Over the 14 months I’ve been in Nicaragua, my camera has captured many parts of my experience hear. Bright colors, noises, odors; the activity at the Cultural Center of Batahola Norte. I continue learning more about photography, bit by bit, but still have shyness about carrying my camera everywhere I go. Partly, I don’t want to offend people I don’t know, and secondly, it’s not always the safest idea to whip out an expensive device.
While I continue trying to display the various sides of Nicaragua through photography, words fill in the spaces that are lacking.
In one evening walk across my barrio to a friend’s house, I saw:
– A grandfather, wearing slacks and a white undershirt, sits in an open doorway, cradling a baby to sleep with the gentle sway of his rocking chair.
– Music fills the evening air–familiar reggaeton songs from the radio. Someone sings along with the chorus. An enthusiastic church gathering–alleluias belted across the street. A drum set and bass guitar hold down the flying voices. Further along, folkloric melodies gather a family together. A teenage boy stands, back to the street, playing his marimba on the sidewalk.
– Street dogs of all sizes and shapes. Chickens trying to escape from their roost.
– A family of five miraculously fits on one motorcycle, baby and kids squished in between the adults.
– A woman walks down the road in a white frilly apron, towel on head, and large plastic tub balanced on top. She walks smoothly, careful not to trip. Her face is tired after a full day selling her food. Hasta mañana, when she’ll start again.