Nicaraguans are strong. They grow up as children playing on hard floors or no floors at all. They learn not to cry when they fall down at a young age, which is something that American children struggle with. While at Doña Nidia's for breakfast and lunch everyday in Limay, I watched Herti run and fall on the floor just to get back up and do it again. I can't recall a time in my childhood where I did that. When I fell I was "hurt" even if I wasn't. Crocodile tears, as my family would call them, were a way for me to pretend to be hurt even when I wasn't. That isn't even a thought in a Nicaraguan child's mind.
As those already strong children begin to grow up they begin walking to school on their own and helping out around the house with chores that need to be completed. Both of those things are foreign concepts to me and my youth. The youth of Nicaragua grow up fast. Becoming adults at young ages, majority of the time that isn't the case in America.
During the workshops I made a connection with Joseling. I saw a part of myself in her and don't know if she saw the same in me because we had a hard language barrier. From what I can tell she's going to be a single mother at the end of the month to a baby that she already loves more than herself. I know that I never verbally told her how proud I was of her for being such a strong woman at such a young age, but I would like to think that via gestures and laughter, she could feel it.
Between the hot sun and the long days of work, Nicaraguans make their daily lives happen. They don't complain when something goes wrong, it rolls right off their backs. They learn to deal with life's challenges from day one, something that I wished I shared with them. Time is a concept not a lifestyle. I've learned more than I bargained for about my own culture by spending time with a different one. I thank Nicaragua for all that it's given me and I hope that I can make changes in my life to incorporate the things I've learned here.
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