A Response to Jess from the Spoiled American

I would bet that most people have yet to see the comment posted to one of my last posts about my host family so I am now going to post it here in all its glory:

From Jess: I love you Avi, but my God, sometimes you come across as such a spoiled American, it hurts. You’re bitching about how your room is too dark, and yet the people who are letting you into their home, their LIVES, are sleeping in the kitchen because of YOU. And the laundry thing… even if you were in the States still, I wouldn’t be impressed. You have only just learnt how to do laundry by hand?! What has your mother been teaching you all these years?! I feel like in one sense, you’re not cut out for Peace Corps, BUT at the same time, I am SO GLAD you’re doing it, because you need the perspective.

First I just want to point out that it is with Jess’ permission that I am posting this front and center and that I am writing this response to her comments. Who is Jess, you ask? Jess and I spent a few eventful weeks (not sure on the exact amount of time) at the same Spanish school in Quetzaltenango, Guatemala and had some interesting discussions about life, traveling, poverty etc. She is a very cool Canadian chica, great writer and photographer, and I have nothing but fond thoughts of her and maybe even a little crush. And now I will rip into her……just kidding…..well mostly.

As soon as I read her comments, I won’t lie, it hurt a little bit. Here I am in Nicaragua, in the Peace Corps, in a completely different, simpler life, thinking about how great I am to have made this decision, to try to live a bit more uncomfortably, and learn about a new culture and the field of development at the same time. Here I am sleeping on a bed too small WITH springs sticking into my back, eating rice and beans WAY too much, and trying to teach high school students about business in less than perfect Spanish, thinking that my behavior is the opposite of spoiled right now. Here I am spending my days trying to befriend Nicas and foreigners alike, bring a little more understanding and love into the world, and make sense of the terrible economy in Nicaragua right now, and I am being called spoiled. And here is Jess, up in Calgary, in her nice dorm room/apartment, spending more money in a week than I make in months, living the university life, and she is calling me SPOILED! Un-friggin-believable. So, at first glance, it made me take a step back. Who does she think she is telling me that I am not Peace Corps material and at the same time insulted my very own mother over my laundry washing skills? This is a bit off message but Jess, just so you know, I have washed my own laundry since I was 10, I separate my whites and colors, and know how to take delicate clothes out of the dryer sooner…thank you very much. But forgive me, for growing up in a country where most people use washers and dryers to do laundry! Forgive me, for not knowing how to wash clothes on a hard cement washboard, knowing the right combination of soap and detergent, and knowing how to keep your clothes staying soft and durable! Guilty as charged, if being spoiled, is complaining about how your hands hurt after grinding, twisting, and toiling dirty clothes for an hour. Guilty as charged. Ok back to the point…

Who is this girl calling me spoiled and telling me that I need perspective? Hell, I have a better perspective on life and society than most people I know. But you know what, America, she is absolutely right! (by the way that sentence was in honor of the late Bernie Mac). 100 percent correct. I am spoiled. I know it and I know that sometimes it rears its ugly head especially in my writing and for that I apologize. But I never regret or feel sorry about the fact that I am fortunate/spoiled. I was fortunate to be raised in a loving, caring, middle class family with two parents who instilled the concepts of education, social work, and responsibility in my life. I was “spoiled” by receiving gifts at every single Hanukah and birthday, yearly family vacations, and all the comforts of home and living that a kid could ever need. I was lucky to be born in a country where freedom of speech and religion is valued and where rags to riches stories truly do exist. And unfortunately, every single hour in Nicaragua, I am reminded of how fortunate I am. As I walk through the streets here, I cannot help but think about it. I see kids sniffing glue as if it is an accepted public practice, five year olds out at 11pm at night selling gum and cookies in the streets, thousands of kids sitting on the doorsteps in the middle of the day when they should be at school. I see broken families, cheating men, impoverished people, and communities without hope. If you have a heart, a soul, and a mind here, you cannot help but cry for the life that so many Nicaraguans are forced to live. You cannot help but think about how every single human being deserves to live a life of opportunity and comfort just as you did. You cannot help but want to give every kid on the street a piece of bread and few cordobas. But you cant! And this is where it gets tricky….this is where my thoughts get mixed up, my fortunate background confuses me, and I become lost.

I am here working for Peace Corps. I am a United States’ citizen who has grown up very comfortably economically and emotionally with every opportunity available to me. Honestly, there is no doubt that on many levels the quality of life is stronger in the US than Nicaragua. Education, job opportunities, social services, cleanliness, technology. There is a reason that so many Nicaraguans and Central Americans do everything they can to get the States day in and day out, and its not only the money. There is no doubt that my way of living is COMPLETELY AND UTTERLY DIFFERENT to the way of living for most Nicaraguans, even ones economically and educationally well off. And I am not talking culturally here….that is a whole different subject for another book. I mention these things only to give you a base for the issues I personally am battling with currently.

I make a little more each month than an average Nicaraguan teacher makes. And for transparency purposes, I make 4350 Cordobas monthly (equivalent to 223 dollars at today’s exchange rate; in purchasing power, my salary is constantly losing value as Nicaragua currently stands at a whopping 25 percent inflation rate). I am almost positive that high school teachers make 3000 Cords montly but almost all work second shifts or have second jobs, something I am not allowed to do. But I have the luxury of only having to support myself while the teachers are usually supporting other family members. You will see why money is important in the following anecdote.

I am out one night with a group of friends (all foreigners) sipping on a nice cold Toña, a delicious Nica beer, on Calle Calzada, the super touristy street in Granada filled with restaurants, tour operators, ice cream, and other touristy stuff. Every five minutes or so, we are approached by either an old woman carrying a basket of cookies, gum, etc, a young child carrying the same, a beggar, or young children trying to sell useless items. And every 5 minutes, we all briefly stop our conversation to wag a finger or say “no gracias”. I sometimes add, “I have no money, I am sorry” (which is true as I am carrying no extra) or when it is kids that are begging, I tell them, “I may give you money if you offer me a product or service because you see that is the way business works but I cannot give you money if I get nothing in return (this may sound like an asshole thing to say but I 100 percent stand by it).” I also remind kids on occasion to at least say please and thank you when they are asking, begging, selling, etc. Every five minutes, a strange feeling lurks inside as I have just turned down another needy person while I am there, being spoiled, and drinking my luxurious beer.

How do I justify enjoying a 30 cord liter of beer while not giving a hungry kid on the street at least 1 cord? How do I complain about how little money I make when so many people make so much less and live a life so impossible, so hard, that I could not even imagine? Before I elaborate further, I want to share with you one more story.

I arrive to the bus station where the nice buses to Managua reside, excited about today’s trip to the Laguna de Apoyo, one of Nicaraguan’s absolute gems. I walk up to one of the drivers/workers and ask him how much it will cost to take me to the entrance of the Laguna. I am wearing shorts, appear to be a foreigner, and have just asked them how much something costs, a sure sign that someone is not a regular. The man tells me 20 cords, 1 dollar, and I bust out laughing. I literally laugh out loud. I respond that it costs 10 cords to go to Masaya and that I am not even going that far. My destination is before Masaya and thus should cost at the maximum 10 cords. I ask for a price of 7 cords. The man swiftly replies that 20 cords is the price and I quickly shake my head at him. I let him know that I have taken this bus many times before (the truth is that I have around 10 times) and that the maximum the fare could be is ten. He doesn’t budge and then another man/worker joins in the conversation from afar, telling me to stop being cheap and that 20 cords is one dollar in my country. I immediately stop in my thoughts, taken aback, and angrily respond that it doesn’t matter where I am from, I live in Nicaragua, I work in Nicaragua, and I am fucking trying to help your community. I then storm off across the street, visibly upset because of the treatment I received and my angry response, and sit down next to the bum on the concrete steps. I then ask him if he can believe that they are trying to charge me 20 cords for a trip that should cost between 7-10. He responds by moving his mouth in a barely audible way.

I get paid around the same as Nicaraguan high school teachers yet I get treated like a dollar carrying foreigner. I work for this country, yet constantly get overcharged purely based on who I am. I argue every cent and give nothing to the bum on the street next to whom I sat. I go to the laguna to enjoy myself at a nice gringo’s house with an amazing view, and eat a delicious, free lunch, a type of trip that most Nicaraguans never, ever get to do, and I complain about the bus fare and justify it by telling them I am a teacher.

I live within my means here, within my Peace Corps given budget, but with the comfort of nicely managed saving accounts and mutual funds in dollars at my disposal. I enjoy Nicaragua, I travel, I have fun, I drink beer and wonderful rum, and treat myself to choco-bananos and Eskimo ice cream. Yet I negotiate over 10 dollars a month for food with my struggling host family who could really use an extra income and I barely ever give food or money to kids on the street.

I work here in foreign development and have daily job responsibilities….I deserve to splurge every once in a while. If I feel more comfortable in my own little house than living in a small dark room with a host family, then I have every right to seek out that living situation. I am trying to do good work and thus deserve to be comfortable….I can do better work in that way. These are my thoughts, yet it is painfully obvious to see how these can be harmful and helpful all at the same time.

I am used to my way of living, the American style, and thus can be reluctant to change. I feel comfortable in a nice, cool house with a comfy bed, a fridge, and internet. I feel like I need certain things in order to stay happy and productive. The other side of me knows that I will never truly know how it feels to be a poor Nica unless I live in that way, unless I live among them. I will have to shed all my comforts and find comforts in their way of living….a nice hot plate of gallo pinto…spending a night watching whatever 1980s movie comes on tv…sitting on the porch letting the night pass you by.

But here’s the deal. Why would I ever want to live like a poor Nica? Why would a poor Nica ever want to live like that? Who really wants to struggle to feed a family day by day and have kids stay uneducated and ignorant? Who really wants to experience a lack of opportunity and the results of failed governments? I personally want to LEARN and UNDERSTAND the culture of poverty but yet would never want to live in that way. Why wash clothes by hand when you can throw them in the machine?

So maybe I really am not Peace Corps material, maybe a Peace Corps person should be one truly willing to go the distance and give up everything to help the poor. Maybe I should give a peso to every beggar on the street and live without any of my past luxuries. But maybe what Peace Corps is looking for are people who are willing to change their lifestyle enough so that they can serve, help, and give hope to those less fortunate around them. Maybe it is my mindset and thoughts that need to change just as much, if not more, than my actions. And if that is the case, I hope that while I am here I can become that person, even if, at heart, I am just another spoiled American.

Here’s to you Jess for keeping me honest in my writing and my thoughts and to everyone else who continues to provide me with feedback. I truly think we could all benefit from a broader perspective and I hope that some of my writing helps to at least open your eyes to another part of society, a new culture, and new ideas.