During training, I received a piece of advice that I've always tried to follow: accept any invitation that doesn't make you feel uncomfortable.
Adhering to this philosophy with my host family in Carazo during training frequently led to amusing incidents where I blindly tagged along and got an insider look at various aspects of Nica life. There was the time I accidentally attended a FSLN rally on my 4th day of training (the political party currently in power; probably a HUGE no-no since Peace Corps is apolitical), the time we randomly surveyed some land (still not really sure what that was about), the time we took a trip to the town nursery to pick (steal?) guayaba fruit, and the time I crashed a family party and was made to dance to marimba music, among many others.
When I went back to El Rosario to visit my old host family last weekend, accepting a "Vamos!" invitation once again led to an unexpected adventure.
I was sitting on the porch with my old host mom's granddaughter chatting and thinking about getting some fritanga (the Nica equivalent of grilled meat) for dinner when her cousin invited us to accompany him to some sort of parade. Bored, we agreed to go along, and after he buttered his Evangelical aunt up with a story about how we were going to do "an errand," he brought us along with a group of his friends to go in a Catholic parade celebrating Santiago (Saint James), who is the patron saint of the nearby town of Jinotepe.
A ton of people had turned out to watch the saint's image as it passed through the dark streets, which led to highly dangerous near collisions with cars and motorcycles as we exited the pueblo, headed for the highway. Many people were dressed in camouflage, which the cousin explained was not for military purposes, but chosen because they would be making a 16- day pilgrimage up to the mountains and then back to the sea. Spurred on by the gigantic drums at the rear of the procession, which began to beat a faster rhythm, people broke into a trot. This officially marked the only time I have seen Nicas run when not trying to catch a bus. It was quite joyous.
Not wanting to be an aguafiestas (party pooper), I said I didn't particularly mind if we continued to follow the procession more. And so, we walked on to the town of Güisquiliapa (pronounced Whiskey-lee-Ah-pa), which supposedly lies at the same distance from the highway as El Rosario. I personally think the road there is far longer, but maybe this was an illusion arising from the absence of fritanga in my stomach. Güisquiliapa is a tiny, although seemingly very nice town, with dirt roads, a tiny school, and a church. After the procession finally made its way to the church and was blessed by the priest, we made the long walk back home, witnessing a duck trussed up for strangulation and a wild west style line up of horses, ready to gallop off somewhere. No idea what those elements of the festivities were about. The "pagan" undertones of Latin American Catholicism are really fascinating; you've got to wonder where some of the syncretic practices originated and how they've been adapted through the centuries.
We got back after 8 o'clock, super late for Nicaraguan standards, so there was no fritanga left, but I did get some pizza from a new restaurant in town. A comforting standard after a new cultural experience.
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