First time getting groceries in Managua felt like a labour
of Heracles. Exposed skin immediately reddened from the sun. Darting across the
carretera, or highway, invoked high-stakes Frogger. Answering the clerk’s
basic questions, do you want a bag with that, was beyond my Spanish. The heat
had a way of getting in your head, making things fuzzy. I’d walk into La Colonia and hit the air conditioning;
that would spark the sweating. Those nearest would flinch, leaping back.
Returning to the hotel, I’d pull out the items from my backpack where Kate and
I would ooh and aah over how exotic everything seemed.
I was fine walking by myself, but when Kate was with me my
pulse quickened, vision narrowed, blood flowed to muscles. Her perceived wealth
and, more, her beauty, made her a target. I felt responsible to protect her.
Even the repulsive muah muah muah catcall,
or piropos, was more than she should have to deal with. When we traveled
anywhere I was on edge, stressed, hyper-vigilant, fists balled. Now imagine
this bundle of nerves and testosterone in a Nicaraguan bus station, surrounded
by people, all speaking Spanish, one aggressively pulling the bag from Kate’s
hands to carry it for her, another clutching her by the shoulder to offer his
cab services, four more making a wall to beg for cordobas. Mammal brain, you’re on the bench. Lizard brain, suit up.
In time, everything turns mundane, have you noticed?
Groceries have reverted back to the menial chore they always were, my skin has
darkened to the point where I don’t immediately burn, at least on my face, neck
and arms. Human Frogger, like the early video game itself, has a brief shelf
life and low replay value. My Spanish is still bumble-footed, but I can
navigate through transactional exchanges without making a fool of myself. I’ve finally adjusted to the heat to the
point where, in the evenings when the fan is blowing, I’ve actually felt cold;
it was probably 28 degrees. And Kate and I have experimented with many and
mastered some of the strange foods and flora.
But the biggest relief is not to have that fear breathing
down my neck. Of course there is still danger – only a fool says otherwise –
but we have learned methods of mitigation. Just last weekend Kate and I met
friends at a bar on the boardwalk. Pausing in the revelry, we linked arms for a
stroll along the water. We were almost past four men sitting on the bench that
rims the lake when one of them smacked his lips at her muah muah muah. Not so romantic. Apparently, when I am outnumbered
by men four to one I am no shield for Kate to avoid the harassment of cowards. But
instead of impotently raging and burning the douchebags in effigy, Kate and I
started volunteering with an organization that combats street harassment
through self-defence classes, graffiti, and Smartphone apps that flag dangerous
areas of the city for women. In other words, using my outrage to make positive
change, as opposed to just driving me crazy.
Though you might think I’m crazy; I lift waterjugs. They function like weights but the way the water splashes around makes them seem heavier; a particular challenge for the “stabilizers”, a term I’ve borrowed from fit people. I have a collection of one-gallon jugs for concentration exercises and one five-gallon, splashy bastard, I’ve named John Awkward. Six days a week I hang out with John, though, being awkward, he doesn’t say much. After a protein shake and a shower I sit down to my computer and write. Every day there are words, now: a children’s story, novel, poetry and short stories. I’ve submitted stories and poems to (ambitiously prestigious) magazines and journals. I scan for contests and places to submit my writing and how to get an agent and which MFA program should I attend and what should I be reading, anyway?
Writing, John Awkward, tutoring English, learning Spanish:
these are the four pillars around which my life is structured. But four pillars
are not much protection from the elements, not much of a home. Kate is my home,
ladylove, companion, and ladybug. Kate of the piercing mind and gentle word. Kate of the
burning ambition, devourer of pancakes. In the ocean I have seen her transform
into a mermaid, in the forest, dryad. In the islets of Granada I spotted a
perfectly white stork, long-legged, wings outstretched and preening. When I
looked again it was her.
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