Life and death in the Barrios

I hear the Taxi’s horn behind me and stick out my arm to wave it down. It pulls up behind me; an old Toyota, one of the many that comprise the fleet of well-used, beat-up cars that serve as collective Taxis. I stick my head through the passenger side window. “INPRHU?” I ask questioningly. TheContinue reading “Life and death in the Barrios”

Semana Santa in Bluefields

“How much longer?” my dad asks next to me, his voice sounding slightly pained. I look over at him, wondering if he is talking in his sleep or just resting his eyes. He is jammed up against the window of the bus, trying, I suppose, to get some relief from the overwhelming humid heat insideContinue reading “Semana Santa in Bluefields”

Let’s (not) talk about sex, baby

I knock again on the door, more firmly this time. “Bueeeenas,” I call through the chipped blue door. I hear a creak from inside and move to the window. The top glass pellet is missing and I peer through the dust and smoke filling the inside of the room to where I see a shufflingContinue reading “Let’s (not) talk about sex, baby”

Be gentle on my curves

“Do you want some tea?” My dad asks. We are sitting in the large kitchen of one of the nunneries, the young novice looking with controlled curiosity at her unlikely guests. My dad is giving me that slight michevious there-is-something-more-to-this-question look and at my prodding mentions, “it’s Tibetan tea”. I still don’t actually know what it meansContinue reading “Be gentle on my curves”

Religious Fascism and Chubby Babies

“I wish everyone on this bus could just get off! “ Arthi, my Indian-Malaysian friend groans at me from the side. I look at her, stuck in the middle of three seats on a rickety old Bus, in the middle of the desert in Andhra Pradesh, the sweat rolling down her cheeks, her face flushed.Continue reading “Religious Fascism and Chubby Babies”