Welcome to La Chureca, you have a parasite

That is a direct translation of what the La Chureca nurse told me on Wednesday while shaking my hand. I kid you not.

So, to all of you placing bets as to how long my tummy could go before it gave up the fight, the answer is a little under four months. But have no fear-- I'm kicking the moocher out as we speak with some lovely round yellow pills. Take that!!

I just realized that I haven't given y'all an account on La Chureca, where I spend two to three mornings a week. It is the home to the 46 precious kids in our child sponsorship program who are at risk or have been diagnosed as malnourished. One other detail about Chureca-- it's Managua's municipal dump.

Most of you have already heard (or experienced) this, but the emotions I feel when I go into Chureca are hard to put into words. Before we drive in, we roll up the windows to keep the smell from getting into the microbus, as it tends to linger days after our trips. In so doing, we make a barrier between us and the entrance, where truck drivers blaze past pedestrians and solicit young girls for sex and glue sniffers stare at us blankly, their noses covered with baby food jars. Yes, this is a part of the reality of Chureca, but it is not the Chureca that I have come to know.


The Chureca I know consists of Erick, an eight month old baby boy who has his mother's huge brown eyes. It consists of Zayda, who refuses to do anything you ask her, but whose little body throws itself into seizures if she doesn't take her meds. It consists of Josue Daniel Chavez Ortega, who just might have the craziest Communist name ever but is just so cute that you forgive him. These are the faces and the stories that keep me coming in, despite the smell and the parasites. Bring it on... I'm Erin and we've got mouths to feed.
My love to all of y'all,

The Fable of Mabel

This is the story of Mabel Claire, our microbus. Although she is only two years old, her life, like most in Nicaragua, has been difficult. Try as we might (yes "we"-- my friends, I am now driving a stick-shift, much to Daddy D's dismay), Mabel's bald tires can, in the words of a Nica friend, "get stuck in nothing." Here's a short list:

-- AT THE BEACH-- this is where we met the prophetic friend in the previous comment. He came out with his two grandsons in their tighty whities which said "amiguito" (little friend). We gave them cookies as thanks.

-- IN A DRY RIVER BED-- which also doubles as the entrance to the community. I was on the "push team" for this one, along with four teenage girls and an old man with a shovel.

-- AT A HOUSE-- ok, so this one is legendary. We tried to turn in a space that was as wide as Mabel is long... no go. This HUGE dude named "Grande" (not kidding) comes out of his house and breaks bricks with a metal rod to put under the spinning wheels. We thanked him by buying some juice at his venta. It was super sugary, but that's another story.

-- ON A HILL-- not understanding the power of rain in this country, we trapped ourselves in a water run-off early into the trip. Three of our English students helped us, along with a guy in a pick-up. He had on a Vandy "Five-for-Five" tshirt so Dane, Matt and I figured it must be fate.

Yes, Mabel's adventures may not be enviable, but they take place all over Nicaragua and inevitably make friends along the way. The old man at the beach lets us park in front of his house now (it's gravel and saves him the work of getting us out), the girls in the riverbed have told me they're interested in our exercise classes, and knowing Grande has given us some substantial street cred....

I keep thinking that this reads like a Dr. Seuss story, I just don't have the energy to make it rhyme. Oh the places you'll go...

Blessings,