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by Michael E. Campana
(being a semifictional account of my sabbatical adventures, designed to amuse
and inform, and to be taken with a kilo of salt)
17 February 2003
from Granada, Nicaragua
No mas escuela! Yes, in the immortal words of Alice Cooper, 'School's Out'. On 14 February, I graduated and received a 'Certificado de Incompetencia' in the Spanish language. It was a day I'll not soon remember. My 'ultimo examen' was a bruiser. I had to translate, on the fly, some songs - Carlos Santana's 'Oye Como Va', Sergio Mendes' 'Mas Que Nada', 'Tequila' by The Champs and 'La Bamba' by Richie Valens. No hay problema! However, my exam for 'summa cum lousy' honors was a killer. My maestra produced a record of 'Luis, Luis' by Los Reyes and asked me what the song was about. Well, I had no idea. So I now have the shame of realizing that I do not know the words to 'Louie, Louie' in two languages. My solace is that my maestra had no idea, either. For those of you under about 40, you will need to inquire about this and its significance. Take an over-50 to lunch.
The day before my exam, two fellow students and I had an interesting adventure. Zach, a social worker from Vermont, Phillip, an attorney from the UK, and I set out to buy a whistle. We were teaching soccer (well, Zach and Phillip were) to some young boys from a half-way house for boys who have been kicked out of their homes and have taken to living on the streets and glue-sniffing. We needed to buy a whistle so we could referee the 'big game'. We understood that the local word for a whistle was 'pato', the same as 'duck'. Phillip and I instructed Zach to let us do the talking. Zach's previous experience with Spanish was being able to read the ingredients (you don't want to know) on a jar of 'Green Mountain Gringo' salsa. The previous day, he had asked the waiter for the bill with 'El cuerpo, por favor' ('The body, please').
So we went to a few shops and asked to buy a whistle for a soccer game with the boys. At the first place the saleswoman greeted us with indignation and walked away. At the second place, looks of bewilderment and astonishment were all we got. At the last place, sensing something was amiss, I asked clearly in my best Spanish. The saleswoman, at first looked surprised, then started laughing, and gestured to her colleagues to come over. She asked me to repeat what I had said, and I did. Raucous laughter descended upon us. By this time our linguistic skills convinced us something was getting lost in the translation. Okay, maybe we were asking to buy a duck. So one of the saleswomen told us in English that we had been asking 'to buy a gay man for a game with young boys'. Oh. Turned out that 'pato' is really slang for a 'gay man' (it originally meant 'whistle', but I will let you guess how the word evolved). Zach and I started laughing, but Phillip turned a whiter shade of pale (imagine a Brit doing this). So we finally got our whistle and returned to the school, where we told one of our teachers. She smiled and told us that we would have failed had that been our final exam, but then laughed. This leads to another Nicaraguan saying - 'Before going about asking for things in a foreign language, that you do not know well, such as to ask for whistles, or perhaps a gay man, make certain that you have your ducks in a row, or perhaps a column of young boys is better, if you prefer.' Phillip had been worried that the police would be looking for us.
Speaking of three idiots, a recent school visit to an antique shop here led to an amazing discovery. One of the antiquities was a huge autographed poster of Moe, Larry and Curly, The Three Stooges - Los Tres Cheflados in Spanish (though the spelling escapes me). Yes, there they were, above framed photos of Princess Diana and Marilyn Monroe. Apparently, their (The Three Stooges, that is) humor is revered in Central America, at about the same level as Jerry Lewis is held in France and Jerry Van Dyke in German-speaking countries (Note to Mary Frances - it is coming home via FedEx, it was a bargain, and has a 'Certificado de Autorizado' signed by local magistrate Federico 'Des' Ayuno.)
The aforementioned half-way house for boys is 'Cristo Sano a Los Ninos', run by some nuns. I believe it was written up in the New York Times last summer. Phillip and Zach had been volunteering there, and said it was hard duty. It's like a rehab house, tough love. The boys have to agree to quit sniffing glue, behave, and attend school or learn a trade or a craft. If they go back to glue, they get kicked out.
Note that we were teaching them soccer because unlike the rest of Central America, baseball is king here. The other day I watched some farm boys play a game in a field with ruts that would have stopped a Hummer. There was one fellow about 10 playing shortstop like he had a vacuum cleaner for a glove instead of a crappy piece of leather. He was amazing. I thought of the town in the Dominican Republic, San Pedro de Macoris, that has produced an inordinate number of major-league shortstops, and thought I might be seeing a future star in the making.
I forgot to mention that part of my final exam was an exercise to translate a Spanish speech to a West Coast group by Al Gore during his presidential campaign. I could not get it all, although I think there was something in there about 'ducks in every pot'.
I encountered a woman from Sacramento who volunteers down here and we soon started talking about such work. She informed me of an organization devoted to helping Nicaraguans help themselves - El Porvenir ('The Future'). Check it out at www.ElPorvenir.org. It was founded and is run by Carole Harper, an administrative law judge from Sacramento.
For light reading I have 'Bugs, Bites and Bowels', an amusing account of some of the travel health dangers and precautions. It is written by British physician Dr. Jane Wilson-Howarth, who has a delightful sense of humor. Here's what she says about the dangers of certain large mammals - 'On foot and in close quarters, encountering the great black rhinoceros can be unwise.' But she outdoes herself later on when she talks about how important it is to use condoms, but not to rely on the local supply. They may be of poor quality and may not fit properly, because of the geographic variations in penis sizes (okay, bear with me here). Anyway, she then states that 'it is impossible to find one size that will fit all comers'. She also documents other uses for condoms, such as carrying liquids, a cold compress, substitutes for elastic bands, and as a radiator fan belt (For what kind of car? Remember, one size will not fit all cars). Humor aside, the book is great. For some people it might be the type of book that would keep them inside for the rest of their lives.
I am also starting 'The Comedians' by Graham Greene, and for all my friends (Steve, Mike, Loring, Joe, Bill, Troy, Trudy, et al.) who do volunteer work in Haiti, maybe I can begin to understand what you and the residents have to deal with. And I am still working on Margaret Atwood. For all my Canadian friends, I hope to finish her novel on my next sabbatical (the book exchange at 'The Bearded Monkey' would not accept her).
Speaking of things UK and comic, we had an interesting discussion about humor throughout the world. Phillip the UK attorney commented on how he loved 'Seinfeld', and the Dutch woman chimed in with her approval too. Louise, the UK IT type, had not seen it, so we were trying to summarize it for her, although she was puzzled how it could be a show 'about nothing'. I told them I loved it but that my spouse did not, although Mary Frances likes my two-minute summaries of what happened.
I am no longer living at home, having taken to the streets and local hotels a few days ago. The other morning, at the main plaza, the local fire department gave a thrilling exhibition to demonstrate their beautiful new Mercedes-Benz fire engine (well, it is used), donated by Frankfurt, Germany (it still says 'Feuerwehr'). Later on there was a little ceremony featuring a German dignitary and local politico Alberto 'Al' Muerzo, talking about the bonds between the two countries. Even present was the local UK Consul-General, Sir Denis Eaton-Hogg. The German government does seem to be doing a lot here, along with the Japanese (sewage treatment plant and hospital) and the Spanish. I also chatted with a group of Canadian physicians who come down here periodically to work in clinics. Plastic surgery for children is a big item, as there are a lot of children born with deformities (cleft palates, for example), as is ophthalmology (a lot of eye diseases - the Lions Clubs are active here).
It is funny to see the T-shirts, obviously donated by foreigners, worn by the locals here, who likely don't know what the shirts say. One of the food vendors in the central plaza, a 60-something man, has one that says 'Proud To Be A Lesbian'. I also saw one of my all-time favorites from my Atlanta days - 'We Don't Give a Damn How You Done It Up North'. Or maybe that was expressing a thought left over from the Nicaraguan civil war.
The impending war is not getting a lot of interest down here. The few locals I have discussed this with mainly wondered what the USA was up to, and why we need to go to war with Iraq. One local asked me if Iraq had attacked us. Besides, there are enough problems of more immediacy to deal with down here, like where the next meal is coming from and will my child die from some disease. Violence in Bolivia and problems in Venezuela are of more interest. Phillip had an interesting theory about why Tony Blair is on board with the USA. He suspects that Blair is not Bush's lackey (in Parliament he is called 'the representative from Texas North') but is there to try to keep a reins on Jorge. Phillip figures that if it is not Tony, who would be there to do it?
It is time to leave now. The Internet café is now piping in 'Air Supply'
over the speakers - no, not the gas, the group. The songs are in Spanish, and
what's more unnerving, I can understand them. Alas, the dark side to learning
another language.
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