POST by JED: Jesus = Fiesta!

The Brien Family

Let me tell you about my day!

Friday had been a long one. We'd schooled in the morn, had folks from our barrio in for Tae Kwondo and a swim in the arvo, delivered an excellent children's message "Calming Storms", worshiped the Lord with the kids from our streets, and in the evening held a catwalk-off for the jovenes (youth) and watched a short film the "Butterfly Circus". It'd been a cracker of a day, but by 2am we were whooped, exhausted, ready-to-hit-the-sack, done. We fell into bed and were flat-out asleep in seconds.

"No! It can't be", I thought. "gaaaaaaaaah! What time is it? 5:30am! No! Neveeeeeeer!!!" As a family we've decided that Saturday mornings are family only - without exceptions... Well, I guess with the exceptions of Rodrigo (mentally challenged lad from down the way), our foster boys (who regularly walk back to our house from their parent's house as they are oft times left unattended for the entire weekend) and anyone who brings hot, steaming coffee and cinnamon scrolls (usually gringos, but that one is open to all creatures great and small. 

To be true, I'd welcome Hannibel Lecter if he offered me a gourmet treat (and promised to keep his teeth off our pimple free, caucasian, Aussie/Nica tanned skin)). I rolled over and went back to sleep. 

"Ding Dong" went the doorbell a second time. "Golly gosh, who could it be?" It's interesting to note that I was able to fall asleep some time shortly after 5:30am and be woken again at 5:32am. I wondered what good that less than 2 minute nap did for me, or if I really was asleep. No, I'm certain I was, because I made all the same comments and had all the same questions in my head,  "No! It can't be! Gaaaaaaaaah! What time is it? 5:32am, 5:thirty twooooooo aaaaaaaammmmmmmmmmm!!!"

I rolled over and fell out of bed. Lizzie and I used to fight over who should get out of bed in the morning but we've since given up. Our initial game plan was to fain sleep, even as Francesca would navigate her 20 month old body from her place of slumber to ours, and then climb all over us, with at least one foot treading forcefully upon one of our private parts, complete with nappy being gently guided across one of our faces, like a cool flannel on a hot summer's day. (not at all!) 


We'd just lie there, pretending to sleep so as to fool the opposition, keeping our eyes closed and making sure our breathing kept rhythm, steady and strong. But we soon learnt each other's sick trickery.

So then we started to fight about it. "I got out of bed last time!" and "Well you don't have work tomorrow!", etc. It was all quite petty and is rather humorous to reminisce about now, because it took more energy to fight than just to answer the door, or get the kid a bottle, or turn the telly volume down. (We didn't have a telly until we moved to New York, and then it barely got a rest. Fran had busy little fingers and her favourite trick was turning up "Sesame Street" so that Mummy would attend her)

Now it just seems to make sense. It's either you're going to work anyway, so get out of flippin bed. Or, it's Saturday morning and I don't have to go to work, so I'm not getting out of bed. There is no acting and there is no drama, one of us, nearly always me, just gets up and goes to task. And this is where I found myself on this particular Saturday morning.

So I trotted out the gate not knowing what to expect upon my arrival. It was Rodrigo. He has some kind of mental incapacity, and we're not sure exactly what it is. I reckon it's some type of autism. His hands spasm and he can barely talk, but besides that he is fine.

The other kids think he's hilarious and he can stare anyone out. That's quite a talent! However, things can derail with Rodrigo, especially when it comes time for him to leave our house. He doesn't voluntarily skip out the door - he has to be coerced. That can be difficult, and our family really feels quite terribly for him. He's a lovely free spirit, yet at times we need him to be free elsewhere.

And so he wanted to swim. "No! Rodrigo, No! Cinco y media en la manana. No es possible. Mas tarde, por favor, maaas taaaaaardeee." Now my Spanish is still practically non-existent but I think he got the idea, especially when the door closed and he was unable to to see me anymore. I went back to bed.

I was driving tantilizingly in-and-out of sumptuous sleepyville, dreaming of Qantas Airways and Delta (that's another story) when "ding dong"... "grrrrrrrr, well, I'll huff and Iiiii'll puff! By joves I'll BLOW THAT KID DOOOOOOOOWN to Costa Rica!!!" 


I stomped out of bed, nearly breaking a toe as I stormed out the door (my toe connected with the door frame and being stubbornly mad, I drove it on through...Youch!). I opened the door, still scowling and mad, but looked directly into the face of innocence and joy.

He leapt at me hugging and laughing. I melted. He is beautiful. "Okay, Rodrigo... Banarse y nadarse..." He ran to the shower, hopped in-and-out (barely even getting wet) and jumped into the freezing cold pool. (it's the hottest time of year, in the second hottest capital city of the World... The pool temperature is akin to saliva, even on the coldest nights...)

Rodrigo is easy to love. He needs love. He wants love. He returns love. For us overseas missionary types, he is perfect, because he embraces all of our actions and understands from the heart why we are here in Nicaragua - to be a blessing and to help. That's about it. But what about the ones who don't want us here? In my opinion, the vast majority of Nicaraguans...

Saturday rapidly became hectic. Here and there, running, running, running. I was delighted when it was time to visit the loo, as  it was a chance for several minutes of uninterrupted "knock, knock, knock" someone at the door. "Yes" I half whispered. "Oh Jed, good, it's you..." (????????????? My wife is typically British at times... I mean seriously, who else would it be? And can this not wait? Apparently not...) "Where are the car keys?"

Now when I used to work at Flight Centre, I'd frequently embarrass myself by not being able to find things which were right in front of me. My manager, Annie, a Kiwi, used to say I was having a "boy look". It's true - we men are useless at finding objects! We so often cannot find things that the felines of this World are able to see, they don't even have to get up - they just know where the objects we're looking for are!! But all that changed when the babies came. Now Liz is as useless as me. 

"Ummm... Well I can't see them in here. Are they on the hook where they're meant to be?" Ten seconds of stalling time... "No! They're not there, I just looked..." I finished up my administrative tasks (paperwork) and together we tore the house apart. I eventually found them in Liz's handbag, which was in the car. She took off, with one child still getting in.

I tidied up and tried to get ready for the evening. We were to sing at our Church's Crusade being held for our local Community. Because we can sing in key (no comments please family members) they basically think we're the most amazing thing ever and always ask us to sing wherever we go and for every service. 


So a warning to any of you planning a visit to Nicaragua, get ready to sing! It doesn't matter what, cause most often they don't understand the words. You could sing "SOS" by Rhianna and no one would be any the wiser, nor would there be a dry eye in the house. And so I had to prepare translated lyrics, and the music on our PC, and get the kids into suitable clothing. (nothing dirty or with holes)

Our night also included attending a quinceanera. Now for those of you who don't know, a quinceanera is the most important day of a Latina girl's life. It's the day she becomes a woman. It's the day she turns 15. Our daughter is to have her quinceanera in November of this year, and I am OFFICIALLY FREAKING OUT! (everyone's invited - come on down/over)

So Liz arrives home amid a flurry of excitement. There are 105 costume changes between the 3 young ladies. (well, middle aged, teenaged and pre-teen) The boys, who had been directed to change into dinner wear post-haste (due to our tardiness), now sat clumsily on the couch, rolling eyes and occasionally starting to wrestle, before being subdued by a passing costume changer's overpowering resonance of perfume, which completely suffocates a young man's senses. (having a different affect on pre-teen and post-teen fellas)

"We can't be late, we can't be late!" We walked out the gate of our house an hour and a half late. We strolled along to the corner of our block and made a sharp left turn. The road was muddy, it had rained a few nights before. We walked for another 45 seconds and arrived at the entrance to the paddock. We looked over at the shanty town where members of this one family all live.

We entered the paddock. We knew we were heading in the right direction, because besides all of the litter, the curling, uncontrolled barbed wire, and the smelly, mangy dogs, there were pretty pink ribbons and balloons everywhere. It was like they'd gone to the tip (dump) and spray painted everything pink and purple. Simply Adorable!

We get to the other side of the paddock. It was a stark contrast. On one side there is humanity (squalor and rubbish), whilst on the other side lives nature. (Rich rain forest flora and fauna) At this point, considering I was finding it difficult to remain standing on account of the base surging through the ground, I think I'd have preferred to dance into the woods.

But I didn't, I entered the devil's lair instead. Again, quite a comparison. A shed used for who knows what had been transformed into a shed used for who knows what and lots of pink and purple decorations. Thankfully, although we were an hour and a half late, we do live in Latin America and were consequently the first ones to arrive.

The children pulled down some balloons and began to play "keep it up", a game where the balloon cannot touch the floor. We took a million and one photographs before we realised that the party (similar to a wedding party... The 15 year old girl must have 14 attendees, all dressed up, representing her 14 years of life. She, herself, makes the 15th person and hence the 15 years of life are complete. It's ghastly, almost as gaudy as one of those Californian style weddings, complete with 8 bridesmaids and groomsmen...) had arrived and were about to enter "the great hall".

The children in the "party" were clearly overdressed and looked very uncomfortable. They had arrived in a microbus from the Catholic Church where they were blessed by the priest. There were only a couple of supervising adults in attendance. The children stood in line, atop the mud and dust that constituted the pretty pink paddock.

I couldn't resist. I got out my camera and click, click, click. Nobody was there to observe. The single mother who saved for years to pay for this entire night of extravagance couldn't afford a taxi from the Church to the party. Abuela (the grandmother) was still cooking in their floorless shack.

There were fires everywhere, burning up the rubbish and debris. Hopefully the fires would be smoldering when the action started. I took many photos, knowing that the mother, who's son is a student in our school, would appreciate the photographs when the party was over and there was only mess left for her to clean up. This woman walks alone...

We enjoyed the procession, the initial waltz, taking more photographs and then we headed out. Most of the children quickly change into clothes they were more comfortable in. "It's really disappointing that Mum won't get to see them all dressed up", I thought to myself.

We arrived at the Church realising that the Crusade was not really for the community, but more of a show for the community. Everything was outside, and to pad out the numbers the Church has invited lots of other Churches, within the same denomination, to attend. Yes, our Church was packed, but mostly with people from other Churches, in other locations.

I chatted with our good friend, Juan-pee. (Juan Pablo) He explained that the chord for our computer was broken. We wouldn't be able to sing with accompaniment. "That's okay", I said "we'll sing acapella". (A lump formed in my throat. Not the type of lump you'd think could make you sound more masculine, or throaty... The kind of lump that stops the air from getting through and makes you sound like a 5 year old girl...) 

The time came, after many-a-song, for Liz and I to sing. We reached the front and give it our all. First, "Mighty to Save" and then... Now we'd practiced for several days to get this straight, it's always best to be well prepared right? Wrong! Liz started out on the wrong song. 


With all she had, she sung. She went high, she went low, she was alive! And then she realised... We'd practiced "Jesus, Lover of My Soul" several times but Liz started off with "Shout to the Lord". She grabbed my hand. This action was endearing to our audience, "Oh, they love Jesus and each other! Adorable..." But I knew the real reasoning behind this gesture... "HELP!!!"

I let her go, feeling well humoured... However, halfway through the song Liz doubled over and started laughing. I took over and did all of my best Darlene mimicking, and then stopped. How could Liz not even know the words? We'd sung the song no less than a million times and she had sung it in ENGLISH, no more!

Liz turned to walk off the stage, but I couldn't... My feet just wouldn't... I wanted to nail the song we'd come to sing. We were wanting to give our best to the Lord and so far we'd only offered a half-time-laugh-til-you-cry-spectacle. I sung my guts out and Liz joined me halfway.

I sang in Spanish and Lizzie sang in English. It was eclectic but worked. We had come to do what we'd promised and we finished on a high note (excuse the pun, and no, we didn't literally finish on a high note, we're not idiots and know our limitations... Of which there are many!)

We returned to the quinceanera. What a sight. Outside the building teens lay strewn around, high as kites on either very cheap alcohol, glue, marijuana or whatever drug they'd found to inflict abuse upon themselves. We entered and were delighted to find quite the opposite. The building was a hive of activity, it even felt like the walls were jumping out at us. (which could have been the case, on account of the music volume)

Liz and the girls immediately found young men willing to lead them to the dance floor. I had a thirty second jive with Lizzie but had to contend with our tired little boys. I threw Sez over my shoulders, between my legs and twirled the kid around-and-around but he was just too pooped. 


I sat down next to one of the twins. We laughed as we looked at all the different people on the dance floor. The moves, the gesticulations, the faces, the sweat, the exhaustion, energy, filth, fashion and fun! Hooooooooooo, what a night...

This was where our community was! Our Church had held a crusade for their community and none of them turned up. They were enjoying life. They were loving each other. They were celebrating.

Where would Jesus have been, in the Church or at the Quince? We had the best night of our lives. We danced until our feet were sore. The girls were passed from boy-to-boy (and without inappropriateness - I was staring them down). They were spun in one direction, thrown in another and all the while they built the foundations of lasting friendship with these, their neighbours.

Who are your neighbours? Ever had them over for dinner? Ever taken them a birthday present? Do you wave to them? What kind of witness will you be in their life if you're not their friend? Jesus was a friend to the sinner - that's you, your neighbour, the faceless people you pass on the street, your coworkers, your Dad, your daughter, your romantic interest, everyone... He just asks that you do the same... Love the people around you!