I spent eight weeks this past summer in a little town called Maria del Pilar near the coast in Nicaragua. I lived in a small, but comfortable house with people I now call my mother, father, brother, sister, and aunt. They took me into their home and their hearts, and the entire town embraced my partner, Libby, and me.

When we weren't constructing latrines, we kept ourselves busy in a variety of ways. We gave charlas (educational talks) at the school, painted a mural of a healthy town with the school children, and painted the completed latrines with the message "Laven las manos" (Wash your hands) accompanied by the handprints of the families to whom each belonged.Then, there was our greatest challenge of implementing a trash program--because it meant trying to change people's habits.

Fortunately, it wasn't all work. Our families took us to parties and weddings. One day, we went into the small city of Chinandega to celebrate the festival of Santa Ana, their patron saint. Every day people welcomed us into their homes to talk and drink pitaya juice, a delicious tropical fruit. We made friends with the families. The girls gave us their bracelets and necklaces, the boys captured iguanas for us, which we ate. Wherever we went, children wanted us to play soccer with them, passing people wanted to talk to us, friends wanted to show us the perfect spot to pick lemons for lemonade. I was so moved by their complete love and generosity and their eagerness to befriend us.

The day we left, everyone was crying, Libby and myself included. We exchanged addresses and hugged again and again. It was the saddest day of my life. Today, I find myself looking back on my time there, often wishing I could return. I will never forget the people; they will always be in my heart. And, somehow I know they will never forget me.

Last Updated
2/6/02 6:43 PM