My eyes were blurred with tears before Jaquie even started speaking, and I quickly pulled my sunglasses over my face while she gazed at the grandeur of the sun setting over the Pacific. This little girl had to be worn out, I thought. We had spent the entire day playing in the ocean. Since the moment we had arrived on the beach, she had been in awe of everything surrounding her. Though she had never seen the ocean before, she walked fearlessly towards the crashing waves, as if the sea was an adoring grandmother ready to embrace her or a worthy suitor begging to romance her. She was just like me, ever drawn to the water, almost desperate to be wrapped up in it.
You see, this trip was a reward. In Jaquie’s rural community, El Chonco, it was common for students, especially girls, to start to drop out of school as early as the 4th grade. Girls start to get married as early as 12, and some families see little need to educate their daughters to be more than just a mother. Jaquie’s mother regularly made excuses to keep Jaquie and her two sisters at home- frequently sending them into the city to sell things in the marketplace or out in the field to pick peanuts. The year before, I had promised all three of the girls that I would take them to the beach for a week if they stayed in school. Only two held true to the promise, and those two joined me as we climbed up a cliff that split the beach in two, jutting out over the ocean.
As we reached the very top of the rock, Jaquie’s little hand found its familiar place in mine. Her brown eyes were so dark I could barely make out her pupils, but it was impossible not to see the wonder that filled them.
And just like that, my memory took me back seven years before this moment. All those years ago, we were atop a water tower rather than a cliff, watching the sun rest her head behind a volcano rather than disappear into the pacific. Jaquie was six years old, legs dangling just below the railing as we shared a glass bottle of coke, seemingly oblivious to the weight of a moment that would change both of our lives forever. Her entire village gathered below us, eyes anxiously fixed on the tower where we sat. For the first time in their existence, the people of this community would have running water - in their homes. There would be no more collecting rain water, no more drinking dirty roof runoff, no more 2 mile walks lugging buckets, no more fear of parasites, no more parched gardens, no more thirst… years of hardship and sickness were soon to be washed away in a moments time with the simple turn of a lever. Jaquie sat on my left and tucked herself underneath my shoulder, twisting her fingers into mine with a sweet familiarity. She squealed with joy as the water poured from the tower, baptizing the land below.
Looking at Jaquie atop the beach rock that evening, it was hard not to see the six year old from the water tower. It was hard to believe how much time had passed.
“Osita?” her sweet voice broke through the evening air. “Remember the first night we slept over at your house?” It seemed that Jaquie, too, was reminded of the sunset on the water tower. We had returned to my house in the city that night with Jaquie’s two sisters for a slumber party. Though the city was only a twenty minute drive from the community, many of Jaquie’s neighbors had never left the shadow of the volcano. They never felt the need to.
“I do remember,” I said softly. “It is one of my favorite memories- watching you ride in a car for the first time, buying you those blue pajamas, watching you eat ice cream for the first time-”
“Sleeping in a bed for the first time! I never wanted to get up! ” she interrupted, grinning ear to ear.
Her face grew sincere as she went on. “I remember everything about that night. I remember how soft the towel was and that you braided my hair. I remember playing dress up in all your clothes and holding your guitar. That was the first time anyone has ever read a whole book to me.”
I could replay the memories of that night like a movie. I read Where the Wild Things Are to the girls, and they were mesmerized by the story. I wanted to introduce them to books and the joy of being captivated by words. We had stayed up late, sifting through piles of books, the girls thumbing through the pages as if handling some great treasure.
She gazed out to the ocean and bit her lower lip, tears spilling from her eyes onto her coffee colored cheeks. “I have always said that was the best time of my life, that night. But after today… now I have a new best time of my life. “
She was growing up, experiencing the depth and breadth and joy and pain of what life had to offer. I wanted to wrap my arms around her and promise to shield her from the hard parts, but I knew I couldn’t. All I could do was watch the colors of the sky change and sit by her side, knowing that I would love her through each and every circumstance. And so I did. Just as we had so many years ago, she situated herself in the crook of my arm and fixed her eyes on the masterpiece ahead. The ocean roared, and even the surfers below paused to honor the resting of the sun. For just a moment, all was perfect.
As I prepare for my return to Nicaragua in June, I know that our beach trip this year will be smaller: Jaquie is the only one of her sisters who remains in school. I refuse to let that change, and I am hopeful that the Cuentos Para Cambios programs can help instill a newfound respect for education in Jaquie’s community. There are so many girls just like Jaquie, and they all deserve a chance for a “best time” of their lives.
