Any given Sunday

It's midafternoon. the hottest part of the day has come upon us, and it makes me decide to walk instead of jump onto the bike I've brought and ride away. When it's hot, my body prefers to move slowly - the bike's much to fast for this kind of heat.

On my way out of the internet cafe or ciber as the Nica's call it, I turn to see the Somoton Mercado off in the distance. It was newly built and quite large and comparatively luxurious...unfortunately it's also quite far from where I live and eve too far from where I am standing in this moment for me to get the ganas or desire to walk to it.

But I want fruit. I've been craving pineapple or watermelon or maybe something uniquely Nica. I spot a medium sized fruit and veggies stand just a half a block down the road and make my way over remembering that I also need to buy some veggies for this week's giant pot of soup. Don't even ask why I eat so much hot soup when it's 80-110 degrees outside...I couldn't tell you.

When I reach the stand, I notice there are two vendors there. I always feel bad choosing one so I decide to buy something from each of them. First, the young woman...I ask for platano, a banana like fruit that is a staple here, and ask that she pick out a good one for me. She looks confused. Nicas often like to pick out their own produce so my request for her help in the selection process has her puzzled. I tell her I'm not good at choosing and that it's for a soup...with my broken spanish I can tell by the look on her face she finally gets it. I'm extranjera, a foreigner, and don't know what I'm doing (completely - I've learned one or two things thus far, but still have not mastered the art of fruit and vegetable selection).

She picks out one and collects the 10 cents or 2 cordobas I hand her. I smile and thank her moving on to the male vendor to the side. He has a wider selection and here I buy a yuca - a staple root in many countries including my own Cape Verde - when I was a kid my Dad used to share a piece of his yuca with me while watching TV or on the front porch. In Cape Verdean or Creole, they call it Manioc (sp?) and my dad and I used to eat it crude or uncooked. Here in Nicaragua, it's strictly yuca and almost always found in soups.

To fill my craving for fruit, I ask the prices of the watermelon and another local fruit called mamon. Since watermelon is out of season it's expensive and costs about 1.50$. A bunch of mamon (it comes in a bunch on a vine like grapes) costs just 4 cords or about 25 cents. I choose the cheaper of course. They don't pay me enough to live the life of out-of-season fruit.

I put my bag of produce in the basket attached to the front of my bike, which makes me stand out terribly in the crowd since Nicas don't have baskets on their bikes (and I feel rather like the wicked witch on top of it - all I need is the theme music da dat da dat da daah duh, da dat da dat da daah duh, daaaaaah!) I thank the vendor who looks disappointed I won't be buying more than 45 cents worth and take off on my bike - it's time to head home.

As I reach my house exhausted from the hot climb up my street and dismount, I remember that I need to buy water- purified that is...since I am out of beverages in the house and still have the lemons from my boyfriends backyard tree in my frige so I can make lemonade. After putting the bike inside - it might get stolen if I leave it unguarded in the street- I head on a mad hunt for gallon sized water. There are several pulperias within a 3 block radius (small corner stores) but it's always a wild guess which one will have water on any given day.

I hit them all up with no luck and end up finding a pulperia a bit far that has small prepackaged purified bags of water. I buy 7 , enough to make 2.5 pitchers of lemonade, and also some culantro (cilantro for those unkowing). I like to cook with it in my soups and in salsa for my Mexican style soy tacos, but haven't been able to find it close to my house until now. I explain my appreciation to the pulperia owner when he tells me they always have it available- "we'll be seeing you then" he says. "si, seguramente" I tell him, yes surely.

Returning to my house I stop one last time for a bag of pineapple juice (we drink from bags here alot), but am disappointed when I take a sip and realize it doesn't mix well with the metal taste I've had in my mouth the past 2 days - a side effect of the medication I am taking for the parasites I'm harboring, amoebas. This is my first time with amoebas and I am having a hard time adjusting to the side effects. Most volunteers in my training group have had parasites several times...this is my first and I am lucky for that!

Last night I couldn't sleep at first because of a strong headache and second because of insomnia - both side effects of the meds. I ended up getting up at 2 am and working on preparing some materials for my English classes in the coming weeks till 5:30am when finally I felt I could shut my eyes and drift off (but not of course without first checking for scorpions, spiders, and other crtitters in my bed!)

But back to today. I squeeze the lemons into a pitcher of the just bought water, add some sugar, and drink...yum, fresh lemonade on a hot day, nothing like it. suprisingly it seems to agree with the lingering metallic taste in my mouth.

What to do now? Well since there's no running water like always till 4:30pm or so, I can't wash laundry like I need to. How about a good book? yeah. in the hammock on your back patio? hell yeah! In 30 seconds I'm there book and cellphone in hand (in case the boyfriend calls from Panama...oh how I miss him!). Within a minute of lying down in my precious and treasured relaxation device - aka hammock, the Gata (literal translation female cat) is looking to jump up and join me. No I tell her- she's dirty and I want to be comfortable and not have to share space. She gives me a "jerk"! look and settles for a spot 4 feet away on the banister of the patio. She looks content. I feel content.

I begin to read "Reading Lolita in Tehran" and get through about 5 pages when I hear my neighbor making noise in the mango tree that hangs over my fence and drops ripe mangos when the season is right "plop" right into the back corner of my yard. The kids love to climb that tree and spy on their neighbors, especially the gringa (that would be me). I give him a pathetic look and continue reading.

The Gata catches me glancing her direction and thinks it's her I'm looking at and not him. She takes my stare as an invite for hammock snuggling and before I know it she's in my lap. I feel bad pushing her yet-again pregnant belly out of my space (this will be her 6th litter, 2nd while I am here) and decide to let her stay, petting her pretty little head. All these distractions make me decide I'd rather be writing about them and reflecting on my day than reading about the observations of someone else in Iran (the Lolita book). I pull out a notebook and pen from under the hammock and begin my discourse.

The Gata falls alseep. I suck on some mamon, take in the fresh air, listen to the ranchero (think country gone Mexican) music playing from a neighbor's backyard, and think about when I will be able to post what I have written in my blog. After all, the friends and family fan club is waiting to hear about my everyday afternoons and ordinary nights...