Math and Maize Amidst the Mountains

The last two days have been spent in the Ocotal region, just south of the mountains separating Nicaragua to the south, and Honduras to the north. It is up in the mountains where we visited School Feeding and Food for Work Programs, amidst tiny villages made of sticks and mud, without electricity or running water.

The roads, needless to say, are not meant for trucks, because there are simply no cars here. All transportation is done on foot or donkey, or, if you're a prosperous landowner, perhaps a rusty bicycle. I couldn't help but wonder what these people were thinking, as 6 UN trucks came slowly crashing through their pathways in the jungle, like elephants on pogo-sticks. WFP is simply the *only* organization working in this region, in conjuction with local ministries, so the beneficiaries recognize the trucks, but because, as is the case everywhere, resources are limited, we can't serve everyone. And it was in those faces that I saw amazement, curiosity and fear. Remember, this is the area hardest hit by the civil war just two decades ago. Are we friends? Are we enemies? Are we the government? Why are we here?

The premise of a School Feeding Program is very simple: we place food in schools as a way of fighting hunger and promoting education. Students receive one meal each day, fortified with micronutrients, pumping up its nutritional and caloric value. Parents are relieved of the chronic worry of feeding their children, their kids are gettting an education, and the food is keeping acute malnutrition at bay.

In the two schools we visited, enrollment and attendance were at 100%... find me one school in the United States where that's the case. The kids, albeit shoeless and dirty, were curious, friendly, funny and eager. Kids are exactly the same everywhere in this world... ask them who is the fastest runner, or if they have a favorite song, and they rush at you with "ME! ME!" singing, jumping, showing you their muscles...

Education is provided through 6th grade in this region, with two classes generally - 1st through 3rd grade (5 to 11 year olds), and 4th through 6th grade (10 through 15 years old). What happens during their "summer break?" What happens after 6th grade? How do they eat? What do they do? They join the ranks of adulthood, working the fields, having their own children, and the cycle just continues...

We met Erickson, the president of the student council, who, at 13 (in 5th grade), was one of those people who is a natural leader. He listens, he observes, he thinks deeply and he deeply cares. He stood by my side for most of my visit, explaining (through a translator) what the kids learn, who was best at math, who wanted to be a doctor when she grew up... when asked "What do you need?" he responded with "8 baseballs, 3 baseball bats and 10 gloves." I asked, "do the girls play baseball?" to which he responded "No, they don't want to." After some negotiation, we determined that most of the girls wanted dolls and balls, and that some, to his surprise, really wanted to learn to play baseball. He formed a team, named Sabina as the co-captain, and a member of our delegation committed to sending them the baseball equipment, dolls and balls.

When asked, "What do *you* need?," Erickson said "I need $1000 to move to Ocotal so I can finish school, and go to university... I have family there, and they would keep me if I could pay for food, school fees, books and supplies." Normally, I prefer to support capacity and infrastructure, but there was no doubt in my mind that if this boy was given the opportunity to finish school, it would benfit not only himself, but many, many others down the road.

Some of the students were light-haired and light-skinned, slower and smaller, bearing the permanent marks of early malnutrition, but most were quick, fast, bearing a normal resemblance to their parents. And all were quick to get in line for their midmorning meal.

Skinny Dogs and Bloated Bellies

On Monday morning, we loaded up into the trucks, and were brought to the WFP Country Office in Managua, where we received a briefing on country programs and security issues. Despite the fact that Nicaragua is the 2nd poorest country in the western hemisphere, it´s actually the safest in the region. The greatest risk is natural disasters, with hurricanes and earthquakes destablizing the country every year.

From there, we left Managua, and headed out to the field - to the Matagalpa region, where we visited Maternal-Child Health programs, implemented through a public health clinic funded in partnership through WFP and the Nicaraguan government.

We drove north on the Pan-American Highway and then turned right. Right off the highway, right off everyone´s consciousness and right off the grid. The roads turned to dirt, then they turned to mud, then they became paths, and then they headed straight up, as we bumped and crashed our way up steep slopes overlooking grand sweeping valleys of jungle, on what, on a good day, could be classified as extreme hiking paths. The UN trucks are virtual elephants, outfitted with special tires that can manage rocks, rivers, fallen trees and gullies.

After 2 hours of being tossed around, guts crushed and brains knocked off their axes, we arrived in a village to meet local WFP workers administering vaccines, delivering babies, and distributing food to fight extreme, acute malnutrition, amid dirt floors, stick walls, and corregated tin roofs.

Beneficiaries were lined up, waiting for treatment, mothers holding their tiny babies, girls holding jugs to be filled with fortified vegetable oil, men holding sacks to be filled with food rations for their families. It was there that we noticed that, despite their Nicaraguan parents, so many of these children were blonde, with fine, wispy hair, light skin and light eyes. Why? This is a classic sign of chronic, acute malnutrition, as though hunger has drained them of their color, as well as their health.

From there, we went to the home of one of the beneficiaries - Olivia, who lives in a 3 room hut with her mother, and 7 children. When we entered, we noticed a hammock to the right, swinging limply in the breeze. Olivia greeted us, opened up the hammock, and introduced us to her 15-month old daughter, who weighs just 14 pounds. She laid there, looking at us, not registering our presence, nor responding in any way. Chronically malnourished children seem not to cry. Hunger robs them of their development - stunting their growth (an 11 year old was the size of a 5 year old), and mental capacity, looking past you with a 100-mile stare.

When one thinks of the UN, they think, understandably, of sophisticated operations and (hopefully) an organization facilitating impact and change. Monday´s trip highlighted two things for me. First, that merely accessing these places - the least developed, remote areas of the least developed, remote countries - is a huge challenge, and somehow, with just 65 staff in-country, WFP feeds nearly 500,000 people every single day. And second, that the needs are simply so basic. Develop infrastructure to catch fresh rainwater for drinking, build efficient stoves so you won´t breathe in smoke from the fire burning openly inside your kitchen, fortify every drop of food with micronutrients so your little cup of porridge meets most of your nutritional and caloric needs for the day.

Brick by brick, inch by inch.

A Slow Sunday Evening in Managua

Hot summer days in DC don´t hold a candle to Managua. It´s about 11pm, close to 90 degrees, dripping with humidity, urban pollution and exhaust. I flew from DC to Houston with Derry, a colleague, where with met up with Mike, Marti and Abby - leaders of WFP Committees from around the country. We all lazed around on the sticky airport seats, waiting to board our plane to Managua...

We arrived here about an hour late, to be picked up by two UN trucks at the airport, to lead us through the streets with their proud, prominent antennae and ¨no weapons¨ stickers plastered along the sides. By the time we arrived, most had pooped out for the night, leaving a group of about six of us to forage through the local neighborhood for margaritas and enchiladas. Success.

Tomorrow we meet with the WFP country office, to receive a security briefing and some background information on the programs we´ll be visiting, as we wind our way through Matagalpa, up to Ocotal near the Honduran border.

There are about 15 of us total, many of whom have never traveled in the developing world. It will be an intense experience for these folks, observing extreme poverty, meeting with beneficiaries who are living on less than a dollar a day, whose children are permanently stunted both physically and intellectually by a chronic lack of food.

I´m drenched in sweat, covered in a light coating of dirt and dust... and it´s one of the days, in one of those places, where, quite frankly, taking a shower really won´t make a difference.

UN Delegation to Nicaragua

On Sunday, I fly to Managua, Nicaragua, where I will meet up with 16 WFP Committee Coordinators (volunteer leaders for a national outreach program that I run) for a 5-day trip to visit WFP operations in Managua, Matagalpa and Ocotal.

I've never been to Nicaragua before, though I've visited its neighbors: living in El Salvador briefly in 2005, where I literally sneezed over the border into Honduras, and personal travels to Belize, Guatemala, and Costa Rica.

So, what do I know about Nicaragua? It's the second poorest country in Latin America, with nearly half the country living on $1/day. WFP feeds nearly a half-million people every single day in this country alone, despite a total staff of just 65 people (all of them Nicaraguan citizens, with the exception of the Country Director who is from Canada), and a budget which has increased by 40% since January thanks to rising costs of food and fuel.

I'll be staying in Nicaragua through next weekend, taking a few days to travel solo. I don't know where I'll go, or what I'll do yet... I'll figure that out when I'm down there.

Onward ho!