Laundry...the Story of my Life

I remember writing a friend one Saturday afternoon last year and, with a sigh, calling laundry “the story of my life.” She knew my weekend missives all too well: “Hi there, I’m just taking a break from folding laundry...(chit chat)…Well, I better get back to the basket of darks. With love, Maria.”

After a few weeks of living in Costa Rica, I realized how hard it would be if I had to work full time and live here in Monteverde—it takes time to walk everywhere and do so many more things manually. Many things (such as appliances and packaged foods) that I used to consider necessities or staples in the States are uncommon here. It dawned on me more clearly than ever before how on one hand, I worked to be able to purchase these various conveniences, but on the other hand, it was those very things which, in many ways, made it possible for me to work and still have time for other activities…including sleep.

Laundry is a good example. In St. Louis, I would often start a load of laundry in the washing machine before going to work in the morning, toss it into the dryer at lunchtime, and then some time in the evening carefully lay it in a laundry basket to be folded and put away on the weekend.

Typical Costa Rican washers aren’t automatic. You have to manually turn the water on and off, flip a switch to drain the water after each cycle, put the laundry in a separate tub to spin the water out (like the swimsuit dryers at recreation centers), and then hang the laundry on the clothesline, turning it upside down and back and forth throughout the morning trying to get it dry before the first rain shower of the day. Fortunately we also have a covered porch where we can continue the drying process if needed. Most people living in Costa Rica don’t have dryers—the cost of electricity is prohibitive. If you do have one, you try to dry the clothes after 8 p.m. when the price of electricity is less and then only use it if, after a day or two on the clothesline, your towels and jeans still aren’t dry. Right now the spinner on our washer isn’t working, but I ceased complaining about having to wring out laundry by hand (it’s a good way to strengthen arm muscles) after a trip to Nicaragua the first weekend in October.

Since we are here on tourist visas, we have to leave the country for 72 hours every 90 days. We left the house at 4:00 Thursday morning to catch the bus to Nicaragua. It was the first time we had ventured to a third world country. The point of entry area was surrounded by people selling inexpensive food, hammocks, and pirated DVD’s, as well as children, the elderly, and handicapped begging for money. Their persistent requests as we waited in line for customs were difficult to handle emotionally, and we wished we had brought more coins or small bills to share.

Not too far from the border, we took a ferry across Lake Nicaragua (the 11th largest lake in the world) to the Island of Ometepe. 40,000 people live on the island which is laid out like a figure eight around two volcanoes. Our hostess at the hotel told us that the people on the island are cash poor but not hungry. Families are able to grow fruits and vegetables and have animals for eggs, milk, and meat. But, very few jobs are available, and those people who have them don’t earn much. Apparently the average annual (yes annual) income in Nicaragua is $600 (as compared to $500 a month in Costa Rica). Nicaraguans will work 10-12 hour days, 6 days a week, for eight and a half cents an hour. Yet, our experience showed that these are kind and happy people.

On Friday, a taxi driver took us around the island in his beat up jeep showing us the sites and waiting while we swam on various Ozark-like beaches. Years from now, however, it’s not the beaches I’ll remember but the slices of life we saw driving from place to place—the groups of children walking to and from school, the young men (some just boys) herding cows down the street on bicycles or scrawny ponies, the oxcarts hauling firewood (while most houses have electricity, it is only for lights; most people still use wood stoves for cooking), pigs and chickens everywhere (including in the living rooms of houses—all of which had their doors open for ventilation on the very warm afternoon), and, perhaps most moving to me, the women up to their waists in water washing laundry by hand in the river or lake.

We returned from Nicaragua on Sunday, and the following Friday, Heidi and I made a trip to the United States. While in St. Louis, I enjoyed being with family and friends, but I often felt frenzied and ungrounded as I did endless errands. I had quite a long list of things to buy, not only for ourselves, but for others too—a list that took me to two different malls, three groceries stores, Toys R Us, Alpine Shop, Sports Authority, Home Depot, Target, Blockbuster Video, Petsmart, our vet, and the new Walmart SuperCenter. Talk about culture shock! I think every square foot of retail space in the Santa Elena/Monteverde area could fit inside the Walmart…twice over.

The contrast between Nicaragua and West County St. Louis was arresting and further stirred paradigms had been struggling with for quite a while. Even though I feel our family’s year in Costa Rica is God-impelled, I don’t think a week has gone by since the idea surfaced when I haven’t wrestled with feeling a bit guilty (OK sometimes very guilty…and concerned) about spending our savings on this experience. (We may be helping our kids pay back college loans for a long time.) However, after our time in Nicaragua, I was even more keenly aware that simply being able to make the choice to be here (a choice on how we spend our money) is in itself a luxury.

I don’t have all (in fact hardly any) of the answers yet, but gratefully I’m beginning to work through some of the issues swirling in thought and reconnect with an inner peace. I have a rekindled faith that moment by moment God will show us how “to be,” how to live with integrity and love.

My “sisters” scrubbing clothes in Lake Nicaragua are never far from thought as I do my daily chores. Next time you do laundry, think of the women (and men) all over the world in lakes, rivers, laundromats, houses, and apartments who, whatever their lot, are doing their best to live not only with clean clothes but, perhaps more importantly, with joy and grace. This new sense of universal sister/brotherhood means a lot to me today and gives me hope.

Happy washing!