We shower, do laundry at the outdoor cement sink, and, if it isn't bedtime, sit on one of the rocking chairs and talk on the patio surrounded by tropical foliage and flowers. Later the fan barely penetrates the mosquito netting draped around our bed. But gusting breezes knock tiny hard green mangoes off the tree to bounce with a dream-shattering clatter on the tin roof of our bedroom. Another day, another village. Smoke from evening cooking fires mingles with suspended volcanic dust to color the sunset.
Dust hangs like a pall over Nicaragua.
We pass through their world as though in a fog. We are not really a part of it. We can't feel or think or know what they feel and think and know. Rebuilding When we arrived in Nicaragua, the country's immense needs were starkly clear. Also clear was the astounding accomplishment growing out of the dedication of our host family, Felix Almendarez and Angelica Campos Duran.