All I can say about the afternoon of this day is: REFRESHING! Oh wow, what a tough, tough morning, and I don't know that there was a clown in our group eager to get back out there and entertain. We were all drained and deflated.
That changed shortly after we arrived at Pajaritos Azules, a special needs orphanage. It is for kids with special needs whose parents have either died, abandoned them, or don't have the necessary means to take care of them properly. A volunteer there told me that, fortunately, some of the children are there only temporarily, while their parents work to make money and build stability in order to bring their children back into their homes.
As soon as we stepped out of the cars and the taxis, we had children with smiling faces eagerly awaiting us. They joy was radiant and contagious. The children were fun and cheerful and wanting to play. And oh how we played!
The children were dispersed and we were able to move in on them in their natural environments and clown. We started ina general room, we all played for a bit, and then began to spread out into different areas. I personally hung out with the youngest lads there for about an hour. I played with Linda and Carolina, both approximately two years of age. Carolina was shy and didn't have the ability to talk. Once she warmed up to me though, her facial expressions and her sound effects did all of the talking. I gave her a little bubble ring, some foam beads borrowed from Kristen, and she helped me blow bubbles. She was precious. Oh and Linda was just a bundle of joy and excitement. She ran around and laughed and played! She was affected with Down Syndrome and something else, but wow you couldn't tell it. She loved every bit of play we had to offer. After a while in there, we left to play with the bigger kids.
Some clowns were in a little exercise class "arriba, abajo!". I stayed in there just a minute, it was great, the kids were loving it. Then Trey and I went outside and played with bipassers with our bouncy balls. That was fun, and they got really into it. Then we encountered Helen, the young lady I think every clown fell in love with. I should actually call her Wendy since Wendy and Helen swapped names. But she played a"tap us on the back and then hide" game for a while. It was entertaining!
It was a wonderful ending to a heart wrenching day. In our post clown meeting we reflected on the day and came to a very important conclusion: We went to the orphanage to ease some of these children's suffering, but we were the ones who left healed. These children mended the broken hearts of clowns.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
We have internet! Yay! The router doohickey thingie was not wanting to work, and it is back in action! Here is my blog from our clown trip to Eastern Market yesterday morning. Thanks for reading!
March 9, 2009
The Alley of Death
I have been afforded the extreme pleasure of reflecting on our descent into Nicaragua’s inferno. While I am currently writing this at the latter portion of our day, the memories of this morning’s experience are freshly brewing in this ever increasingly expanding cranium. Clowning makes me feel smart, and kids loving on you makes your head grow infinitely larger, so hence the dome expansion. This bunch learned a lot this morning, and each step through hell somehow brought us closer to our own personal demons, and to each other. Each person’s experience is different, but today I’m sharing mine.
Upon our arrival to our clown loading dock (more formerly known as a dirt parking lot), we unloaded, and almost immediately, the confusion set in. Perhaps this was merely my own experience, being that I speak Spanish at the 101 level, but I recall seeing some perplexed faces. We were met by an eager man named Jose, who had an explicit addiction to glue. Clutching a gerber jar with cobbler’s glue in it, he proceeded to introduce himself to us, one by one. We knew that something was not okay with Jose. We felt prepared for this. We knew about the location. We knew that we would be meeting young folks just like him. Nothing could truly prepare us for what we were about to experience.
Lillian was a fantastic leader, and chose two wonderful guides named Ricardo and Bergman. Their friend Syd was also very helpful, and was quite informative on the street lifestyle. Do you know the type of person that does their job so good, they either make it look super easy, or you don’t realize they’re actually working? That’s these four. Thank goodness we had these wonderful sages to guide us into the treacherous abyss that was the alley of death. I am not sure we would have emerged intact if it were not for these people. I think I can speak for all of the clowns when I say that we are infinitely grateful.
My favorite thing to do (aside from being completely silly and crazy), was to approach the street vendors and give out hugs. I waved erratically, blew kisses, made silly faces, and sent good vibes all around. We had some scragglers (is that a word?), myself among them. At one point we adopted the buddy system, and it gave us great opportunities to twirl with support and watch out for mud holes. After a good long trek through the market, we squeezed into a small, dark, alley. When I say alley, I mean an evil labyrinth. Think David Bowie minus the fuzzy creatures and hilarious bad acting.
I have experienced sad situations. I have witnessed devastating poverty. This alley tops them all. When I looked into the eyes of my trusting wanderers, my heart pleaded for their souls. In the eyes of those children, I saw tremendous suffering. I saw a yearning for happiness being strangled by the power of addiction. I sometimes saw nothing. The power of the high overtook the will of their individuality. Their imaginations no longer functioned naturally. Their eyes only told me that their experience of what was going on was so different from my own, that I could not begin to comprehend it. My most humbling experience yet, came when we happened upon an addicted female, looking to be about five months pregnant. Her body was going through the unthinkable, supporting another life while simultaneously fighting the urge to sniff glue. Additionally, a suffering mother whose alcoholic and drug-addicted partner was unable to truly function as a father for her pint-sized four month old, who was visibly an addict, as well. As our kindhearted fellow clown, Chrissy, commented: “I searched for some acknowledgement in her eyes, and for just a split second I had it.” At some point, we all searched for that moment. And maybe our moment came with the Parade of Hope.
The Parade of Hope deserves caps because it was truly heaven in the deepest depths of hell. I feel confident in reporting on this experience, because I, myself was merely a humble observer. While John and Levi provided inspiring tunes, clowns grabbed hands and formed a large circle of joy and laughter. Dancing in a circle, I witnessed young children reclaim their right to joy and happiness. I also saw the flickers of hope in each clown’s eyes, that they may have seen our wanderers’ souls return. It was truly a divine moment. I was able to wander off a bit, hoping to draw some wallflowers into the beautiful swirl of color. I met two brothers, each with reluctant eyes, but with curious smiles. I shared some bubbles, and dispersed stickers. The stickers were a big hit, and I got to know Mom a bit. She was obviously struggling to make a better life for her sons, and seemed to appreciate a break from the monotony. What says anti-monotony better than a barrage of multi-colored crazies?
The time finally arrived when we had to march on, and off we went, with our Parade of Hope, dancing through the mud. I recall happening upon a busy crossroads, my buddy in tow (yay Cara!) and made an Italiano friend that really wanted to dance with a clown. I’m not sure if she had a secret list of “things to do before you die” stashed away somewhere, with “dance with a clown” highlighted, but I didn’t have to try hard at all. She set out to dance with me, and it made my job way easier. Thank you Maria!
It was shortly after this point that we approached our final destination, the baloncesto court. For those of you also entering Spanish 101, “baloncesto” means basketball, and the Spanish version just sounds way cooler. We were nearing dehydration, treading on weary feet, and on we marched in the pursuit of more smiles. As we rounded the corner, a young boy dropped his jar, and immediately lapsed into rage. His lifeline was smashed, and the unthinkable would have to be repeated in order for him to acquire more. He took his hurt out on Bergman, feeling as though he was to blame because he had bumped into him. Clowns were able to carry on into the fenced courts, but somehow our mood changed. The sun beat down on us, and seemed to give the young wanderers a more aggressive spirit. We managed to be blessed with some more smiles, but felt the need to move on.
As we walked back to the clown loading dock, I saw some clown faces I don’t normally see. There were weary eyes, and bruised hearts. Empathy was bursting at the seams. In the company of friends (and with a little bit of privacy), we were able to support one another with hugs and encouragement. I saw tears. I felt sadness. I witnessed more confused faces. This day of clowning was difficult for many of us, but it will be with us forever. May it always dance through our memories as the day that Hope Paraded through the Alley of Death.
¡Besos!
Alison
March 9, 2009
The Alley of Death
I have been afforded the extreme pleasure of reflecting on our descent into Nicaragua’s inferno. While I am currently writing this at the latter portion of our day, the memories of this morning’s experience are freshly brewing in this ever increasingly expanding cranium. Clowning makes me feel smart, and kids loving on you makes your head grow infinitely larger, so hence the dome expansion. This bunch learned a lot this morning, and each step through hell somehow brought us closer to our own personal demons, and to each other. Each person’s experience is different, but today I’m sharing mine.
Upon our arrival to our clown loading dock (more formerly known as a dirt parking lot), we unloaded, and almost immediately, the confusion set in. Perhaps this was merely my own experience, being that I speak Spanish at the 101 level, but I recall seeing some perplexed faces. We were met by an eager man named Jose, who had an explicit addiction to glue. Clutching a gerber jar with cobbler’s glue in it, he proceeded to introduce himself to us, one by one. We knew that something was not okay with Jose. We felt prepared for this. We knew about the location. We knew that we would be meeting young folks just like him. Nothing could truly prepare us for what we were about to experience.
Lillian was a fantastic leader, and chose two wonderful guides named Ricardo and Bergman. Their friend Syd was also very helpful, and was quite informative on the street lifestyle. Do you know the type of person that does their job so good, they either make it look super easy, or you don’t realize they’re actually working? That’s these four. Thank goodness we had these wonderful sages to guide us into the treacherous abyss that was the alley of death. I am not sure we would have emerged intact if it were not for these people. I think I can speak for all of the clowns when I say that we are infinitely grateful.
My favorite thing to do (aside from being completely silly and crazy), was to approach the street vendors and give out hugs. I waved erratically, blew kisses, made silly faces, and sent good vibes all around. We had some scragglers (is that a word?), myself among them. At one point we adopted the buddy system, and it gave us great opportunities to twirl with support and watch out for mud holes. After a good long trek through the market, we squeezed into a small, dark, alley. When I say alley, I mean an evil labyrinth. Think David Bowie minus the fuzzy creatures and hilarious bad acting.
I have experienced sad situations. I have witnessed devastating poverty. This alley tops them all. When I looked into the eyes of my trusting wanderers, my heart pleaded for their souls. In the eyes of those children, I saw tremendous suffering. I saw a yearning for happiness being strangled by the power of addiction. I sometimes saw nothing. The power of the high overtook the will of their individuality. Their imaginations no longer functioned naturally. Their eyes only told me that their experience of what was going on was so different from my own, that I could not begin to comprehend it. My most humbling experience yet, came when we happened upon an addicted female, looking to be about five months pregnant. Her body was going through the unthinkable, supporting another life while simultaneously fighting the urge to sniff glue. Additionally, a suffering mother whose alcoholic and drug-addicted partner was unable to truly function as a father for her pint-sized four month old, who was visibly an addict, as well. As our kindhearted fellow clown, Chrissy, commented: “I searched for some acknowledgement in her eyes, and for just a split second I had it.” At some point, we all searched for that moment. And maybe our moment came with the Parade of Hope.
The Parade of Hope deserves caps because it was truly heaven in the deepest depths of hell. I feel confident in reporting on this experience, because I, myself was merely a humble observer. While John and Levi provided inspiring tunes, clowns grabbed hands and formed a large circle of joy and laughter. Dancing in a circle, I witnessed young children reclaim their right to joy and happiness. I also saw the flickers of hope in each clown’s eyes, that they may have seen our wanderers’ souls return. It was truly a divine moment. I was able to wander off a bit, hoping to draw some wallflowers into the beautiful swirl of color. I met two brothers, each with reluctant eyes, but with curious smiles. I shared some bubbles, and dispersed stickers. The stickers were a big hit, and I got to know Mom a bit. She was obviously struggling to make a better life for her sons, and seemed to appreciate a break from the monotony. What says anti-monotony better than a barrage of multi-colored crazies?
The time finally arrived when we had to march on, and off we went, with our Parade of Hope, dancing through the mud. I recall happening upon a busy crossroads, my buddy in tow (yay Cara!) and made an Italiano friend that really wanted to dance with a clown. I’m not sure if she had a secret list of “things to do before you die” stashed away somewhere, with “dance with a clown” highlighted, but I didn’t have to try hard at all. She set out to dance with me, and it made my job way easier. Thank you Maria!
It was shortly after this point that we approached our final destination, the baloncesto court. For those of you also entering Spanish 101, “baloncesto” means basketball, and the Spanish version just sounds way cooler. We were nearing dehydration, treading on weary feet, and on we marched in the pursuit of more smiles. As we rounded the corner, a young boy dropped his jar, and immediately lapsed into rage. His lifeline was smashed, and the unthinkable would have to be repeated in order for him to acquire more. He took his hurt out on Bergman, feeling as though he was to blame because he had bumped into him. Clowns were able to carry on into the fenced courts, but somehow our mood changed. The sun beat down on us, and seemed to give the young wanderers a more aggressive spirit. We managed to be blessed with some more smiles, but felt the need to move on.
As we walked back to the clown loading dock, I saw some clown faces I don’t normally see. There were weary eyes, and bruised hearts. Empathy was bursting at the seams. In the company of friends (and with a little bit of privacy), we were able to support one another with hugs and encouragement. I saw tears. I felt sadness. I witnessed more confused faces. This day of clowning was difficult for many of us, but it will be with us forever. May it always dance through our memories as the day that Hope Paraded through the Alley of Death.
¡Besos!
Alison
Sunday, March 8, 2009
i am blogging
Greetings all who are reading this! today was a really special day because it was our first clown day of the trip. and we went to two of the most difficult situations to clown in. New clowns are energized with adrenaline. Veterens are gleeful with anticipation. We were predictably and suddenly awakened by the giant barking dog at the crack of dawn and it made me happy that the first full day in Nicaragua was beginning so early. Levi made us a big batch of eggs for breakfast. They were delicious. We went to the prison first. Before we arrived at the prison we stopped at a gas station, for what i don't remember, but i do remember that Crissy and Sara escaped from the van and ran to a pickup truck that had a family loitering in the shade. The children were curious until clowns ran full force towards them and scared them into the protective shadows behind the truck. Before we left the girls had charmed them back out with bubbles and the promises of play. It was too short of a stop.
The women's prison was intense in that way that possibly dangerous situations always are. Theres always that possibility something can go wrong and violence will occur, but our clowns didn't look like they had danger on their minds once the women came into the gathering room where we were waiting. The new clowns gained mucho clown respect today. They threw themselves into play and improvisation. It was an insane free for all with most of the women sitting and only getting out of their plastic chairs when a clown coerced or begged them out of them. So many open faces sitting in the front and interacting....so many caught wild animal eyes peeking from the protective spaces in the back of the room. It was one big dance party, with the accordian at first, but then my father abandoned the accordian for the red nose paint and painted all but two womens' noses in the room. Sara was an insatiable vat of energy and strangeness, she fell into my line of vision only when she was writhing on the floor or jumping on someone's lap. Incredible. The children were sitting in the front of the room and were both shy and excited to play. When we had the long line of pairs dancing up and down the hall to merengue and salsa, a small boy weaved back and forth through the legs of dancers, freely enjoying the party. Kristen performed feats of bendability and lithe acrobatics. the onlookers gleefully applauded. Ben did some strange flexible movements on the ground that looked painful but he was spry and dancing moments after. The echos of Ashley's laugh rang out often. levi wore a dress and didnt even look an ounce woman. Allison was a dog, a cat, and a bird and they found it hilarious.
The middle of the day was hot enough to take a nap, but then we woke up sweating through our sheets and more dehydrated and sticky than before we slept.
The afternoon gig was to a women's free *aka poor* hospital. We went to gynecology oncology ward and the ward for women who just had babies. The new clowns gave feedback of the afternoon as both heartwarmingly silly and eye openingly sad. There is a room with bald women who have painful cancer that had palpable pain energy and thick sadness. The new clowns knew they didnt feel comfortable in that space and the veterens recognized why. It was, i think, that first taste of poverty and pain together. We were faced with human suffering today and i am so glad that we talked about it as a group tonight. The more structure we have in dealing with the feelings that rise up after these experiences, the more understanding of ourselves we are. It is comforting to hear your own feelings of doubt, despair, and joy echoed in your peers, your clown family, the ones you share close living quarters with and hear the sleeping breaths of. Human contact, human comfort, human interection. Theres nothing like the exploration of the clown self in the world. I should say more of today, but I feel as though I have said enough for now. I love clown trips. I am so thankful to be alive. I am ready for our adventure tomorrow. Today is International Woman Day. Viva la blue hair mujer.
The women's prison was intense in that way that possibly dangerous situations always are. Theres always that possibility something can go wrong and violence will occur, but our clowns didn't look like they had danger on their minds once the women came into the gathering room where we were waiting. The new clowns gained mucho clown respect today. They threw themselves into play and improvisation. It was an insane free for all with most of the women sitting and only getting out of their plastic chairs when a clown coerced or begged them out of them. So many open faces sitting in the front and interacting....so many caught wild animal eyes peeking from the protective spaces in the back of the room. It was one big dance party, with the accordian at first, but then my father abandoned the accordian for the red nose paint and painted all but two womens' noses in the room. Sara was an insatiable vat of energy and strangeness, she fell into my line of vision only when she was writhing on the floor or jumping on someone's lap. Incredible. The children were sitting in the front of the room and were both shy and excited to play. When we had the long line of pairs dancing up and down the hall to merengue and salsa, a small boy weaved back and forth through the legs of dancers, freely enjoying the party. Kristen performed feats of bendability and lithe acrobatics. the onlookers gleefully applauded. Ben did some strange flexible movements on the ground that looked painful but he was spry and dancing moments after. The echos of Ashley's laugh rang out often. levi wore a dress and didnt even look an ounce woman. Allison was a dog, a cat, and a bird and they found it hilarious.
The middle of the day was hot enough to take a nap, but then we woke up sweating through our sheets and more dehydrated and sticky than before we slept.
The afternoon gig was to a women's free *aka poor* hospital. We went to gynecology oncology ward and the ward for women who just had babies. The new clowns gave feedback of the afternoon as both heartwarmingly silly and eye openingly sad. There is a room with bald women who have painful cancer that had palpable pain energy and thick sadness. The new clowns knew they didnt feel comfortable in that space and the veterens recognized why. It was, i think, that first taste of poverty and pain together. We were faced with human suffering today and i am so glad that we talked about it as a group tonight. The more structure we have in dealing with the feelings that rise up after these experiences, the more understanding of ourselves we are. It is comforting to hear your own feelings of doubt, despair, and joy echoed in your peers, your clown family, the ones you share close living quarters with and hear the sleeping breaths of. Human contact, human comfort, human interection. Theres nothing like the exploration of the clown self in the world. I should say more of today, but I feel as though I have said enough for now. I love clown trips. I am so thankful to be alive. I am ready for our adventure tomorrow. Today is International Woman Day. Viva la blue hair mujer.
Sunday Mornin' at the Women's Prison
Hello!,
After our first sweaty clowning experience we had two casualties, a stolen clown nose and an orange monkey with a disfigured tail. Ironically enough our first clown gig was at a womens prison. The last time I was out of the U.S. it was when I was fleeing from an El Salvadorian prison. The difference being, before I was commited and now I was just visiting. Congo Line after congo line, bubba teeth, dance parties, flipping, hopping, schwooping, live music, bubble blowing, hugging, painting, and feather dusting about sums it up Wheeew it was hott. ... I'm at a loss for words at the moment. The women convicted in this prison were mostly there for theft, prostitution, and drugs. Poverty has led them there, in a place where stealing can be seen as an oppurtunity. When these women came in the large hall they acted like prisoners, and when they left they were party animals. Hootn N' Hollern', laughing, clapping, they were transformed in about an hour. Pretty amazing...
After our first sweaty clowning experience we had two casualties, a stolen clown nose and an orange monkey with a disfigured tail. Ironically enough our first clown gig was at a womens prison. The last time I was out of the U.S. it was when I was fleeing from an El Salvadorian prison. The difference being, before I was commited and now I was just visiting. Congo Line after congo line, bubba teeth, dance parties, flipping, hopping, schwooping, live music, bubble blowing, hugging, painting, and feather dusting about sums it up Wheeew it was hott. ... I'm at a loss for words at the moment. The women convicted in this prison were mostly there for theft, prostitution, and drugs. Poverty has led them there, in a place where stealing can be seen as an oppurtunity. When these women came in the large hall they acted like prisoners, and when they left they were party animals. Hootn N' Hollern', laughing, clapping, they were transformed in about an hour. Pretty amazing...
Saturday, March 7, 2009
I am the gecko on the wall...
It's winter in Nicaragua, the season of no rain, a lot of wind and dust and temperatures in the low 90's. This means that the usual sensual verdancy is resting, getting ready to burst into incredible greenness and fecundity. In about 2 months. So, it feels like a long time coming and we simply endure, one day at at time.
Santiago, Managua's volcano, puffs some smoke into the air, adding to the diesel fumes and the smell of local garbage burning.
One good thing about this month: it's the beginning of mango season. Mangoes are easily the best fruit on earth. Nicaragua also offers some of the best coffee on earth and certainly the best rum on earth. And those small, spicy bananas are readilyavailable, too. Along with the watermelons, papayas, mandarin oranges, red grapefruit and a whole lot of other wonderful fruits.
So, I hope the clowns will eat fruit, drink coffee and rum and enjoy their time making Nicas of all kinds laugh through their pain.
Santiago, Managua's volcano, puffs some smoke into the air, adding to the diesel fumes and the smell of local garbage burning.
One good thing about this month: it's the beginning of mango season. Mangoes are easily the best fruit on earth. Nicaragua also offers some of the best coffee on earth and certainly the best rum on earth. And those small, spicy bananas are readilyavailable, too. Along with the watermelons, papayas, mandarin oranges, red grapefruit and a whole lot of other wonderful fruits.
So, I hope the clowns will eat fruit, drink coffee and rum and enjoy their time making Nicas of all kinds laugh through their pain.
Managua
4 hours later the blog is finally figured out! Yeah Levi. Not an easy task in the tropics. The 95 degree temperatures have saturated our WI and NC brains. Managua is a city of many people. Pueblos are wrapped in barbed wire topped cement bars. Families sit behind steel chicken wire eating, reading and playing. Careful... the wash water gets thrown out on the streets.
The beautiful lake is polluted in layers. Some eat the fish to survive. They don't worry about the cancer they may get in 20 years... they have to live through the night. Beggars of every age sell their goods on street corners. Some elderly, some in diapers. Many alone. Children walk with blank stares, their glue sniffing has quieted their fears.
The Quaker house is a safe haven. Lillian, her son Trevor and Lilly are delightful people. They are acutely alive as death and life play out in full color all around them. Living here is intense. The rest for your soul must come from within.
Flowering bushes mingle with dried up branches of once green trees. Roosters crow. Dogs bark. Sirens blare. Street vendors yell. The scent of dust permeates every pore. One thing remains constant. The people have beautiful smiles. Dark hair, dark eyes and beautiful smiles. I am blessed to be here in Nicaragua.
The beautiful lake is polluted in layers. Some eat the fish to survive. They don't worry about the cancer they may get in 20 years... they have to live through the night. Beggars of every age sell their goods on street corners. Some elderly, some in diapers. Many alone. Children walk with blank stares, their glue sniffing has quieted their fears.
The Quaker house is a safe haven. Lillian, her son Trevor and Lilly are delightful people. They are acutely alive as death and life play out in full color all around them. Living here is intense. The rest for your soul must come from within.
Flowering bushes mingle with dried up branches of once green trees. Roosters crow. Dogs bark. Sirens blare. Street vendors yell. The scent of dust permeates every pore. One thing remains constant. The people have beautiful smiles. Dark hair, dark eyes and beautiful smiles. I am blessed to be here in Nicaragua.
Clowning in Nicaragua Mar., 2009
Hello,
I am Here!
NICARAGUA!!!
Already the cab driver took me to the wrong hostel.
The streets have no names.
My poor excuse for Spanish has been acquired over time, The majority of it comes from vacationing in an El Salvadorian Prison.
Chrissy and I are Here waiting patiently. Already ate some chicken from a little cafe on the sidestreets. Living Dangerous! Exciting! Clogged the toilet this morning...Yikes!!!
I am Here!
NICARAGUA!!!
Already the cab driver took me to the wrong hostel.
The streets have no names.
My poor excuse for Spanish has been acquired over time, The majority of it comes from vacationing in an El Salvadorian Prison.
Chrissy and I are Here waiting patiently. Already ate some chicken from a little cafe on the sidestreets. Living Dangerous! Exciting! Clogged the toilet this morning...Yikes!!!
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)