I’m coming up on the year 1 mark of my experience as a Jesuit Volunteer here in Nicaragua-time is flying! To finish up the first year, JVC put on a retreat for us this past week. Those of us returning for our second year were “re-oriented” and those getting ready to leave Nicaragua in a few short weeks, after finishing up their two years here, were “dis-oriented.” We went to a small rural community in the mountains of Esteli, one of the Northern departments of Nicaragua. As part of the retreat, we spent one day in silence, taking the opportunity to reflect on the past year’s experiences and to listen to the wind and the sounds of the campo, far from the noise and distractions of everyday life in Managua. Much of the day was free time to spend as we felt we most needed, so I followed my natural instinct to climb up to a ridge above the community with a sweeping view of the countryside for miles around. I wrote a short description of what I could see while I was there:
I’ve climbed up on the ridge to the east of La Garnacha and the view is unreal. I bushwacked through some woods and cow pastures to get here, and it’s well worth the climb. We travel to the high places in search of aliveness (Ken Bunker). To the northwest I can make out some volcanoes in either Honduras or El Salvador (not sure which, gonna have to look at a map). Not far to the south of those is the gentle slope of Cosiguina, whose magnificent crater I gazed into nearly a year ago. Further down the range lies San Cristobal, the tallest of Nicaragua’s volcanoes. Not much farther is Telica, followed by the perfect cone of Momotombo. Nearly all of Xolotlan [Lake Managua] is in view, and incredibly I can make out the faint outline of Mombacho [Wrong! I later identified this as Volcan Masaya, to the south of Managua]. Below me lies the village of La Garnacha, a scattering of rooftops among a forest of pines. At the base of the ridge lie cow pastures divided by fences, and there is a patch of fertile land with a single campesino bending down, weeding or planting, a sombrero keeping the sun off his head. Now he stands up, stretching, oblivious to the fact that I watch his movements from hundreds of feet above. Birds call, the wind murmurs in the trees, a toy-sized truck rumbles along the dirt road far below. I hear the occasional bark of a dog or chop of an axe from the village and the frequent crowing of a distant rooster. Moments like there are the ones I must hold on to when I leave Nicaragua, and more immediately when I return to the challenges of work and community living in Managua. This is a reminder, a reassurance that this all feels so right.
