I'd be lying if I told you that I spent 10 days in Nicaragua and came back a new person. Outwardly, I am exactly the same as I was before I boarded a plane with 11 other Tufts students last winter vacation, a bit hesitantly, bound for Managua, Nicaragua.
Something more subtle has changed within me, however, and I find myself wincing as I watch cashiers double-bag single serving packages of this or that in the grocery store. Or once in a while an image of our host family's home will flash through my mind, furnished with a simple wooden table and hammocks, the walls adorned with newspaper clippings.
The last thing that I would dream of doing is going on some condescending tirade about how I went to a developing country and now truly understand the excesses of our own country and am disgusted by them. Because the truth is, I don't and I'm not.
I still can't get myself to take under a five-minute shower for the life of me, I sometimes drive when I really could walk, and I own what most would consider way too many shoes. But like I said, something inside me has changed.
Along with the 11 other Tufts students that went to Nicaragua through Tufts' Institute for Global Leadership, we basically came to the conclusion that to attempt to radically change our lifestyles from that which we were accustomed would be unrealistic, and most likely, ineffectual.
Our group meets in a weekly Ex College class, which serves as a forum to learn about sustainable development issues that we find important and intriguing. Throughout the semester, our speakers have included highly-esteemed members of the Tufts, UEP and Fletcher community.
Most importantly, this class has allowed our time in Nicaragua to be more than merely a great learning experience, but rather an introduction into the realm of sustainable development and how we can apply it to our own lives. For example, we set sustainable living goals for ourselves that were economically, socially and environmentally focused. These goals include things like turning off the water when washing dishes, unplugging appliances when not in use, donating old clothing and saying hello to strangers on the street, among others.
Prior to the trip, I had pretty much stayed as far away from international relations and political science courses as I could since my initial dismal forays into these subjects my freshman year.
On a whim, I had roamed into the IGL office the night of the BUILD general interest meeting and about three months later found myself taking a 12-seater plane (to use the term loosely) from Managua to the small city of Siuna in western Nicaragua. From there, we traveled to the countryside, where we spent much our time helping to build a school, construct a latrine and machete in the fields.
There were truly beautiful moments, many in the hours after dinner that were passed playing cards by candlelight and chatting in which it seemed as if American and Nicaraguan alike blended seamlessly.
There were also, of course, many times when our cultural differences were blaringly apparent. The muddy, slippery jungle that we Americans barely managed to walk through was manipulated effortlessly by the Nicaraguans' bare feet, most likely at a jog, and often with several gallons of water or a baby in their arms. It was in fact through that treacherous lodo (mud) that the children that we stayed with had to walk, for two or three hours, to get to school. In short, I was perpetually amazed by the Nicaraguans we met, for countless reasons.
When I returned, the question that I was asked most often was, "Is everyone just so poor there?" The answer is yes - many people are poor there. But Nicaragua also has a lot of wealth, including natural beauty and resources, a sense of community and solidarity, and importantly, a people hopeful for the future of their country and its government.
On our last night in the campo, the Nicaraguans asked us to sing our National Anthem. We all stood up shyly, and more than a bit self-consciously and off-key, we sang. Throughout the anthem, we giggled and looked at each other light-heartedly. For most of us, the last time that we had sung the National Anthem outside of a baseball field was probably elementary school.
Afterwards, we asked the Nicaraguans to do the same. They stood up, every single one, and sang with solemnity and pride. My eyes scanned the group - Dona Lucila, a beautiful grandmother of 17 and a powerful guerilla fighter in the 80s. Don Luis, a community leader and former guerilla fighter, shedding tears while reciting the anthem. And Denis, a brilliant university student with dreams of moving to the United States but also a fierce sense of loyalty to his country.
I was in awe after they finished, but was also left with the distinct feeling that I had experienced something that I would never completely understand. However, the little bit of understanding that I did gain during my time in Nicaragua is invaluable to me, something I will have forever - and something that I could have never gained had I not sauntered into the IGL office on a whim one afternoon. At the risk of sounding unbearably cheesy, the BUILD trip really exemplifies one of the most beautiful parts of our school. That is, incredible opportunities truly are available for anyone interested.
Sarah Lowenstein is a senior majoring in architectural studies.
