Semana Santa, time's cycle

Holy week began one week ago today, on Palm Sunday, and here in El Riito, holy week is movement.

And it's a vacation. Funny to observe vacation in a place that is so laid back to begin with. Beyond the usual movement of men walking to and from the fields, women and children—including elders who otherwise seldom are seen outside their homes—walk to mass, a prayer, a procession, the river to swim, or a holiday visit during which guests drink coffee and eat bread, cookies, or a corn-based, baked something, and hosts draw upon their bucket reserves of baked goods. There is no class, so students run amok, and no work in the urban sense of the word, but to most Riiteños the latter is irrelevant, as men work in agriculture, which observes neither state nor religious holidays save Christmas, and women work in the home, which cycles day by day—no break. Nevertheless, the general atmosphere is one of rest and play.

March and April are the driest, hottest, most unbearable months of sun, heat and sweat, and so for Nicaraguans with money, the beach is the destination. For campesinos, however, Semana Santa retains a more religious tone and centers on prayers, procession, and mass, as well as baking, relaxing, and trying to keep cool by other means, creating shallow pools in the cow dung-filled stream, for example. A haze has stretched across the sky in recent weeks, which I attributed to the heat, until I was informed that this is due to farmer's burning their fields in preparations for May's planting.

I returned to site, per Peace Corps vernacular, or home, as I should call it, last Sunday after a week and a half away. Every time I leave I am more in love with the landscapes and people of Nicaragua—it really is a beautiful country, although at first impression not overwhelmingly so. That is to say, its beauty did not strike me in the same way as that of other places, such as Bolivia or Argentina. The process of Nicaragua growing on me echoes my relationship to my hometown of Rochester, New York; it took a near entire childhood of living in its suburbs, and then four plus years of living in and exploring its urban center for me to fall in love with it. Places to go, sites to see, and people worth meeting do not jump out at you in Rochester nor, I think, in Nicaragua, but with enough time and meandering, you find richness.

Upon my return last Sunday morning, my abeulos (host grandparents) had left for mass in town, so I was alone to absorb being back. I made coffee, and while in the kitchen noticed the chocoyo (A bright green little bird, now an endangered species, in part because it is a Nicaraguan custom to keep one caged, wing clipped, as a pet. Typically they are kept in kitchens. They do not speak like parrots, but a word here and there, and are certainly very vocal, always chirping their high-pitched chirp.) had flown and fallen to the floor. In my eight months here, the only interaction between this bird and me has been me giving him food and him biting me, or me yelling at him to be quiet when he is chirping unbearably loud. That morning, however, with him in a state of distress, below and away from his cage and water, and me the only one home to help him, we had a more friendly encounter: I knelt down, offered my finger; he stepped on, did not bite me, and I lifted him back to safety.

Poco a poco, Nicaragua grows on me. And, I sense, in a similar fashion—as the anecdote of the chocoyo suggests—poco a poco, its people, animals, and landscapes warm up to visitors, too.

With Holy Week at its terminus, tomorrow we return to the normal rhythm of everyday life. Semana Santa is, in fact, one of the few times of the year that time here is described and experienced as an arrow with a beginning and end, rather than as a cycle. Let us cycle on.

Note:
Though discussions on the topic abound, I cannot contemplate time's arrow and time's cycle without acknowledging Elias Mandala's brilliant teaching and citing:

Gould, Stephen Jay. 1987. Time's Arrow, Time's Cycle: Myth and Metaphor in the Discvoery of Geological Time. Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press.

Esteli’s Mercado Verde: zanahorias in all their gorgeous, orange glory, a taste of home

Carrots have always struck me as the ideal reference point for how fresh a set of produce is. And, within Nicaraguan borders, the carrots at Esteli’s Mercado Verde are unsurpassed in their orange brilliance. (Note on geography: Esteli refers to a northern department, as well as that department's capital city.) Every Friday morning around 5 a.m., vendors gather and set up on the north side of the city's central plaza to begin the Green Market. It is a good old-fashioned farmer’s market: producers sell directly to consumers—no middleman—and hence, there is a relationship, conversation, and social warmth. Perhaps most importantly, the produce is better, fresher; the colors are brighter and more brilliant—carrots case in point.

Green leaves, bundles of fresh herbs, red tomatoes and scaly onions fill the vibrantly colored crates on the pavement, which sit amid sacks upon sacks of red beans and earthy tubers. Bags of hibiscus flowers are available, as is the finished product—a bottle of jamaica wine. Heads of lettuce, crowns of broccoli, bunches of spinach and dozens of huevos del amor grace one table; while on another sit buckets of wrapped banana leafs encompassing the whitest cuajada (a type of Nicaraguan cheese, some liken it to feta), blocks of smoked cheese, and coolers of fresh cream. 

In addition to seasonally available produce and freshly made cow dairy products, there is ground coffee; honey; artisanal crafts; guirilas and tamales of maiz verde (fresh corn); two goat cheese vendors (One sells chocolate goat cheese—don’t knock it ‘til you try it, although it tastes more like frosting than cheese.); El Salvadorean pupusas; homemade chili sauces, jams, and fruit wines, among other treasures.

From the comedor across the street, with which the vendors apparently have a deal struck, a man with a microphone kindly yells the specials of the day, the rhythm of his voice similar to that of a bus worker—spontaneously and seemingly without effort, creating a countless number of jingles. There’s a buzzing crowd, only the occasional foreigner, and while pedestrians relaxingly stroll, passengers of passing cars make drive-by purchases, hastily.

The vendors

The market began in 2000 with just nine producers, and has since grown to a total of 48 producers. Originally organized by RENICC, or Red Nicaragüense de Comercio Comunitario (Nicaraguan Network of Community Commerce), an umbrella organization that works to support small and medium-scale agricultural producers and artisans, Esteli’s market now functions independently. In 2009, Esteli’s market being firmly established, RENICC moved on to form Green Markets in other towns and cities, and the vendors formed Cooperativa de Mercado Campesino (COOMERCAMP).

Vendors represent both independent producers as well as women’s and community cooperatives. Many of the farmers with whom I spoke are also developing agri-tourism projects. One vendor, for example, represents members of the community La Garnacha, located in Esteli’s Natural Reserve Tisey-Estanzuela, who belong to cooperative ASOPAN (Asociación Programa Agrícola San Nicolas). At their market stand, they sell goat and cow cheese, coffee, honey, wheat bread, jewelry made from pine and earth ceramics, and some of the best produce at the market. At their farms—in addition to hiking trails, scenic views of the western, coastal landscapes, and a calm place to stay and explore—the cooperative offers workshops on vermiculture, organic vegetable gardening, and coffee and swiss cheese production.

While we as North Americans perhaps bring to the table our recent, fanatically sculpted, overly broad connotation of the word “green,” green in the context of the Green Market does not imply, as I initially supposed it did, that all—or even most—of the produce is organic; some of it is. One of the only exclusively organic producers is Finca Organica El Carizo[1], which has sold here since 2003. Worker Renaldo—arguably the market’s oracle and certainly its most eloquent spokesperson—spoke of the friendships the producers have made through the social experience of the market, the significance of the opportunity to speak directly with consumers, and the role that conscious consumerism plays in alternative food systems. Emphasizing the symbiotic relationship between human and environmental health, he expressed concern about the lack of enforcement of pesticide regulation in Nicaragua, and highlighted this as a key reason to grow and buy organic. Michael Pollan—who has famously said that farmer’s markets in the U.S. are our country’s liveliest new public square[2]—I think, would have loved Renadlo’s commentary. Here, thousands of miles south of Berkeley, is a farmer saying that the farmer’s market serves as more than just a marketplace; it plays an important social function.

Current president and one of the market’s original founders, Daysis, who spends the rest of the week on nearby medicinal plant nursery, made a compelling connection between the direct interactions that such a market requires and the process by which campesinos, rural women in particular, build confidence and overcome their timidness. Shopping at the farmer’s market could therefore be an act not just of relationship building, but of confidence building.

There is room for improvement. Brewed coffee, for example, is hard to come by; when available, it’s dulsudo: half sugar, half coffee. Some live music would up the energy. There is very limited seating; simply adding some plastic chairs—not a problem anywhere else in the country—would create a more inviting and relaxed atmosphere. Samples, especially of mysterious products such as Las Dioas hibiscus wine[3], would add fun and aid sales. 

A global food movement

At stake in Esteli’s farmer’s market and related efforts are momentous questions regarding the future of small-scale agriculture in a country like Nicaragua. To contextualize the current economic opportunities (or lack thereof) for small-scale farmers historically, let us take note that land distribution in this country has been shaped by a series of agro-export booms driven primarily by a landholding elite on the one hand, and authoritative government manipulations—whether in the form of forced expropriation or failed aims at collectivization, on the other. While many Latin American countries continue to cultivate models of development based on free-market policies broadly and agro-exports more specifically (for those without oil, at least), small-scale producers across Latin America are engaged in efforts to relocalize food systems both in order to build local economies and gain political autonomy.

Having left the States amid a flourishing food movement and having been sad to leave behind an array of delightful local farmers markets that truly function as community spaces, animating Michael Pollan’s idea of such markets as our contemporary public square, going to the Mercado Verde is a welcome reminder of home, and also of the broader issues that motivate me to work in food security and small-scale agriculture. Put differently, small farmer’s markets popping up in Nicaragua contextualize not only our local food movement in the U.S. but also—for agriculture volunteers—our current work, reminding us that we sing in chorus with communities, both farmers and urbanites, all across the world as part of a global movement for reclaiming healthy, participative food systems.

I’ve made the Green Market a (bi-)weekly ritual. Just as the practice of buying at the market complements my work here as a volunteer, the friendly and relaxed ambiance of the market complements life in the campo, character wise. At its best, the Nicaraguan campo is a timeless place of awesome generosity, in which people understand the beauty of life through a simplicity and in a way that is lost on many, if not most, Americans. Esteli’s Green Market seems to me a natural extension of the sort of intimacy and cooperation that are the hallmarks of life and relationships in rural Nicaragua. Let us, as visitors, support this effort. And enjoy the most tender, delicious, sweet carrots in all of Nicaragua.

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[1] Finca Organica El Carizo. Independent producer, also located in La Garnacha, Reserva Natural El Tisey. Welcomes visitors, $15/night (including 3 meals), less if you work on the farm. willivasq@yahoo.com

[2] Though not the only source of this statement: “The farmers’ market has become the country’s liveliest new public square, an outlet for our communitarian impulses and a means of escaping, or at least complicating, the narrow role that capitalism usually assigns to us as “consumers.” At the farmers’ market, we are consumers, yes, but at the same time also citizens, neighbors, parents and cooks. In voting with our food dollars, we enlarge our sense of our “interests” from the usual concern with a good value to, well, a concern with values” As quoted in this recent NY Times Magazine article.

[3] La Dios is the brand of products made by Cope Luz (Cooperativa de Mujeres Rurales).[3]

A version of this essay appeared in Peace Corps Nicaragua volunteer publication Va Pues.