3 - 5 - 18 Reflections of the Familiar (3 minutes)

One of the things I was most surprised by in Nica was how familiar everything was. I’ve often heard that “people are the same everywhere” and “we’re all human” but I didn’t realize how specific it would get.

Based on what I’ve seen and experienced, that’s not a vague, philosophical saying. It’s not just saying that we all have unique human dignity and all of these great spiritual attributes as Children of God. Before I make a point, a consideration, maybe Nica’s culture isn’t as different from America’s as some other places in this world are.

But what I saw was that some people I knew and loved from home were reflected in the people I met while in Nica. Granted I never got to know any of them extremely well, I don’t feel like I really know Francisco (Chico) that well, but on the surface they bore striking similarities in personality. Furthermore, I had an intuitive sense that these similarities went deeper than the surface.

I’ll start with Dona Carla (I don’t have a Spanish keyboard). She and Don Julio operated a kind of bed-and-breakfast that we stayed in for the week. She took such joy in hosting us. She was constantly asking us how the food was, it was always wonderful. She invited us to join in on their family’s dance party on Tuesday night, and then Friday night she and her husband stayed up till midnight dancing under the stars on the patio with us. Furthermore, she was very interested with what we were doing, at one point even offering to set up anyone willing with a local massage therapist as she could see we’d been working so hard.

Doesn’t that sound so familiar? I remember telling somebody in a one-on-one that she reminded me of the classic Midwestern mom, which is a fuzzy definition that’s easy to get warm feelings about but hard to explain. But I suspect anyone that interacted with her would be reminded of the mothers of their own home. That motherhood that extends beyond the immediate family, that immediately adopts guests as children, I think we all know someone like that. Or at least I hope we’ve all been fortunate enough to.

I felt bad because I couldn’t talk with Don Julio as much as I’d liked to, but I could tell from the first meeting that he was a good ol’ boy, for lack of a better word. When we were first introduced he looked me up and down and clapped a meaty hand on my shoulder, smiling broadly. I remember sitting behind him and his family in church on Sunday and seeing him with his arms resting on the pew, around his daughter and wife. Friday night he came and hung out with us as we joked and yelled and danced. I could see the joy he got from just being with us, just seeing the kids having a good time, even if he couldn’t understand the majority of the jokes we made.

Working with the contractors at the jobsite I couldn’t help but wonder if one of them couldn’t be Tyler, or Tyson, or Preston (a few of my 60 cousins who work or have worked in that trade) but just born in Nica.

Our driver Derek (aka Julian) was one of the most fun guys I’ve met, and he had the best dancing hips I’ve ever seen on a man. (Ask anyone who was there it was darn near unsettling how fluid this man was). He also drove all the way back to Managua from Grenada in the middle of the week to celebrate his kid’s birthday. He reminded me of all the guys I know who can have a great time while being compassionate fathers and competent in their work.

But on the same token, I can’t pin Francisco down to anyone I know in the states. Because I got to know him better he became unique. Perhaps I had an idea of an analog when we first interacted, but as our relationship grew and deepened, Chico became difficult to describe, to categorize.

Isn’t that how it always is? Once you really know someone well, you have too much data, too many memories to condense into a few sentences.

So I’ve found what I shouldn’t be surprised by. People around the world are more similar than you would ever expect, but always unique and beautiful in their own way.