Another long Saturday is coming to a close and the insects are swarming the light of my computer screen. Hopefully none will be ingested tonight!

I started the day with a run to the beach, and then got to make myself breakfast for once! Kati goes to English school in Rivas on Saturdays, and since she has to leave very early, she wasn’t here to present me with my breakfast as usual. It’s odd being served all my meals—I laughed the other day when Kati was packing my lunch and told her that before I arrived in Nicaragua, it had been more than a few years since anyone had done that for me.

On the topic of food—my family may think I’m loca because “I eat like a poor person” –i.e. I don’t eat meat and I eagerly eat rice and beans. But they’ve accepted the no-meat concept, so I no longer have to reject their generous offers. The major hurdle to a vegetarian diet here is that the Nica meaning of the word “carne” (meat) isn’t perfectly synonymous with its American translation. For instance, you can say “no meat” and someone will respond by offering you chicken.

Unfortunately vegetables are rather expensive, so we’re not swimming in them. A decent sized carrot generally costs 10 cordobas (50 cents) which is a lot here. Thankfully tomatoes and onions are cheap, so we’re never lacking in that department. And my family has noticed my love affair with avocados, so they try to keep me well-stocked. As far as fruit goes, mangos and bananas are the cheapest, so I tend to eat a few of each a day. Despite my knowledge of their affordability and my substantial quotidian consumption of mangos, I’m still euphoric each time I start in on one. I don’t know if I could ever get used to something so good being readily available. Enough about mangos though…

FSD held a workshop today, up the road in Las Salinas (where 3 of the 5 interns live) on composting. Kati was asked to make the “refrigerio” (snack- remember, it’s not a meeting without a snack) but she had to make 200 empanadas yesterday for a “culto” and go to English school today, so for the second time today, I took to the kitchen. All I had to do was make ham and cheese sandwiches on croissants that were already baked and pack juice boxes. Juice boxes! I sat down on the bus with all this food in my backpack and pretty soon an old woman boarded and started to take the only empty seat—next to me. As she sat down, I realized she was carrying a chicken by its legs in her right hand—the hand closest to me! I wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of sharing my seat with live fowl, especially since I was transporting food, but I didn’t have much say in the matter. In fact, the chicken was a much more vocal protestor than I was. Didn’t do much good though, I assume. Bus rides here are predictably un-predictable.

FSD invited a man from the ministry of all issues environmental to give a talk on composting. Nicaragua, like most developing countries, is struggling with the problem of trash. The trash is everywhere—contaminating the water, the soil, and the air (air because the only way to make the trash disappear is to burn it). It attracts more disease-spreading flies than cash-laden tourists, to say the least. Composting is a really good option here because the ingredients are readily available and organic soil is more profitable than non-organic. I haven’t seen a single compost heap in our neighborhood, but evidently they’ve been implemented successfully elsewhere. I’m hoping to suggest the idea of composting to my family.

After a delicious glass of cantaloupe juice, we headed to the next town over, La Virgen Morena, to check out my host-brother-in-law, Ariel’s, soccer game. It was scheduled to start at 3, U.S. time, so invariably no one showed until almost 4. The game was fun to watch, especially because combined with the expected dribbling, passing, and shooting, there was grazing, pecking, and snorting. A flock of chickens and a pig staged a sit-in on one corner of the field. They maintained their ranks admirably, despite a few serious collisions. It also seems to be the fashion to ride one’s bike through the middle of the field in the midst of play. This occurred a number of times, but none of the players seemed to notice. I’ve played with Ariel and his friends before, and I know that he’s one of the better players. For some reason though, he didn’t play the first half, so I didn’t actually get to see him in action.

Walking to the game and then again on the way home, we ran into a few funerals. Three babies and a man died near the end of this week. One of the babies died in the womb, but thankfully the mom survived. The two others were a few days old but died of fever resulting from infections. The man, who I found out is an uncle of my host-siblings (apparently all of La Virgen is related to my host-grandma), died of a heart attack. The father of one of the poor babies is a good friend of Kati’s, and came over himself to give her the news. It was heartbreaking. All I hear about is how terrible the hospitals are here- how one has to wait and wait, often until it’s too late. Only the mother of the baby who died inutero and one of the two who succumbed to fever ever went to the hospital. The other baby and the man died here, in the community. I don’t know which option is safer- they may be equally abysmal.

While walking back toward Las Salinas after the soccer game, I ran into a neighbor on his motorcycle and hitched a ride home. Although I’ve now ridden a motorcycle 5 or 6 times, I’m still totally thrilled every time. In the US, I’m staunchly opposed to motorcycles (as some of you know). Here, though, I’m a total hypocrite. I love them! I hope I can quit the habit when I get home.

My lungs and I were welcomed home by a serious trash-fire, from the banks of which I plucked Adrian, my 14 month old host-nephew, who had escaped his numerous caregivers and was enjoying a moment of freedom in the yard unsupervised. The fire-stokers were none other than Luis and Wilder, the star members of the stare-at-Yoselin club, whose combined age barely puts them at half of mine. Kids learn their wilderness skills early here, despite the absence of boyscouts.