More Confusion

When I woke up this morning I felt like I was getting into a little groove here in Nicaragua. In a country full of surprises I had established a loose daily routine of Spanish class, lunch and time with the kids, and back home to write before dinner. This sense of familiarity took a major blow today, when I was faced with a couple situations for which I felt completely unprepared.

After class, as always, I walked to meet the kids in front of Metrocentro. Seven kids came today. Initially everything seemed fine, but even before we made it to the parking lot Ninoska and Sonia started screaming at each other while I tried, in vain, to diffuse the situation. My limited Spanish becomes virtually nonexistent when I am nervous, anxious, or pretty much anywhere but sitting in class, so I resorted to using English. They stopped for a bit but were clearly still livid at each other.

When we reached the parking lot a skinny, dirty man approached and asked me, in English, if I was with an organization. He then proceeded to tell me that he is HIV-Positive and trying to raise money to pay the rent for 85 HIV and AIDS patients who are getting evicted from their residences. The man, named Henry, had lived in the States for some years so he spoke English fairly well. He told me that the government has been giving them trouble and that they had nowhere to go. He then asked for money, all the while painting a picture of pure desperation of the situation with his words. He gave me gory descriptions of his own medical problems, telling me, “I should be in the hospital right now, but we need the money so I’m out here.”

The kids were imploring me to ignore him and to go, but I didn’t have the heart to leave him. I gave him 40 Cordobas – a little more than $2.00. Whether he was telling the truth or not, I’m not sure, but he wrote me a “receipt” and gave me an address, inviting me to check out where they were staying. Later the kids told me to never go there since it was surely a trap and I would be beat up and robbed.

During this conversation the kids were surprisingly patient and quiet. At about this time, however, something was said and Sonia and Ninoska started attacking each other physically. Separating the girls was much harder than I thought. Although I eventually broke up the physical fight, the verbal assault continued. Henry translated Ninoska’s barbs, telling me that she was calling Sonia’s mother a liar and commenting on how much Sonia had changed after meeting me.

I don’t think I can do the scene justice with words. I found myself in a situation I never would have predicted; on a street corner in Managua trying to break up a real fight – punches were thrown, hair was pulled, faces were scratched – between street kids while standing next to a HIV-Positive man begging for money.

The situation got even more depressing when Henry then asked for more money, even getting on his knees at one point and saying, “I’m begging you in the name of Jesus Christ.” This was the closest I’ve ever come to completely losing my composure here. Each component of that situation – the drama between the girls, Henry’s begging, and the ever-present poverty – is worthy of provoking immense sorrow and tears.

I didn’t give Henry any more money then, explaining to him that I needed to buy lunch for the kids, and would return if I had any change following our meal. I didn’t know what else to do.

We went inside and, after finding a table, Ninoska gave me a letter to read and desperately tried to explain its contents when I told her I didn’t understand it. She was so adamant on conveying her message that I called Keren and had her translate. It turns out that Ninoska said she doesn’t want to come to lunch anymore because her mom thinks their family would be better served with using the money I spent on their lunches to buy more items to sell on the street. She offered me a set of binoculars if I would give them 300 Cordobas.

I found myself confused, distressed, and frustrated by my lack of communication skills as a result of the proceeding 20 minutes. I wish that I can report that I maturely and quickly made decisions and handled the situation, but this is simply not true. I felt paralyzed by what had happened and was happening. I told Ninoska, through Keren, that I was going to buy her lunch today and that we could talk about it tomorrow when Keren came.

Shortly thereafter an American man approached me and curiously asked what I was doing. I explained, and he told me he is a major donor to the school which all of the kids attend. He informed me that he and another donor were having lunch with the director of the school a few tables over.

I went over and met the director, and through the American man’s translation, found out that all of the kids except for Ninoska go to the school every morning. The school itself is private and non-profit, funded by Americans. I was so confused – didn’t Sonia’s father tell me just last week that none of them go to school? I mentioned this and no one seemed to have any answers.

I expressed my desire to help the kids and their families. The female donor suggested that I volunteer at the school, helping with English and serving as a role model. I told her that I’d consider the opportunity when I returned at the end of the month. The director told me a little about the kids before imploring me to never keep money or valuables in my backpack while around them, since they were “wise.”

When I returned to the kids they told me, in hushed voices, that the director was a mean lady and doesn’t try to help them. I was now more confused than ever.

Considering today’s events, I really don’t know what to do tomorrow, when I had planned on going to another school in the kids’ neighborhood with Keren and their parents to explore a way to get them admitted. Now that I know they are in school I don’t know what I should do. I am going to call Keren in a little bit and see what she thinks.

Another day in Nicaragua, more tough questions I am unable to answer. It seems like something happens every day which causes my heart to break a little more. I’m sure that this blog is quite scattered and incomplete, but I think that’s an appropriate representation of what happened today and how I’m feeling. The only solution I can think of is prayer. I know that I am far from able to help these kids and deal with these challenges on my own, but God can, and is willing to, help.