Read more: How to Add Meta Tags to a Blogger Blog | eHow.com http://www.ehow.com/how_4432068_add-meta-tags-blogger-blog.html#ixzz1dedpEYPR - Capital on the Edge -: June 2012

Thursday, June 21, 2012

POST by JED: Nicaragua, A Country FULL of Ugly Ducklings



The lads had been training hard - front flipping, back flippin, tossing their bodies high and low, feet out wide, and arms celebrating the elasticity attributed to youthfulness.

Tuesday night is "pool night" for us Capital Edge folk. Consequently everyone dropped their sporting wear; tracky-dacks, shorts, singlets, tank tops, leg warmers, etc., and pulled on jeans and t's, whilst simultaneously splashing a little too much aftershave and smearing handfuls of slimy gel onto already glistening hair. We were a gigantic, gorgeous, gregarious, Latino army as we strode our way into the car.

The night smelt like victory. We were cocky, confident, sure of ourselves. It was a pool winning kind of evening and everyone yearned for success. From Billy to Lizzie, the entire congregated community was prepared and ready to rip a trophy from some unsuspecting local.

We drove along the bumpy, muddy road, which is especially wet at the moment, on account of the weeks of rain we've just had. Erosion has pulled "top soil" from where our tyres tread, and transplanted the dirt onto paddocks and roads further down the hill.

People waved as we splooshed along. We honked our horn wildly and returned their mostly friendly gestures. I say "mostly" because at times it is difficult not to wet unsuspecting victims as you fully fang-it past them - and let's be true... Pool sharks CANNOT be seen to be "cruising".

We mean pool sharks are more of a menace to society than a beacon of safety (on pool night). On this occasion we were dressed to take-out the opposition, we couldn't appear to be "soft" on account of thoroughfare courtesy.

We descended onto the road, which becomes a river during times of heavy rainfall, and sped up dodging people, moto-taxis, oxen and cart, horses, rogue dogs, etc. Eventually we approached the rocky, ruddy road-part that lifts us into the beautiful hell, which is the Barrio of Locos.

People walked along, eyes glued to the ground, with only the effervescent sounds of gun fire and violent domestic arguments greeting us upon our arrival. The people of Barrio Loco are scary. We've witnessed theft, battery, drug trade and abuse, intoxication and the like. The people of Barrio Loco are wild, wicked and wayward. We love them.

And so as we drove from good and entered evil, relaxing in the knowing that the "city of scary" we were approaching only seemed to be dangerous, for sure we knew that we were safe because we travelled as part of a great battalion of good, protected by the ONE who knows all and loves completely.

Indeed, if safety is found in numbers, then we were as safe as royalty. (Though not akin to the Russian kind) In the car, besides the swag of angels, were six valiant bio-Briens, four street-smart guapo Trickers and five likeable, loutish, local lads. We conscientiously left our foster children at home to be cared for by the armed security on our porton and Jocasta, our delectable Aussie volunteer.

Our Brutish mob-like entrance into the pool hall did not go unnoticed. We represented a formidable force. For example, Sez, our ten-year-old son, had his cap on backwards...

Five young men lay strewn around the entrance, sporting the effects of substance abuse. Interesting for our kids, I think it must have been a first time for them - stepping over semiconscious bodies, making sure not to place feet in expelled human fluids.

The kids encountered quite a maze - next obstacle? Ducking under smelly armpits, with handsome brown faces frowning purposefully so as to not exude anything but machismo, but being betrayed instantly by changing countenances - morphing into toothless, painfully contrived grins, obviously never having been rehearsed. They embarrassed themselves thoroughly, it was beautiful, just beautiful!

Upon our arrival into the hall our contingent immediately disbanded. No tables were free and our group needed to somehow muscle-in on the action.

Elizabeth took the far corner as there were young lads who wouldn't take her the "wrong way".

Jamil lit up a durri and swung his short, muscley arm around the neck of a mate, being led to another corner.

The children took fifty cordobas (about $2) and regressed from the building, bravely trotting down the lane to purchase bottles of fizzy drink so as to sip the night away whilst absolutely obliterating their billiards opponents.

The Tricksters cornered the jukebox and immediately  started depositing their "pocket money", demanding hardened tunes like "Party Rock" and "Calle 8." 'Twas such a change from our usual Hillsongs or Bachatta sounds. 

The local lads instantaneously began conversing with those directly in front of them. Their raucous laughter and mischievous grins highlighted the nature of their conversations - reminiscing the youthful ill-behaviour of days gone by.

I paced around the pool hall, high-fiving my friends, chatting briefly with everyone in the establishment and making the acquaintance of these young, foreign, genteel lads.

The pool hall is a filthy place. The floor is concrete and the entire building is either construction timber or corrugated iron. There are holes and gaps throughout every square foot of the structure, it's wonderful - something they'd try to recreate in Disneyland and fail at dismally.

The only item the pool hall has for sale is beer, the Nicaraguan brand, which I'm sure is repulsive. However, they sell bottle after bottle of the golden nectar.

On the backside of the building there is no wall and that's where you'll find the toilet. But you can't skip to the loo! Oh no! You have to walk... Down the stairs, descending about a metre, onto the muddy terrain below.

Once you're on the mud (or in the mud, depending on the night), it's a sharp turn to the left and along to the end of the bar, where corrugated iron stops the urinater from being able to see the shoes of the pool hall patrons above.

However, for privacy's sake the pool hall patrons can see EVERYTHING below, because they're standing a metre above the muddy ground and way, WAY above the "protective" corrugated iron. It makes NO sense, but Nicaraguans are very clever with their hygiene habits, so I just accept, embrace and about-face.

I had spoken with EVERY person in the pool hall and slowly perused the inhabitants of the copper cave I was standing in. Above all else, the hall was buzzing excitedly. Our group, más o menos, were hovering by what I now refer to as the urinal table (pool table closest to the urinal) and were laughing and completely enjoying themselves.

I proceeded toward the group and happened upon my son, Sezni, being lectured by his doting mother, Elizabeth (mi esposa). It turns out that Sezni had become curious about the "pokie machines" and was having a wee bit of a hanker for a play.

Liz was explaining how gambling displeases the Lord and would inevitably lead to a life filled with misery, heartache and pain. "Sezni. Do you want to throw your money away?" Sezni stared blankly and shook his head. His eyes were not connecting with those of his mother's, rather his gaze was transfixed upon the big shiny machines, brandishing brightly coloured, child-sized buttons, knobs, coin slots and flashing lights, coupled with the melodiously tantalising sounds of circus music.

"Sez, I'm not going to let you throw your money away! I love you too much to let you rubbish your savings. I mean seriously, look at these men. Do they look happy?" Sez, fascinated, and continuing to bore holes in the cash-filled machines with his adoring eyes, again shook his head, however unconvincingly.  

"They'll never win, they'll only ever..." It would have really helped if, right at that moment, the fella playing the slot machines had have suffered a heart attack and keeled over dead. However, it was not his time and not to be. Instead money drowned out Liz's last word "lose" and began pouring from the machine, thunderously cascading over the edge and spilling onto the floor. "Yeah, thanks Mum!" Sez responded as he walked away, clearly not comprehending a word of Mummy's mini-sermon. "I think I understand now." Liz looked on flabbergasted. "Of all the darned luck", she murmured as she wandered off.

It was at about this exact moment Lorenzy came running towards me. "Dad, Dad, the foul is born, the foul is born!" I must have understood because my body started running - the most unnatural feeling, my legs are moving in one direction and I'm staring backwards, like an action figure with a twistable torso, "What?"

I jumped in the car and chucked a U-ey with such force the car expelled a tad-bit of a tyre squeal. We arrived home in record time. Leaving the ugly, beautiful World of Barrio Loco and arriving at Capital Edge Community Centre in a state of confusion.

"Francesca, you were with us at the pool hall - how come you're here?" I inquired. This is the problem with having a teenage daughter who thinks she's your slightly younger sister. "I came home on the motorbike to get something." Interesting, I don't remember being asked about that!

Francesca is nearly fifteen years old and in Nicaragua that means she's becoming a woman. Francesca is fluent in Spanish, unlike most missionary children we know here in Nicaragua. Francesca lives amongst the people - they are her best friends, she's almost completely Nica.

"Right", I think to myself. "Mental note, take Franny down a peg or 2 mas tarde..." It's a difficult one for us. When Francesca was ten years old, back in Australia, Liz told Franny in front of me to go and post a letter, over the road, in the great big red post box.

I was horrified, but didn't let on. "Oh, Liz, I'm jeeerst going to get the thingy from my whatsy, in the whosy..." Liz saw straight through it, "She's ten, Jed. We can trust her to cross the road on her own." I wanted to act all "Oh yes, for sure," about it but just couldn't, so I continued to lie. "Pft! you think I'm concerned about Francesca crossing the road?" Of course I was saying this whilst bending the blinds with one hand, and peering out with dedicated, fatherly, hawk-like eyes.

And so I ran out to get my thingy from the whosy and instead became side-tracked, hiding behind "X" wheely bin and leaping behind "Y" tree. Fran didn't know I followed her movements in covert operations, that was not necessary, I was merely instinctively doing what I felt was parentally correct.

However, back in Nicaragua I now felt like a failure. How could I let my beautiful, innocent, nearly 15-year-old , bilingual, confident, intelligent, handsome daughter, ride through a third world country, on a motorcycle, in the middle of the night, from a dangerous neighbourhood to our home, without anyone there to protect her? Simple answer? I didn't and the kid was consequently to be grounded!!! (Yes, she is growing up fast, for me, way, waaaaaaay too fast and no, I'm not cool with it!)

I looked past my fury for a moment and saw the preciousness of life front and centre. For there, before my very own eyes, stood "Chocolate", our brand new baby horse. (We're working on a name) Chocolate was fumbling on his legs - at this moment he was just an hour or two old.



Francesca had heard little Chocolate squealing upon her arrival on the moto. The chestnut pony-stallion, Mexico, had grabbed Chocolate between his angry teeth and was trying to squeeze the life from him. Francesca had raced to the rescue, beating Mexico on the rump with a tennis racket. "What a clever girl is our Francesca", I thought to myself... "She's still grounded", I continued thinking.

Chocolate has entered the World at a crazy time in our lives and really represents to us the beauty that is so evident in this economically poor country. Everywhere we look we see youthfulness, strength, beauty and patient endurance.

The World looks at this country, Nicaragua, and through inaction sends a message to these Nica residents that they are worthless. However, the Nicaraguans we encounter on a daily basis are handsome, strong and completely adorable.

We in the "West" have so much to give and will sooner or later be stripped of our wealth we so selfishly store. There are hungry children suffering right now. You can make a difference! Jesus commanded "give your money to the poor". (Mark 10:21)

Today I'm giving you an opportunity to impact the life of some poor children in a place half a World away - Nicaragua may be across a very large ocean, but Nicaragua belongs to your World.

Today I am asking you to consider the plight of the Nicaraguan child. In our school, half of the children suffer the effects of malnutrition. We already distribute vitamins to several of the children, however we are aware of many families who currently do not even have sufficient food for their family's daily needs and therefore would like to supply EVERY family in our school with a couple of months worth of rice and beans (the Nica staples).

The amount we're hoping to raise is $2,000, which will cover the cost of the rice and beans and their delivery to each household. None of the money received will be spent on administrative costs or any costs associated with running Capital Edge Community School, or support of the Brien family, or any of their ministries.

To donate to this cause please do one of the following:

1. E-mail us and we will send you our Australian or American bank account details: CapitalontheEdge@gmail.com

2: Contact our Church to arrange a payment plan: CapitalEdge.org.au

3. Send us a message via Facebook: Capital on the Edge

Many thanks for your generosity - we're counting on it in order to HUGELY bless these beautiful people...




Wednesday, June 20, 2012

POST by LIZ: Against Common Sense


The rain drops racing down the back window of the car blurred the vision of my short mother, madly waving goodbye, completely oblivious to the rain soaking her body.  We turned out of the driveway and her image became just a speck in the distance. I turned looking forward but the rain drops hitting the window panes, which then morphed into endless streams, prevented me from shaking off the reality of my mother's tears which poured down her visage.   

"This was a new beginning! " I smiled to myself.  As my eyes absorbed the familiar houses, buildings, people, cars, trees, red telephone boxes and pillar boxes which I had taken for granted, I heard a quiet whisper "Your life will never be the same again,"  and it was true; my life has never been the same since the day I said goodbye. 

To say that there is never a dull moment in my life is an understatement.  Not a day has gone by without some event taking place.  Jed is mostly to blame for this.

  
Dodging fire-burning tire Sandinistas, the copious cop-stopping events, dragging drunken bodies into church, out-of-petrol hitch-hiking tribulations, mall butt slapping accounts, inviting drugged up strangers to live with us in our humble abode, packing up house and moving quickly like clicking fingers, tree chopping lucha-pool fun...the list is perpetual. 


"OMG Liz, did this really happen?" People following Jed's facebook status updates often ask curiously checking the validity of his words. And apart from the odious lies about me not being willing to share my latest, precious block of Cadbury's chocolate, I have to honestly say that the rest of it is true.


When I met Jed, I was instantly attracted to his impulsive, out-of-the-box approach to life.   He would think up the craziest things to do and he never allowed people or circumstances to prevent him from achieving them. "oooh he's zany, spontaneous and carefree" I cooed, as I threw on a pair of shoes so I could run off and get hitched to this wacky fella.


This August will mark our 16th year anniversary and I'd be fibbing if I said I've always cooed those words.  At times this man known as husband has quite often been the bain of my existence!   "Grrrr... he's zany, spontaneous and carefree," I'd harp on to friends willingly listening to my frustrations. 


Jed's decisions have certainly tested my own faith in God and forced me to go deeper in my faith... "We could get robbed, stopped, put-in-jail, lose everything, gain nothing, get hurt, have an accident, die even...." But Jed's faith-filled actions just grin at my physical fears, and God's faithfulness and glory continues to blow my mind.


"He just lacks common-sense" I've uttered seconds after Jed has announced the next crazy plan of the day, whether it be moving countries with only 10 days notice, deciding on a whim to transport rocks the size of Stonehenge in our 12 year old Nimbus, or picking up drugged up teenagers from the side of the road and plopping them next to my precious adolescent daughters.  


God uses Jed to challenge my very core.  Do I really believe?  Do I really trust? Do I really surrender all? Do I really store up treasures in heaven or do I value more earthly materialism?

  
"Let's not allow our physical fears to hinder us from what God has called us to do" Jed urges, twitching as he waits for the okay from my side before he plunges into the next never-a-dull-moment chapter in our life.  


For some reason, I received the preconceived notion that God equaled common sense.  Yet the Bible is riddled with stories of the people we hail as faith-filled acting without an ounce of common sense in their body.  Just recently my spirit has been prompted to carefully read between the lines and point out the moment these heroes crossed over from acting out of common sense to entering the absurd.


It's difficult to grasp just how much they had to say goodbye to common sense as we know the full story. We tend to focus on the success of the event yelling out "Gloria a Dios," but fail to see just how much their actions would have gone against wise prudent advice.


Noah and his boat is classic: He used all his time and energy to build this boat when it hadn't ever rained and there were no signs of a drop on its way.  What a waste of resources, family time, and lack of common sense!


Moses' mother who knowingly sends her precious baby boy floating down the Nile into the hands of the murderous king's daughter. If that wasn't stupid I don't know what was! I can imagine the words I'd have to say to her before I knew it would all work out for the glory of God!


David facing Goliath, Gideon reducing the size of the army, Moses hitting a rock for water,  not to mention Jesus himself with all the miracles he performed and his strange expectations of his disciples.    
They all had two things in common; they trusted God and said goodbye to common sense.

Tuesday, June 19, 2012

June Food Drive

Support for a Nicaraguan Family...

Today we are asking you to consider the plight of the Nicaraguan child. In our school, half of the children suffer the effects of malnutrition. We already distribute vitamins to several of the children, however we are aware of many families who currently do not even have sufficient food for their family's daily needs and therefore would like to supply EVERY family in our school with a couple of months worth of rice and beans (the Nica staples).

The amount we're hoping to raise is $2,000, which will cover the cost of the rice and beans and their delivery to each household. None of the money received will be spent on administrative costs or any costs associated with running Capital Edge Community School, or support of the Brien family.

To donate to this cause please do one of the following:

1. E-mail us and we will send you our Australian or American bank account details: CapitalontheEdge@gmail.com

2: Contact our Church to arrange a payment plan: CapitalEdge.org.au

3. Send us a message via Facebook: Capital on the Edge

Many thanks for your generosity - we're counting on it in order to HUGELY bless these beautiful people...

Capital on the Edge xoxoxo



Saturday, June 16, 2012

Former Sandinista Soldiers Renew Protests


Nicaraguan Police today forcibly removed a group of ex-Sandinista soldiers who attempted to occupy Managua’s Augusto Sandino International Airport in protest of the government’s failure to comply with a series of aging promises for land, pensions and healthcare. The former soldiers were reportedly marching towards the airport when they were intercepted by police in front of the airport, leading to a rock fight.

Thursday, June 14, 2012

POST by RAF: Billy the Kid



This is about Billy playing with his cars. Billy likes cars.

Every day Billy plays with his cars. When Billy is at home school his teacher says go to your bed, because Billy can be a bit mean, but Billy listens to the teacher.

So when he is on his bed he runs to get his cars and runs back to bed with them. Every day on Billy's birthday Billy gets a car cake and gets cars as a present. One time Billy even got a car that had a remote control. 


POST by SEZ: Flippin' Gymnastics




Sunday, My Dad met  a guy named Aben and a guy named Stevey. My Dad said ''you can teach my boys and girls how to do flips.'' My dad met Aben and Stevey at  Metro Centro, Plaza America .    

Aben and Stevey have black  hair and  brown skin, and  they can do front flips and back flips.  It's so cool because Aben and  Stevey look like  ninjas. I want to learn how to do front flips  so I can be a ninja. I practiced on a trampoline and  I practice front flips first.



I didn't use any help on the trampoline because I can jump high. I really practice every day so I can do front flips on the grass. I keep practicing to get better and better. I'll do cool flips one year.


Wednesday, June 13, 2012

POST by FRAN: A Leg Up


Year after year, when I was little, I would always do gymnastics. I was in competitions and often at the gym practicing my routine to get better.

When I was 9 I was in the national squad level 4, so that meant that I was at the gym five days a week for four hours each day. This was the year that my parents decided to move to Mexico. At first I didn't want to leave, but I had no choice, my parents had already organised the plane tickets and everything.

So I took my Bible and went to my room for a few hours. I found a Bible verse that said something along the lines of 'I have set apart a separate piece for you.' I don't remember where the Bible verse is, but that one line spoke to me. so I went downstairs and told my Mum what I read and she was glad that I found the verse.

Four years have passed since I have seen and read that Bible verse and I still remember it! Although I have lost my flexibility and gymnastics skills, I still love trying.

On our 2nd year in Mexico we found one of the only gym clubs in the city so I tried it out and it helped me to remember my abilities. I loved it even though I wasn't that good at it.


Now in Nicaragua it has been hard to find a gym club. So it makes practice difficult. I can't do the splits anymore, when a I do a cartwheel my leg muscles hurt and weird stuff like that.

My Dad has been watching a lot of youtube videos lately of a group of young Nicaraguan guys that can do flips and craziness. Dad has been watching them for at least a year and every time he does he says "I need to find these boys!"

Mother's day here is May 30th and at a poorer mall here (Plaza Las Americas), from time-to-time, there is folk dancing for families that go to the mall to watch and enjoy. Since it was mother's day, Mum HAD to go. So Mum, Dad, Jocasta, me, Lorenzy, Sezni, Rafael, and Billy got into the car and drove off.


Plaza Las Americas is at least an hour's drive away. The drive is always fast when Dad drives because he is a psycho driver! When we finally got there the mall was crowded. We were about to leave  to go to a friend's house, but decided to let the boys play and to eat at the mall.

The mall had a rock wall and some blow up castles for kids to play on. I went to sit down with Mum, Jocasta, Dad, and Lorenzy, and as soon as we sat down Mum said "hey look over there! I wonder what those guys are going to do... they look like they are warming up for something." As she finished 
speaking I looked up and two Nica guys started flipping in the mall! I was amazed!


Dad went over and asked if they wanted to work for the school because my Dad is just weird like that, and they accepted. They were the guys he was trying to stalk down. Dad brought them home and chatted with them and they both agreed with everything.

Three weeks have passed since that night, and they are still here, but nervously thinking of leaving forever. They need spiritual help but they are really good friends and now I can do some flips because of them.

Tuesday, June 12, 2012

POST by RENZ: Birds of a Feather, We've Learned to Treasure


Oliver and his pet pigeon

Oliver and Brian are my foster brothers. One of them is five but looks like he is three. The other one is eight and looks pretty much his age but probably a little younger. Billy is my other foster brother but is not their real brother. He is three and sort of looks like Oliver. The only way they look alike is that they are both brown, have pot bellies, and look the same age and because of that some people ask me if they are twins.

The two little boys come from a poor home. Their mother left their father with the boys and he found another lady and they have a little girl now. Their dad gets drunk very often and their step-mother doesn't really think of them as her children, so most of the time if they are not with us they are out in the streets with their sling shots hunting for food.

When they are at our house they love to be inside because when they go home they pretty much never are in the house. Also when they are here and not inside they are in our other paddock that we have. It has a lot of fruit trees and so they are almost always in them picking fruit and playing games in them. We have a bunch of plants, bushes, and trees and they are almost always in them.

One day, the boys were playing outside in the garden when they heard some chirping from some little birds but they couldn't see where they were. So, they started searching the trees. Oliver was in a plant searching when he found a birds nest. He called all the other little boys over so that he could show them what he had found.

In the nest were 2 little pigeons and the mother was nowhere to be seen. Right when they were going to decide to do something with them, they had to go inside to get ready to go to bed. So they would have to wait for the next day to do anything to them because it was too late to do anything in that moment.

The next day they got up bright and early so that they could do something with the birds before anyone would tell them to stop and leave them alone. The branch that the birds' nest and birds were in was too hard for them to reach so they had to try and figure something out to get them down.

They started to throw rocks at the nest but that didn't do anything to get them down. Oliver started to climb up the trunk that had the birds' nest was in. He got the birds nest and threw it down to the other kids. Billy caught one of the birds and dumbly gave it to the dog and he ate it. The other one they kept for a pet and still have it. He treats it like his son. Oliver is learning to love God's creatures and that he doesn't always have to kill and eat them.

Friday, June 8, 2012

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...