“Chicas! Desayuno!” Natalie and I walk out of our room after a cold shower and getting ready in our small, simple room. We sit at the table with a breakfast of gallo pinto (beans and rice), fried plantains, bread, eggs, sweet bread, coffee, and juice. Our host mother wishes us “buen probecho” as she kisses our cheeks. After breakfast we leave for school. “Adios, mi amor” our host mother tells each of us. In the afternoon we return to our family. As soon as we’re in the door the children run to us, eager for hugs. We spend time talking with our family, playing Uno, and entertaining the kids’ curiosity as we try to finish our homework before bed.
I am living in Managua, Nicaragua, the most impoverished country in Central America, for the next five weeks. I live with another student, Natalie, in the home of an astoundingly beautiful family. Living in our home are our host parents, Marta and Leonardo, their son, Leon, along with his wife and three children, Leo-8, Jose Andres-5, and Lupita-3. Marta and Leonardo also have a daughter who lives in the same neighborhood and a daughter getting her medical degree in Cuba.
After dinner one night Marta and Leonardo reminisce about their humble roots and how they overcame this obstacle to get an education. Each of them studied through secondary school and beyond. Marta continued with community education and Leonardo finished nursing school. As we talk about our histories, my host parents display pleased grins when sharing about their work with the National Literacy Campaign.
These proud parents love to boast about the accomplishments of their children. All three of them attended university. Now their oldest daughter, Lucy, went to works for DHL, Queyla received enough scholarships to study medicine and is now becoming a cardiologist, and Leon is currently finishing university as well as working as a supervisor at the Mercedes Bendz car dealership.
After dinner the adults spend time studying with the children. Leo recites information for his next exam, Andres practices his alphabet, and Lupita writes her numbers, each of them eager to share with us what they know. I can’t tell you how many times I have yelled out letters and numbers shown to me by the kids or how many words I have written for them to practice writing, each time they come back pointing yelling proudly, “Mira! Mira!”
As I study each night, shrieks of laughter seep through the walls as Leonardo or Leon play with the children. Of the families I have been a part of during my time here, this family is the most outwardly caring. As Leonardo speaks in a high-pitched voice, teasing his granddaughter, Lupita screams in delight, “Ay! Papa Abuelo!” a term of endearment. Every time I, or another family member leaves the home or goes to bed there is a mandatory round of hugs and kisses. Marta also blesses me with the sign of the cross when I am about to embark on another Central American adventure.
It’s people like the Sandoval family that are the true salt of the earth and are an absolute inspiration to me.
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