Hurricanes Eta and Iota

On November 3, much of the world's attention was on the U.S. election day.  In Central America on the same day, people braced for Hurricane Eta, which entered Nicaragua's northeast coast as a Category 4 hurricane.  People had been fairly successfully evacuated from vulnerable areas and there were very few deaths in Nicaragua, although many crops and roofs were damaged.  The storm then turned north, weakening in its windspeed but continuing to rain extraordinary amounts.  As the storm passed through the mountainous central Honduras and continued north, the water converged around the Sula valley which led to flooding up to people's rooftops. The storm then lead to flooding and landslides in Guatemala, and even continued up north to Cuba and Florida.

José Hernández, a Mennonite pastor who lives in the Chamelecón area, was with church members on the second floor of the church's classroom building, where they waited during two days until the waters receded enough to leave.  (pictured below)

Our area directors, Cesar and Lizette, attend the Iglesia Central Menonita in San Pedro Sula, and their church members quickly organized to offer their church building as a temporary shelter to people affected in the Chamelecón and Rivera Hernandez areas. People were eager to get back and start cleaning up, and MCC offered some initial support with wheelbarrows, shovels, food, and hygiene.  They found homes covered in mud and furniture and appliances had floated around their homes and even out into the neighborhood. At the same time, MCC also began conversations with other partners in Honduras, Nicaragua, and Guatemala about responses in other affected areas.

Unfortunately, as the clean-up progressed and NGOs evaluated and prioritized the damages and needs, Central America became anxious again about another storm brewing in the Caribbean.  On November 16, Hurricane Iota entered Nicaragua just south of where Eta had hit, but Iota's epicenter was much wider.  Iota reached category 5 windspeeds at sea, and hit land as category 4. Nicaragua had evaluated some 50,000 people again, but this time there would be more deaths. The storm hit already saturated land, and the flooding and damages were more extensive.  The storm had a more direct path westward than Eta, so areas that had escaped Eta got hit by Iota.  The Sula valley saw the same extraordinary levels of flooding. Across the region, we heard about exhaustion and discouragement among NGO workers and church volunteers who were working with shelters and clean-up from these back-to-back storms.

In Nicaragua, there is a joint committee between three Anabaptist conferences for disaster response, and they had contacts in the northeastern area known as the mining triangle. I made a call to one of the church pastors who was sending pictures through WhatsApp. I learned he was sending the pictures directly from his phone, as he floated around the area on what I would later understand was a simple raft.  (pictures below)

There were homes that withstood the winds, but also ones that were blown over and many lost metal roof sheets.  In many of these areas there are concerns about flooded latrines and contaminated wells. 

As for us here in Managua, we had heavier rains during Iota than Eta, and there were a couple trees down along our street.  The government's disaster monitoring declared a 'yellow' category, which led to our children's school being closed one day. We know of some homes that were damaged nearby, however, in the city itself, the rains weren't so different than other thunderstorms that happen here.

We were encouraged by the financial sharing and encouragement that people offered, even after a challenging year in which resources are limited.  MCC is collaborating on multiple responses with different organizations and church groups across Nicaragua, Honduras, and Guatemala.

Life in Managua during a global pandemic: An update

Five months ago we took cupcakes into school to celebrate Lia's birthday, and the next day school went online.  The rest of the school year finished out that way, at first with emails back and forth and then with a platform called Seesaw.  I had joked that online school should be called on-the-parents school because of the extra work we were doing, but I'm sure everyone was doing more work than normal trying to improvise in these complicated circumstances.

Cases didn't seem to emerge quickly here, and we wondered why.  Could it be the climate and the humidity that causes it to move more slowly? Could it be that there was simply not a very active tourism industry that meant fewer travelers? Could it be that Managua is not so densely populated, with mostly one-story homes?  The neighboring countries all put in place strong public health measures, locking down borders and in-country travel, and still were reporting cases. Here, the Ministry of Health promoted hand-washing, but not much else.  Public school, buses, markets, and such were all operating as normal.

Then in June there was dramatic increase in concern.  There were still few official numbers to go with what people were experiencing but many people we talked to seemed to have a relative or connection of someone who had recently died abruptly.  There were two people from our local church who died, including a man who was in my small Sunday School class.

Our work changed significantly during these months as well.  Our two Nicaraguan staff began to stay home; one of them could do work virtually. We had our babysitter who helps with Miriam during the workday begin to stay home as well. Our three SALTers had left back in March, but our YAMENer from Guatemala didn't even have that option.  Over the following months, we began doing many more meetings virtually and partner organizations were all carefully monitoring the situation and taking precautions of their own.  

The biggest change for our work is that MCC needed to look at adjustments in light of the financial situation.  Among cuts and consolidations was the consolidation of the MCC Honduras office with the MCC Nicaragua office.  This brought staff changes and the country representatives for Honduras and their family left at the end of July. Two staff remained to close the office and pack up, leaving in August.  Everyone worked really hard to make this transition possible, but it is still a sad and challenging transition to go through.  In the new arrangement, the relationship with the Costa Rican Mennonite church is now directly with our Area Directors and our office is responsible for the MCC programming in Nicaragua and Honduras.

At a family level, our kids have been remarkably flexible and resilient.  We have been able to get out to the park or to go together to the office on a regular basis.  Lia has done a lot of reading this summer, especially enjoying any Nancy Drew book she can get her hands on.  We made it through the whole Narnia series at bedtime, alternating between the books in Spanish and English.  Silas has learned how to hula hoop and has spent lots of time with Legos.  Part of the daily routine has been to practice piano (Lia) and recorder (Silas) and read "20 and 20" (minutes in English and Spanish) for a 10-day chart towards family movie nights.  Miriam also had to adjust and learn how to share her living room kingdom with her brother and sister.  She has shifted to talking more in English more during these months.  She enjoys playing with Pollys and playing with her siblings, but she likes when they do things on her terms.

We have been able to do a few weekend city escapes with Nathan and Angelica, the two other MCCers in our neighborhood. We've gone out to hike at the Chocoyero, hike the coffee hills at Las Nubes, and we've gone with one other family who had also been taking precautions to the beach one day and to the Apoyo lagoon.

Recently MCC Nicaragua was able to support the three Anabaptist church conferences in a food assistance response for people who had lost work in these recent months.  Nathan, Angelica, and I were able to go and help at their packing day.

In the recent weeks, there has been a perception that there are fewer cases of COVID in Managua. The few indicators that we have to work with seem to suggest that as well. Two of the private hospitals have had reportedly had very few or no COVID cases in recent weeks.  Our partner organizations and some churches have started to step back into their buildings. Our kids' school was able to use a charter flight for some of their staff out of the country (still no commercial flights here) and they plan to start an adapted in-presence school day with a virtual option on August 31.  At this point, it looks like Lia and Silas will go to school; their classes will be using facemasks and social distancing.

Thanks to all for your prayers and support.  It's certainly been a strange time, but we have felt that support.  Bendiciones, God bless you...

MCC Centennial Sharing with Millersville Mennonite

Yesterday MCC East Coast had planned to have 100 Speakers in 100 churches to celebrate MCC's Centennial year.  We were planning to be with Millersville Mennonite in Pennsylvania, but because of the current situation with COVID and travel limitations, that wasn't possible.  We made a video and shared that, though. And you can take a look below as well. I had to edit it down a little so it would fit within YouTube's 15 minute limit.

Grandma Charles and her gift of love

When I was little and we would go to church on Sundays we would see Grandma and Grandpa Charles.  Apparently there we took turns sitting with them, but I don't remember those details.

When we would go over to their house as kids, I remember Grandma would take us on wagon rides down to the farm.

By their front porch, I remember the flower bed and the snap-dragon flowers.

I remember sitting on her sofa and looking at her scrapbooks in three-ring binders.

She also kept a binder of The News Boost, a little family newsletter I worked on in middle school years.  I was proud that she kept them; it made me feel pleased with my little product.

One time when we were coloring or doing something at her table, I remember she said something about "praising" me for what I did.  I told her I thought that the word "praise" was supposed to be just for God.  Somehow she clarified that praise can be for anyone we are affirming.  I now realize how much her affirmation, her praise, has meant to me over the years.

I remember going down into their basement, passing by Grandpa's wood stove and books. Down around the corner is where they would stretch out tables for family holiday meals for the years that we would fit there.  And I remember the curtains, separating the space into makeshift bedrooms.  There would be people that would come and stay in their house, from Armenia, Ethiopia, North Carolina, Burma, probably others.  How did they all get here to this little house in rural Lancaster County?  One way or the other, the lesson of their open door and open hearts sticks with me.

In the living room, I remember playing with the organ, stepping on all the bass pedals and moving the switches we didn't understand.  I don't remember being scolded or being told to turn the volume down. (There were the hymnals there too, with Grandma's pencil marks for more inclusive language!)

I remember sitting at Grandma's kitchen table, unsure about the tomatoes.  The oscillating floor fan moved the air on a summer day.  On the kitchen wall hung her quilted piece: "They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength, they shall mount up on wings as eagles."

Grandma operated on the Lord's strength and moved on wings as eagles for 93 years.  Just in the last few years she started to slow down, and turned over her driver's license around a year and a half ago. In the last few months she had moved into the care of the Mennonite Home.  After her health worsened several weeks ago and a brief hospitalization, she was moved back home to be cared for by Hospice and family.  She passed away this morning, May 23.

This morning I sat down with pictures, like I did as a kid on her sofa.

I found a picture of Grandma, giving us a gift of a quilted wall hanging, just before we moved to work with MCC in Nicaragua. (The 'wings as eagles' wall hanging is in the background.)

I saw pictures of Christmastime, when so many sacred traditions were shared. After the meal, there would always be time for sharing music (singing "The Star" and others together), some gift giving (as kids we got a toolbox one year, and tools each year after), and MCC health kit packing.  But our gift for Grandma was sharing stories.  For as long as I can remember, we were asked to write up a story from the year.  Every year these stories would include adventures, laughter, everyday experiences or relationships, and things that moved us.  In the pictures, Grandma is sitting tall, leaning forward with interest.

And there were pictures of Grandma sharing her love with our children as well. Grandma understood and valued children.  Here's one with my mom and the Miriams.

Over the past few years we have just seen Grandma during home leave trips.  But she continued to express her love and interest.  She kept a Central America map on the wall and always reminded us about her prayers and love.  Every now and then I would get an email: "Thinking of you..." "loving you all dearly..."  Her emails were filled with exclamation marks ("Spring is soon here! The scarlet tanagers are so lovely!) and praise and affirmation.

It was a relief when she was able to move back to her house for her last few weeks.  Although she didn't have COVID-19, the virus made visits in the hospital and Mennonite Home impossible.  I was able to call her through a video call the day after she arrived home.  Although she was in bed (pictured earlier) and the backlight from the window made it hard to see her face, her voice and mind were incredibly clear. She said hello to the children and we talked about some ordinary things.  Little Miriam was playing with legos on the floor which included a little frog, and I told Grandma that we had a frog or a toad in our house last evening that we had to shoo outside. ("You don't want a frog in your house?")  And as we were saying goodbye Grandma said more slowly and thoughtfully, "Thank you for your testimony of grace and service.  May your testimony of grace and service live on."  Grandma, even with her last energy, was inspiring, affirming, and sharing her gift of love.

Thank you so much Grandma.  You will be missed.  You have also left an impact deep within all of us.  Your gift of love will live on.

Wisdom, goodness, and suffering

I've been trying to do more Bible reading this year, and a resource that I've stumbled upon which I've really appreciated is The Bible Project videos up on YouTube.  They go book by book, looking at how the different biblical texts are structured and what the writers were likely trying to emphasize within their socio-historical context.

I just finished the Wisdom section, and it's been interesting to read this in light of the COVID-19 pandemic that has overcome many places around the world.

Since we came to Nicaragua, the question about poverty traps and bad luck has always been a present one.  For example, there's a family we know who in the last couple years were struggling financially as the father/grandfather was in poor health.  A family member lost his job pumping gas.  They opened a little tortilla stand by a bus stop along the highway.  In an evening trip by motorcycle for supplies, a young couple from the family was rear-ended in a hit-and-run. Then they had to close the stand because it wasn't profitable and about that time the father/grandfather passed away.  They tried again, this time in one of Managua's markets, setting up a stand for rice, beans, and kitchen basics.  Their sales weren't great there either, and then when COVID-19 showed up, the sales were worse and they were concerned about health in the market, so they pulled out.  What does it take to get out and get on top of these emotional and financial troubles?

I appreciated hearing about the perspective of the Wisdom books as a set of three, each with a unique angle on wisdom, goodness, and suffering.

There are a lot of good lines and good reminders in Proverbs.  (On these hot days I need to read these about being slow to anger for understanding.)  And a lot of it is good sense about living decently, sharing that good karma and it coming back around; the personal good is the collective good.  But there are lines that are uncomfortable as well.  Such as the suggestion that a person who is lazy will be poor ("a little sleep, a little slumber, a little folding of the hands to rest and poverty will come upon you like a robber...," 6:10-11). Or that if a person is hard-working they will have long life and prosperity ("a slack hand causes poverty, but the hand of the diligent makes rich," 10:4).  Maybe Proverbs works in general terms, but it doesn't explain a lot of the inequity and trouble in the world.

Ecclesiastes and Job might not completely get to these answers either, but these books make a much more direct effort at looking at these problems.  Ecclesiastes recognizes the randomness and injustice in life (the righteous perish and the wicked prolong their life in evildoing, 7:15). "Everything is Hevel," the Teacher in Ecclesiastes says. The Bible Project videos say that while this is usually translated "meaningless" or "vanity," the Hebrew word is "smoke" or "vapor," so it is hard to grasp, chasing after the wind.  In the book of Job, he also also tries to make sense of suffering through a long dialogue and between Job and his friends.  The conclusion there seems to be that humans are too small to understand the universe and God's wisdom.

So while Proverbs makes it sound like you get to choose your own adventure in life, Ecclesiastes and Job seem somewhat fatalistic: you don't have control, trust God and have the best attitude you can in your circumstances. On the one hand, we are responsible to do our part in shaping goodness within our world, and at the same time, we are finite beings who choose to have faith that God's steadfast love is at work in ways we don't always understand. It makes for an interesting set of books. It makes for something of a conversation between perspectives; a conversation which, like our world and our lives, continues unsettled.

Ernesto Cardenal: Revolution to Evolution

This past month on March 1st, Ernesto Cardenal passed away in Managua. Priest, poet, revolutionary.  95 years old.  He died in the same hospital where Miriam was born, actually.

When I was taking Latin American Literature in college, Ernesto Cardenal was the first Nicaraguan I came across.  I found his story interesting and wrote a few pages about him and his work for an assignment.

He was a Jesuit priest, pulled between the mystical and the practical.  In the 50s, he was part of a failed plot to take out the Somoza dictatorship, and then went to Thomas Merton's Gethsemane monastery in Kentucky.  He decided that wasn't his calling and that he needed to be more involved with his people's struggle. He went to the island of Solantiname in the great lake Colcibolca, believing that the poor need to be the lead theologians and artists in the new kingdom of God.  And then he was part of the Sandinista movement that overthrew the Somoza dictatorship in 1979. He served as the Minister of Culture through most of the 80s. Cardenal and a other priests who worked with the revolution were at odds with the Vatican and he was famously scolded by Pope John Paul II during the pope's visit. He was defrocked and eventually reinstated by Pope Francis in 2018.

Cardenal defended the Sandinistas consistently through the 80s. But tensions between the leadership grew. When they lost the election at the end of their decade, there was the infamous piñata, a property-grab by government leaders on their way out the door.  This was a breaking point for Cardenal.  For the rest of his life, Cardenal remained committed to a Christianity through a lens of Marxism.  But he was at odds with the Sandinista party for the rest of his life. He focused on his writing, his poetry, his dreams of another kind of kingdom.

After Cardenal's death, I picked up a copy of his book La Revolución Perdida (The Lost Revolution).  I was interested to see how his thinking developed over the years, especially recent years, and what may have contributed to that.  As it turned out, only the last 15 of the book's almost 600 pages really focused on his split with the Sandinista party, in the aftermath of the 1990 election. It was an important book though. There were many stories recounting the tragic violence of those years, as well as the fascinating initiatives such as the literacy campaign and promoting poetry and the arts with the working class.

In 2018, the year that the protests broke out, Cardenal published Hijos de las Estrellas (Children of the Stars) and I had bought a copy.  I reread it in the week after his death, along with a similar book of his poetry that I had picked up in 2017.  Through Cardenal's poetry, in his stream-of-consciousness, unpolished style, he writes of divine love and purpose within the universe.  What will we do with our awareness, our consciousness, on earth? We are responsible for the next step in humanity's existence or evolution.  Will we allow ourselves to be pulled by God's love, a force like gravity?

He had an intriguing comment in the back of the book about the sociopolitical happenings of 2018. He was hopeful about what might emerge.  And while it doesn't seem he had regrets about resorting to violence in the revolution in his day, he affirmed the commitment to nonviolence among the new movement he observed.  So in comparison to the essay that I wrote about Cardenal in college, I am now more curious about how Cardenal's ideas continued to evolve in the last decades of his life.  How are we part of God's emerging new world?

Hijos de las Estrellas ends with these lines (my translation, original in the photo below):

And the certainty that another world is possible
a God, not of the dead, but of the living
the union of the resurrected, the banquet of the kingdom
banquet bread and wine wedding guests
     and a planet that's partying

The leaves - Las hojas (for the healing of the nations)

So the song of the last post was written thinking more about social healing, but now the world is currently overwhelmed by the new coronavirus, and health as well as mental health are now our concerns.  The song has continued to run through my head in this new context, and has been something of a prayer for both physical healing and for the social support that we give and receive from one another.  Here's a video of the song that we did as a family.

La canción del último post fue escrita pensando más en la sanidad de nuestras sociedades, pero ahora el mundo está actualmente abrumado por el nuevo coronavirus, y la salud y también la salud mental son ahora nuestras preocupaciones. La canción se ha quedado en mi cabeza en este nuevo contexto, y ha sido una oración tanto por la sanidad física como por el apoyo social que damos y recibimos unos de otros. Aquí hay un video de la canción que hicimos como familia.

The leaves / Las hojas

Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, as clear as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb down the middle of the great street of the city. On each side of the river stood the tree of life, bearing twelve crops of fruit, yielding its fruit every month. And the leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations. (Revelation 22:1-2) 

El ángel me mostró un río limpio, de agua de vida. Era claro como el cristal, y salía del trono de Dios y del Cordero.  En medio de la calle principal de la ciudad y a cada lado del río, crecía el árbol de la vida, que da fruto cada mes, es decir, doce veces al año; y las hojas del árbol sirven para sanar a las naciones. (Apocalipsis 22:1-2)

I'd guess that the metaphor of the "leaves of the tree" in Revelation 22 is understood as something like a natural medicine, but maybe someone else can write a song about that.  Here in Managua, I appreciate leaves for their shade.  I understand that traditionally or historically a large Ceiba tree was planted in the center of a town.  I think the idea of shade can also represent the shared space in God's creation where people can meet and hear from each other.  Which is another way of understanding healing, I think. It seemed appropriate to bring some different languages and generations in this song, so special thanks to Lia and to Francisco Morraz for lending their voices!

Supongo que la metáfora de "las hojas del árbol" en Apocalipsis 22 se entiende como algo de una medicina natural, pero tal vez otra persona pueda escribir una canción sobre eso. Aquí en Managua, tengo mucha apreciación por las hojas por su sombra. Entiendo que tradicional o históricamente se plantó una ceiba en el centro de una ciudad. Creo que la idea de la sombra también puede representar el espacio compartido en la creación de Dios donde la gente puede reunirse y escucharse. Y me parece otra manera de entender la idea de la sanidad. Parecía apropiado incluir idiomas y generaciones diferentes en esta canción, así que muchísmas gracias a Lia y a Francisco Morraz por compartir sus voces!

The leaves | Las hojas

Would you sing here with me
in the shade of this tree?
The fruit is fresh
and the sun is high

The children enjoy the swing
a simple and beautiful thing
and the children go
and the children grow

Rest upon these roots
Retreat from the summer sun
Look up at how the branches
reach out over all of us

And the leaves of the tree
make a place for you, a place for me
And the leaves of the tree
are for the healing of the nations

¿Cantarían conmigo
en la sombra de este arbol?
La fruta está fresca 
y el sol fuerte

Descansen sobre estas raíces
escapar del sol de verano
Contemplar como las ramas
nos cubren a todos

And the leaves of the tree
   y las hojas abriránmake a place for you, a place for me
   para todos, un lugarthe leaves of the tree
   y las hojas traerán are for healing of the nations    la sanidad de las naciones

Misunderstanding, El Güegüense, & Gladwell's 'Talking to Strangers'

(español aquí)

Some 300 years ago, 'El Güegüense' was born in Nicaragua.  It's a lively satirical play with lots of dance and music, celebrated by Nicaraguans and honored by the UN (UNESCO) list of "intangible cultural heritage". El Güegüense's origins are somewhat unclear; it seems to have grown out of oral tradition among indigenous people in the area during the colonial era.

The story centers around an wily, elderly indigenous man, who is El Güegüense. At the beginning of the story, the Governor, the local Spanish authority, asserts his control by banning music and dancing while lamenting not having nice enough clothes, furniture, and such. He blames el Güegüense for his situation and summons him.

When el Güegüense arrives, along with his son and step-son, he faces the Governor's various complaints and accusations.  El Güegüense feigns ignorance at times, boasts at times, and generally spins any point that he can to his favor.  Through distraction, deceit, and dances, el Güegüense convinces the Governor that he should desire his friendship because of el Güegüense's status and wealth (all a bluff).  Before they are done, el Güegüense even manages get the Governor's daughter to marry his son.  And when the Governor asks them to bring the wine to celebrate, el Güegüense and his son respond to the request by mischievously using someone else's wine.

--

Nicaraguans draw various meanings out of this story. To some it is about Nicaragua's culture of humor and resilience, finding joy or laughter even in difficult circumstances.  It is also something of an origin story in the narrative of Nicaragua's struggle against imperialism. It is a symbol of protest, a mockery of the oppressor.  As the El Güegüense is acted out, there is significant use of masks. This is a symbol of its own, hiding an identity for both art and laughter, as well as safety and resistance. The symbolism of el Güegüense has shown up in the streets in times of protest during the Somoza dictatorship and again during the 2018 protests.

The primary plot or conversation in the play is between the governor and el Güegüense, but tucked into the story is also a level of conversation between the el Güegüense, his son, and his step-son.  The son is on great terms with his father, consistently giving and receiving affirmation.  However the relationship between el Güegüense and the step-son is a hostile one, as step-parent/step-child relationships often are in folk tales from other cultures. 

This is an interesting layer in the story that is much less discussed. The conversation between el Güegüense and his stepson is full of satirical insults and manipulation, similar to the conversation with the Governor, but in this situation el Güegüense is the one with more social status. El Güegüense is at the center of the story, and maybe this is simply showing how his character interacts with everyone around him.  It might also suggest that the same skill or person who challenges and takes power from an oppressor can also be abusive, transferring injustice. At all these levels, the interaction between the powerful and the powerless in the play is literally and symbolically a dance.

---

I had the symbolism of el Güegüense in the back of my mind as I recently read Malcolm Gladwell's latest book 'Talking to Strangers' (thanks to parents-in-law for the book!).  In his past books and his podcast, I've enjoyed his storytelling and ability to question the history we tell ourselves.  This latest book probably spent too much time on high-profile criminal cases to try to understand ordinary human interactions or misunderstandings, but the questions he was looking to answer and some of his observations are still worth considering.  

In our world, we inevitably interact with "strangers." We overlook the importance of location, contexts/background, and misread one another's communication/gestures.  And sometimes in trying to pay attention to one aspect of misunderstanding, we get it wrong or inadvertently cause other problems.  Through all of this fumbling along, Gladwell observes that there is a tendency to cast the blame on the stranger.

In the stories of breakdowns in understanding that Gladwell tells such as police abuse or sexual assault, the play 'El Güegüense' might suggest he under-emphasizes the impact of asymmetries of power and differences in cultural communication.  In many of these stories it seems the person who holds power projects his understanding or interest onto the other, which ended badly in these stories.  As dramatic as Gladwell's stories are, "listening but not understanding" is an everyday challenge (Mark 4:12). 

Try as we may to be in solidarity with the vulnerable, as U.S. citizens here in Nicaragua, we are still outsiders.  We mistakenly assume we've understood someone or that we've been understood. We miss cultural cues or miss the humor around us.  As we fumble along, how do we avoid becoming the jaded expat, blaming culture or institutions around us that we have not fully understood?

Caution and humility, Gladwell suggests, are important first steps in talking to strangers.  There are many values we could add, including time, listening, value/interest, sharing, play, lament, grace...

If we are going to be part of a process of making right our world of inequality and injustice, we need to work at understanding.  El Güegüense seems to suggest that we need to see the ridiculousness of our society's brokenness and also how we're wrapped up in it.

Sometimes we need to ask again (and again) to understand the joke.  Maybe we can laugh together, and sometimes it means a willingness to laugh also at ourselves.

--------

Hace unos 300 años nació ‘El Güegüense’ en Nicaragua.  Es un teatro vivo y satírico con mucha danza y música, celebrado por los nicaragüenses y honrado por la ONU (UNESCO) en su lista de  "patrimonio de la humanidad".  Sus orígenes son algo poco claros; parece haber surgido de la tradición oral entre los indígenas de la zona durante la época colonial.

La historia se centra en un  hombre indígena anciano, astuto, que es El Güegüense. Al principio de la historia, el Gobernador, la autoridad local española, afirma su control prohibiendo la música y el baile mientras se lamenta de no tener suficiente ropa, muebles, y tal. Culpa al  Güegüense de su situación y lo convoca.

Cuando el Güegüense llega, junto con su hijo y su hijastro, se enfrenta a las diversas quejas y acusaciones del Gobernador.  A veces, el Güegüense finge ignorancia, a veces se jacta y, por lo general, gira y manipula cualquier punto que pueda a su favor.  A través de la distracción, el engaño y las danzas, el Güegüense convence al Gobernador de que debe desear su amistad debido a su estatus y riqueza de el Güegüense (que son mentiras).  Antes de que terminen, el Güegüense incluso logra que la hija del Gobernador se case con su hijo.  Y cuando el Gobernador les pide que traigan el vino para celebrarlo, el Güegüense y su hijo responden a la petición con la travesura de traer el vino de otra persona.

--

Los nicaragüenses interpretan varios significados de esta historia. Para algunos se trata de la cultura del humor y la resiliencia de Nicaragua, encontrando alegría o risa incluso en circunstancias difíciles.  También es una historia de origen en la narrativa de la lucha de Nicaragua contra el imperialismo. Es un símbolo de protesta, una burla del opresor.  A medida que se actúa el el Güegüense, hay un uso significativo de máscaras. Este es un símbolo en sí, ocultando una identidad tanto para el arte como para la risa, así como la seguridad y la resistencia. El simbolismo de el Güegüense se ha presentado en las calles en tiempos de protesta durante la dictadura de Somoza y de nuevo durante las protestas de 2018.

La trama o conversación principal en la obra está entre el gobernador y el Güegüense, pero escondido en la historia está también un nivel de conversación entre el Güegüense, su hijo, e hijastro. El hijo está muy cómodo con su padre, dando y recibiendo afirmación constantemente. Sin embargo, la relación entre el Güegüense y el hijastro es hostil, parecido a las relaciones de padrastros/hijastros en cuentos folkloricos de otras culturas.

Este es un nivel interesante en la historia que recibe mucha menos atención.  La conversación entre el  Güegüense y su hijastro está llena de insultos satíricos y manipulación,  similar a la conversación con el Gobernador, pero en esta situación el  Güegüense es el que tendría más estatus social. El  Güegüense está en el centro de la historia, y tal vez esto es simplemente otra muestra cómo su personaje interactúa con todos los que lo rodean.  También podría sugerir que la misma habilidad o persona que desafía y toma el poder de un opresor también es capaz de ser abusiva, transfiriendo la injusticia. En todos estos niveles, la interacción entre los poderosos y los impotentes en la obra es literal y simbólicamente una danza.

---

Tuve en mente el simbolismo de el Güegüense al leer recientemente el último libro de Malcolm Gladwell 'Hablando con Extraños' (¡gracias a mis suegros por el libro!).  En sus libros anteriores y su podcast, he disfrutado de sus historias y su capacidad para cuestionar la historia que nos contamos a nosotros mismos.  Este último libro probablemente pasó demasiado tiempo en casos criminales de alto perfil para tratar de entender las interacciones humanas ordinarias o malentendidos, pero las preguntas que estaba buscando para responder y algunas de sus observaciones todavía vale la pena considerar.  

En nuestro mundo, inevitablemente interactuamos con "extraños". Pasamos por alto la importancia de la ubicación, los contextos/fondo, y nos malemos el paso en la comunicación/gestos.  Y a veces al tratar de prestar atención a un aspecto del malentendido, nos equivocamos o inadvertidamente causamos otros problemas.  Con estos luchas y fracazos con la comunicación, Gladwell observa que hay una tendencia a echar la culpa al extraño.

En las historias de malentendidos que cuenta Gladwell tales como abuso policial o agresión sexual, el teatro de 'El Güegüense' podría sugerir que Gladwell poco enfatiza el impacto de las asimetrías de poder y las diferencias en la comunicación cultural.  En muchas de estas historias parece que la persona que tiene poder proyecta su comprensión o interés sobre el otro, lo que terminó mal en estas historias.  Aunque sean muy dramáticas las historias de Gladwell, "escuchar pero no entender" también es un desafío cotidiano (Marcos 4:12). 

Por más que intentemos solidarizarnos con los vulnerables, como ciudadanos estadounidenses aquí en Nicaragua, seguimos siendo extranjeros.  A veces asumimos erróneamente que hemos entendido a alguien o que hemos sido entendidos. Perdemos las pistas culturales o no captamos el humor que nos rodea.  Mientras nos acercamos, ¿cómo evitamos convertirnos en el extranjero negativo, culpando a la cultura o a las instituciones que nos rodean que no hemos entendido completamente?

La precaución y la humildad, sugiere Gladwell, son los primeros pasos importantes para hablar con desconocidos.  Hay muchos valores que podríamos añadir, incluyendo tiempo, el escucha, valor/interés, el compartir, jugar, lamentar, gracia...

Si vamos a ser parte de un proceso de mejorar nuestro mundo de desigualdad e injusticia, tenemos que trabajar en la comprensión.  El Güegüense parece sugerir que necesitamos ver lo ridículo en nuestras sociedades y también cómo estamos enrededos en ellas.

A veces tenemos que pedir de nuevo (y de nuevo) para entender el chiste.  Tal vez podamos reírnos juntos, y a veces significa una voluntad de reírnos también de nosotros mismos.