Nicaraguan Blackout Survival Guide

When faced with a blackout in The Middle of Nowhere, Nicaragua, there are a few things one might want to remember.

1. Wear shoes in the house because you won’t be able to see the scorpians.
2. Use the hours of daylight wisely. Light is a precious thing to waste.
3. Don’t be afraid of the silence. To quote Will Rogers, “Never miss a good chance to shut up.”

During the last five days in the Nicaraguan campo I have surrounded myself with the deepest silence I’ve ever known. The morning of day six, a Wednesday, my day off from teaching teenagers the complex art of the great English Language, I took a seat on the commode, closing my eyes back into dream state when I heard a strange sound. It was a sort of buzzing, like a storm of angry flies hovering over the same doomed spot, a current of a raging hum that refused to cease. For a few confused seconds I was scared, threatened by this invasive racket during the earliest hours of my morning peace here, alone, in a volunteer house that had been unresponsive to the marvel of electricity for a full five days.  I poked my head out of my bedroom door to find a miracle, perched on the wall between two sets of windows, one overlooking a field of yucca and another humbly accepting the view of the great Volcan Mumbacho, was a small fan, blasting the breeze into my face with such a merry force it was almost as if it had missed being able to oscillate as much as I had missed it oscillating! I felt a great surge of excitement for here was the power I had been needing since that distant Friday night when the lights went out as I was in a dull state of comatose watching some unremarkable television show. I looked around into the darkness, realized that it was time to bring out the set of unopened flashlights my mother had bought for me before I came, and decided to deal with the conditions as best I could.

Now, you must understand that this is not an uncommon thing to happen in Nicaragua. Lights, water, internet will shut off for no particular reason at any time of the day or night for God knows how long. While living in Granada I experienced my fair share of showering in the dark, strategically placing a flashlight to maximize the reach of the light so I might see if all the dirt from the day had indeed been washed off. I have lived for days and weeks without internet connecting, giving up the luxury of watching a movie in bed before I fall asleep. I was familiar with the sensation of coming home from a long ride on the bus after accidentally touching that mysterious gelatinous substance on the seat beside you, and turning on your bathroom sink to feel the sweet relief of cleanliness that you can only respect in a developing country, and having my heart broken to find not a drop of water spill from the spout. So I wasn’t surprised or anxious when the electricity went off in my small house in my rural town, I figured it would come on when it came on, and I would just have to wait. Until then I finished watching my television show, brushed my teeth and went to bed. The next day, a Saturday, with no obligations or specific reasons to leave the house, I decided to in fact stay put for a while, seeing if I could occupy myself with a dead computer, dead phone, no light save the sun, no refrigeration, microwave, toaster, or coffee pot, and no music. I read my book. I wrote a bit. I thought. When the sun was out I did things around the house like sweep the bugs off the floor or mop up the water melting out of the refrigerator. I made meals for myself using the gas stove, the only appliance that still worked. I looked out the windows at the vastness of the sky, relishing that feeling of solitude you get when you cannot see a single building in all directions. Around 4:30 or 5:00 I prepared dinner and did all the things I had to do before the sun set, and darkness fell upon the house. I changed clothes, took a shower, placed the flashlights where I would find them, and watched the sunset until there was nothing more to be seen. When no more light could creep through the windows, I closed the shutters, turned on a few flashlights, and sat around in the dark. I was completely alone but not at all lonely. I wouldn’t have asked anyone in the world to share that night with me, or come keep me company, I didn’t wish for a movie or music to fill the silence that I used to be so afraid of. I balanced a flashlight on the curve of my neck and finished the book I was reading, then started another one. When I got tired I got into bed and listened. I cannot remember the last time I went to sleep without a movie on, some music playing, a fan humming in the background, anything to keep me from actually listening. But that night I heard every cricket chirp, branches snapping, leaves cuddling, distant cries from faraway neighbors, cows calling out goodnight, I listened to it all. I was asleep by 8:00.

The next day was Sunday. Everyday I have the option of leaving my little town of Diriomo to travel the 35 minutes it takes to reach Granada by bus. I woke up with the plan of going into Granada to charge up some appliances, get a good meal, and come back home before dark, but instead I just sat. I was having trouble pulling myself away from my own silence. At this point I hadn’t said a word in more than 24 hours and I was thoroughly enjoying the conversation going on in my own head. The thought of taking a bus full of people to sit in a cafe full of people then take a bus full of people home sounded unappealing and silly when I had a whole house of peace all to myself. So I read my book. I wrote a bit. I thought. I made a meal for myself and did some things around the house. I placed the flashlights where I could find them and I finished another book. I went to bed and remember thinking that this is where all the activity of the day really accumulates, right here in bed, in my head. I thought with such fervor I wore myself out. I talked to myself, to friends and family, to God, to my deceased cat and grandmother. I thought about my place in the world, I asked myself a lot of questions.

Why am I important?

Who am I meant to serve?

Where should I study?

What should I study?

What should I pay to study?

Why don’t I take things seriously?

How can I appreciate the present?

How can I get closer to God?

Why do I stay when everyone leaves?

What does it take to make me emotional?

How did I get so calm?

What do I really need to be happy?

Why do I trust some people but not others?

What should I eat for breakfast in the morning?

While few of those questions came with satisfying answers, I felt some weight lift off me, like I finally had the balls to ask the hard questions despite my ego, pride, or shame, and now I could find a bit of peace with myself. It was my weekend of solitude, my respite from the world, my breath of clean air, my time to recharge my batteries. Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about my time here in Nicaragua, and what I should do when it ends. It is when this big choice comes and looks me in the face that I remember why life is such a challenge. There are a million different choices I could make, I just need to arrive at the one that is already destined to happen.  I could easily say I am going to Malawi, Africa next year, or maybe I am going to finish college at The University of Washington, maybe I am going home to Chicago to start my community development initiative. The amazing part about it all is, the choice is all mine, I get to choose, just as I chose to stay in a house with no light. It was revitalizing for me to remember that a choice that may seem absurdly impossible or radical like moving to Nicaragua or choosing to live in premodern conditions will sink into a truly beautiful experience. It is even more exciting to realize that it wasn’t the conditions that changed and became easier to handle, it was me that grew stronger, more adaptable and confident to face any given situation. Monday and Tuesday had no power either, those days were easy as pie. I walked to my school, taught classes in the morning, delivered the school’s organic produce to a few restaurants in Granada in the  afternoon, came back to my house at night to keep myself company. My final night in darkness I had a computer full of juice, charged during my trip to Granada, and I chose not to use it, because what a waste of precious time. Precious, precious time.