Two School Girls

I feel as if I am in another time, seated behind Mayra and Doña María Riso on the school bus. I ask myself how long they have known each other, and imagine them as two girls on their way to class on the bus, placing them both in a childhood memory neither of them possess. They carefully peel the orange-green skin off the piguiballe they are sharing, a small fibrous, bready fruit that in season and for sale in plastic bags on every street corner. In their laps, each carries a bundle of onions, freshly picked and still covered with earth, a secondhand mop, household necessities in a recycled plastic bag. Their conversations and their silences are pregnant with an unspoken confianza; they could be discussing anything, from the weather, to the coming harvest, to the cooperative of which they are president and vise-president, to their own and their community member’s lives and children. They are at once innocent, comforting, grounded, tried but not hardened, wise but not schooled, and infinitely humble. They are women who have lost children and family members to war, disease, poverty, who never graduated elementary school (or perhaps even began it), but who can cure stomach ailments with plants from their backyards, and who run families, farms and communities according to theories of deliberative democracy, solidarity, inclusion, and progress without need of an academic framework or vocabulary. They are soft and eternal, the image of mothers and caretakers, in bodies and histories that show them to occupy those identities as only a small part of their multi-faceted selves. They are foundations and pillars of strength, whose always genuine smiles make you feel that despite poverty and consistent 20 hour days, they will salir adelante, everything will be alright, and they would love it if you would come and stay with them along the way.

Today I witnessed these women shining in the act of moving their communities forward, taking advantage of new opportunities, resources, and contacts. We spent the day at a meeting of the directive boards of the 21 groups of GMAS (Groups of Women in Solidary Savings). The 50 or so participants come from communities all over northern Nicaragua; in all of these communities Cecocafen has a presence. The purpose of the groups, which are backed by Cecocafen and an International NGO CoffeeKids, is to provide women with economic opportunities through creating joint credit programs. In addition, these groups get women out of the house, meeting each other, and engaged in active economic activity which increases family income as well as women’s economic independence.

The purpose of today’s meeting was to go over the bylaws that are being created. I sat in a group of nine women, going over the seven page proposal document. I sat amazed. These women, many of whom have had no official schooling and most of whom didn’t finish elementary school, were arguing about interest rates, capitalization, international exchange rates, and their rights to borrow. They were debating what was in their interest, their communities interests, what things should be left up to individual group bylaws, and what should be included for all. One could see, as the conversation continued, some of the more timid women beginning to speak up, encouraged by the confidence of those more outspoken. This is really what empowering individuals to make their own decisions and destinies looks like, and I feel so privileged to get a peek at it. An interesting, inspiring and productive day, both for these women as community leaders and organizers, and for me, as a mere bystander.

Now, sitting in the last seat on the bus, I feel that I have a unique view, a window into a world full of pain, poverty, and want, but bursting with goodwill, generosity, hospitality and power. The bus is full of people who know each other, who are cousins or siblings or neighbors, helping to pass up or down hundred pound sacks of cucumbers, or crates of eggs, or a new coffee depulper, brought on the bus over the muddy highway from simple wood and mud homes to markets in Matagalpa and back again. All the while, looking well-kempt in their knee-length skirts, their dark hair pulled back in identical loose buns, Mayra and María smile and continue their quiet conversation, integral parts of the bustling but slow-paced world that revolves the way it does around and because of people like them.