While Caressa and I have our professional goals for our service, a month before being offered a trip to the "campo," or countryside, I found myself with a more fun goal in mind; I wanted to get a photo of myself riding on a horse with a machete. While this may seem strange to many of those in the States, this is actually the norm for the "campesinos," or cowboys around town and in the fields. Well because I had that goal, when I heard that I would need to ride a horse, in my excitement I shared with the director that I wanted to try to get my photo.
While I thought it to be more of a 'cool-if-it-could-happen' thing, the director apparently shared my desire. Soon I had several other people who came up to me, reminding me we needed to take a photo of me on a horse when I left.
When the day arrived, we gathered together in the early morning to take a truck an hour and a half on a dirt road through the campo. At one hilly point where there were some great views of the rolling hills covered by various jungle trees and grassy fields once also covered with those trees, he pointed and said, "That's where the canal is supposed to go through." It was amazing to think of this rural place in the middle of nowhere having gigantic heavy-laden ships sailing through.
Finally we came to our destination, a rural field on the right side of the road. There, an older man likely in his fifties, yet appearing seventy, was standing with two younger boys and four horses. We pulled the truck into the field, and mounted our transportation. For the next hour and a half, I learned quickly the basics on how to ride in Nicaragua. We went up and down many muddy hills, through several streams, several mud puddles that the feet of the horse sunk in a foot and a half, through grassy fields, and many forested areas. Gradually at the top of a small hill with an amazing view, we arrived at a small church with an adjacent home--our destination.
There we gave our training to the 25 community members, nearly 15% of the area's population, and their children. Following, the pastor and semi-host came up to me and told me we needed to take a photo and he handed me his machete. Soon I hopped on, and was ready for the photo and he shouted, "Stop, you need a hat," and he threw me a baseball hat. "You don't look like a campesino without one," he shared. We took a couple photos.
After riding the hour and a half back to the truck, then driving back to town, I can easily say it was a memorable trip. Better yet, I have a memorable photo to enjoy it and I completed my goal. -Tim