Un Otro Mundo...

Poverty in Nicaragua is much more widespread than it is in Costa Rica. I spent the day in Candelaria, a tiny village near Chichigalpa. I went with a group of humanitarian workers from the U.S. who live in Leon and spend almost ever day in Candelaria with the villagers. They are in the process of building a medical clinic and a soup kitchen, and they have a two-acre garden where they train villagers to grow produce for the village. Even though the growing conditions in Nicaragua are so good, the people have no knowledge of how to plant or maintain a garden. Their staple food is rice and beans, which forms a good protein but does not provide the body with enough nutrients.

Opportunities here are even more limited than in Costa Rica. None of the women are educated, but then, the men aren't, either. Most of them never even leave the village, so they have little idea of what even exists outside of their world.

...Nicaragua...

Getting a Nicaraguan stamp in my passport was more difficult than I anticipated. I was swindled by a money changer and attacked by a drug dog... but it's a very nice stamp.

I was standing in line at customs when a drug dog appeared out of nowhere and lunged at my backpack, clawing at it with his paws. Two members of the Nicaraguan drug police force pulled me aside and dumped the entire contents of my bag, only to have to try and fit it all back in again. I am not, of course, a drug smuggler, but it would seem, from my limited experience, that the Nicaraguan police force--or at least, the border patrol--takes things more seriously than do their Costa Rican counterparts.

I arrived in Leon, the second largest city in Nicaragua, in time for the festival celebrating Nicaragua's freedom and revolutionist Daniel Ortega. Throngs of people were gathered in the town square singing and waving flags. A thick cloud of smoke hung over the square from fireworks and cannons. The celebration lasted for hours... I never saw such a large display of patriotism in Costa Rica, probably just because I wasn't there at the right time. But after only a short time here, I would say that the difference between Nicaragua and Costa Rica is quite distinct.

Cultura Roja

On my way to an assignment the other day, my taxi driver pulled me from my daydreams to alert me to the fact that we were driving through the red light district. "Never come here," he said. "Never even step outside of a car here."

I have been to the red light districts in most of the countries I have been to, but this one will definitely stand out in my memory. Prostitution is huge in Costa Rica since it is legal, especially among gay transvestites. But on this particular street, the prostitutes were middle-aged women whose bodies were ruined by drugs and years of selling themselves. It was the middle of the day, but they still lined the street, many of them strung-out and leaning up against buildings looking like they could hardly stay on their feet. There was nothing sensual or attractive about them, just the hard cruelties of life portrayed on their skin and in their eyes.

I was talking to someone about the area, and was told that in some places you can see men of all ages lined up to wait for their girlfriends or wives to "get off work." I couldn't believe this--what type of man would allow his wife or girlfriend to sell her body as her daily work? This seems to go against the "protective" and "territorial" nature of men, especially the overly-jealous Costa Rican men.

A Woman is a Woman, No Matter the Clothes...

Last night, camera in tow, I attended my first Spanish language play. The play, called “Entre Nos” (between us), was an hour-long dialogue between two women who happened to sit by each other in a park. One was a homemaker and mother of two boys, looking bedraggled and tired in a worn mumu and large, coke-bottle glasses. The other was a short-tempered, haughty, and stressed-out business woman dressed in a suit that seemed more like a straight jacket. The crux of the play was the realization by both women of the many things they had in common: hobbies, concerns, their sex lives, etc. In the beginning of the play, the business woman very blatantly looked down upon the homemaker as not having a “real” job and being out of touch with the times. But as the play continued, it became obvious that she was near the point of a nervous breakdown and that deep down, she was not all that different from the homemaker in her sloppy clothes.

I found it very fascinating how both women were portrayed. The one seemed to be a ditzy, “simple” woman with no life outside of her husband and children. The other character, her opposite, was portrayed as a woman trying her hardest to fit into a man’s world and failing miserably because in actuality, she was no different from the housewife: she was a woman.

The play was humorous and garnered lots of laughs from the audience, but held a distinct message beneath the comedy—that of the role of women in Costa Rican society. The role of the housewife was looked down upon and subject to some mockery, however the role of the business woman was also treated with mockery, as that of someone trying to enter a world where they do not belong. The things that these women had in common—their concerns about their health, body image, and sexual relationships—bound them to their femininity and prevented them from being able to fully succeed in the men’s world, even if they tried, as the business woman did.

I left the theater wondering whether any of the Tica women felt debased.

Macha...

I spent this morning sitting in the Legislative Assembly in a long row of all-male Costa Rican journalists looking through a glass panel into a room where a woman was supposed to testify before the council. Needless to say, I stood out, and the press pass hanging around my neck received a lot of curious scrutiny. As I work as a photojournalist in the city, I have gradually begun to recognize familiar faces among the “prensa” (press) at the various press conferences and events I cover. There are two female photographers that I frequently see and, of course, the TV reporters always have pretty female faces along to stand in front of the camera, but the majority of journalists seem to be older men with reporters’ vests, old-fashioned notebooks, and facial hair.


In Costa Rica, journalism is still a male-dominated field. Which is why, perhaps, I am so frequently called “little blonde girl” and subject to great scrutiny.

Piropos

Walking down the street to the sound of hissing is not something I am accustomed to experiencing in the U.S. But in Costa Rica, it is a daily occurrence

Soon after arriving in San Jose, I learned the meaning of "Piropos." The word comes from an old tradition when people would walk around the city in the evenings, the men and women going in opposite directions. The men would try to come up with clever sayings to say to the girls they were trying to impress. Today, they are basically pick-up lines muttered by Ticos to women in passing. Some are flattering, others are insulting, and many are just crude.

My first assumption was that if my experiences on the street were shared by Costa Rican women, they must be annoyed every time they set foot outside of the house. But I've found that you eventually get used to it and it becomes a part of the other background noise... cars honking, vendors yelling, etc. And from talking to women down here, it seems to be something that is almost expected. I've had women tell me that if they leave Costa Rica and go to the U.S., they feel like something must be wrong with them because of the lack of hissing, catcalls, and piropos. They are made to feel ugly by the silence.

Mi Ojo de Vidrio...

I am, occasionally, a klutz. Not because of anything to do with my hair color, but because my mind is so often elsewhere. But it's always in important places so I don't consider this a bad thing... although it does make my life somewhat challenging at times.

Like last week, for example, when I fell into a hole.

Or yesterday, when I collided with someone and fell into a bush.

Or today, when I spilled ammonia in my eye and nearly lost my eyesight. At least, it felt like I did. The fact that ammonia was in such close proximity to my eye is in itself a slight cause for concern, but it's a widely-accepted fact that extreme boredom can result in slightly irrational behavior.

But back to my eye... Think of what it feels like to get shampoo in your eye. Now multiply that times 1000. That's what it feels like to get ammonia in your eye. The result of my klutziness didn't feel good, but at least it looks pretty. It left me with an "ojo de vidrio" (eye of glass). It's bright red and has a sort of sheen to it, like when you have a high fever.

And not only do I have a pretty ojo de vidrio, but it's an ojo that is still capable of seeing the world. Que dicha!

Varying Degrees of Coldness

My transportation bill for the week thus far racks up to $85, an enormous sum considering that bus rides cost approximately 40 cents and taxi fares range from $2-5. But I've been all over this city--and back again--to cover doggy makeovers, construction sites, and everything in-between. Considering this, when I once again hailed a cab early this morning to head out to a neighborhood on the other side of the city where the rich folks live, I was tired, stressed, and not in the mood for another taxi-driver conversation, especially with this one, who was putting my life in danger by staring at me in the rear view mirror rather than the road. But he failed to pick up on that vibe--or more likely, didn't care--and, after ascertaining that I had a boyfriend, he launched into a dialogue about how Latin men (specifically Costa Rican men) are the most faithful men in the world. Not only this, but they are the best in bed, as he would be willing to prove to me if I wanted.

When I refused his offer, another dialogue commenced, this one complaining about how "cold" American women like myself are. "I tell you what type of lovers we are and offer to show you, and you don't even care," he said. "You are so cold!"

An hour later, I was sitting in the passenger seat of a car driven by a real estate agent I had just taken photos of for a story. She was a very gracious Tica woman and was going out of her way to help me by driving me to shoot a home for a different and unrelated assignment, thus saving me another unattractive taxi fare and conversation. Morning traffic in San Jose is insane, and when we stopped behind a long line of cars at a traffic light, a street vendor approached the car. Vendors that stand in the middle of the street and attempt to sell products to drivers are common here, but some make a little more of an impression than others. The man crouched down and stared in my window for a few seconds before leaning forward and kissing the glass, a prolonged and very wet kiss that left the full print of his lips on my window.

I was feeling a little awkward at that moment, being that I was in a complete stranger's car--a car that now had a detailed print of a set of lips on the window. He probably thought that my lack of response was exceedingly cold, and if so, he would be as misinformed as the taxi driver. And, in my opinion, both need to redefine their definition of coldness.

Love or Enslavement?

The 26th chapter of the book analyzes 5 popular Costa Rican love songs, all of which, according to the book, "uphold the myths about the womanly personalty--dependent, self-sacrificing, sentimental, and submissive--and about the loss of female identity."

Some of the lyrics are as follows: "He destroyed my soul, my being, then he left" ... "With my pure love I will protect you. It will be an honor for me to devote myself to you" ... "In my head, you are the only one, nobody else" ...

The book says that love differs between Costa Rican men vs. women. For men, it is just one more "activity" in life, whereas for women, it means the loss of her entire identity and her self as an individual.

I think that the truth of this varies greatly from situation to situation, however in general, I think it has some truth to it. I am living with a Costa Rican couple here in San Jose. The husband is a 48-year-old taxi driver, and the wife is a 53-year-old homemaker. They have been married almost 30 years... they are very religious, and seem to have a good relationship. From the day that I moved in here three weeks ago, I "assumed" that he was different than so many of the Tico men in that he was actually faithful and committed to the marriage. He is kind to his wife and occasionally helps with the housework, when he is actually home (his taxi job keeps him on the road at all hours.)

But today I found out that he has a 7-year-old son with another woman. Apparently, the relationship is an ongoing thing: he often is gone for several nights in a row, "working," and then works all day... there is only a certain amount of time a person can function well without sleep, and he is definitely no superman. It seems very obvious, yet so accepted... At first I was surprised that his wife has stayed with him, but as I thought about it more, I realized she doesn't really have a choice. She has no education, no money of her own, and no driver's license. She has three daughters and two grandchildren, and her entire life is devoted to her family. So she goes through life pretending that her husband isn't keeping two families simultaneously and spends her days cooking, cleaning, and then falling asleep in front of the TV. She rarely leaves the house, but has nothing to leave for. She has a family--a man that provides for her, and daughters--but without them, her life holds nothing.

Women in the Workforce

Working as a photojournalist in the city, I have the opportunity to visit and observe numerous businesses, organizations, and political offices. Although I know that there are women who hold high positions, I have not observed this. The women I have seen hold either secretarial or janitorial/housekeeping positions.

Today I went to the Casa Presidencial to photograph a press conference held by President Oscar Arias. A new telecom agreement was being signed, so a panel of several governmental figures--including Arias--was present. I was slightly surprised to note that there was not a single female among the group.

When I was working as a journalist in Washington D.C. last fall, I attended similar types of press conferences, and although men were normally the majority, there were almost always females as well.

I was discussing this with with Ana, the Costa Rican woman I live with, and she said that women are definitely an important part of the workforce--more than they ever have been before, although this is a relatively new development. One of the key things that she identified in enabling women to hold important positions is their ability to get a masters' degree.

Despite this, I think that the belief that women belong in the home is still somewhat common, especially in some areas. As Costa Rican feminist Eugenia Lopez-Casas writes, "To be a woman means housework... it is a woman's destiny." (The Costa Rican Women's Movement, Chapter 15)

Power and the Church

A major hindrance to the success of feminist goals--especially the fight for the right to vote, but continuing with modern issues--is the Catholic Church. Their vice-like grip over the minds of the people can be stronger, even, than the government's power.

I was discussing this with a fellow American who has lived in Costa Rica for a number of years, and one way that the church's opposition is seen today is in the area of sex education. This is also an example of how the church and the government can be at odds. While the government is advocating sex education in the schools in an effort to curb the growing rate of teenage pregnancies and STDs, the church stands in strong opposition to this. In a previous post, I mentioned the numerous teenage pregnancies I have observed in the city, and the number of young, single girls with children. This is what the government is trying to target by implementing sex education programs, however the church's hold over the country is presenting a problem, just as it did when women were fighting for the right to vote.

Feminism in Costa Rica... A Brief History

Feminism and the fight for equal rights had a slow beginning in Costa Rica. In its earliest days, it entailed women joining with men in protests to safeguard institutions from which only men would benefit. An example of a key woman who did this is Pancha Carrasco, who joined the Costa Rican army as a cook in 1856. Refusing to be bound to the limitations placed on women at that time, she left the kitchen to go into battle. She became a hero in the Battle of Rivas; however, no where is she mentioned in historical documents, although her heroic deeds were confirmed by veterans of the battle.

Pancha led the way to the birth of feminism that would, eventually, succeed in gaining more rights for women.

The right to vote came in 1949, after a long and hard battle fraught with numerous setbacks. Since that day, the feminist movement has focused on other goals, as is noted by Yadira Calvo Fajardo in the book, "The Costa Rican Women's Movement". Fajardo writes, "The goal is no longer one of voting or not voting. What we are insisting is that we shall make our mark, in whatever field we choose to do so."

Working as a blond-haired, blue-eyed girl in this country never gets boring. I have had the opportunity to work as a professional in both the United States and here, and I feel that I am viewed differently in both societies. Talking with other female colleagues in my Costa Rican newsroom, I have found that difficulties in getting good interviews with male Ticos is something we all share. Over lunch the other day, one reporter said, "I feel like I just can't get any good quotes out of them. Later I'll read something in another paper and think, 'Why wouldn't he say that to me?!'"

Something that I find odd--and rather annoying--is that when I'm on assignments, men frequently try to find me a seat. "Give the girl a chair. Let the girl sit down." I don't need to sit. In fact, I don't want to sit down. I'm a photographer--sitting in one place inhibits my ability to do my job.

The men are very friendly--sometimes overly so, taking opportunity to kiss me on the cheek, which is common in some Latin American countries, but not Costa Rica. But I never leave an assignment feeling that I was related to as a working professional. Occasionally if I am working with a male reporter, they assume that I am his girlfriend--despite the fact that I have a monster camera around my neck.

Things like this make me think that professional working women are not yet common enough here to be viewed as normal.

As my time in Costa Rica nears three weeks, I have made an observation that I find fascinating...

Although women have much greater freedom and rights now than they did in previous centuries, there seems to be a cloud from the past hanging over modern Tica women. The rate of teenage pregnancies is very high, and from what I have seen, a trend among Costa Rican girls seems to be to have one or two kids at a young age--with or without a father present in the home--and then "get started" with life, and whatever career that may or may not involve. There does not seem to be as much expectation for Tico men to be faithful or committed to a family and raising kids as there is in, say, the United States. I've heard from several people that fathers typically tell their sons, "You can't expect to sleep with every woman in the world...but you have to at least try." Growing up with this sort of chauvinistic mentality does not encourage young men to commit to a family, however Costa Rican women seem to accept this fact and make the best of it.

Strange Lands, Strange Tastes...

As I was walking down Avenida Central this morning, I stopped by a street-side vendor and bought a small bag of freshly-cut mangos for 300 colones (60 cents). The vendor pocketed the money and pointed to a bag of white powder, telling me to put it on the fruit I had just bought. “Necesitas sal,” he said. (You need salt.) I assured him that I did not want salt on my mangos, but he refused to hand over the bag until he had thoroughly doused the fruit with salt, insisting that I would like it. As I continued down the street, I reached to the bottom of the bag to find an unsalted slice. Unfortunately for my taste buds, the vendor had salted each layer of fruit as he filled the bag. The result was… mouth-puckering.

Pineapples and Professionalism

The screech of metal against metal rang in my ears as I flew like a bird through the rainforest, attached by a cable to lines that ran for several kilometers through the trees. Today was by far my coolest assignment yet. Two hours zip-lining through the rainforest under the hot tropical sun, and fresh pineapple and watermelon slices awaiting me when I got back to the park lodge to interview the guides and shoot a few last photos.

This assignment also provided an interesting glimpse into the Latin American culture and “machismo”…

Before embarking on the zip-line tour, I briefly interviewed a female receptionist about the business and the tours. “They are well-trained and very professional,” she said, referring to the male guides who led the zip-line tours to make sure that the tourists were securely fastened to the cables and to rescue anyone who got stuck between platforms (which occasionally happened to me, because of my light weight.) A short time later, I was standing with the reporter on a platform between zip-lines listening to one of the guides describe in great detail the beauty of a particular flower below us, and then compare it to the “superior” beauty of his penis. Regardless of the situation, they seem to have to flaunt their mascunlinity. Professionalism is subjective, I suppose, and when applied to Latin males, takes on an entirely new meaning...

Bienvenidos a Tico Land!

I stepped out of the airport and was engulfed in a wave of hot, sticky air. Blaring horns, screaming drivers and animated conversations blended into a cacophony of noise that sounded similar to what I expect a family of monkeys arguing in a rainforest to sound like.

Welcome to San Jose.