Diane Muratore Testa

I remember arriving on the first day in Managua at the end of May. I hadn’t spoken conversational Spanish in 14 years, and now I had to negotiate in Spanish with taxi drivers and microbus drivers to find my way to Leon. I remember seeing the extremely poor housing conditions as I traveled through Managua and through the countryside outside of Leon. I was shocked! I thought, “Why would anyone with a bit of money stay in this country?” Later I would vastly change my outlook after living a month in Nicaragua with the wonderful “nicaraguenses.”

children and diane

Adapting to a new culture is all about throwing yourself into their life and appreciating their ways and styles, despite any inconveniences or loss of privacy. My host family in Costa Rica was so welcoming, embracing me and kissing me upon our first meeting. They treated me as if they had known me for years. Despite having two spare rooms, one downstairs and one upstairs with them, they insisted on my staying upstairs amidst the very close quarters of their rooms. I preferred the privacy of the downstairs, with its private bathroom, but I tossed that desire away to better integrate myself with my new family. In this little house lived a grandma, the mother, her three teenaged daughters, two dogs, and a parrot. The mom, Eugenia, worked 6 days a week, 10 hours per day, as a clerk in a clothing store, earning the equivalent of $1.50 per hour. She was the sole supporter of the family, having lost her husband a few years earlier in a tragic bus accident. Meals were always handmade mostly by the grandma, named Tita. They always insisted that I eat more because I needed to fatten up. Gallo pinto – “the spotted chicken” – was a staple for breakfast – that’s just rice and beans. The three girls were all attending private school, two of them receiving scholarships for their academics. One of my favorite memories was playing Scrabble with the two younger daughters who claimed the rules allowed the spelling of words upwards and backwards just to use your tiles. I still call my host family from time to time on the holidays. I wish we lived closer.

I took part in the daily instrumentation instruction at the institute in San Jose. Boy, did I gain a wealth of knowledge, both about the clinic and the developing world.

homes in nicaragua

By the time I had re-arrived in Nicaragua in July, I had adapted to the cold showers, bugs on the walls, tin-roofed houses, and potholed, dirt roads in the cities. I really began to overlook these minor characteristics about the life there, and began to focus on the warmth of the people. Folks in the bank, in grocery stores, on microbuses would chat with me – because I naturally stood out as a “gringa” – and offered me rides and assistance that even a relative would not offer me back home. I have never known more hospitable and generous people than the Central Americans.

When I worked in the Nicaraguan hospitals, we were thrilled each time that a piece of broken equipment was repaired. Sometimes the repair required only a simple adjustment or, on occasion, an “engineered” replacement, but in all cases we were so pleased to add one more piece of working equipment to the floors of these needy hospitals. I was proud to know those who would volunteer a summer in an unknown place where American comforts are not as prevalent as home.

diane at the bench

As a result of my experiences, I have a new appreciation for simple, humble lifestyles. I recognize that poverty exists not only on a physical level but on a cultural and spiritual level as well. I believe many Americans, including myself, are quick to see the physical poverty in an area because the homes are dilapidated and infrastructure is lacking, but we don’t often recognize the wealth that exists among these people in terms of the strength of their family relationships and cultural values. They taught me to look at life in an entirely different way. I witnessed joy from a completely different angle.