot wind will bring a nauseating smell along and I'll snap out of it. I'll look around at the squalour, at the poverty, at the hopelessness, and feel shame at how I could ever consider this normal.
...
'And every tongue that accuses you in judgment you will condemn.'
I was writing Scripture on the wall. Isaiah 54:17. Father Felipe's is trying to decorate the interior of his 'church' ~a shack of rusty iron and dirty wood~ with inspiration.
Suddenly there was a big noise behind me. I turned to see a van full of people storm into the room. They were Korean. They sat in a circle and started praying. It was loud. They were shouting. Then they stormed out and all was quiet.
I can honestly say that was an unusual day for me.
...
I try and imagine what it must be like to spend the night in Managuacita. After the sun sets and the precarious lighting comes on, I wonder what it must be like to huddle behind flimsy doors, to sleep on dirty mattresses on floors, to hear animals scuttle around inside and see shadows running around outside.
I don't think I can even begin to imagine it.
We crossed a man who put his hands together in the shape of a gun and pointed them at us.
'Fuera, gringos, hijos de puta,' he shouted. Get out, foreigners, you sons of bitches.
I looked at the other volunteers. We were here to try to help, to try and make things a little bit better. We walked past him, blinking in the harsh sunlight, lost in our own mixed thoughts, staying close to Father Felipe.
...
I had cut off too much wood.
Father Felipe lacked materials and I had cut off too much wood. I was wasting what little he had. I felt bad. I apologised.
'Only God is perfect,' he said with a smile.
I don't believe but I believe in what he is doing so I let him have the benefit of the doubt.
...
Sometimes I forget that I'm working in a slum. Sometimes I'm on auto pilot and I take my surroundings as normal. Then a gust of hot wind will bring a nauseating smell along and I'll snap out of it. I'll look around at the squalour, at the poverty, at the hopelessness, and feel shame at how I could ever consider this normal.
...
'And every tongue that accuses you in judgment you will condemn.'
I was writing Scripture on the wall. Isaiah 54:17. Father Felipe's is trying to decorate the interior of his 'church' ~a shack of rusty iron and dirty wood~ with inspiration.
Suddenly there was a big noise behind me. I turned to see a van full of people storm into the room. They were Korean. They sat in a circle and started praying. It was loud. They were shouting. Then they stormed out and all was quiet.
I can honestly say that was an unusual day for me.
...
I try and imagine what it must be like to spend the night in Managuacita. After the sun sets and the precarious lighting comes on, I wonder what it must be like to huddle behind flimsy doors, to sleep on dirty mattresses on floors, to hear animals scuttle around inside and see shadows running around outside.
I don't think I can even begin to imagine it.
Tuesday, 9 March 2010
Los Gringos
I was trying to order a beer but a dancing girl in a bikini was in the way.
When I say she was in the way I don’t mean that she was in front of me, I mean that she was actually on the bar. She was dancing on the bar with five other girls in bikinis. It wasn’t easy to get a drink.
I was in a bar, near the beach, on the Pacific coast of Costa Rica. But there were no Costa Ricans here. It was all gringo, all foreigner. To all intents and purposes, I might as well have been in Florida. The slum was a five hour bus ride and a world away.
It was a bikini contest. The girl with the sexiest bikini won. I don’t know what she won, possibly a free shot or possibly a pivotal victory for feminism.
I looked at the girls but I didn’t find them attractive at all. I went out onto the balcony and stared out at the ocean. Maybe it was because I felt old, or maybe because I felt drunk, or maybe just because I felt saddened and dismayed by the spectacle.
Having said that, the third one from the right did have a nice rack.
When I say she was in the way I don’t mean that she was in front of me, I mean that she was actually on the bar. She was dancing on the bar with five other girls in bikinis. It wasn’t easy to get a drink.
I was in a bar, near the beach, on the Pacific coast of Costa Rica. But there were no Costa Ricans here. It was all gringo, all foreigner. To all intents and purposes, I might as well have been in Florida. The slum was a five hour bus ride and a world away.
It was a bikini contest. The girl with the sexiest bikini won. I don’t know what she won, possibly a free shot or possibly a pivotal victory for feminism.
I looked at the girls but I didn’t find them attractive at all. I went out onto the balcony and stared out at the ocean. Maybe it was because I felt old, or maybe because I felt drunk, or maybe just because I felt saddened and dismayed by the spectacle.
Having said that, the third one from the right did have a nice rack.
Tuesday, 2 March 2010
Pura Vida
... so you're sitting in the back of this car and this girl is driving way too fast and you've all been drinking so although you're a little bit on edge you also don't really care and you've been dancing salsa at this party in the middle of god knows where and this girl is just throwing the car around corners like she's still dancing and the radio is up high and they start singing along to this song and you don't understand the words but it still sounds great and you make up words and sing along too and you put your head out of the window and the night smells of heat and petrol and the car swings one way then the other and the rotten exhaust growls and the roads are a mess and you all shout Pura Vida at the dark houses which means Pure Life and as you come to a junction you think that your pura vida could be brought to an abrupt halt but the girl laughs and the car sings and dances on into the night pura vida...
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