Between Scylla and Charybdis

As I reflected in my previous post, I have been thinking a lot about contrasts. As in the internet cafe and type this, I am spending for an hour of internet more than the average Nicaraguan earns in a month. I have traveled more than most people my age, mostly in developing countries, and I feel that my experiences have helped me learn about the world and people around me. I have learned about the shared commonalities of humanity, and I have come to the conclusion that the divide between rich and poor lies in finances alone. All classes share hopes, dreams, problems, fears and illnesses. The differences are more superficial than one might think.


(Turismas - a common sight. Often more common than Granadinas!)

Although I have been ashamed of the behavior of Americans and other tourists in my travels, my disgust has been especially pronounced on this trip. I have been trying to pinpoint the reason for this and I am grasping for explanations why I feel this way. I have been contemplating my motivations for travel and trying to weigh in my mind if they are worthy or valid. There are many reasons why I feel uncomfortable being here. I am aware of the judgments that I project based on my stereotypes, and I recognize that I might often be wrong. That is one of the reasons why I feel so uncomfortable - I know that others are projecting their judgments onto me, based on my pale skin and huge backpack that is my constant companion.
Last night at the volunteer meeting, the topic of tourist vs. traveler was raised. I feel like tourists come to a place to consume a culture without really caring about or respecting it, while a traveler gains knoweldge of a culture while respecting its people. There was more to it than that, but it is difficult to distill a conversation shared into a blog post. I have spoken to Dra. Skar about this, and this post is not what I intended it to be, and I have not written what I wanted to say, but hopefully I will find the words somehow.
Am I a tourist or a traveler? I don´t know. Maybe that is why I am so uncomfortable. Many of the things that I dislike or find distasteful I often do myself. When I was walking through the barrio on the way home from one of the schools yesterday, I saw a tourist sitting in the backseat of a taxi pour an entire bottle of filtered water over a bunch of mamónes (sweet and tart citrus fruits). When the tourist finished pouring the clean water that he would never drink over the fruits that he would probably never finish, he threw the bottle ¨away¨. There is no ¨away¨, and when people from the ¨First World¨ consume the rest of the world, often through the assistance of petroleum, the environment suffers. It will not be the ¨First World¨ that feels the effects of climate change - it will be the countries that they consume. That I have consumed. And I feel sick about it.
Why does genocide tourism exist? Why do people go on tours to the slums of India and other places in the world, to see how the poorest people in the world live, to consume their poverty and suffering? When they leave, they go back to their air conditioning and their wireless internet and filtered ice water and the pictures that they took so that they can consume. I think that the consumption is what bothers me the most, and that it is so easy to engage in without a second thought.
As I type this, right now, the woman next to me is talking about the consumption of Nicaraguan women. ¨...And he told me the paternity suit left a bad taste in his mouth, but he doesn´t care, because he just found another woman, and that it doesn´t matter anyway because all the women are beautiful and on the tourist street they grab his ass when he walks by...¨ No lo creo. But maybe it goes both ways. I´m not naive or colonial enough to rob Nicaraguans of agency, and if I were a woman here, who knows how I would be.
I do think that we have an obligation to help each other as humans, regardless of nationality, and I often use that as a justification for my travels, as many of my trips have been volunteer-based. Still, what gives me the right to travel to another country to volunteer to study just because I think it would enrich my life and hopefully the lives of others? Who am I to decide?
While in Granada, our group has the privilege of working with La Esperanza Granada, an organization dedicated to community development and the education of children. I am enthused about learning through service, and I believe that giving back to Nicaragua an obligation, especially as I am watching myself learn and grow through being here.
What gives me the right to be here? I don´t know. What gives someone the right to travel to a country that they have no natural ties to, besides the fact that they have money? I have seen so much disrespect and disregard for Nicaraguan culture and Nicaraguan people, and it is not an attitude limited to this country - I have seen it on my other travels as well.
When you bite into a mamón, it is a mixture of sweet and tart and bitter flesh wrapped around a pit. The flavor is constantly changing. You suck the fruit out and roll it around in your mouth until the flesh is gone and you are left with the pit. Somehow, I find that eating a mamón is a apt metaphor for being here and my emotional state. It is easy to digest the fruit, but I am left alone with the hard inner pit of my thoughts and the difficulty trying to reconcile my actions. What right do I have to be here?



-Mercedes