POST by LIZ: Running Around in Circles

For Christmas, Sezni received - and I quote - “the coolest present ever”. His doting Uncle Tim and Aunty Bindi sent him the Lego Batman DS Chip.

Since Christmas, Sezni has been glued to the DS for far-too-many-hours, I fear if I told you exactly how many hours I would fall from my coolest mum status to bear the title “most irresponsible parent”, as quickly as Billy can inhale a plate of cookies. 

Always seeking moments to maintain my “I’m a cool, in touch mum - even if I don’t bake” status, and more importantly, trying to grasp at any opportunity that enables some type of connection with my rare-thinking, almost 10 year old son, I found my ticket in.

Seeing Sezni’s enthusiasm towards this intriguing game, I asked him if he could show me how to play it.

Without raising his eyes from the console, he passionately talked of a world with multiple levels, building profiles, and reeling off names such as; Ivy-Goon, Harley Quinn, the Scarecrow, Riddler, Penguin and The Joker.  He flashed a quick look at me and seeing my confusion he said.  “Hmmm, Mum? It’s best if you just watch okay, then you’ll learn.”

So watch I did.  This black Lego Batman-man was running around like an ant trying to retrace its tumultuous trail. Suddenly there was a flash of green and red.  “Watch out Sez” I cautioned, “Um, Mum, that’s okay. That’s Robin, he’s with me,” and the character kept running, what seemed to me to be, in circles. 

After a while of watching Sezni run his character from wall to wall, with Robin close to the heel, I thought to myself how little action was taking place. I used to be the space invaders guru, where I would spend every second dodging falling bullets from the sky, so all of this running back and forth seemed somewhat pointless and tedious to me!

Still trying to maintain my “I’m a cool mum, I’M COOL!” attitude, I asked him if he enjoyed just running around the place. Sezni retorted, “No mum, I’m not just running around. I’m searching…” Then his voice trailed into nothingness as he drifted back to PC-landia. 

“Oh right,” I nodded, “Searching.. yes, quite..”I said, trying to convince him that I fully comprehended what was taking place.   After a few short seconds, which felt more like a life-time, I noticed a door. “A DOOR SEZ!”I exclaimed, “Go through the door.”

Sez chuckled, but maintained his fixed gaze upon the tincey machine. “Nah, Mum…” as his thumb continued pressing the forward arrow.

“But why Sez? Why don’t you want to go through that door? Mummy thinks it looks like a delightful door. It’s purple for crying out loud!!!  Isn’t that what you are searching for – a door so you can change locations?” I pleaded. “No Mum, I need a key first...”

That was the moment that the game suddenly became interesting to me.  A KEY! He was searching for a key. 

Up until that moment, I must confess I had been bored, confused and frustrated with the game because I really had no clue what the purpose was.  I thought Sez was just moving his character around aimlessly, yet Sez was deeply into the moment: he had a mission to complete. 

I watched a little while longer, now understanding the important task at hand.  I celebrated in his successes of finding the key but didn’t stay around to see Cat Woman put behind bars.   

As I watched, with new awareness, Sezni play “the bestest game ever”, it made me reflect on my life. There have been many times that I have lost my focus and have just been aimlessly running through life without much of a purpose.  Not understanding why I had to be in a particular place in my life.  I have used precious energy running around, and instead I could´ve gone to my “help source” (GOD) who would reveal his purpose.

I would like to say that once the purpose had been revealed to me, then I was like Sezni, dedicated to finding the key so that I could get to the next level. But unfortunately, even though God reveals his purpose to me for particular stages I face, many times I have lost sight of God´s plans, questioned whether I really heard correctly, and have grown disheartened.

On saying this, I’m happy to say that Jed and I have entered this year extremely focused.  Before we even met each other, God had revealed to us what his plan and purpose is for us in this lifetime.  Throughout our 15 years of marriage, God has continually confirmed it to us.   Yet before getting to the top level, we have had to start with building our profiles, collecting keys that will later unlock difficult doors. 

When we look back at all the study, places and situations we have had to face this far, we can now see why those times have been incredibly important for what God has in store of us this year. 

Some “levels” have been harder than others, and I’ve even tried to ignore levels to then find out that I do have to go back and complete them before I can go on.   

I thank God for his patience with me in getting me to this new stage, and I pray that this year, as I face new challenges and successes, that God will continue to remain my number one focus.  I pray that I will not allow myself to run around using all of my energy on things that will pull me away from the mission God has given me, and my family, to complete. 

Capital on the Edge - Support a Nicaraguan Child (Class of 2025)

POST by SEZ: Farewell Fruity!

One day when I was getting ready for school my mom found a fruit bat next to the sink. It was black and had brown wings and had a little tail, so I was putting it in a box that was six in a half inches and I put it in my room.

Tonight the Kolbs came to our house they had one daughter that was three years old and two son’s that was nine and five years old.

When the Kolbs left I let Fruity free where he belonged with his Friends and Family. I will miss Fruity.

POST by RENZY: The One that Kicked Away

Franny Leading by Example

 One day we were at home with Analise and her family (a friend from school) and the Perez boys (our churches youth group leader’s sons). There are three of them. The oldest is called Juan Pablo. He is really tall for a Nicaraguan and is 15 years old. The second born is called David. He is 14 years old. And the youngest boy out of their family is named Marcelo. He is 12 years old and he is short for his age.

Raf having the time of his life!

Francesca and the Perez boys were swimming in the pool whilst Billy was inside playing with his friends. Analise, Rafael, Sezni, and of course I, were outside taking turns in riding our horse. Let me tell you about our horse; she is a lazy, fat horse who looks more like a pony in height. Her name is Cadburys because her dull looking coat is brown like the delicious chocolate.

Sezni was mounted on Cadburys and the rest of us were in a lemon tree waiting patiently for our turn on Cadburys. Our horse can sometimes be very stubborn and so when she is annoyed at someone she will either, run away and buck or she would charge at you and buck.

When Sezni came back to the lemon tree, he couldn’t remember how to get off of the horse. Annalise and I kept on telling him to swing his right leg over but he wouldn’t listen. When he finally understood what we were saying he started to pretend to not know how to get off of the horse. He wanted to try and be funny but we didn’t find it so. We just wanted to ride her. All of a sudden the horse whinnied and kicked at something behind her. Then we realized that it was Rafael that she had kicked. She had kicked him right in the face!

Next Rider Aboard

He stood there wobbling and it looked like he was drunk. Then he fell to the floor and started crying. I ran to him and picked him up. Once I had him in my arms I saw that he was bleeding from his mouth. His blood was on my shoulder and I took him to my sister. As soon as I got to her she thought I was joking but then she saw him. She took him out of my arms and went inside. When she got him inside she put him on the counter in the kitchen to examine him.

She told me to get an ice pack from the freezer whilst she cleaned up the blood. He was lucky because he didn’t lose any teeth. It was just his lips and cheeks that were bleeding. It was the worst time for this to happen because all adults were walking around the outside of the property.

At that moment I remembered that Sezni was still on the horse and I thought that now he had wished he had just got off the horse when he had the chance. When I got back to where they were they told me that the horse would not let anyone near her and Sezni was kind of getting freaked out.

Francesca Leading Cadburys

When they told me that I went and got Juan Pablo. He grabbed a very long yellow rope and lassoed her. Then he took her over to a tree and didn’t exactly tie her up but he sort of did. Sezni was sort of crying and so David slowly walked up to him and grabbed Sezni then ran backwards. Then we went inside and watched a movie. About 20 minutes later our parents came inside. We told them what had happened and they sort of laughed. 

The next day Rafy looked like someone from the Simpsons. 

POST by FRAN: Fiesta Time at the Wilkinsons House

The Wilkinsons are a family with three children. Hector is 12 years old, Nicole is 16, and their older brother is 23 (he lives in California). Georgie, their mother, is a fantastic cook! And Roberto, their dad, is very funny.

When my family is invited to their house the kids usually go inside and watch TV or go outside and play. No one was inside when we went on Saturday, so Billy and I went outside to the garden and rolled down the hill together. Rolling down a grassy hill is not a good idea when you’re wearing white pants!

Mum invited a friend from church, Juan Pablo, to come with us to the Wilkinson’s house. Mum invited him so that he could make more friends and just hangout. Lorenzy and Hector were in the same class at school last year when dad was their teacher, and they’re good friends.

Juan Pablo and I were playing with Billy and Hector was showing Lorenzy his be-be gun. He was aiming and shooting it at her, without bullets of course, and she was LAUGHING! She kept saying “the air pressure tickles!” All the gun was shooting was air. Lorenzy told me “it felt weird!”

I got tiered so I lay down on the ground and little, big, fat Billy came and sat on my stomach! Ouch! For a three-year-old he is fat and heavy! I looked up at the starry sky and saw Hector’s face in the way of my view! Then I realised that he was aiming at my neck and I freaked out! He said “no, it won’t hurt!” and that freaked me out even more.

I couldn’t move because little, big, fat Billy was sitting on me! Hector shot the gun and I laughed nervously! Thank God the gun wasn’t loaded! The air pressure that the gun shoots is funny and I have no idea why.

After five minutes or so of just shooting air, Hector began shooting bullets, metal bullets! He shot two 

flowers, a light post two times and the sky once, before something went wrong.

Hector let out a scream of loss like someone had died: “NNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” We all asked him “what’s wrong?” He replied in sorrow “it’s broken, my baby is broken!” We laughed “don’t you mean your gun?” Lorenzy smirked.

He was almost in tears “yes! It won’t load, that’s what’s wrong!” Then he said “Oh, well, I have a confetti gun” we all laughed and Hector got to shoot the confetti at my dad. It was all an adventure!     

Political: Nicaraguan President Daniel Ortega is Sworn In for Another Term

Political: Strengthened ex-Rebel Ortega Starts Third Term in Nicaragua

Nicaraguan ex-rebel Daniel Ortega, joined by allies from Iran and Venezuela, started his third mandate as president Tuesday with a legislative super majority that has provoked fears of authoritarianism.

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Political: Nicaragua's Daniel Ortega cozies up to Iran's Ahmadinejad

What appears to be Ortega’s finest hour for political and economic power in Nicaragua could quickly turn into a foreign policy disaster for his administration. Says Shifter: “In light of the Iran connection, the US could adopt an even more hardline stance towards Nicaragua – If only to send a broader message to the region that, when it comes to Iran, the Obama administration is prepared to draw the line and get tough.”

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POST by JED: Morning Has Broken (Me!)

My eyes spring open! What is going on today? I know life is presenting me with an enormous opportunity but, what is it? Instead of functioning, my brain decides to reboot or hibernate, and I´m unable to work out which.  I am left to lie in bed pondering the events of the last few days.

We´ve been busy with the Christmas Hullabaloo; Christmas lights/trees/music, Carols by Candle Light Concert, Christmas Shopping, Christmas Chooks, Christmas Presents, Christmas Drive, Christmas Eve Family Time (The Grinch Who Stole Christmas – MY FAVOURITE MOVIE OF AAAAAAALL TIME! Especially the bit when Betty-Lou says “Did I have a crush on the Grinch? Ha ha Well of course not” and then the little girl says “I didn´t ask you that…” I laugh hysterically EVERY time, it´s soooo funny!!!), Christmas Day Celebrations at the Church, Christmas Night Parties, and the list goes on… I´m pooped.

I´m happily drifting in and out of la-la-land when BINGO, I remember, today is the day for school ENROLMENTS at the Church, and I´m the dude that´s in-charge! I try to do what Liz does with ease, and fly through the shower whilst ironing my clothes, eat breakfast whilst clipping my toe nails, and Wax my upper lip whilst tying my shoe laces, but alas – I´m only a man!

I arrive 20 minutes late. There is now only 10 minutes until the parents of potential students start rolling through the doors. The Church is already open. Ivania is cleaning the Church and warmly welcomes me in. I have arrived on my moto, and hence I´m sporting a care-free athletic look, which is SO me. Besides that, I´m wearing linen pants and a black, long sleeved T. I feel especially Latino. Francesca is with me, showered, hair/teeth brushed, looking completely alive and into life – WHY DIDN´T SHE WAKE ME?!

I had thought I´d just “wing” the session. However, due to a surplus of time on my hands with nothing really for me to do (Ivania had the sweeping and dusting under control), I determined to jump on the ol´ happy-lappy and plug in a plan, so as to look active and official when people came in. I opened up my laptop and well, once I started, there was no stopping me. What was I thinking? Ha! I could “wing” an information session about a school that could potentially help solve some of these childrens´ chronic socio-economic problems? The madness…

At 10am I began to sweat. I had so much more to plan and no time at my disposal! Relax, I said to myself – they´re Latin American and bound to be late. I kept typing. Ten minutes later - still not a soul in sight. 20 minutes. 30 minutes. I had Fran go door knocking, begging people to come, even if just for the numbers. I was about to tear the shirt from my back and walk blind folded home when a lady from around the corner, the one with 5 children, stammered through the door.

She was dressed in a dungaree jean outfit, and looked more presentable than I´d ever seen her look. I warmly welcomed her in. Immediately, another mother approached the door. She hesitated, then stepped up to and then through the entrance. She was tired, shabbily dressed, and had a baby attached to her. I went in for the meet-and-greet. Yes a bit awkward, but hey - I´m Australian, we shake hands! Seconds later another lady approached. My heart started pounding… Success, we´d have at least 5 kids in our school!!! She had a small child and a suit jacket on. Not something I´ve ever seen in these parts, but at this point I would have been thrilled with an overweight baboon bringing in her young.

I decided, now that the Church was simply bursting with activity (the ladies did not acknowledge each other.  They merely stared at EVERYTHING I did. “Oh, he just dropped his pen. Now he´s picking it up. And woops, he shouldn´t have tried to do that – a bit silly if you ask me”), that I would go in for the kill.

I started my presentation, which took me thirty minutes to get through. Even I was bored by the end… Upon fielding questions from my audience, a miraculous thing happened, a FLOOD of parents started entering the building. “It´s okay, we´ll do a second session”, I say to myself.

At this point I decided to take my first three parents outside for an interview. The idea was to have moments of laughter, so as to make the other parents jealous (“what´s he doing now?”), and to reward the “punctual parents” (what´s an hour between friends?) for being on-time. Of course, everyone, including the mass that had just arrive, followed us outside.

I sat with the first lady, the second to arrive in the morning, and started to chat with her. I proceeded to ask her questions of a personal nature. Everyone leaned in because I had lowered my voice (I know right? Me, lowering my voice! Ha!). I lowered it again.  At this point even I couldn´t hear myself. I asked her who she wanted to enroll in our school. She told me that she wanted to enroll her two sons. Laughter erupted from the crowd surrounding us. It was almost deafening.

Something you mightn´t understand about our ministry is that although we have good intentions about getting in there and finishing a task, it is almost impossible with my Nicaraguan amigos. They have heaps of love for us, and curiosity is stacked to the limit. They follow us everywhere and watch every gesture, every moment, every hesitation. It´s all quite amusing and fascinating to them, even better than television! My point is, nothing happens quickly. Everything we try to accomplish takes 10 times longer, because everything we do has an audience (there are days that I feel like Oprah)

I already knew that the 2 boys she was wanting to enroll are both too old. I met them during our Christmas Gift Drive.  So I asked her why, “Why  do you want to enroll your two sons?” She responded by explaining that she desires for them to have an education. The sound of scoffing, from onlookers, is almost deafening. She knowingly looked at me with tears in her eyes.

In our small community, this strong woman clings to the bottom rung of the social network with all of her might. She is exceedingly poor, lives outside of the barrio, her husband is unemployed… Whatever they eat is either hunted or stolen. Their entertainment is watching, from on top of a wall, people walk by their house. More times than not I have driven by and high-fived the boys, whilst their parents have watched, smiling, grateful for every gesture of kindness offered.

 She would not be moved. I relented, knowing that God has called us to Nicaragua for people just like this. I was deeply moved. Her children have not been enrolled in school before because her husband is an alcoholic and they have little money for clothes and hygiene products. They live in a shambles of a hut and they are despised by their community.

I asked for the boys´ date of birth. She was unable to give them to me. More tutting from the gallery. I looked around, but this time with fire in my eyes. “That´s okay” is my response. “We would be honoured if you would consider sending your children to our school.” I thanked her for her time, shook her hand and, well you know, went in for the greet, and then we said our goodbyes.

I have been back to visit this precious family several times. They have offered me beverages, I have drunk them. They have offered me a seat, I have sat. They have offered me food, but due to stomach ailments beyond my control, which I cannot get a decent prescription for, I have been forced to decline.

God has put an array of wonderful, but very needy people in our path. They´re always there. You probably have them too. Sometimes we see them and sometimes we don´t. All He asks is that we serve them as he served us. Our desire is to look after the orphan and the widow in their distress, to meet people where they are at, to love, unconditionally, EVERYONE, every time…

“Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’ Matthew 25:34-36

POST by RAFFY: Chickens and Presents

Want to hear a secret. I gave to poor people chickens to parents and presents to children. And we got bicycles for Christmas so we decided to bring them. And we brut a family named Peruses.

Don’t ask me how long it was I will tell you. 1 day and half a night isn’t that a lot? Yes it is a lot its more than 23 hours now to my story.

One day the Parses and my family brought presents in my car. The people who put the presents in the car where Juanablo, Evanya, my mom, and my dad there where dolls for the girls and for the boys soccer balls, and baseball bats. Soon a lot off toys where filled in the car.

Next we went where the pareses live. I wanted to put my bicycle where there car was. But a community of chickens where in there Billy and I were trying to help but we didn’t grab any chickens but they gave the chickens to us so it can go faster.

Then we gave chickens and presents out all day and half a night.

Support a Nicaraguan Child (Third World Child Sponsorship)

We are asking you to consider supporting a Nicaraguan child. For just $50 per month, we are going to feed, clothe and educate a young Nicaraguan. Our ministry is in a small barrio just outside of Cedro Galan, which is just outside of Managua, Nicaragua. The poor in this neighbourhood are extremely poor. Although they are fairly well groomed, their housing conditions and diet are appalling, with sickness a major problem due to inadequate housing, and 1 in 5 children experiencing stunted growth due to malnutrition. 

Schools are overcrowded in Nicaragua, and it is the rural poor that suffer the most. The mother of our first enrolled student was laughed at because she wanted to enroll her 8 year old son - who has not previously been enrolled in a school program. They told her in Spanish that our school wouldn´t admit him, because of the child´s age. She looked at them, one-by-one, staring blankly through them. I held her hand, and told her that I would enrol her son, and thanked her for having the courage to seek the best education for her child. Similar situations occurred, one-after-the-other... 

Then the King will say to those on His right hand, 'Come, you blessed of My Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world: for I was hungry and you gave Me food; I was thirsty and you gave Me drink; I was a stranger and you took Me in; I was naked and you clothed Me; I was sick and you visited Me; I was in prison and you came to Me.' Matthew 25:34-36

We NEED your help. We do not have the financial means to feed, clothe and educate these nearly 30 children. Please consider partnering with us today. Just $50 per month, will assist us in providing the basics for these children, enabling them to have access to higher education in the future and a job that will support both them and their families.

To support one of our children please contact us and let us know how you would like to send us funds: CapitalontheEdge@gmail.com

Many thanks,

Capital on the Edge

POST by SEZ: Macho, Macho MAN!

Hi it’s Sez and guess what have you ever lifted a weight it gives you muscles. When I turn twelve my dad will take me to the gym so I might lift up a weights .

Today I’m nine and I’m almost ten years old then eleven then twelve then I get to go to the gym with my dad. How old are you people? 

I  go to  gym , but I do want to pull up weights if you do weights every day you’ll get big strong muscles it’s good and nice to pull weights. 

Up , Down ,Up , Down , Up , Down pulling weights Up , and Down that’s how you earn your muscles. Bye.

POST by RENZY: Mouse Management

As you know there are mice everywhere. The mice here in Cedro Galan are medium size, well at my house anyway. One time we saw a mouse run across the floor whilst Fran, my parents and of course I, were watching a movie. Fran sort of saw it, I really saw it, Mum didn’t see a thing, and my dad said “Did you just see that? Was that a mouse?!” 

Mum was sort of asleep so she did not see a thing but she was hoping it was not a mouse because then she would get mad and yell at everyone for acting like pigs and she was too tired to do that. Fran said that she sort of saw it, and I was like “It was a mouse! That is weird… maybe we should get mice traps.”

So, now we have mice traps but we only have them inside. Outside does not really matter because it is outside, but if mice are outside and they come in then that is not a pretty sight. Even if my mum sees one outside she will yell “Kill it! Kill it before it gets inside!” I know she will say that because of the story I am about to tell you.

The other day we had some people from our church and Grace, one of my friends, come over to our house just to swim and hang-out. We were sitting around by the water tower (where we get our water from). There are two benches by the water tower but it is fun to sit on the water tower.

Our church friends were sitting on the benches and Grace and I were sitting on the bars of the water tower. We were talking and laughing having fun when Grace said to me “Hey Lorenzy, look at that. It looks like a mouse.” And then she pointed at a little, fat mouse. It was in the dark but we had a flash light so we could see it.

Then we decided to try and catch it, but it kept on scurrying across the wire fence on the top of the walls. Then the church people started to get curios about what we were doing. So they decided to ask Fran to ask us what we were doing.

So Fran says to us “What are you guys doing?” we reply by saying “There is a mouse and we are trying to catch it. Can you please pass us that stick over there?” Fran then translated and told them what we were doing. They thought it must be fun so they started to help us.

I think we were doing a good job before they helped us but, they were the ones that got it onto the floor. They start hitting it and stepping on it. Then my mum went out to give the guard his gear, torch and a gun, when she saw all the flash lights and all the movement, so she came over to see what we were doing.

When she saw the mouse it was so tired that it was not moving, so when she saw it she thought it was dead.  She looked at it and said “Wait here and make sure that the dogs do not eat it. I am going to get my camera and take a picture of it.” When she came back it started moving again and she said “It’s alive? Kill it! Kill it before it gets into the house!” and then she took a photo and ran off.

Then everyone had to go home so we said our goodbyes, they went home and we went inside. When I got into my bed later on I was thinking about what a weird day I had been through. And now it was finished. 

Social: Nicaragua to Expand Program for Poor Children

The Nicaraguan Government is expanding it´s "Program of Love" so that an increased amount of poor children will receive better health benefits and an education.

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Political: Iran's Leader Looks to Latin America for Support

Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad is courting Latin America on a four-nation tour starting Sunday that will let him tout some of Iran's few friendships while tensions grow over the country's threats to block oil shipments in retaliation for tighter U.S. sanctions.


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POST by FRAN: Feeling Blue...

Blue is a three or four month old puppy. She is a Husky crossed with a German shepherd. Her coat has a cinnamon feel to it with black sprinkled on the very top of her back, and she has been very sick this past week.

My dad has taken her to the vet but there’s not much the vet can do. We are not really sure what she has or why she has it, but apparently it is contagious to the other dogs and even to children.

She is awfully skinny and she won’t eat. The only thing my dad keeps saying is “she’s a fighter!” and she is.

It sort of reminds me of a Christian’s daily life. We often become “sick” caused by sin and sometimes it looks like there is no way out. 

We have to keep fighting spiritually, physically and emotionally. Just like Blue.

Everyday Blue is getting stronger and stronger in health. And everyday we get stronger and stronger in spirit and in the love of Jesus Christ.

It’s a grand “lucha” or “fight” for those strong believers who want to win with success. I’m planning to win with success and I think Blue is too.

Even though Blue and I are still young and we need help from others I plan to win along side with my friends and family and even strangers! 

POST by JED: The Miraculous Mercado

In the past week we have visited the Mercado Oriental on several occasions. More recently, we visited three times. In the first instance we had raised enough money to buy all of the children in our small community a toy for Christmas. There are just over 100 children in our barrio, though the figures do tend to change as people from the local community get to know us and our agenda. (Matthew 25: 34-36) 

For our second visit we had raised enough money to buy each family in the neighbourhood an egg laying chicken. There are approximately 80 families in the area, though we still haven´t visited EVERY house, and so we remain a little uncertain (the tiniest “house” may contain up to 3 families). On this occasion we went to find the blessed little animals, however there was an insufficient quantity of chickens for our needs.

On our THIRD and final visit, at some ungodly hour, we purchased our prized chooks (Australian slang for “chickens”). The alarm clock collided with my World of Dreams before the sun had even contemplated upon a visit. We had been burning the candle at both ends and I was finding it difficult, at that festive time of year, to claw my way out of bed. Anyway, claw I did, and out I went.

The Mercado Oriental is like any market in the third world. People are busy hustling and bustling from well-before-dawn, and the element of danger only increases with every minute the day devours. I have Nicaraguan friends who talk of people being stabbed in the afternoon and their money being taken, rather than being “held up” and the victim being offered a choice (hand it over or face the consequences).

The predominant difference between the Mercado Oriental, as opposed to other markets, is the size of the market. The Mercado Oriental is 5 kms long, making it one of the largest markets in the World, and because it is a cash market it is not possible to get exact statistics on trade - though government bodies estimate gross daily sales to be around 3 million US dollars.

The Mercado is informally broken up into zones, much like a supermarket. “In the first 100 aisles we have carburetors, then in the next 100 aisles we have pigs´ feet”, and so-forth. To date, I know where to buy a radiator, a car tire, kids´ bikes, live chickens and t-shirts (yes, I can help any Christmas shopper with a wide selection of gift options).

Though shopping is usually a fun activity (always for the ladies, sometimes for the gents), at the Mercado Oriental it is a business, even for the consumer. Liz LOVES to barter. However, we are finding out in true Brien style (via the hard way), and sometimes with much embarrassment to-boot, that Nicaraguans just DO NOT barter. (as red faced Liz will have a man twice her size, pressed up against a wall, hand around throat, trying to get 10 cordobas off the price of a baby doll and pram… The children and I instantly become “interested” in an actual pig´s head in the next “aisle”. “Oh, and please do tell, how much for this delightful pig´s head you have hanging at the front of your stall?”) Consequently we get a bargain on the baby/pram set, and pay quadruple the price for a pig´s head.

The Nicas have a price for poor the poor, a price for the rich, and a price for Gringos (every foreigner). We always barter, we have to, but the Nicas hate it. Unless you can turn it into a moment of hilarity (my favourite line is “No es Cancun”, screamed at the top of my lungs, with much fake laughter to follow, whilst clutching the item I WILL NOT walk away from), they usually just say “no” and begin another task. Sometimes, they relent. I tell them over and over again that I´m too slim to be American, to ugly to be rich, and to underdressed to be European (ha ha, I know – NOT POSSIBLE!), but my poor Spanish and great big white car tell otherwise.

At least I don´t dress as well as the Nicas do. They take an enormous amount of pride in their personal presentation and it shows. Though I must say, the fashion police would have a field day with their mismatched combos (my good friend Jen and I were just talking about this phenomenon).  Because, although their clothes are always new, and although they always smell great, they have problems in selecting clothes that “work together”. An average woman may, for example, choose to wear a pink and purple poker dotted pair of pants (that are 2 sizes too small), with a horizontally striped blue and green blouse. (that are 3 sizes too small. The result? The midriff instantly becomes quite the feature show piece, and generally 4 sizes too big, might I just add!)

But the Mercado is not a festive place. It was a chore for me to think of Christmas presents when surrounded by the strange sights, sounds and smells. Personal space evaporates from the moment you take a step inside the market “zone”. The market is a type of warfare, people battling for their very existence, and you can sense the desperation.

There are many problematic social issues within the market. Though I have read up on many of these different issues, the evils I have personally encountered include gambling, prostitution and child labour.

It is not uncommon to find “pokies” (Aussie slang for slot machines) around the place. They are not used by people with excess amounts of money and suffering from boredom. They are used by the poor who really do view them as an opportunity to make some quick extra cash. They are not used solely by men, but also by women and children. I have seen with my very own eyes, and on several occasions, small children putting money into pokies in order to win a buck.

There are approximately thirty brothels in the market. I have walked by a couple. Several brothels in the market specialise in children. Though I have not personally witnessed child prostitution, I have read about them via several different medias and do believe that they exist, due to the poverty and the desperation that masses of Nicaragua´s population suffer from.

Something that I have witnessed, in large quantities, is child labour. Generally I believe that child labour is one of the steps needed in order for this country to climb out of poverty. I view the children as being in a sort of apprenticeship. I do not agree with child labour, but understand that economically these children will be at a disadvantage if they go to school, as they will lack the valuable skills and working experience they will need for adult life and may, due to their socio-economic status, be unemployable. However, it does make me sad every time I see a child carrying something too heavy, working with dangerous equipment, taking their rest in a place so unrestful, and so-forth.

But enough of this ho hum talk… You want to know about my chicken buying day! I arrived at the Mercado as the day was breaking and stepped out of the car. The warm smell of raw meat instantly met my senses. I started breathing through my mouth and looked around. Live chickens were pecking at the rubbish which was everywhere. “Homeless people” were sleeping on every flat surface available. Although early, many, many people were already cramming the streets. Loads of vendors were pushing their carts, shoppers were fussing around within their daily routine, young boys moved quickly carrying goods for buyers, mangy dogs were milling around smelly mounds of smelliness, and the market “police” continued to look on – taking everything in.

We start to move through the crowded corridors of the market. I was instantly referred to as chele (not sure of the spelling, but it sounds like chel-leh, “white man”. I have NEVER experienced this before, due to my dark hair/eyes and gorgeously sculpted Latin looking face). But it doesn´t happen just once, it´s “chele” this and “chele” that.

I´m exhausted after only a few small moments. It´s not the heat, the stench, or the continual pressing of bodies against my own - it´s the inability to think whilst all of this is going on. As a mere tourist, I´m fine. But having hundreds of dollars on my person, and a camera in hand, knowing that I have to achieve the task of buying at least 100 egg-laying-chickens, well it´s too much for me to handle…

But still, I push on, valiant market shopper that I am. (Liz would be skipping at this point, totally in her element!) I am in a weird section that has home-made vegetable products and raw meat/animal body parts. I am continuously passed by push-carts with carcasses in them. People are throwing meat between carts and stalls. A sweaty man, with hardly any clothes on, pushes me from behind, “oh sorry” I turn and say (I can´t think in Spanish at this hour, nor location) as I walk straight into a bloody cow´s head. Yukko!

I wipe myself clean with my t-shirt, wishing that I could be the naked one now (in a shower would be great!). I march forward again, but straight into a puddle the size of Lake Managua, with equal water quality. Yukko el numero dos!

With a bloody head, t-shirt and soupy shoes I round the bend. I look to my left. Chickens with their heads cut off, trapped in a massive flat bucket of sorts, are furiously trying to run. They are simultaneously being crushed by a massive bucket from above. A boy sits within the bucket laughing on his “ride”. I´m sweating now and my stomach, which only has freshly ground/brewed Nicaraguan Arabica hot, delicious , thick coffee inside,  churns.

I am now being pushed along by other people. I look around for Juan Pablo, he turns left and although my feet are turning left, my body is turning right. The train of people drags me along. “Help” I say, “help, HELP!” It´s no use. The ding dang market is now louder than the roar at a Metallica concert. I´m lost in the platano “aisle”.

Platanos are a staple in Nicaragua. They look like bananas, but taste more like potatoes. More semi-naked people are here, sorting through the good and the bad items and as I look on, I wish I was with them. The products are scattered along the floor and there are few people amongst them. The air is cool from where they are situated. I, however, am still on the runaway human train!

The crush becomes intense… “Ummm, could you please move your hand? I´m trying to walk and having your hand in my armpit isn´t helping…” I burst through a crack in the wall and find that, miraculously, I am standing beside our car. T-shirt back-to-front, hat on upside down, shoes on opposite feet and undies around my neck. (well, you get the idea…) I dare not try and find my way through the crowd again, to a destination I have not been to. I decide to wait at the car for help to arrive.

I see Juan Pablo. He is not happy. “Where did you go?” he asks in Spanish. “Um, I don´t know” is my response. Juan Pablo is from our Church, just a couple of years younger than I, but don´t tell him, I think he looks twenty years older than me. He wants me to go back with him to pay for and collect the chickens. Although horrified by the thought, I picture my boys standing next to me. It´s the right thing to do, I have to beat this thing!

I follow Juan Pablo and this time, the camera is away and I am nearly treading on his heels I´m so close. Oh… Sorry… Brother… A little too close! We arrive at the chickens in minutes. They are beautiful, with their heads still on! (unlike the rest of the animals in the market…) We pay the fee and have the chickens brought to the car.

Success! Thanks to Capital Edge Community Church in Canberra, Australia, and some incredibly generous people in Australia, Hong Kong, the UK, the USA, and Canada, this will be quite the Christmas for some quite endearing Nicaraguans. Thanks for sharing your Christmas with Nicaragua and thanks for reading my story! Happy New Year, I pray that it´ll be TOPs for you!!! 

Day 1 in the Mercado Oriental

Days 2 and 3 in the Mercado

Handing out the Presents and Chickens

Christmas Time in Nicaragua

POST by LIZ: A Miserable Merry Chrissy

I just love Christmas!  I love the carols, the candles, the lights, the tree, the decorations, the silly flashing Rudolf noses, I even love swimming through a sea of flustered last minute Christmas shoppers at the store.  I love Christmas so much that the other day Jed caught me unconsciously beeping out the tune “Jingle Bells” on the microwave’s buttons!

This Christmas was our first Christmas with Billy!  As December approached I found myself thinking about Christmas traditions and what type of Christmas Billy would experience with us. 

Jed and I have been married for 15 years, and within that time we have lived in five different countries and have lived in 18 different houses.  As a kid, Christmas for me had always been marked by rugging up in warm sweaters and staying indoors in a heated home, while for Jed; Christmas was spent on the beach! Creating our mutual Christmas tradition hasn´t been an easy task. 

The 1st of December has forever been an important day for the Townsend family.  It marks the wonderful day my older sister arrived into the world. The day also officially began Christmas in our household. As kids, we would wish Margie a very happy birthday, and while Mum baked the birthday cake, we would madly deck the halls with every bit of tinsel, Christmas hanging decoration, and fake spray snow we could get our eager little hands on. 

We would urge Dad to pull out the tree from the attic, and watch impatiently as he would carefully position the fairy-lights around the branches.  The engineer in him ensured that every bulb was working, the lights were all equally spread out from top to bottom, and facing outwards. (Not inwards where they could touch the plastic pine needles and be a potential fire hazard!) 

Once Dad had circled the tree at least five times, he would give us the thumbs up, which acted like a trigger for the start of a race. We five Townsend kin would waste no time running towards the tree, guaranteeing no branch was left “undecorated”.

Did the tree ever look uniformed and perfect like they do in the store? Absolutely not! But what was uniformed and perfect was our family working together on the annual task.

The most revered job was the correct positioning of the nativity scene.  We would discuss at great lengths which side of baby Jesus Mary should kneel, and whether Joseph should be on the opposite side of Mary or standing behind her; appearing to be the devoted husband.

There was never a discussion of where the three wise men should be.  They were always positioned in a line leading up to the manager which contained the blonde haired, blue eyed baby Jesus with the golden halo around his head.   

We then would raid Mum’s stationary drawer hunting for blue-tac in order to be able to elevate the angel, who bore the banner “Glory to God in the highest”.  I confess that I would get rather annoyed at my younger brothers, Nicholas and Luke, if they dared move the cows and sheep where Margie, Mike and I had spent hours deliberating over where the best place would be for them. 

Christmas Day was always precious.  We would wake up at ridiculous times that were far too early to be called morning.  I would always feel around in the dark for the “stocking”, which actually was a plastic bag with a Christmas pattern printed on the front. 

Then, along with my siblings, we would gather on a bed and feel each and every item, guessing what it could contain inside judging by the shape, size, weight and sound. When we couldn´t contain the self-control any longer, we would all madly unwrap the gifts, giggling in delight about the treasures the bag contained, and appreciating what the other had been given. 

At 6 o´clock in the morning, the radiators came on, and we would fight for position to warm our toes on the white heated metal.

Munching on the tangerines, which were always a staple in the Christmas stocking, we would then make our way into Mum and Dad´s room, bearing two plastic bags for them, and dragging our own plunder behind us.  They would listen in awe when we shared what we had received. Then all ten eyes would watch them open their “stockings” that Santa´s little helpers had put together.  

My Dad´s eyes would twinkle as he discovered socks, Cadbury fruit nut chocolate, mars bars and party poppers, and my Mum would sleepily “mmmm” and “awwwh” as she opened hers to find tweed perfume, Cadbury´s plain chocolate and tissues.  They both acted as if the presents (we brought for 20p at the Little Stoke Junior School´s annual jumble sale) were priceless. 

We would then have breakfast and get ready for church. My siblings never failed in wishing me a hearty happy birthday before we walked out the door to Little Stoke Baptist Church. 

After church came the feast.  My mother´s famous Christmas roast dinner never failed to fill our stomachs and there would always be plenty for our guests, who joined us at the extended dining table. 

I loved to place the party poppers and Christmas crackers on the plates. I would always try and peep inside to see what colour paper hat it contained, making certain I had a blue one - no matter what. 

I would have to guard the crackers from my brother Mike, as he had the habit of secretly pulling out the snappers from the crackers before they had been tugged at. (If he was successful, he would later use the snapper to sneak up behind an old, sleep-nodding Auntie Doll and snap it to wake her up)

Our Christmas dinner always started with a prayer of thanks, then –POP-, the party popper strings were pulled and -SNAP- the crackers, were wrestled with.  Jokes were read and groaned at while we all carefully sported our new paper hats – mine of course was blue!   

The rest of the day was spent in the heated living room opening gifts from each other, relatives and close friends. 

My mother would sip on her snowball drink as my dad willingly offered his fruit and nut bar to us, knowing full-well we would all decline because it contained raisins! By 2 o´clock, the floor was replaced with a carpet of torn up Christmas paper, bows and the unwrapping of gifts continued. 

There was always a Bible reading of the Christmas story; my mum would subtly remind us why we have the symbols of Christmas; there was no doubt that “Jesus is the reason for the season”. 

At 4 o´clock, Christmas morphed into my birthday. I felt incredibly special to share the same day the whole entire world chose to remember Jesus´ birth. 

We would spend the evening playing the new board games we had been given while chewing the left over roast beef in a sandwich Mum had prepared. 

And so this was the Townsend tradition that I had known for the first nineteen years of my life, and apart from the change of guests, it was predictable, cozy and Christmas to me.

When I moved to Australia and married Jed I didn´t realise just how much of change was in store for me.  Our first Christmas was a disaster! 

The 1st of December arrived, and after calling my sis to wish her a happy birthday (facebook and skype wasn´t invented back then!), I wanted to put up a tree.  I lovingly looked into my husband-of-four-months eyes and asked him where we would go to buy a Christmas tree.

“A CHRISTMAS TREE!!!  Oh no Liz, we don´t need one of those!”  he replied.

I started to laugh, as if it was some kind of sick Australian joke or something, but it wasn´t a joke – he was a serious Australian bloke saying NO to my tradition!

I was mortified!  But an AUD$40 Christmas tree was not in the budget for a newly-wed couple, who had just the one income from the bottom rung management tier of McDonalds.  

Deflated, but not defeated, I found my creative flair. I grabbed a stick from a neighbouring garden (we had no garden as we lived on the third floor of a five storey flat in the slums of Western Sydney). I carefully wrapped unwound metal clothes hangers around the stick, making loops at the ends to hold slim unscented candles – scented candles were far too expensive.  It was a pitiful sight and foreshadowed the first Christmas we would have together!      

To make matter worse, the weather was not cold! The 30 degree Australian heat just didn´t add to the feeling I used to get at Christmas.  To help my plight, my mother sent me some fake snow.  Jed ripped open the package and threw it over my head, but my tears fell quicker than the fake snow could.

Christmas Day was terrible.  We decided to sleep over at Jed´s folks place on Christmas Eve, as we were there for a family meal to celebrate Greg´s birthday (Christmas Eve), but Christmas Day felt just like a normal day at the farm (which, don´t get me wrong, I LOVE, and will always cherish, but I wanted my Christmas that I knew and loved). 

There was NO stocking at the end of my bed (the one my mother had sent in the mail was held up by customs), NO siblings to share the moment with, NO fellow early risers (the rooster did not count!), NO church visit and NO sounds of paper ripping - just the heavy snores of my beloved who didn´t wake up until well past one in the afternoon and with a chronic headache at that.  I managed a smile, but it was awful.

After my first Christmas with Jed, the season was always different.  Some years we would be on the beach, other years in foreign lands. One year Jed was blessed to experience a Townsend Christmas.

I asked my own kids what Christmas meant to them.  Without fail, Francesca and Lorenzy said “Great time with family”, Sezni piped up and said “Going to the beach”, and Rafael said “Remembering Jesus”. 

After 15 years, I am rather used to the randomness Christmas brings us yet I´m also grateful that we have been able to establish some constant traditions such as reading the Christmas story, watching the Grinch then Melbourne´s Carols by Candlelight Concert (thanks to YouTube), having a huge breakfast, calling the UK our Christmas morning, and always being together as a family. 

This year we did a few things differently that we hope to make a tradition; we hosted our own, first ever, Carols by Candlelight Concert. Christmas afternoon we put together some crazy games so that 36 kids would enjoy a Christmas party. With enormous thanks to some very generous friends, family and Church in Australia, we were able to organise a Christmas Drive for families who earn less than $3 per day. For ten and a half hours we walked from house-to-house giving out a variety of presents, chickens and were able to share about Jesus. 

When I think about Billy´s first Brien Christmas I can see it was a mixture of being loved by family and friends, receiving and giving, and most importantly - knowing that Jesus IS the reason for this fiesta of a season.       


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