In memoriam

"Excellencies, ladies and gentlemen,

In 1977, when we started the Green Belt Movement, I was partly responding to needs identified by rural women, namely lack of firewood, clean drinking water, balanced diets, shelter and income.

Throughout Africa, women are the primary caretakers, holding significant responsibility for tilling the land and feeding their families. As a result, they are often the first to become aware of environmental damage as resources become scarce and incapable of sustaining their families.

The women we worked with recounted that unlike in the past, they were unable to meet their basic needs. This was due to the degradation of their immediate environment as well as the introduction of commercial farming, which replaced the growing of household food crops. But international trade controlled the price of the exports from these small-scale farmers and a reasonable and just income could not be guaranteed. I came to understand that when the environment is destroyed, plundered or mismanaged, we undermine our quality of life and that of future generations.

Tree planting became a natural choice to address some of the initial basic needs identified by women. Also, tree planting is simple, attainable and guarantees quick, successful results within a reasonable amount time. This sustains interest and commitment.

So, together, we have planted over 30 million trees that provide fuel, food, shelter, and income to support their children's education and household needs. The activity also creates employment and improves soils and watersheds. Through their involvement, women gain some degree of power over their lives, especially their social and economic position and relevance in the family. This work continues.

Initially, the work was difficult because historically our people have been persuaded to believe that because they are poor, they lack not only capital, but also knowledge and skills to address their challenges. Instead they are conditioned to believe that solutions to their problems must come from ‘outside'. Further, women did not realize that meeting their needs depended on their environment being healthy and well managed. They were also unaware that a degraded environment leads to a scramble for scarce resources and may culminate in poverty and even conflict. They were also unaware of the injustices of international economic arrangements.

In order to assist communities to understand these linkages, we developed a citizen education program, during which people identify their problems, the causes and possible solutions. They then make connections between their own personal actions and the problems they witness in the environment and in society. They learn that our world is confronted with a litany of woes: corruption, violence against women and children, disruption and breakdown of families, and disintegration of cultures and communities. They also identify the abuse of drugs and chemical substances, especially among young people. There are also devastating diseases that are defying cures or occurring in epidemic proportions. Of particular concern are HIV/AIDS, malaria and diseases associated with malnutrition.

On the environment front, they are exposed to many human activities that are devastating to the environment and societies. These include widespread destruction of ecosystems, especially through deforestation, climatic instability, and contamination in the soils and waters that all contribute to excruciating poverty.

In the process, the participants discover that they must be part of the solutions. They realize their hidden potential and are empowered to overcome inertia and take action. They come to recognize that they are the primary custodians and beneficiaries of the environment that sustains them.

Entire communities also come to understand that while it is necessary to hold their governments accountable, it is equally important that in their own relationships with each other, they exemplify the leadership values they wish to see in their own leaders, namely justice, integrity and trust.

Although initially the Green Belt Movement's tree planting activities did not address issues of democracy and peace, it soon became clear that responsible governance of the environment was impossible without democratic space. Therefore, the tree became a symbol for the democratic struggle in Kenya. Citizens were mobilised to challenge widespread abuses of power, corruption and environmental mismanagement. In Nairobi 's Uhuru Park, at Freedom Corner, and in many parts of the country, trees of peace were planted to demand the release of prisoners of conscience and a peaceful transition to democracy.

Through the Green Belt Movement, thousands of ordinary citizens were mobilized and empowered to take action and effect change. They learned to overcome fear and a sense of helplessness and moved to defend democratic rights.

In time, the tree also became a symbol for peace and conflict resolution, especially during ethnic conflicts in Kenya when the Green Belt Movement used peace trees to reconcile disputing communities. During the ongoing re-writing of the Kenyan constitution, similar trees of peace were planted in many parts of the country to promote a culture of peace. Using trees as a symbol of peace is in keeping with a widespread African tradition. For example, the elders of the Kikuyu carried a staff from the thigi tree that, when placed between two disputing sides, caused them to stop fighting and seek reconciliation. Many communities in Africa have these traditions.

Such practices are part of an extensive cultural heritage, which contributes both to the conservation of habitats and to cultures of peace. With the destruction of these cultures and the introduction of new values, local biodiversity is no longer valued or protected and as a result, it is quickly degraded and disappears. For this reason, The Green Belt Movement explores the concept of cultural biodiversity, especially with respect to indigenous seeds and medicinal plants.

As we progressively understood the causes of environmental degradation, we saw the need for good governance. Indeed, the state of any county's environment is a reflection of the kind of governance in place, and without good governance there can be no peace. Many countries, which have poor governance systems, are also likely to have conflicts and poor laws protecting the environment.

In 2002, the courage, resilience, patience and commitment of members of the Green Belt Movement, other civil society organizations, and the Kenyan public culminated in the peaceful transition to a democratic government and laid the foundation for a more stable society.

Excellencies, friends, ladies and gentlemen,

It is 30 years since we started this work. Activities that devastate the environment and societies continue unabated. Today we are faced with a challenge that calls for a shift in our thinking, so that humanity stops threatening its life-support system. We are called to assist the Earth to heal her wounds and in the process heal our own – indeed, to embrace the whole creation in all its diversity, beauty and wonder. This will happen if we see the need to revive our sense of belonging to a larger family of life, with which we have shared our evolutionary process.

In the course of history, there comes a time when humanity is called to shift to a new level of consciousness, to reach a higher moral ground. A time when we have to shed our fear and give hope to each other.

That time is now.

The Norwegian Nobel Committee has challenged the world to broaden the understanding of peace: there can be no peace without equitable development; and there can be no development without sustainable management of the environment in a democratic and peaceful space. This shift is an idea whose time has come.

I call on leaders, especially from Africa, to expand democratic space and build fair and just societies that allow the creativity and energy of their citizens to flourish.

Those of us who have been privileged to receive education, skills, and experiences and even power must be role models for the next generation of leadership. In this regard, I would also like to appeal for the freedom of my fellow laureate Aung San Suu Kyi so that she can continue her work for peace and democracy for the people of Burma and the world at large.

Culture plays a central role in the political, economic and social life of communities. Indeed, culture may be the missing link in the development of Africa. Culture is dynamic and evolves over time, consciously discarding retrogressive traditions, like female genital mutilation (FGM), and embracing aspects that are good and useful.

Africans, especially, should re-discover positive aspects of their culture. In accepting them, they would give themselves a sense of belonging, identity and self-confidence.

Ladies and Gentlemen,

There is also need to galvanize civil society and grassroots movements to catalyse change. I call upon governments to recognize the role of these social movements in building a critical mass of responsible citizens, who help maintain checks and balances in society. On their part, civil society should embrace not only their rights but also their responsibilities.

Further, industry and global institutions must appreciate that ensuring economic justice, equity and ecological integrity are of greater value than profits at any cost.

The extreme global inequities and prevailing consumption patterns continue at the expense of the environment and peaceful co-existence. The choice is ours.

I would like to call on young people to commit themselves to activities that contribute toward achieving their long-term dreams. They have the energy and creativity to shape a sustainable future. To the young people I say, you are a gift to your communities and indeed the world. You are our hope and our future.

The holistic approach to development, as exemplified by the Green Belt Movement, could be embraced and replicated in more parts of Africa and beyond. It is for this reason that I have established the Wangari Maathai Foundation to ensure the continuation and expansion of these activities. Although a lot has been achieved, much remains to be done.

Excellencies, ladies and gentlemen,

As I conclude I reflect on my childhood experience when I would visit a stream next to our home to fetch water for my mother. I would drink water straight from the stream. Playing among the arrowroot leaves I tried in vain to pick up the strands of frogs' eggs, believing they were beads. But every time I put my little fingers under them they would break. Later, I saw thousands of tadpoles: black, energetic and wriggling through the clear water against the background of the brown earth. This is the world I inherited from my parents.

Today, over 50 years later, the stream has dried up, women walk long distances for water, which is not always clean, and children will never know what they have lost. The challenge is to restore the home of the tadpoles and give back to our children a world of beauty and wonder.

Thank you very much"

Excerpt from Wangari Maathai's 2004 Nobel Peace Prize acceptance speech.

Domingo a la finca de mi familia

After a very intense week in Nicaragua, the tales and pictures of which I haven't even thought about dealing with yet, I was incredibly happy to return home to my host-family. And they were incredibly happy to see me! Rosy, my mother, had just come back from a party arranged by ICADS for all host-mothers, which included food, bingo, and dancing. In the end everyone walked away with little presents (in Rosy's case, a purple violet, one of her favorite flowers).

They were all extremely excited to hear my stories, and impressions of their neighbor country, and overjoyed that I'd had such a wonderful experience there. I walked away from Nicaragua with a lot of new understandings that I am still sorting out and working to integrate into my vision of the world.

My last post is a bit melodramatic, but it fit my mood and thoughts at the time, and in many ways is representative of deeper impressions I felt. I now feel embarrassed to be apologizing here, in my own space where I have the freedom to write, about something that might have made others uncomfortable. But recognizing that is important, so I'll explain. I was exhausted from a week of stimulating (if not over-stimulating) experiences, lectures, and encounters. Finally, I was doing the last of my assigned readings for the Nicaraguan trip when I found that short poem at the beginning of a piece about world hunger. I was particularly struck, especially since I turned such a stubbornly blind-eye to the hunger in Nicaragua.

I have been conditioned (or, should I say, permitted myself to be taught it was alright) to look past the beggars of every age, gender, or background that approach me in the street, regardless of country, history, or time of day. I spent so much time thinking over what was in front of me, what social ills and triumphs I witnessed, but ignored the most blatant physical incarnation of poverty there is, and denied its existence by refusing to look it in the eyes.

As of now, I've moved from brooding on structural poverty and hunger, to brooding on the ways in which they are currently being addressed. Maybe I'll post my most recent class paper about it. It's not very good though..

But THAT'S not what I came to write about! I came to show some photos of what happened AFTER Nicaragua.

So, as I learned before I left Costa Rica, my host family here is quite large, and there are a number of small farms in the family - at least two. At one point I stated there were eight siblings, however, I learned last night those are just the girls. There were also four boys. Five, but one died young (as many, many do), at the age of 13.

But my host mother and her boyfriend bought a farm about five years ago, way up in the mountains, about forty-five minutes from where we live in Curridabat. Rosy was disapointed to hear that I'd already made plans to explore San José with a friend the next day, since she'd wanted me to come help them fertilize some corn on Sunday. I paused over my guava juice, and then quickly bailed on my previous plans. Sorry friend! There will be many more weekends. But there will be few opportunities to get to spend time with my host family, both with all the travel my Field Program will be doing, as well as with how busy the family is!

So yes, that's how I ended up in a clunking old minivan, driving through red lights up into the mountains, higher and higher into the foggy mists of the Costa Rican morning!

We didn't eat breakfast before leaving, so one of out our many stops along the way was to a little shop where we bought some empanadas and other morning snacks. Rosy's goddaughter rode up on a motorcycle with her husband (once a visiting minister from Panama, who accidentally fell in love with this young church-goer, and went from studying to be a Father to wanting to be an altogether different kind of father), and they chatted and caught up. Ana had packed us little sandwiches, and when we finally scaled the last mountain road, we say under a large lean-to and drank coffee and ate our breakfast, while waiting for the two other workers to arrive.

Soon they grumbled up, riding tandem on a small minibike. Both were friendly, and thought it was terribly funny that there was an American chilling (literally), eating empanadas and drinking coffee out of a thermos with them, and anxiously waiting to help them out. It was incredibly cold that early in the morning, so they too hugged their foam coffee cups while they caught up with Rosy and Randal. One is a deaf-mute, though despite the difficulty I had understanding him, he ended up being a joy to spend time with. Throughout the whole day he went out of his way to show me all the wonderful things on the farm, like I was a three year old just walking outside for the first time, and it is his hands that you can see in many of the photos holding up different fruits, trees, and leaves.

Once we had eaten, we walked down the steep path towards where there is a house looking out over the mountainous property. In the past, a family lived there to care take for the farm and to look after the pigs and cows that also lived on the property. However, due to terribly cold nights, and an apparent falling out with this family (who "preferred to sleep") the house now sits vacant, and the key for the padlock on the door has been lost. Rosy seemed rather blasé about trying to get back in at any point soon, though she did express her desire to live on the farm eventually, however I believe they would build a new, and smaller home that would be more insulated and cost less to heat.

At this point, we separated. Rosy and I headed down hill amongst the corn stalks to throw little pellets of white fertilizer on the roots of the plants, while the men headed in different directions. Though we didn't have to wear gloves, the fertilizer gave off an acrid smell and left a thick white powder on coating fingers. Another worker, who was putting red pellets at the base of banana and avocado plants used a plastic bag as a glove. This was an herbicide, I was told.

Though I was puzzled between my host-mother's stance on the importance of organic farming, in particular since she has discussed with me before her feelings about how detrimental pesticides are for health (and why she chooses to avoid buying especially non-organic fruits and vegetables), I decided not to question her methods or choices. Rather, tried to help out as much as she'd let me, and otherwise to enjoy myself - and to clamber around the mountains after her looking at plants and flowers, soaking up the beautiful scenery and place. I told her how incredibly lucky I am to have found a host-family here who lives in the city but owns a farm! Next time I go, I will inquire further about the products they use, how often they're applied, how they decided what to use, etc.

The actual work ended up taking less than half an hour, after which we clambered over to where there once was a field of avocado plants (which were sadly almost entirely eaten by cows). There, I realized that the expensive hiking shoes I own really couldn't handle the slippery mountainous terrain. I don't know how the farmers here manage, climbing up and down day after day. Once the last of the avocado plants were tended to, and beans examined, Rosy decided to bring me further down, into the forest where the trees are protecting a river that emerges from the mountains. There we walked along, looking at larger avocado trees, examining the air plants on larger branches, and tracking different birds. All of this we did passively, not as active biologists or aspiring naturalists, but just as a group of observant folk talking a walk through the woods.

We also found a sloth! Sleeping cradled in the top of a tree! It was clearly exhausted, because my group began clicking and clapping, to no avail. After a minute, one member began throwing sticks at the branch it was sleeping on to rattle it and oust it from its slumber. Finally, after several long moments permeated by the rattling and shaking of the tree, the sleepy beast stretched and looked around it slowly. It looked back at us repeatedly with extremely fatigued confusion, its long white fur making it look like a sleep-deprived teen. It was really one of the coolest things I've seen in the wild. A very close second runner up would be the congo monkey we saw on a Nicaraguan coffee-farm-mountain, though.

After this sighting, we circled the base of the mountain and then began the walk back upwards. Many tree roots on the side of the mountain formed the steps we walked on. However, my host mom had a bad knee from running when she was younger, so we ended up walking back up on a dirt road of an empty tree farm. After a pre-lunch snack, we said goodbye to the workers and descended the mountain into a couple small rural towns to run errands. Everywhere we went, we got involved in deep conversations with people, many of whom stared very openly and asked a multitude of questions about me. It was fun, but I was tired. On the drive home, we bought fifteen ears of corn on the side of the road, which later we ate as a pre-dinner snack. So much food!

Though I've been washed by waves of melancholia recently, my host family has been bringing me so much happiness! They are really wonderful people, and I am so happy to finally be able to speak with them comfortably, and to share with them (and be shared with in return!)

I'm ending this now but first would like to announce....today, I had a four hour Spanish class, all alone! Who would have though that in a little over three weeks I could go from having next-to-no Spanish, to being able to discuss incredibly complex things that I even have problems discussing in English for four whole hours? Not I. And yet, look at me go!

Nicaragua

Live hungry:
no one says it like that.
We say, "They're hungry."
But in Central America, where
a fifth of the people are underfed,
we can truly say these people "live hungry."
It's like starving to death
in slow motion.

Carmelo Gallardo



































Photo taken in the floodplain slums of Grenada, America's oldest colonial city, where an association of women called Casa de la Mujer (an NGO) have been helping to reconstruct and raise shanty town homes so that they will not be flooded by rain, grey water, sewage year-round.

This is in exchange for two workers to help build, some materials, and approximately $200 dollars, paid per month in $25 dollar segments - and women are to be the property owners. These have been set to ensure personal investment, and are particularly designed to address Nicaragua's dependency on aid (both on very small, local, and nation-wide scales).

Many families have been unable to meet these low terms, and on top of the other challenges they face (such as illness, hunger, and extreme poverty), continue to be flooded. Beyond this wall, the inside of this home was filled with a foot and a half of filthy water.

The Casa de la Mujer, funded by Nicaragua's socialist Sandinista housing programs, Grenada's sister cities, and NGOs in France, Spain, and Germany, has recently decided to move forward with its project, covering the costs for these families in a second phase of construction needed to raise the entire town several feet and provide a home for those families that were not included in the first phase.

However, a roof and four walls may serve to house and hide the structural issues that ensure that poverty and misery persist in Nicaragua, which statistics tell us is the poorest country in Central America, and second poorest in Latin America. At the same time, never before have I seen a country that is so wealthy in terms of environmental resources as well as social ones.

The saddest side of Nicaragua, which is also the most fascinating (in my eyes), is how Nicaraguans have been so shaped by their tumultuous past that in a miriad of ways their infrastructure simply cannot support them. But they, too, see how incredible rich and beautiful their country is, and see at the same time that there is no clear path forwards, and that their way is only becoming clouded again in the current political situation.

Nicaragua, at least from what I learned in one week of being in the country, faces an extreme paradox set in the most simple of ways: how does a country that has everything and yet has nothing become something? And if it cannot see its way forward, what will happen?

Domingo a mi casa

Today I babysat Triné, the little niece who comes to my home every day. Gradually, after moving through every possible interesting thing I could show her to play with in my room, we began doing art with my beautiful selection of highlighters. She decided to draw the kittens I have from a photo album (Willie, and later Weenettee).























Here is Willie. However, Triné quickly grew rather demanding that I help her draw specific things that I couldn't understand, because:
A) she speaks only Spanish
B) she speaks super fast
C) she is three and can't pronounce r's and may or may not have a lisp. I can't tell what is up. All I knew was she kept saying "dad", but each time I'd help her the head of hers she'd get offended I didn't know how to do it right.
So I drew mine.























Very funny! She liked his hair. Also - both these pictures were taken by Triné. She figured out how to use my digital cam with alarming ease for a 3 year old, and proceeded to hold it and click photos of every thing in the house for the next two hours. Some pictures came out great, some, not so great. Over half were taken in the cave she built herself in my closet/cupboard. I don't have any of those uploaded yet, but here's what she looked like. Adorable!






























I was grateful for her rampant picture taking though, because it allowed me to have some pictures taken in the home, without having to take them myself and feel like a privileged tourist remarking at the scenery or cultural differences and sending the news home.... Which is essentially what I'm here 100% of the time, and I'm always in a hella-guilt trip about my voice and privilege and all the uplifting things that surrounds that subject....























But look! Triné snapped a picture of Ana, my host-aunt! Ana was clearly taken aback by the shrieks and sudden propaganda that stopped her on her way into the kitchen. But I love this photo, and you can see the strange warehouse indoors-outside that is going on in the background, as well as bedrooms build into the warehouse ground floor.
I'll put up a whole album of her trippy pictures at some point, they're wonderful.























But soon she discovered the laptop, and began to write a long email full of "ppppppppp's" and "wwwwwwwwwwwwwww's" . Since she couldn't grasp what the deal is with the mouse pad, while playing the only game on my computer (Tic Tac Toe?) she opened up Photobooth...












































So, that was exciting!
But after a long day of play and washing my clothes by hand (whee!), my energy level began to plummet. I told Ana later that I think today was especially exhausting since this is the most Spanish I've ever spoken in one day, and definitely the most effort I've had to make while trying to understand over such an extended period of time. Which is good! But hard! And I didn't end up napping, which suxx, but I did get a fruit popsicle full of mango chunkz! Which I snapped for the viewing pleasure of one and all. YUMM.























Now I'm leaving for Nicaragua for a week - should be really wunderbar! If I never come back, know at least looking for me will be easier there since the roads have names.

ICADS

Here are some happy photos of my school for the next 5 (+) weeks in San José, the Institute for Central American Development Studies. After that time, since I am in the Field Program, I will be out traveling for the subsequent 5 weeks with a group and coming back to San José most weekends. And then after those five weeks are over, I'll be completing my own project independently, either in Costa Rica or Nicaragua.

At this point it really looks like it could go anywhere, though I'm hoping to work on an indigenous reservation here. Costa Rica is the only other country in the world besides the United States that has reservations for its Native peoples. Another interesting thing is that I didn't even know they existed, because of all Central American countries, Costa Rica has one of the most enduring myths of their land being uninhabited pre-conquest.

It is based on some fact - that there were possibly fewer people here, and also that they had left being less heavy marks on their land (unlike the Aztecs, for example..), so introduced disease had passed through (many Natives having fled to the mountains and forests to save themselves) and the conquistadors eventually came back to check in on the folks they'd met a couple years back, they quickly surmised that no one really lived here. And it's been a strong belief ever since! Sadly, archaeology has a way of digging up inconvenient truths.

But even many contemporary history books still reflect that same fraudulent belief. I'm hoping I could do health or education work - since I think, like in the U.S., there are different programs for different groups, or study the relationships between different Native groups and the Costa Rican government..Too many choices. I'll gain a clearer perspective once I've done more field work though, I'm sure.

Dia de la Independencia

September 15th was Costa Rican Independence Day. In Spanish class, we learned that at 6 pm all the cars on the road stop, and the drivers get out and sing the national hymn. Not true. But they do hold lantern-lit parades for children the night before, and then the day of the 15th have endless mandatory (through their schools) parades going on for all children who aren't over the age of 20. That seemed to be the age limit, anyways.

Since I didn't have classes the day of, I slept in for the first time in Costa Rica! It was luxurious, and I thought it was noon when I woke up! Nope, only 7:45 am. I don't know whether to be disappointed or proud. The parades were supposed to be at 9 am, and right around the corner from my home in Curridabat, so I slowly ate and made my way over - at the last moment undecided about whether I even wanted to go.

However, I'm glad I did. The amount of energy that Costa Rican students, teachers, and parents put into their Independence Day parades is unreal. Every single school has different batches of costumed students, playing different beats and melodies on their drums and strange hip-xylophones, dancing, marching, and wiggling their hips to different routines. I was there for about three hours, and there seemed to be no end to different age groups and themes passing by. My Spanish teacher told me today that in downtown San José the parades go from 8 am until 4 in the afternoon! So exhausting!

Already one of the best things about the parades though were the side-parades of mothers hustling alongside of their children, proffering candies and juice-boxes and slathering their arms with sunscreen. Teachers as well were wearing their patriotic colors and were clearly extremely involved in the whole production. Which surprised me since most of the routines for little girls were hyper-sexual. One group would put their batons under their butts every other step and wiggle down to the ground and back up with the drums, while another progressed along shaking their chests like they weren't four year olds at all. I don't even know what to say about that, so I won't say anything at all. Especially since it's the schools, not the mothers, who are giving these kids their costumes and teaching them their routines. Not exactly Toddlers in Tiaras material.

Even though I was only outside for a couple hours, I ended up getting a ridiculous sunburn, and dehydrated! But when I got home, lunch was waiting, and I had a wonderful time bonding with both Ana and Rosie. Slowly, I'm getting more and more comfortable making jokes, and telling them unique tidbits about me, and asking more difficult questions. Today over dinner I found out that one of my host-aunts who lives near by has two baby cows! In San José! And that my host dad has "tons" of pigs, somewhere in the country side. I had no idea! Hopefully some farm time will happen soon...but I'll be in Nicaragua all next week, living with another host family and interviewing and exploring n' learning, so it will have to be further in the future!

Old photos n' new news

Here are some pictures from our beautiful weekend trip to Manuel Antonio, a beach that is about 4 hours away from San José. The ride was long, full of bridges that crossed giant deep jungle rivers, and other rivers that seemed straight out of photos of the African savanna. But we finally got there, and happily had left at 7am from ICADS - so were on the beach and in the water by 11 am.

The Pacific was so beautiful! The waves were so huge, and so warm! I learned how to swim with big breaking waves and get carried on top of them, and also that if you go just barely underwater when a giant wave is about to crash on your head, it flows right over you without pulling you at all. I learned that after a weary hour of battling against the waves though. I think it's safe to say that this one had never really swam in the ocean before..

After a couple hours I grew hungry though, so went and ate the cheapest meal at the little beach restaurant (Costa Rican traditional food, luckily! Arroz con pollo and lots of beans and salad and salsas). I also got some semi-tropical drinks that I had been joking about with a friend, which were packed with tiny cubed lime bits, and later some more beers. It was just the beginning of the shortest but most soaked-up and appreciated weekend holiday that has ever been had.

I played in the ocean for hours, while friends napped, tanned (it was cloudy - but most of us still came away with a burn), and surfed. Later, when it looked like rain clouds were moving in, four of us decided to go around the beach and explore. Beyond the many stops (for me) to look at all the wild little shells that had washed up on the beach, and for another friend to climb trees and get lost in mangrove forests, we ended up on a giant island of volcanic rock jutting out into the sea, around which the waves were splashing in a very Titanic-esque way.

Despite none of us having shoes, we climbed first to one level of the mountain, then to the next, and up and up until we were at the very top, about 30 feet above the sea. On the ocean-side of the giant cliff, hundreds of deep blue speckled crabs were scuttling to the water. It was all very beautiful, and I'm sad, but also content that I didn't have a camera to take any pictures.

But it did hurt our feet, and so slowly but surely we climbed down. I explored more of the shells washed up on the beach, and we all began roaming in separate directions down the last stretch of sand. While some friends spoke to a local working for a hotel on the beach, I played with the many hermit crabs sneaking along, and just contentedly spaced out, staring at the ocean. Someone has to do it.

After following a river up back into the tree line however, I got called by a friend to go back and see a sloth. It only actually looked like a giant fuzzy peach butt, but I'm happy to say I've seen a sloth sleeping now. It was pretty cute. At about the same time, it truly started to rain, and so we decided to head back. Lightning crashed right behind us after I'd just come back to cover from running to wash one of a coconuts we found off in the ocean. I think convassing this summer has made me immune to the fear of getting struck by lightning. If I look up some statistics I could easily bring myself back to where I was though, I'm sure.

Anyways, when we got back to the hotel, we grabbed a knife and cracked open a couple of the coconuts. It was pouring rain, and I was rinsing sand off myself in the gutter, and hacking at a giant fresh coconut I'd found in the woods with a knife. It was a really great moment. Coconut water itself has a terrible flavor, I personally find, but I chowed down on the fresh insides. The rest of the coconut water we put into a bottle of rum, which was a warm and thick drink. Not as tropically delicious as it sounds. But I've heard that coconut water is incredibly good for you. So perhaps it was healthy.

The hotel served some uninteresting food, but it was easy for us to stay in one place and not have to deal with group transportation yet. Organizing the bill was a pain - it always is with young folx. I'm very seriously considering refusing to eat with people my age and ever share a bill again, because it drives me insane how disorganized and yet rigid people become when paying together. If you're going to be an asshole, pay by yourself. End of story. I ended up getting so frustrated that I payed whatever extra was mysteriously missing and peacing out. For my good deeds and anxiety-caused, excused myself to sit out on the porch with a beer to watch the lighting storm across the beach.

The night that followed was a mysterious and bizarre train of events, leading us from club to club, or rather being led by a suspiciously friendly man one of us had met on a bus. As a group, we ended up doing all the things ICADS told us were unwise (as our parents and common sense have as well - but who listens to those all the time?). However, since we were in a group we also helped each other realize how wild the situation had become. And that was when we ended up in the 3rd or 4th bar, where this man was introducing us to his sister (an old prostitute who was planning on singing us her favorite song), and two friends who had also been following us from club to club. I was watching a doorway, through which I could see a line of women getting ready to go out and find men to buy their time. It was a surreal thing to realize. Especially since the room they were in had a big poster of Snow White on the wall. I remember thinking about how prostitution is legal here, and being undecided about whether I was being an uptight American tourist, or whether this bar really was slowly appearing more and more shady. But it was large, and open, and one of my friends was even dancing with this random guy who had decided he was our tour-guide for the evening.

That was about the same time my plastic chair collapsed under me, which was quite a spectacle. One of the legs just bent and I went sliding across the floor. After that, I didn't feel comfortable drinking or even staying, and since most of my friends were on the same page, we left, though the man ended up following us to another club. I didn't have enough money on me to pay the entrance fee, and wasn't convinced it was worth having someone cover me since I was already exhausted from being thrown around by waves all day. The over-friendly man was talking to the bouncers, trying to translate for us, and told us they were closing in 15 minutes, and that we should go back to the other bar (they were not actually closing for another 3 hours). But he was also being too flirty and too touchy, asking for hugs and kisses, holding my arm to tell me I was beautiful and next thing saying I was his lover and wife - but that's not especially bizarre here I was told. I edged further and further away, told him no, and sorry but "life is rough," to which he responded "but that's how I like it". Aaaand at that point my patience for the situation flipped, and I realized I was being a very stupid young tourist, and we grabbed the next cab - and a couple of the more out of it friends who hadn't made it inside and sat for a harrowing taxi ride up the mountain home.

A good thing too. In the morning my friend Paul (who had stayed in the club for another hour or two) came into our hotel room and told us that when he'd gotten out of the club a few hours later, the man was still there (his friends had been inside), and as Paul got into a cab with the last stragglers of the group, the man grew enraged, demanding money and punching his shoulder. I'm sure there were a million miscommunications that happened. Perhaps, when he first introduced himself, he offered to guide us around. If that was the case, and he'd heard the things we were whispering (to get us out of the sketchy bar faster, one drunk member of our party lied to us about having seen the man's friends knives..), it's understandable that he was upset. It's so hard to gauge intentions, and since I live in a relatively safe bubble of a world, I always forget exactly how much relying on other's better judgment and drinking are two things that really should never go hand in hand.

I spent the rest of the night taking care of a friend who had drank too much, and despite having only had a couple drinks myself, woke up with a terrible hangover the next morning. Going over the details about how stupid we had been didn't make me feel much better. But the nondescript hotel breakfast, accompanied by cups of lovely Costa Rican coffee and then a $10 dollar massage on the ocean did, providing the fastest hangover cure I've ever experienced. The masseuse cracked my back by plucking at the skin around my spine - it was wild. After packing up our rooms, we went swimming in the pool while waiting for those friends who'd gone to a nature preserve to come back. I was happy to have stayed and appreciated the ocean however, and relax more. It was a weekend that gave me a lot of time for introspection, and to make myself content. I certainly left a little wiser to what an idiot I can be (I wonder how I could have forgotten), and also with a clearer picture of why I am here, and who I want to be here, and in general. There's more to it than that, of course - there always is, but that's all for tonight I think! That's my wild story. It's been almost a week since then, but I figured I should write it down so that I don't forget it.

And the moral is not that people should not be trusted. But rather, that going with your gut is not the bad thing to do in most situations, especially at night when intoxicated in a country where you don't speak the language, don't have a cell-phone, and don't even know the name of the street you're on or what's around the next corner. If I were a 200 lb man maybe this would not be so. But that isn't the case, and I'd be an idiot to believe anything to the contrary.

This is all very poorly written.. But I was in the blazing sun all morning watching Independence Day parades, and since have been writing a paper and am really out of it. Oh well.