I am currently in the colonial city of Granada, Nicaragua, working with words, photographs and videos. The weather if fine, although unrelentingly hot. My living space is ample, if often subject to the feisty noises of the neighbourhood – crowing roosters, barking dogs, blaring telenovelas and children running wild in the street.
Lately my neighbour has taken to playing romantic ballads at top volume: the songs of Bonnie Tyler, Bryan Adams and the Righteous Brothers, all covered in crooning Spanish and repeated at will, over and over and over. This torture has to stop.
The tropics, by their nature, are a ferocious crucible of life force. Everything bursts and teem with energy. As such, our kitchen has been receiving wild visitors from the world outside: mice, cockroaches, giant ants, and endless bitchy mosquitoes. Recently I found scores of insect eggs deposited inside our garbage bin. All food, since then, is kept securely stashed in the refrigerator. No dirty plates or used cooking pots are left overnight. Bleach has become our closest ally.
The other night we experienced our first power cut. Outside, the children squealed with glee. The streets hushed into eerie, blackened shadows. Bonnie Tyler was cut dead, mercifully. So Jennifer and I lit candles and sat at the breakfast bar, talked quietly and enjoyed the peace of the darkness. Every day is a surprise in Nicaragua. Every day presents new, unknown challenges. We are living in a world of chaos and anarchy. And it’s strangely refreshing.
