Invitations and the Like

Leon knows how to celebrate! Fortunately for us, holidays not only render days off from work, but bountiful invitations to participate with neighbors and co-workers. We receive these invitations with a lot excitement and a fair share of anxiety. We have yet to turn down an invitation, but because we are still so new to the culture, we are clueless as to what to expect at these celebrations. Asking the inviter does little to clarify because Nicaraguans tend to be very hospitable by nature and genuinely just want us to come and see for ourselves. I also think that they enjoy the element of surprise and anticipation, thus leaving out details on purpose. Regardless, we are always left wondering, should we bring something? The host said 6:00, does that really mean 8:00? Will there be dancing? Will people throw fireworks at or around us? Will children and elderly folks be present (two demographics that are really hard to understand in Spanish)? Will they serve us cow-stomach soup? Will the party last two hours or all day? The only definite information we have is that we will stick out like soar thumbs, it will be assumed that we are brother and sister because here people think we look like twins (imagine looks of shock and bewilderment when the host says we are married), and immediately following this information we will be asked why we don’t have children (more reasons to suspect that we are indeed brother and sister and that the host has been misinformed, or that Americans are sick and incestuous. Always, ALWAYS, we have a good time, but that’s not to say that we don’t experience moments of awkwardness in the process.

Two weeks ago we celebrated La Gritaria Chiquita, or the Little Shout. We were invited to celebrate with a family, and then later to go see a co-worker’s band play. We showed up at the first party at 4:00, but realized that we were really early (4:00 means 5:30 I have since been told). Everything appeared calm and normal, nothing that would prepare us for the magnitude of La Gritaria Chiquita. All of a sudden, when the clock stuck 6:00, everyone ran out of their houses and lit off fireworks in unison; fireworks that would be very illegal in Oregon. Then the streets flooded with both children and adults running door-to-door shouting, “What causes so much happiness?” To which the owner would respond by yelling, “La asunción de Maria!” and give out things to the crowds of people forcefully jockeying for position at their door; candy and toys for the kids, and coffee, matches and house goods for the adults. Then, instead of saying thank you, you have to say, “Long live the Virgin!” It’s like Catholic trick-or-treating, only no one wears costumes and adults participate with equal enthusiasm as the kids. It’s great fun and quite lucrative. We scored two cups, a bowl, a colander, plastic tupperware, shampoo, six packets of instant coffee and about a dozen packs of matches. In addition, I got a change purse and ponytail rubber bands, and Adam was given two combs and a tennis ball. We also loaded up on candy and homemade eatables. We only did three blocks of houses, had we done a whole neighborhood we wouldn’t have to buy anything for the empty house we will be moving into shortly.

Then there was the concert. Again, we showed up naively early, but got in for free because my co-worker had invited us, which is Nicaraguan for “you don’t have to pay”. It seemed pretty dead until the band started to play an hour or so after we arrived. The restaurant/bar and the dance floor filled up. We weren’t aware at the time, but the band, Hermanos Cortes, is a popular dance/party band that plays all over Nicaragua. We are not dancers, but we were enjoying ourselves listening to the music and watching everyone else cut a rug like only Latinos can. Then, out of nowhere, my co-worker, who is one of the band’s singers, stopped the band and announced in Spanish that he was dedicating the next song to his two new American friends. There we were, sitting comfortably at our table, when everyone turned to look at the two Americans, coincidently the only two people in the room who had not yet danced. The pressure was on. We reluctantly took the floor and what transpired can only be described as a terrible, robotic imitation of the dance that we had seen everyone else doing with such ease and fluidity. A humbling experience to say the least, but we thought what they hell and stayed out there and danced the next song too.

Other memorable events include a birthday party for a one-year-old, complete with a piñata and a clown that looked like he came straight out of a Tim Burton movie. How children avoid grave injury from piñatas is beyond me. The way they do it here in Central America is with a pulley system and a set of ropes. Usually an older child or teenager raises and lowers the piñata, which is a paper-covered clay pot, while a blind-folded child swings madly with a blunt object. If any candy should fall from the pot (along with shards of clay), the other kids do not wait for the blindfolded child to stop swinging; they head straight in and fight each other for the candy while the pot continues to bounce and swing dangerously close to their heads. The effort put into this one-year-old’s party was impressive. The parents (Adam works with the father) prepared every last detail by hand, from the decorations to the invitations (he made ours in English) to the food. In contrast, yesterday we went to a birthday dinner for a very old women and it was one of the most touching and sincere family gatherings we have been a part of. We, as outsiders, were honored to attend.