August 1, 2002

On one of my first days in Raizal, I went door to door to introduce myself to the community. I'd like to share with you some of the surprisingly open comments that I heard: "Here in Raizal, we are too poor to offer our children much. The only thing we can hope to give them is an education, and we can't even do that because we don't have a school." "I would do anything for my kids to have an education, but it's not safe for the younger ones to walk to the school in Chinandega, and I can't afford to pay for their transportation. Three out of the five have to stay home." "We want a school for our kids with teachers that know us and can understand what situation these kids are coming from."

Well, in the weeks following, the community demonstrated its dedication to these inspiring words by contributing an average of 10 workers during each day of nearly 500 hours of construction. The resulting school was impressively completed in just over two months and held its first day of classes on Monday!

The community is rightly proud of their work and prepared a memorable ceremony last week to inaugurate the school. Full of gracious and stirring speeches, it was an impressive tribute to the importance of education. In a touching exchange, a group of U.S. high school students participating in BwB's two-week Trek for Knowledge presented the community with a home-sewn cloth mural commemorating the new school and celebrating the cooperation involved in its construction. Of course interspersed throughout were dance acts from Raizal, music, snacks and piņatas. Befitting this quirky country, they rounded off the ceremony by playing a traditional game involving a duck with a greased head. Quacking and flapping, the thing is hung feet first from a tree in the middle of a field while men line up on horseback about 100 meters away. The game ends when one of these men successfully gallops past and pulls the head off the bird. It's not hard to guess what the winner gets for dinner, eh?

A whole season has turned since my arrival in Raizal. These days when I make my rounds, people affectionately call out to me using one of the four or five nicknames I have acquired; the kids run from their house to say hello, receive a high five, or hold my hand; and even the most suspicious dogs show me affection (or at least know where to get a quick snack). It saddens me to leave. At the same time, I know now that those non-enrolled kids who had time to run out and greet me at 10am are presently sitting in a classroom at that hour. The prospect of helping to make similar changes elsewhere gives me the perspective and courage to move on.

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