I'm wildly upset at the moment. I have a terrible cold that's making my whole body ache. I spent the night thrashing in and out of sleep, and woke up at 5 am with a pounding headache. I'm happy that I'm enough of a worrier that I packed a bunch of Nyquil and Dayquil. Since today is the second day of final exams, it could not be more needed right now.
Another good thing, I suppose, is that this cold has escalated to the worst it will get in 48 hours. Since our Field Program leaves for the week (& next three weeks) on Monday at 7 am, and we'll be traveling in cramped little cars, I'm aiming to have a gross, very sick weekend, followed by good health!
I'm not sure where I got it, could have been at the hospital last weekend (a friend was hurt), or at the Barrio Nuevo we visited on . Barrio Nuevo is a shanty town largely made up of undocumented Nicaraguan immigrants. We were doing interviews (I still haven't written about the interviews we held with street vendors in San Jose!), and this woman's grand daughter grabbed by hand to lead me around at one point, and also spoke incredibly close to my face. Since she and her sisters spend their days running around a dirty neighborhood that has no real septic system except for the river, it's almost certainly from there.
What a wild afternoon though. Tiny little shacks clustered one next to the other, creating a miniature city of 600 people. Children and dog crawling all over, and food being cooked in pots over fires in the street. Each home probably houses 5-15 people (the one we were in had about 10, and three tiny rooms). Most of these people came here for greater prospects, and now can't even get jobs since getting documented as a migrant has an upfront cost that is about what a migrant would earn in a month. And there is no law, and no barriers between the lawless and law abiding. We followed these two little skipping grand daughters to the river, to see their bridge to the next town (rocks with an electrical chord to hold on to - a dangerous option when it rains and the river rises), and suddenly found that they were skipping around crack dealers, shrieking and giggling as people sniffed and snorted in front of us.
The Nicaraguan grandmother was carrying a baby, and we were climbing up uneven stairs to where she would drop us off and pick up the "gift" of compensation from ICADS for her time - a bag of groceries (there's a shadow of something overwhelmingly desperate, and at the same time cruel in this). She told us about her worries for her grand children, but that despite having better opportunities for work in Nicaragua (she worked in the fish market), as well as a real home that she owns, and no negative attitudes due to her migrant status, she stated that will stay, so her young granddaughter with special needs may get the attention she needs to learn in Costa Rica. However, here she rents a tiny home for sky-high prices, from a Costa Rican land owner (who most likely doesn't even own the land she lives on), and her sole occupation is cooking enchiladas on Friday and Saturday night, and selling them to the towns people.
I don't know where to go from here, I don't think many would. But at about 1 am last night I found a short film about one of Amherst's townies, whose name I've known for a year but who still have never talked to. As you can see, he is not easy to approach. I once overheard a piece of the therapy session he was receiving in the park, and since have greatly admired the mind inside. It's a beautiful little movie about a sad and beautiful life.
Bill; The Man Behind the Legend from Alex Echeverri on Vimeo.
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