The Malediction of War

On a day like today, May 20th, ill-omened clouds whirled in the sky; the thick air made it hard to breathe as changes were brought upon our small town in Nicaragua. It had been decided, the last Somoza dictator, Anastasio Somoza Debayle, would soon be overthrown by the FSLN (Frente Sandinista de Liberación Nacional.) It was early in the morning, cannot recall the exact time, for all I can remember is the feeling of disorientation as we awoke to the resonating blast of bombs that crushed the cobblestone roads and the heavy machinery that annihilated whatever came across its path.  And after the thunders of weaponry had ceased and there was no one else to kill, the tenebrous siren that had first led us to the refuge, once again instructed us to resume our journey back home—as if nothing had ever happened. The frighten crowd gathered their belongings and cautiously stepped out of the building like deer into an open meadow. Slowly, people resumed their walk into town, but this time silence transpired through the multitude and no one shoved or hurried to get ahead, casting an eerie feeling amongst us. The clean smell of the air we were used to became replaced by gunpowder and the nauseating smell of blood.

The heart pounding reverberation of people’s fear now serenaded our innocent lives. My own heartbeat increased to levels I was unused to. People murmured and cried... and others stood silent like me, blinded by the sight of red hues from mutilated corpses that tainted the streets. After encountering the malediction of war, nothing could ever be the same.  

                                            ---Excepts from Shattered Paradise: Memoirs of a Nicaraguan War Child

The cost of war is too high.  War only leads to despair and incurable loss.  We can all make a difference in this world...lead a positive life and minimize the many wars we might cause each day.

A Mother for all Times

It was said once that merely giving birth to a child does not necessarily make a woman into a good mother.  Rather, it is both the act of physically giving birth and raising a child through good and bad times.  My mother did both and went beyond sacrifice to ensure my happiness...and for that I'm ever so grateful.

The following is an excerpt from my memoir: Shattered Paradise: Memoirs of a Nicaraguan War Child.  Ever since I've known my mother, she has been abnegated and dedicated to the family.  Her resiliency has saved many lives and has brought much needed hope.

Chapter 1

According to my beloved grandfather, my parents’ marriage began with a promise of love, which made my young Mama agree to all ideas Papa proposed. She followed like a child follows a parent—right behind, no questions asked. Until one day, deep into the cloud forest of Nicaragua, fear thickened the air, and the warm soil’s vapors permeated through the wild grass. The torrential storm unleashed its fury, over-flooding riverbanks, and creating new paths along the way. Lightning parted the skies covered by an ominous curtain of clouds, which in turn brought unusually cold air upon my parents’ isolated farmhouse. To their denial, the reason for such wrath remains unclear. Papa had blamed it on natural disasters, possibly a hurricane or the exploitation of the land’s resources: the chained monkeys, deforestation and the extracting of scarlet macaws from their nests. Mama had blamed the Lord for washing away our sins, and I only blamed the unremitting tears escaping Mama’s soul at the recollection of an event, one that had happened so long ago.

For many years, I remained uncertain of what made Mama passionate for Papa. Out of respect to my parents, I never asked. Perhaps it was his deep clef chin, his light brown hair, his right cheek dimple or his incurable obstinacy. His height could not have attracted her, for Mama always stood taller than Papa. This disproportion, often exaggerated by her high-heeled shoes, did not trouble Papa as long as her arm went under his, and he was close to her brunette hair and to her slim silhouette wrapped in porcelain skin.

“Follow me to the farm. I have built us a new home. I will hire helpers to help us plow the land. There, you will have everything, from organic foods to my unconditional love,” Papa persuaded Mama.

“Wait until our first child is born,” Mama responded. Eager Papa could hardly wait to have her by his side, and solely for him. Therefore, just a month after the birth of their first child Amanda, he swayed her to follow him to their remote farm amid the forest. He wished to reproduce his family with only the symphony of the surrounding wildlife and solemn company of the broadleaf trees.

“No! Wait at least one year before taking the child to the forest,” Mama’s unfailing priest, Father Odorico advised.

“But father, the Holy Scripture commands that a good wife must accompany her husband wherever he might go! Please father, offer me your blessing.”

“In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit...” the humble priest blessed, exposing a re- sewn cassock beneath his armpit.

Mama packed an old leather luggage that had belonged to Abuela and hurried to La Estación with little Amanda in her arms, wrapped snuggly in a pink blanket. Once there, she would ride the bus to meet her young husband by the roadside. The noise of the busy transit made little Amanda cry but Mama cradled her onto her warm chest. 

“It’s all right my angel, we are going with Papa,” she whispered to the child as her eyes glistened with emotions, typical of a woman in love.

The old yellow bus quickly overfilled its capacity with passengers who smelled like days-old fermentation. They were mostly campesinos, humble peasants traveling with live chickens tied up by their feet with a nylon string, upside down and hung onto wooden poles, which they carried over their shoulders nearly poking Mama on the head. But holding her breath behind her polite smile, she managed to shove herself to the very back of the bus where a gentleman would offer his own seat. The heavily pot-holed dirt road made her body ache, but she knew the pain was worth enduring, for beyond the dust clouds raised by the old diesel bus, awaited a completely new world.

“Soon, our lungs will breathe fresh air; our eyes will see beautiful wild flowers, moss and exotic animals,” she whispered again into the infant’s ear. Throughout the journey, Mama drifted into a world of spectacular dreams. She imagined herself galloping along with little Amanda and her husband through the mystical cloud forests, bathing under cool waterfalls and dancing in a garden filled with scented wild orchids and melodious Toucanets. Until the bus came to a sudden stop and Mama had to shove herself once more through the overly crowded bus, evading the flutter of the restless upside-down chickens on the campesinos’ wooden poles. 


Upon arrival, wearing black high-water boots and a large cowboy hat, awaited Papa, acknow- ledging Mama with anticipation. When Mama first saw him, her heart nearly exited off her chest and feeling butterflies inside her stomach nearly forgot she was carrying little Amanda. Papa waved by the roadside, exposing his deep cheek dimples and cleft chin as he held two horses firmly, a black Andalusia horse that was his and a red Clydesdale he had purchased for Mama. The young lovers hugged and without much hesitation, saddled onto their own horses and embarked on a journey that would soon transform their lives forever.

To be continued...... 

#Mother's Day

Flower Fields, Carlsbad, CA 

Happy Mother's Day to all amazing and resilient mother's in the world!  You deserve the best, for without you there would be no world.

As we celebrate Mother's Day, I think and reflect about the sacrifices my mother made to ensure my happiness...and I'm ever so grateful.  I will be adding a story about her soon :-)

Writing your Memoir

We all have stories...memories.  Do you wish to write your own memoir but don't know how to begin or like me once, needed to gather the strength to write it and publish? 

Book Signing and Free Workshop Sat. May 03, 2014   

Writing Your Memoirs--AWA, Ileana Araguti  
Sat. May 3                3-4 pm
 Rm. 207/208 (Skybox)--The World of Publishing Room 

Check out other great workshops:

Bullying--AWA, Joseph Gutiz
1-2 pm   The Theater

7th Inland Empire Latino Book & Family Festival

California State University, San Bernardino

http://www.lbff.us/inlandempire-lbff-may-2013.php

A Book Story

Once upon a time, there was a life without a story, a story without a book and a book without a reader.
Until one day, Story knocked on Life's door.

"Who is it?" asked Life.
"Your story," answered Story.

Life and Story shared many moments: happy, sad ones and of the unspeakable kind.  The more they shared, the more excited they became and out of their joyous relationship came about a book.  A book about life... a story of many lives.  Only there was a problem, the book needed readers.

Knock, knock!

"Who is it? asked Book.
"Your reader,"said the dreamer.

Lets face it.  We all have stories.  We all love stories. Stories make life all the more interesting.  Books transport us to other worlds.  Readers turn books to life, movies, traditions...a book without a reader is lost and forgotten.

And that's why we have book festivals!  To satisfy our literature hunger :-)

The Los Angeles Times Book Festival is one of the largest around.  If anyone is attending, please stop by and say hello.  I will be discussing and signing for Shattered Paradise on the following dates:

April 12, 2014

USC, Los Angeles Times Book Festival, Hoy News Booth

April 13, 2014

USC, Los Angeles Times Book Festival, Booth 464
12:00-1:00 and 2:00-3:00

Live, Love and Read!

Ileana :-)

Allow dreams into your life!

Anything is possible if you allow yourself to dream. Shattered Paradise: Memoirs of a Nicaraguan War Child is a 2014 International Latino Book Award Recipient!  Thank you all for believing and supporting :-)

Latest review for Shattered Paradise!

Thank you friends for your reviews and for being a part of my life :-) Here's the latest review for Shattered Paradise: Memoirs of a Nicaraguan War Child!

"Ms. Ileana Araguti experienced atrocities that no child should ever have to experience during the Nicaraguan Revolution. She begins by narrating her everyday life being the youngest member of a family. Beautifully written, she digs deep into the hardships that her father and mother had to endure working in the forests, yet maintaining a close family knit. Religion was a major factor that solidified her family bond that also served them during the revolution.The war between the Sandinistas and the Contra factions was yet another tragic result of the cold war of the 1980s. The horror and devastation happening before her eyes was described in grim detail, yet in the most intimate way. The story is hard to read, but I appreciated the sincerity and eventual triumph of her family and the survivors of the revolution.This book takes you through a journey where you'll laugh, you'll smile...you'll cry and you'll cringe. In the end, you'll appreciate the little girl turned radiant woman and all that she experienced. It felt like I was right there with her, running, crying, and smiling with her."--Jim Hague

Nicaraguan Gallo Pinto!

Good morning, the Nicaraguan Way!

Per the request of some friends, I awoke early this morning to make you all breakfast!  A complete "desayuno Nicaraguense!" In Nicaragua, a complete breakfast include: Gallo Pinto (rice and beans), fried plantains, eggs and other things such as fresh cheese and sour cream.

Since I now reside in the United States, I'm conscious of time and therefore I've made some modifications.  In conclusion, quick and easy Gallo Pinto!

Ingredients:

1 pound red beans (or 1-2 cans red beans)

1 cup white rice 

1/2 onion

cilantro

1/2 bell pepper

olive oil

Salt to taste

chicken broth

chicken bouillon

Directions:

1.  As far as the red beans, you can either boil your own beans or use canned red beans. If you choose to boil them, it is recommended that you let them soak the night before to speed up cooking time.  But if you're busy like me and forget to soak them, you can simply wash the red beans, add twice the water as the beans to a pot and bring to boil.  Let the beans cook slowly on medium heat.  Add salt to taste towards the end of the cooking for tenderness.  If you add salt too soon, the beans might not turn out as tender. When using canned beans, drain the liquid.

2.  Rice.  If in a hurry, you can steam white rice in a rice cooker or a pot.  But if you want to be more traditional and make a less mushy Gallo Pinto, you may cook the rice as you boil the beans. 

a.  Sauté chopped yellow/white onion, bell pepper and cilantro to taste in about 1-2 tablespoons olive 

     oil.

b.  Add 1cup of white rice without washing to a pan and sauté until slightly golden brown.

c.  Add chicken broth or water to cover the rice.

d.  Add salt or cubes of chicken bouillon to taste.

e.  Cover and let it boil.

f.   Reduce heat and let it cook slowly until the water is gone and the rice is puffy and soft.

3.  When done cooking the beans and the rice.  Add about 2 tablespoons of olive oil to a pan.  Fry the beans and gradually add the rice.  Serve immediately and enjoy!

4.  Now, here's the quick U.S. way:

a.  Use previously steamed rice or left overs.

b.  Use canned red beans, drained.

c.   Sauté onion, bell pepper, olive oil and salt in a pan.

d.  Add drained red beans and white rice; fry until well-mixed.

e.  Serve and enjoy without any guilt!  After all, you have all day to burn the calories!!!

Note:  Nicaraguans use red beans, Costa Ricans use black beans!  Both taste delicious :-)

Modifications:  Traditionally, lard or other types of oils are used.  I've substituted olive oil or grape seed oil for a healthier meal!

Marta A. Lomeli, Guest Blogger

Our guest blogger this week is Marta A. Lomeli, author of Cuentos from the House on West Connecticut Avenue. Her keen sense of humor is contagious.  Marta A. Lomeli is one of those amazing beings that know how to enjoy life to the fullest.  She has over twenty-five years of teaching experience, over ten years in the martial arts, and years of community involvement: youth mentoring programs, police community relations support, and precinct walking. Beginning with her college years, she was well-known for her original cartoons, many of which were published in college newspapers. She has had poetry published, as well as many articles on personal safety and self-defense for women and children.A few years ago, she achieved the rank of second degree black belt in Chinese Shao-lin Kempo, an ancient form of martial arts. She managed to reach this goal even though she was a single mother for a number of years.She has discovered other wild ways to enjoy life, such as skydiving, public speaking, and painting. Today, she is "retired," but keeps busy by being a full-time "baby wrangler," taking care of her toddler grandson. She enjoys participating in Las Comadres networking Comadrazos and the Las Comadres Book Club. LasComadres.org

http://www.amazon.com/Cuentos-House-West-Connecticut-Avenue/dp/1403381488/ref=sr_1_fkmr1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1393743793&sr=8-1-fkmr1&keywords=cents+from+the+house+in+west+connecticut+avenue

Here it is!

Saludos! I am Ileana's "Comadre." We were not born relatives. We did not become relatives via any religious ceremony, but we are Comadres nonetheless. We are friends for life.

I had the good fortune to read Ileana's book, Shattered Paradise: Memoir of a Nicaraguan War Child, and it touched my soul. Selfish person that I am, I thought, "How can my writing ever compare to her beautiful prose? Her childhood had beauty and peace until the chaos of war turned things upside down." I wanted to jump into her book and pull her out of that horrible danger, but that isn't how books work. 

It is an honor to be a guest in her blog. Today, I will share with you the little juicy bits of inspiration that I read to myself every now and then:

           

“Start writing, no matter what. The water does not flow until the faucet is turned on.”

--Louis L'Amour

“Certain things they should just stay the way they are. You ought to be able to stick them in one of those glass cases and just leave them alone.”--J.D. Salingerl, Catcher in the Rye

“If only there could be an invention that bottled up a memory, like scent. And it never faded, and it never got stale. And then, when one wanted it, the bottle could be uncorked and it would be like living the memory all over again.”--Daphne Du Maurier

Among other things, I am a culture vulture and proud of it. I don't think that you are less of a Chicana (Latina, Hispanic, whatever) if you adapt and make it your own. Wasn't it Paulo Freire that used the words "man as the creator of culture?" For the sake of a discussion, let's talk about cultural traditions that could could affect a family's future.  Since I'm not writing a book or a thesis here, I won't be listing to the million of examples that are possible.  I'll just choose one example: Quinceañeras, a girl’s 15^th birthday celebration!

First, a disclaimer, I didn't have a quinceañera. My father, did, however, give me a $20 bill. Not much? It was in those days! I was born in the 1950s. We lived at the poverty level. I didn't expect my dad to give me anything more than a hug. I think that Mom made enchiladas or something. That was always appreciated. I would have felt guilty if they had spent hundreds of dollars on a party for me while they had sons in college that were scrimping to get by, working dangerously long hours in the summer as fire fighters. Not many scholarships for Latinos in those early days. 

When I became a sixth grade teacher, I once overheard a fellow teacher chatting about her daughter's upcoming birthday. We were in the faculty lounge, eating lunch, and I heard her say, "I'm all about letting kids learn from making their own decisions. So, I gave my daughter the choice: I'll take her to Europe in the summer, or I’ll give her a quinceañera. She chose the quinceañera. I'm going to get a limo for her and everything!" For those of you who might not be familiar with this celebration, the cost of a quinceañera could be as much as a wedding. It is not rare that often times, families might have to choose between celebrating a quinceañera or paying for college.  

Did you ever come across such choices?

Cheers,
Marta A. Lomeli

Review for Shattered Paradise!

Great friends are like a good marriage, correct?  We share the good and the bad :-)  Today, I would like to share a wonderful review for my memoir, Shattered Paradise: Memoirs of a Nicaraguan War Child!

http://www.latinabookclub.com/2014/02/review-shattered-paradise-memoirs-of.html