POST by JED: Pretty Tricky

Las Americas is a weird one to me. A shopping centre on the "other side", completely surrounded by poverty and not a "rich" barrio in sight. Yet it exists and thrives with Western branded stores like the GAP, Nike and Subway.

The grandiose monstrosity always contains heaps of people milling around. The only sign of poverty at this shrine of capitalism are the houses that border the centre and the lack of parking (because generally speaking, the people that frequent this joint can't afford their own car).

And that's where we found ourselves on Tuesday night. It'd been a long day, what with school, chores, staffing issues, after school activities, and the like... However, our Lizzie places an extremely high value on quality family outings, and since Jocasta (the newest member of our family) had never been to Plaza Americas, we thought this to be a BRILLIANT opportunity. (what modern woman really needs an excuse to visit places where goods are exchanged?)

The reason behind our visit to Plaza Las Americas was to witness one of Nicaragua's most amazing dance groups' cultural spectacular. This group performs traditional pieces once a year at this specific mall, and hence we decided to don our best frocks and trot off to the other side of town, posthaste.

We walked through the mall and witnessed all things typically and magically Nica - expressionless gloomy faces, mullet haircuts (which actually do suit the men here), thoroughly hugging jeans (fine until you need to bend over, then watch out, literally...), loads of make-up, and cute, adorable little kids, who are oft times dressed like miniature adults - with fake jewelry, henna tattoos, piercings, severe haircuts, make-up, etc. Adorable...

The gentle waft of Nicaraguan folk music hit us like a slap upon our expressionless faces, especially after the reggaeton we'd been enjoying in the car.

Lizzie pioneered and pushed a way through the crowds for her family, like a mother hen leading the parade through an obstacle strewn farmyard. We all smiled from ear-to-ear (we thrive in crowds where theft and kidnapping are of an alarming concern), almost dancing along to the festive ethnic tunes.

The dancers on the stage, dressed in overly bright apparel (I almost needed shades on account of the fluro colours emanating from their clothing) from the various Nicaraguan departments (states), looked anything but Nica - they too grinned from ear-to-ear.

The traditional Nicaraguan clothing is to me, just bizarre.  I'm quite sure that before the never ending stream of invaders and conquerors arrived, the natives were running around the Central American landscape in nothing but banana skin loin cloths and tree leaved halter tops. But we, the clever Christian northerners came and told them to slap on intimate apparel, suits, dresses (from top to bottom), closed toed shoes, etc.

And so, throughout pretty much all of Nicaragua, except for on the Atlantic Coast, that's what you get! Suits, dresses, shoes and waaaaaay too much fabric.

I started sweating just looking at the performers. You could see that whilst they were grinning, it was a very toothy, get-me-out-of-this grin, and I'm sure if I were to access the stage (before being arrested), I would have noted sweat beads all over their exposed hands and faces.

The East Coasters were also smiling, but it was a laughing smile, because the boys were dressed similarly to Aladdin and the gals looked just like Latina versions of Princess Jasmine.

Now although the place was packed, and not a seat was spare, my Lizzie managed to get us ALL a comfy perch. I mean sure, we were separated, but that didn't matter. We were better able to enjoy the show from our A-grade seating and in any case, Liz had us all sitting together by the end anyway.

"How did that work?", I hear you smugly ask: Well, anytime someone stupidly/carelessly sneezed, Liz would race in, lift the seat from under them, and whisk it away. She learnt these kinds of tricks from our good friend Donna Luplup.

"Detection?" Impossible! Once the unknowing sneezer had regained their composure they were completely befuddled as to where their seat had escaped to.

Now I must be true and confess there are some things that completely embarrass me. One of those things is when Liz gets on a mission, and when it is, or becomes public. It can be anything... A free refill at McDonald's on account of too much ice and not enough liquid, a cheaper hammock at the markets, special exemptions from immigration queues in busy airports, retrieving seats at a busy mall, truly - the sky's the limit. I'd like to say I'm immune to the embarrassment on account of my mother, but I'm not.

"Now surely you had something to do with the creation of this beast?", I hear you mutter under your breath as you read. No! She gets the gift from her Dad, who can somehow make a car space appear in the most impossible of places, whilst also inconveniencing and dare I say infuriating fellow drivers. It's not his fault, he's British...

And so the Latin dance extravaganza finally ended, but not before sending Raf to sleep and Sez into a tizz. (he really gets enough patient "sitting time" with our 3-5 hour Church services)

We gathered around, locked arms and headed for the front doors. It was an arduous event, but we finally made it. We escaped the inside, humid, rancid air and finally arrived into the outside, humid, rancid air.

Squeels of laughter came from the carnival rides that lay strewn across the delightfully concreted area in front of the mall. Our kids immediately beckoned for this treasurable night to endure until the wee hours of the following morn and hence, the fastidious mall queen bartered for bargain basement priced ride tickets and front row seating. Yay! This night was never to end, nor the humiliation.

I decided to make the most of this horrific situation and so as to not garner a bad attitude, I did what any bored Dad would do and ordered a steak sandwich. Yummo - I was in Heaven... Steak, white bread, onions and thousands of screaming kids. I mauled that meal and sat contentedly sipping my Cacao drink as the hordes flocked by.    

I then noticed something rather spectacular. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a body fly high above the crowds. I spun around and knocked over my delightful bean drink. What I saw left me completely mesmerised. A couple of dudes were throwing their bodies, in about a thousand different ways, around the court in front of the mall.

The Urban Dictionary puts it best. Tricking is "a form of acrobatics where practitioners focus mainly on linking together chains of acrobatic kicks, flips and twists in combinations..." I've been fascinated by tricking for a couple of years. It's a relatively new sport and will definitely become more popular than traditional gymnastics.  

Any facebook friends of mine who access the internet daily, will notice my fascination with the sport as I have posted videos of tricking characters, fairly regularly.

For me, the fascination doesn't end with appreciation. I would love to incorporate this style of performance into an evangelistic routine, to create an entertaining dramatization of the Gospel Message, in a way that really draws people in. It's my opinion that this hasn't really happened since old YWAM plays like "the Toymaker and Son."

I didn't waste a breath. I grabbed the essentials: my camera, wallet and steak sandwich and raced over to connect with these talented Nica-youths.

The two boys, Aben and Stiven, each just 18 years old, were performing incredibly technical and difficult stunts as the crowds sauntered along, seemingly unaware of the talent that lay before them. In Nicaragua, there are many truly talented people, with zero opportunities.

The boys were interested in the fact that I was interested. I spoke in my broken Spanish and they listened inventively. "I am amazed by your talent, and want you to come and live with me, and teach my children." These words were all the encouragement they needed. "Where's the car?" was their first and final question. (It probably came across more like this: I am amazing. You are talent. I want you live.  My children will teach.)

And so with that our family of 10 became a family of 12. Family of ten? Let me explain... There are 6 bio Briens. However, we also have a Jocasta (volunteer from Australia), a Billy boy (Miskito kid from Waspan near the Atlantic Coast), two Nica-boys from down the street, and 2 brand new Tricksters - Aben and Stiven.

The newest Brien boys slept in Brian and Billy's beds, and all children were locked in rooms with older siblings, so as to keep everybody safe. The next day bunk beds were constructed in the bodega, and this became our Tricksters' new home.

The following morn our other staff were surprised to meet Aben and Stiven. However, once they witnessed their abilities, they understood the reasoning behind the boys' arrival at Capital Edge Community Centre.

The two lads worked diligently with Rafael and Sezni for the next two days, and I have to say - I am impressed! Just two days with these gifted blokes has resulted in greater outcomes than years of gymnastics lessons. Rafael and Sezni are both in love with their new trainers and practice diligently every day.

The pair also trained with our Capital Edge students. Parents stood with mouths wide open as their 3 and 4 year old children practiced flipping. The amazing duo also wowed onlookers with their gifted talent and as Jocasta said "they've added something special, besides their gymnastics abilities, to Capital Edge."

Myself, I was impressed with the ability of these boys, not just with the management of their technical routines (coupled with a lack of gym-related equipment) as they hurled themselves through the stratosphere, but also with their coaching skills.

These boys have tats and piercings, they smoke, drink and use "street talk", but they have sensitive sides and this comes to the fore when they work with the little'ns... They're going to be great Dads one day. "All the single ladies, all the single ladies... Wa-ah-oh, a-wa-ah-oh..."

And so, day 3 rolled around. Friday. I had planned to have an amazing youth night, because, to be honest, the last few have been foiled by weather, politics and spiritual forces - which are twirling, whirling and whisking their way around our centre.  

We had planned to have a friendly fighting competition, above the water of the centre's pool, on a log - but of course, we cut down the log, I went to measure the pool and before I'd returned they'd chopped the log 2 inches short of the pool's width. Mr. B was not so happy en este momento!!

We'd also planned to have the Tricksters perform. We had nothing else planned but our praise and worship time.

It was a disaster. It rained. The fighting log sat silently at the bottom of the pool, taunting me with it's woodiness - it infuriated me! And last but not least, my tricksters came and went like nobody's business. I couldn't place 'em.

We finally got the night underway at 9:30pm, however most of our youth had left by then. For many of our youth, if it rains just a little they are literally cut off from their abodes due to floodwaters which arrive from the mountains above. The wet season here kills. Literally...

And so Aben got up to perform. However, it suddenly struck me after starting the music for the third time, that nobody has ever taken interest in his talent. He and Stivy were both thoroughly embarrassed. They'd never been offered a moment to perform. I tripped Aben and pushed him at the same time forcing him in front of his audience of about 70 youths. I made Stivy enter the stage as well. They became embarrassed. They didn't want to perform. The show ended, we sang our final song, and the final round of youth left the premises.

Aben came into the kitchen and stated that he needed to go home and that he didn't want to come back. I was FURIOUS! The night had been every bit of a disaster and then some. He'd also been a prime contributor the disasterliness.

I told him some home-truths and ordered him into the car. Of course Liz came in at the tail end of the conversation and wanted to "sort everything out." I took the youth band home, returning promptly to the centre. Liz had, of course, resolved all issues and we were sweet again, in gah-gah-land.

We arrived on Sunday to collect Aben and Stivy, and YAY - we had a new Trickster to compliment our suite of young gymnasts (that was the third, we now have a 4th). The new fella's name? Beycker. He's a dude, 18 as well, and VERY, VERY talented when it comes to hurling the ol' bod-bod about the place.

The Tricky boys live in deplorable conditions, within houses located in Managua's Mercado Oriental. We were invited in by all of the families to sit and chat. We were given chairs to sit on, whilst everyone else sat on something sittable-on, including the muddy floor, milk crates, the ends of beds, etc.

Stivy lives with his parents and is the youngest of six sons. Two of Stivy's older brothers are married and their wives and children also live with them. His house is extremely crowded. The house has two bedrooms (I know, I know, you've already done the maths. Three couples!) and the love just streams through the building and out onto the street. (which really is their living room, since that's where they always are - it's life in the Oriental)

The family is Baptist, but the father doesn't attend Church because of all the gossip. (probably my topic for next week's blog - horrendous, horrendous, vicious beast is the ol' tongue... From school administrators, to missionaries, to pastors, elders, Church go-ers, we're all guilty and it's appalling - the Bible has so much to say on this topic, I'll read up and let you know...) They have home Church, which I am no stranger to, and so I smiled and nodded, feeling the pain and empathising.

Aben lives with his mother and two sisters, one of which has a baby. There isn't a father in this household. They are very poor. They do not attend Church. Mum works as a cleaner in a government office.

The lasses in this house are LARGE and are wear clothing that shows belly buttons and wot-not. It's humorous to me. Moments before I'm criticising them for not being more native, due to their heritage (or part thereof) and the incessant heat - why don't they wear less clothing? And then, in the next breath, I'm having a go because their clothes are too small and they're showing too much skin! Ha, I know, what a dooser! I guess what I'm trying to say, in my round-about-way is, either strip off and get in touch with your past, or wear clothes that fit. Forever moving on...

Beycker, the new dude, lives with Mum, his 3 sisters, and a younger brother. One of his sisters is pregnant. There are no Dads in this household either. The floor is mud and they have pushed 3 single beds together and all sleep in the one spot.

My heart really went out to the Mum. Imagine trying to support five kids, living in one of the hottest cities in the World, in one room, without a floor! I wanted to take them all home with me, but also wanted to remain married. I hugged them all and bid them farewell, there would be peace in my house this evening.

The boys are street dwellers. They smoke, they drink, they live for the moment. They are teenagers of the dangerous Mercado Oriental.

God has put them in our path for us to share HIS love with them, and for them to teach our children the art of gymnastics. We don't know how long it will last, we know that there's every chance it could all end tomorrow. They're temperamental, selfish, street-smart, parentless (essentially, except for Stivy).

We attended Church on Sunday evening and you should have seen it. For tricky, streetwise young men of the Oriental, well they couldn't even clap in time with the music. But, they beamed participation, enjoyment and satisfaction in the moment. They were in Heaven.

Of course some of our fellow parishioners were not in Heaven.

Lots of raised eyebrows when one of them tried to light up in Church. I mean naturally I hurled my bottle of water at him, neglecting to take the lid off and perhaps in hindsight only needing to sprinkle some water on his ciggy, but the action of clonking him on the head was effective nonetheless. I sometimes laugh at my stupidity and reactions in any given moment, I did not laugh in this moment.

More raised eyebrows when I gave them my car keys during the alter call for backslidden Christians and they promptly jumped in and blasted the song "Party Rock." (a song I love, when the windows are up, in the middle of the night, and when on the other side of town...)

Our family love these fellas. Our school loves these blokes. The community, on the whole, are enjoying the infusion of youthfulness and energy. However, we are of one purpose - that these boys would know eternal security and the assurance of salvation that sits in your heart when you build a relationship with the one and only true God, Jesus Christ our Lord.

Please consider supporting one of our Tricksters. We are really going out on a ledge and need your support. Just $100 per month will give them a wage and help us to feed, clothe and educate them.

We really believe in these boys, and know that this will most likely be a short term assignment. They need to know the love of a father, and your monthly support will help us to get the ball rolling. A chance like this only presents itself once in a lifetime (for them), and we need your help in order to make this a reality. Please contact us today...