Singing in the Rain, part two

So it hasn´t been that long since my last update, but yesterday was just such a fabulous and hilarious day that I had to tell you all about it!

The title of this entry refers specifically to the second part of yesterday´s story, which could be an extension of the blog I had to write at the Religious Action Center two summers ago. You can read that story here, if you wish.

But first, the story of the beginning of my day.

Yesterday morning, my aunt came to my door to ask if I wanted to go to the cemetery with my family. Why not? It seemed like it would be a cool experience to spend time with my family and see another important site of Managua. My brother, sister, cousin and I got into the open back of my uncle´s pickup truck and my mom, two of my aunts, my uncle, three of my cousins, my two siblings and I drove all the way across Managua to visit the grave of my grandparents.

The cemetery was enormous, which I learned is because there are only two public cemeteries in Managua. All the graves were colorful and unique, and some of the wealthier families had even constructed small churches for their families within the cemetery. We went to my grandparents´shared tomb, placed flowers on the grave, then pulled out chairs and a bottle of Coca Cola from the truck. We drank, joked, and listened to music together between the graves, almost as if we had come to the cemetery to include my grandparents in our family reunion. They took pictures with the tomb and danced to Reggaeton, and then my mom and I decided to take a walk around to see more of the cemetery. We passed some incredible tombs and mini churches, and then came across a small, fenced in area between the rows of graves. I was extremely curious to find out what it was and much to my surprise, here surrounded by the thousands of Catholic tombs was a Jewish cemetery. The gate was locked but there were probably no more than 40 graves in the two rows, so we walked around the outside to read the stones. As with other Jewish cemeteries I have visited, all the stones were black granite and virtually identical to represent equality in death. Even more surprising than actually finding a Jewish cemetery in a Catholic country, most all of the people buried here were born in the 20´s or 30´s in Poland, Hungary, Russia, and other European countries, which led me to assume that they were WWII refugees who had chosen Nicaragua as their safe haven. It was so powerful, and made me appreciate Nicaragua that much more.

Three hours later, we returned to Máximo after hitting up the gas station and "PriceMart", an exact replica of Costco in Managua. I got out of the truck, sunburned from head to toe and collapsed on my bed to take a nap. I woke up and it was storming outside, but I had promised Kendall that I would meet her at the office to read our book, so I put on my rainjacket, stuffed my dictionary and book in the front, and put on my shower shoes to run down the street to the pulpería to add minutes to my phone and then to the study center to meet my friend. I was feeling super smart for deciding to wear my plastic flip flops because the street was flowing like a river, but as I started to cross the road, one of them flew off my foot and started swimming away with the strong current. As I tried to chase after it, the other came off, following the lead of the first. Trying to keep my pregnant belly of books safe from the torrential downpour under my jacket, I ran barefoot down the street after my shoes, until the road started to slope downward towards the center of Managua and my shoes escaped from sight. Dejected, embarrassed, shoeless and soaked, I walked into the pulpería, determined to continue with my original quest to buy cell phone minutes. The lady looked at the soaked rat that just walked into her store, and asked me where my shoes were. Using the fabulous "no fault" construction of the Spanish language, I replied:

"Se me perdieron mis zapatos en el río de la calle..."
(My shoes were lost in the river of the street...)

She started laughing hysterically. I mean really, who wouldn´t? I was laughing at me too. She gave me my minutes and I started walking barefoot down to the study center. From a few houses away, I could still hear her laughing and telling my story to her family. While it was absurdly embarrassing, I can at least look back on this experience and know that I brought joy to another Nicaraguan´s life by being a ridiculous gringo, which is a good thing, right?

With that, I am off to finish reading and do some other homework with Kendall, but I hope you all have a marvelous Sunday!

Love,
Nicole