Though we had a wonderful time, we really missed Aileen. Speaking of which, here is her post about life and death in Nicaragua.....
Today I went out to Tapasle, the rural community where we’re building a preschool. I was going to use my truck to help them bring sand, rocks, and water from the river to the school site. I was happy because I got an early start. The last two times I was planning to spend the day in Tapasle, hauling materials in the truck, I got waylaid, the first time by a flat tire, and the second time by a roadblock: two large trucks that were trying to pass each other both got stuck in the deep mud along the edges of the road, blocking traffic in both directions.
Anyway, when I arrived at the community, Hector, the president of the project committee was waiting for me. He said that they had a favor to ask. A man from the community had passed away the day before, and they needed help to bring his body and casket to the cemetery, which was in Sabana Grande, a community about half an hour away, up a long, steep hill. I told them of course I would help them, and Hector took off on his horse to let them know that I would take them.
We unloaded the cement that I had brought with me, and then we got as close to the house as we could, in a vehicle. While we waited, I heard the story of Don Timoteo’s widow, Doña Vicenta.
Vicenta was from the Atlantic Coast of Nicaragua, which is really isolated, geographically, politically, and culturally, from the rest of Nicaragua. When Vicenta was in her late teens, she met a young man, and moved with him to Tapasle. Soon afterwards, he left to fight in the Contra War and was killed. She was a young, childless widow, in a community where she had no family of her own. She stayed there, and about ten years later met Timoteo. They didn’t have any of their own land, and in the twenty or so years that they were together, they never had children. Timoteo worked as a day laborer on other people’s land, and during the coffee harvest, they both worked, picking coffee. Yesterday, they were working together, picking coffee, when Timoteo had a heart attack. Again, Doña Vicenta is a childless widow, but now she’s in her late 50’s, in a community where she has no family of her own.
As I helped Doña Vicenta into the passenger seat of my truck, I told her how sorry I was for her terrible loss, and she just stared at me, numbly, and remained that way for the entire way to the cemetery, staring straight ahead, unblinking.
