Nicaragua Entries: The Problem With English

My Meeting with Elizabeth

On the night of the 22nd of March, I was already situated in my basic hotel room in Managua, Nicaragua. I had arrived here about four hours prior, but only adventured as far as a nearby restaurant to have some local cuisine (Gallo Pinto, some sort of beef, and an ice cold Toña or two). I had just showered and finally set my feet for this adventure here in Nicaragua. The hotel I was at had Wi-Fi, and it was finally time to connect with the rest of the world. With a hundred “pings” of information that I missed from the world in a matter of hours, I skipped through it all and went straight to my email. I found an unread response from Elizabeth, a representative of the US Embassy who focuses in on teaching English as a second language in Managua. She operates an organization called “Centro Cultural Nicaragüense Norteamericano”. She had written me an open invitation for a dinner she was having this same evening with her friends at the Embassy. Of course I was going, so I sent her a quick reply.

“I would really enjoy that. What time is it, and where should I meet you?”

“We will have our driver come pick you up around 6:30. Where are you staying?”

“Hotel Almendro. Thank you so much! Can’t wait to meet everyone. Should I bring something?”

“No — not at all! We have you covered! Can’t wait to meet you as well. Our driver will call for you when he arrives. See you soon.”

“Gracias!”

It was already about four thirty in the evening when she called, and it was getting dark quick. I had a few things to do before I could meet everyone so I put in a little hustle. I cracked open a Toña from a six pack that I purchased after dinner, and let a couple relax in the hotel’s ice bucket while I got ready. I took a big swig, and hopped on Skype real quick to make sure my mother knew of my whereabouts before the CIA broke down my hotel door on a manhunt. (Moms are like that)

“I’m alive and well.”

“Oh, phew! Are you at the hotel?”

“Yeah, but I’m headed to meet the Embassy people in a minute. They’re sending me a driver…”

“Wow — VIP treatment!”

“Yeah, something like that… I guess.”

All the sensories of Nicaragua went through my imagination.

“Is it beautiful there?”

“Gorgeous.”

“Well, have fun, and be safe!”

“Will do. I’ll call ya tomorrow around the same time if I can.”

“Love you!”

“Love you too, mama.”

I didn’t really have much to say about Nicaragua, yet. I was just about to get my hands dirty. Was it gorgeous? Not to the average westerner, but to me it was real, and to me, that’s true beauty at its finest. That being said, I got the last remnants of good ol’ USA off my mind, finished off my beer, and got dressed. I wrote in my journal everything you have read these last few pages in chicken scratch that is barely legible. I opened another beer (number four for the evening) and rolled up my sleeves. It was now five forty and my ride was about to arrive. I wrote until my hand cramped, and losing track of time, my hotel room phone rang. It was my ride; he had arrived. I finished what was left in the bottle, and dropped my beaten pen between the pages I left off at. Armed with a “buzz”, and a thirst for first hand knowledge — I headed out the door.

Thinking the Embassy would have some luxurious transportation taking me from place to place, I was smacked right in the face with a further understanding of Nicaragua. Outside was a nice looking gentleman waving me to his 1990’s Asian “lemon” of a car. All ignorance aside, I hopped in simply infatuated with the adventure and the thrill. Luxury could take the back seat because comfort was not on the agenda. Journalists are supposed to see into a story without feeling comfortable; being completely assimilated into the lifestyle and with the people. I would try and do exactly that.

“Hola!” I said,

“Buenasss noches señor. Amigo de Elizabeth, no?”

“Si, soy Mateo. Mucho gusto.”

“Ah, Mateo! Mucho gusto, soy Rafael y esta es mi hermana, Sofia.”

“Mucho gusto,”

I nodded toward his sister in acknowledgement.

This was quite typical that you would share your ride with a few people in Nicaragua. Even with the Embassy’s own driver, having your own cab ride was a luxury. It was definitely more efficient this way, taking one or two people to their destination rather than messing around with the back and fourth. These drivers were the grease to the machine that was Nicaragua. Literally one of the most incredible feats amongst transportation I have yet witnessed.

The issue? People actually got robbed like this. One minute you’re making friends with the driver and his two buddies, the next minute you have a bag over your head and are being dragged ATM to ATM, draining all funds that you may have attained at one point. Now, this was common folklore heard time and time again, but it was better to be safe than sorry. I made it mandatory that I checked who was in the taxicab before I hopped in. This ride was safe though. I hadn’t even met this Elizabeth yet, but I was still entrusting and confident her intentions were pure. I had little faith, kept the “Nica” Spanish conversation going and watched this lemon of a taxi weave through these poor neighborhoods I would have never imagined visiting in all of my life. It was a thrill, and after spending so many years studying Latin America and its origins, I began to grasp that the Spanish speaking Americas were real; and I was a part of it now.

“Estamos aqui.”

“ Vale. Gracias. Que tengas un buen noche.”

“Bueno. Igualmente.”

I exited the cab and was confronted to a well-fenced apartment complex. The front reminded me of something from the lord of the rings. It was a tall steel reinforced door with a small peephole. I told the gatekeeper my intentions to visit “Miss Elizabeth” (as they called her), while he peeked his eyeballs through the steel slot in a comical manner. The man opened the door, and let me in. On the other side was Elizabeth who greeted me with a wide smile and a hug. I was expecting something much more formal being someone from “the Embassy”, but this was much more comforting, and honestly I needed it being in this foreign land. I was here for business, but travel requires friendships; no matter what. She was a little shorter than me, had a very conservative style to her and spoke great Spanish. I was assuming she was your typical Spanish teacher from high school, but I would soon learn she had a bit of a twist to her character when we went out later that night. She welcomed me into her apartment and asked if I wanted anything to drink…

An hour later I was seated at her kitchen table that was in the middle of her flat. Everything was out in the open, and it reminded me of herself. I felt comfortable, I felt amongst friends. I was currently about three “Nica-libres” deep, and still dealing with the four Toñas I had earlier. Nothing was there to hide; it was real and much different than “LA”.

So, what is a “Nica-libre” you ask? Well, it’s rum and coke — to keep it simple. The core concept comes from the “Cuba-libre” but this one has the world famous Nicaraguan, Flor de Caña Rum instead of anything Caribbean or Cuban. Now, it wasn’t just her at the apartment, there were also a few guys and girls who kept trickling in. I met a few of them who were great people teaching English, or attaining management positions within the US Embassy.

“Wait, so what are you doing in Nicaragua?”

She asked while continuing to stir something on the stovetop…

“Good question…” I replied, while sipping more of that sweet “Nica” rum.

After a few drinks, and gathering a footing in this new country within this interesting circle, I started asking questions.

“So, Elizabeth…Can you tell me about English education here?”

“Yeah, of course! What do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

Her and I continued a long discussion as she continued to cook whatever it was we were having for dinner. According to Elizabeth, a veteran in the field of Education, teaching for something like seven years and living in Nicaragua for around two, she could help me dig deep into the situation here in Managua. We first started discussing the demand for the language in Latin America; specifically Nicaragua, and then we continued to the problems getting from A to B. We would later discuss solutions, and I would start working on that with another organization, but just keep reading…

That being said, English is in high demand here. In general, the people want to learn the language. It is (to Nicaraguans) the language of opportunity just like it is to a good majority of all Latin Americans, and the rest of the modernizing world.

In present day Managua, a good handful of telecommunications companies want to enter this country, and for a lack of words, exploit the cheap labor. This is not negative though! This is good! In terms of economics, it is beneficial for foreign companies to be investing in this hungry country (to some extent) because that’s only the beginning. English will allow Nicaragua to share its beauty with the rest of the world, and investing in their economy, their country, their people, will allow them to roar all the way to from Managua to Shanghai to New York in the near future.

Telecommunications is simply, a humble beginning. Now, the government is a difficult issue being that they had issues in the eighties with the Contra-Sandista movement, which still resonates in the community. You can see sides chosen, and an un-fair distribution of wealth within the population, and heavy inflation. With a “democratic republic” of a government that befriended Venezuela, and Cuba, it is only obvious that signs of socialism has crawled into Nicaraguan politics, leaving loopholes wide open like a fresh wound for corruption. This had led to a very weak educational system in Nicaragua and leaves all hope on the shoulders of the “extranjeros”, the foreigners who are not given enough credit in places like this… There are a select few who do go on and receive a proper education, but it is quite the luxury here. Some may succeed, but the country is lagging behind the times.

So, what makes it so hard to learn English here, I would ask her? She responded by telling me over and over it was three fundamental issues:

1. Lack of teachers who spoke the English language fluently themselves.
2. Students who couldn’t develop passion for the language because it was easier to work day in and day out speaking Spanish.
3. The government didn’t enact strong enough programs that would keep students in school rather than work for immediate benefits that did nothing for the future of Nicaragua.

Don’t get me wrong, we were more than a few drinks into the evening, but I got deep information about the situation from her. I really got to the core of the issue and began to realize that people cared about the future of Nicaragua, and it was prosperous, but without the nurturing for English education, it will be hard to carry on past the current issues. We discussed further how majorities of the “Nica” people do speak English, but there is a lack of native speakers to speak with, therefore they don’t find the use in sticking with this global language.

She continued to cook as guests trickled into the room, and then we went into how it is to be born into this position. Being someone who has learned Spanish as a second language, it was completely unnecessary in terms of survival. I would be fine just knowing English. Obviously, I learned Spanish to take me into new realities, and to connect with those I would have never had the chance to relate with, but in Nicaragua, to know English meant something completely different.

“Imagine a world where you could only succeed outside of our country if you spoke this second language,” she told me.

In the states, we’ve had it nice. We can get by with “just” English, but here, it was different. It was survival based language learning. Therefore, in Latin America, Central America, and Nicaragua specifically, English education was seen as a necessity for escaping the norm, but this “business as usual” mindset easier to participate in. How to change that? Well, that’s why I came here, and it would take much more than one semi-belligerent conversation to comprehend. It all hit me like a ton of bricks that night and I would have to digest the issue to start thinking of solutions to rebuild this country as my trip rambled on.

I spoke to the others who were there that night. Being that Elizabeth was very well connected in Nicaragua, there were native Nicaraguan friends, and folks who have worked as US Embassy representatives or Peace Corps for quite some time. They were in awe that I was on this adventure to find out how I could help Nicaragua and education. Now, they were all here for a similar reason to me, they truly wanted to help these amazing people, but something about trekking alone in Nicaragua on some kind of mission was romantic to them. They wanted to help anyway they could. I heard story after story of how English became a part of these people’s lives. It inspired me to do more here because I came on a hunch, but now I was confronted with a huge issue. I was now aware that I could be a part of the solution, and allow Nicaragua to move forward without losing sight of their beautiful culture that I fell in love with.

We left a few hours later to enjoy the nightlife in Managua. It was far from the LA scene, but it was a spectacle and I was in the presence of good people. I felt a part of their world, and I was enjoying the thought of being so far from home, but I could not get those words out of my head: “What are you doing here in Nicaragua?”

Toña after Toña, “Nica” libre after “Nica” libre, I could not wait to continue on my adventure and hear more stories of how the English language became a positive aspect / desire within Hispano-American culture. I enjoyed the night for what it was, being that we all decided to hit the town and enjoy the nightlife scene at a few Managua clubs. Afterwards, I somehow made it home alive after drinking heavily, eating street foods, and trying to remember where my hotel was so my new taxicab driver could take me back to where it all began. I was a bit disoriented right now, but the adventure would continue in the morning.

“Donde vives?”

“Hotel almendro, hombre. Sabes donde está?”

“Hmmm — si, claro.”

“Accepartías trienta cordoba?” (Always negotiate before your ride!)

“Si.”

I reclined in the passenger seat, in pure bliss, looking out the window as the wind hit me in the face. The wretched smell of this third world city filled my senses. The heat really brought out all Managua’s flavor. We finally made it back. I gave the man his thirty Cordoba ($1.07), and went straight up to my room and preceded to write everything down in my journal before I forgot about everything I had absorbed. I knew I wouldn’t have time to write in the morning since I would be packing up my bags and start my new for Leon before lunch. Words and reflections were cluttering my mind like the smoke billows that I saw before my flight had landed earlier. I needed clarity so I wrote everything down in a tantrum. I just experienced something completely new, and did not know what to think quite yet. As my journal digested the ink that would sink into the pages, I stared at the ceiling, imaging what kind of adventure would be next.

To be continued…