July 7, 1996
Rosa Maria loves music, loves to dance. She brought a radio/cassette player to
the studio and sings along with it. They knew I’d bought some Nica music tapes
and asked me if I’d bring them. Now everyone sings along with the patriotic and
traditional songs. Today is Leon Liberation Day, and when we’re through here
we’re going to march in the parade. It’s sunny and hot already. Hey, I should
carry my FSLN flag, shouldn’t I?
I’ve been having the weavers work with more subtle colors when I can, and Mirna
was weaving my favorite of all time, white and natural. A gringa came in, saw
it and ordered one right off the loom. She speaks Spanish and she talked to
them about the colors she likes: white, natural, ecru, rose, soft blue,
grey-green. “Oh,” they said. “Colores triste.” Sad colors. It was a surprise
to hear those colors called sad. They said they liked red, yellow, bright
green, bright blue. Happy colors. So there you see the resistance to our taste
in color.
The Fourth of July was a good day. In the morning I had told Danelia that it
was the birthday of my son Dale. On the street, people would call out to me,
“Independencia Oosa” and give me thumbs up and a smile. (They say oosa, not
U.S.A.) Late morning at the co-op Danelia called me to come to her. They’d put
the right music on the tape player, and when it started they all linked arms and
sang Happy Birthday to Dale, first in English which was a kick, and then in
Spanish. When they came to the “to Dale” part they’d all point north. If Dale
had been outdoors and the wind had been right, he probably could have heard
them, they were so loud.
That morning Cecilio and I went to the sawmill and bought some more lumber.
This was the fourth time we hired a horse cart to haul for us. It costs ten
cordobas, a little over a dollar. This time Cecilio told the driver I wanted to
ride back in the cart. So I did, perched upon the lumber. When we approached
the cooperativa and the weavers saw me riding the cart a great cheer went up.
You’d think I’d won the Olympics.
At 5 p.m. there was a meeting with craftspeople and some organizers about
starting a crafts gallery for Nica crafts, then at 7 p.m. there was a gringa
meeting for dinner. The first Thursday of every month the norteamericanos get
together for dinner at a local restaurant. I hadn’t known about it before, and
besides I was staying too far out in the country to attend. But this was the
Fourth of July. There were American flags on the tables; red, white and blue
Independence Day napkins, and some had brought pot-luck: potato salad, chocolate
chip cookies and Rice Crispies-marshmallow bars, all to give a touch if home.
These others are here long-term, unlike me. One for a year, others for two or
three years, one of the Maryknoll sisters has been here for 24 years.
I felt really good at that dinner and I think I discovered why the Nicaraguans
like Americans so much. These are wonderful people, dedicated, unselfish, not
here for personal gain. So if these are the types of Americans the Nicas come
in contact with, no wonder they love us. But they still hate the CIA.
Rightfully so.
Tourism here is practically non-existent. What the reaction will be when the
tourists start coming may be different, so when you do come, mind your manners.
Don’t undo all this good work.
The Maryknoll Sisters had “heard” about me. They asked if I would come work
with them next year. They’ve been trying to start a carpentry shop with some of
the women they work with. They would like to have the women instructed in how
to make and repair the pews in the church, and build other things. I’m invited
to dinner at their house this coming Thursday. I’m sorry I didn’t meet them
before this. I loved them as soon as I met them. They seemed to glow with
goodness.