We have a pool. A rather big pool, which we have tested and now know it can hold up to 152 bodies – although, I should note with these numbers; swimming, moving and breathing are prohibited.
I´m not merely bragging, pulling out the AOG prosperity teaching, nor trying to justify having such a beautiful luxury; I truly believe God has blessed us with this pool, house, and grounds big enough for five ponies, so we can use it to establish a solid relationship with our community and let His glory be known.
Tuesdays through Fridays are known as “Community Pool Time at the Briens”. Apart from building a solid rapport with this rural, economically-challenged community, we have two recognisable agendas: to teach them how to swim, and to share Jesus´ amazing, life-changing truth.
Last year, many Nicaraguans drowned due to the infamous, torrential rains that annually occur during invierno, the months of May through to October. Out of the statistics, one teenage girl on the list belonged to the beloved Cook at NCA, the school I currently serve at.
While this girl was walking home from school she became the victim of deadly flash flooding. She was swept away by the rolling waters that consumed Nicaragua´s dirty, inadequately drained roads. Her drowned body was found meters from her house. It was devastating.
I dread the rainy season. Our interchangeable roads become a death, sea-like rollercoaster ride containing strong currents that devour anything in their path.
By opening up our pool twice a week, we hope to save lives physically and spiritually…but I digress… this was not why I am sitting in my pjs pounding the keyboard – and I seriously have to pound the spaces a, q and x. These keys are missing the leveled, perfectly smooth plastic which regular computer users take for granted. My computer´s keyboard symbolically represents Nicaragua´s inconsistent, bumpy, potholed, dusty roads. Quite honestly, q and x don´t bother me too much, but a is a different story. This precious vowel is chief to others! (did you notice the irony here: I didn´t use the “precious” a in my elaborate description of the letter! – but in all seriousness: all appreciate you, a. - okay so I didn´t quite complete full alliteration but who cares!)
The point of my blog is to share with you about our pool frustrations. Currently, the only fit description for our pool is to say it makes a swamp in deepest, darkest Africa appear to be a crystal-clear haven in comparison.
Now before you start wagging your finger at me and telling me how to best care for a pool - this is not due to our neglect! Every week, we pay a man to clean it and care for it.
This morning, while the birds napped, I tip-toed across the “white” tiles that crudely displayed evidence to support my claims that Jed is not a fine-detailed person – particularly during our Friday Youth nights – the lack of “white” allowed reality to sink in as it exposed the hard core truth that we do indeed have seven kids, two dogs, three puppies, one kitten, and that Jed had a truck load of people over last night while I was working overtime at the school.
I tiptoed my way out of the house; partly to let sleeping peeps be, and partly to avoid my feet from stepping in something I might regret. After successfully crossing the minefield, I opened the outside gate to welcome the guy that cleans our pool. Now, let me interrupt here and save myself from any long winded defamation trail; I shall refer to the man who cleans the pool as “the pool man”.
“The pool man” (Okay I´ll ditch the italics and “quotation marks”) and I conducted our normal Saturday morning exchanges, “Hola” I said in a voice that could mirror Marg Simpson´s sisters voices.
“Hola” he replied, followed by a brief nod of this red cap. He walked through the gate and routinely turned to the left.
But today I didn´t merely shut the gate and fall into normal routine – him to the pool, me to my casa. Today was different. Today I broke tradition. Today I followed him.
“Como estas?” I chirped, making small talk.
He twitched.
Then in my broken Spanish I attempted to address the issue.
Now, I know I butcher the Spanish language, so, I´m guessing I sounded a little like this:
“Me pool-o – dirty-o – very dirty-0”
“Si” he muffled, his cap hiding his eyes.
“Si – much-o dirty-o – it´s a problem-0”
“Pues, I only come twice a week and you use your pool too much,”
“Si, siiiii,” jajaja I fake laughed “we like-a to use-a our pool-o, pero, (which I think my warped-by-aussies-and-yankies British accent sounds more like I´m saying perro) me think-o it need-o much-o chem-i-os”
He stopped and slowly nodded in the form of a yes, but yet it strangely felt that he was quietly sending me subliminal messages, telling me to simply stop whatever I was doing and fall back into our normal routine: him to the pool, me to mi casa.
But I didn´t. I ignored the awkward shuffles he made on the patchy-grassed, parched lawn; instead, I pursued the issue of the heavy green, slimy wetlands just yards before us. With my eyes fixed on the everglade, I suggested we add more chemicals daily instead of the usual “dumping” we assumed took place twice a week.
He sniffed and wrinkled his nose as he slightly raised the blue pool scoop he was holding in his left hand.
It suddenly dawned on me that that was the only thing he had with him. No bag, no box, no bulging side pockets full of powdered chlorine, no bottle of acid – just a short, plastic blue net. I suddenly had a flash back to when Jed was bragging about how “our pool never smelt of chlorine”
Not one to shy away from conflict, I probed, “Entonces, how many chemicals will you put in the pool?” Suddenly my Spanish was perfect!
“enuff” he coughed, while shifting his net from one hand to the other. “Okay, then…” he said starting to walk with the only tool he brought with him.
“Um, Yes, okay” I said, and without allowing a breath, I blocked his path by asking, “Can you show me what chemicals you´ll add today then?”
“oh, sure…” his voice trailed off as he attempted to side-step me. “..Wedn….Wednesday, I´ll show you…Wednesday,”
“Wednesday! Oh, I´ll be at work Wednesday, sooooo yes, I was wondering what chemicals you´ll be adding today to the pool,” (I flashed him a quick patronising smile as we both knew it was not worthy to be called such a name) … then to cut the awkwardness of the situation, I attempt a laugh and said, “The pool sure needs them.” In my feeble attempt of trying to sound like I have an I-don´t-care-but-do-care type of attitude.
At first he tried to ignore my less-than-subtle request, but when he realised I was not yielding, he slowly rubbed the back of his head, which knocked his cap off and revealed a fuzzeled look to his brow.
His darting eyes said it all. “Well… er, um, ….. it errrr doesn’t need any chemicals today…” but his voice went horse when his eyes, which were desperately avoiding mine, locked on to the water swirling bog.
Finally, he admitted, “The chemicals didn´t come with me today…I am just going to pull out the leaves today…Wednesday, I´ll put chemicals in Wednesday…” he hung his head and clutched on to the handle of his net.
Maybe it was due to the lack of white in my floor tiles, maybe it was due to the late night of getting ready to close third quarter grades, maybe it was due to the recent trips to the grubby local hospital having to stitch up chins and toes. Who knows what triggered it, but I was not happy and I had no qualms in showing the pool man this upset.
I ranted on and on about how we pay good money to have the pool taken care of, and how I knew the pool traffic was perhaps different than a typical family with a pool might allow, but this was unacceptable and he was not fulfilling his duties. I explained that if I wanted someone to simply pull out the leaves I´d get my kids to do that – while I sipped from my coconut drink… oh, I talked up a storm about why it is imperative that he always puts chemicals in the pool.
He admitted that he didn´t have the chemicals for my pool today, as someone else had them. He then promised he´d come back later in the day with them.
So now I sit, and write this blog as I wait for his return to fill my senses with the smell of chlorine.
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