By Chelsea Cobb
If I could speak a thousand languages, I would still not be able to describe to you my trip to Nicaragua. I only speak one language, but I will do my best to tell you my experience.

To start I should say the whole time I felt as though I was in a dream world; if I were to stick my hand out, it would go through the world around me and everything would suddenly disappear. It was hard for me to look at mysurroundings and understand what it was like. It is hard to imagine what it would be like to live in conditions like that. The most I could do was look at the faces of the people and see how happy they were, despite the fact they had nothing. I saw how grateful they all were and how much love they had in their hearts. By the time I left, I was hoping I could have half as much as they have. Courage. Love. Wisdom. Strength. Kindness. They had so much, but yet lived with so little.

I don’t know how to describe the people to you or describe their culture, so, instead, I am going to describe a family to you. It was a family I had the privilege to meet.

I first met these kids when the older kids and adults were all getting ready to play basketball. We had just brought them new balls and nets. All the little kids were asked to get off the court, and, while this was happening, I noticed one little boy I had not seen before. His name was Ballardo. He was five years old and, by far, the skinniest little boy I have ever seen. I went and picked him up and held him for a while, then I noticed his little sister. She was curled up in a ball on the edge of the court. I set down Ballardo and went to pick her up. She was two years old and as skinny as her older brother. When I picked her up, she hid her eyes from me with her hands and didn’t uncover them until she had fallen asleep in my arms. Ballardo sat next to me in one of my friends’ lap, and the whole time he had a smile on his face. It was so amazing how happy he was. It was getting ready to be time for us to leave so we had Ballardo lead the way to his house, and we carried the little girl home. She stayed sound asleep in my arms.

When we got to their house, we found they lived in plastic and sticks. There were eight people living in that house. I don’t even know if it would be called a house. It was the size of a small lean-to shed, but it was made with plastic and metal that was so rusted it was falling apart. They had two very small bed frames that were cot size. One of them had a piece of plywood for a mattress, and it had a small sheet over it for a cover. The other bed had a type of twine weaved over it, and it, too, only had a very small and old sheet over it. They also had an old hammock with a hole in the bottom. That was the living conditions for a family of eight. I wondered how eight people could even fit in there! It was beyond my comprehension and still is.

The next day I saw Ballardo, so I walked up to him to give him my bandana. I put it on his head and then squatted down so that he could see who put it on him. He turned around and hugged me. He buried his face in my shoulder and latched on to me. He clung to me and was so happy that when he finally looked at me he had a smile on his face and a tear in his eye. I was so overcome with joy that I, too, had tears in my eye. I cannot begin to explain the feeling I had. He held on to me for a long time before he looked up. When he finally did look up, he was looking over in the direction of his family, so I walked over there, still holding him, and stood by them. Not a moment later did his little sister run over to me and grab my leg. I reached down and picked her up, too. They were both so light; it didn’t feel like I was holding two kids. I went and sat back down with them and I stayed with them until it was time to leave for the day. It really made me realize how much I take for granted the little things in life. One bandana made that little boy so happy that he had tears in his eyes. The fact that someone would give that to him and hug him was grand.

A few days later we had a big celebration as Project H.O.P.E.’s going away party. We had piñatas and a drawing for pigs and a watermelon walk. It was fun indeed. I was once again with Ballardo and his little sister, but also by this time I had met one of his older brothers, eleven, and his older sister who was eight. They were such an amazing family to be around. Every once in a while one of the Gringos would give candy out to the kids. Every time that happened Ballardo’s older brother would always make sure his younger siblings got candy before he got some for himself. When the candy was brought out, all the kids would just crowd around and sometimes not all of them would even get one piece before we would run out; so the idea that his older brother would bring back candy for them before himself was such a splendid thing. Then they began the piñatas for the kids. Once it was busted open, Ballardo ran over there to try and get a piece. He was, by far, the smallest kid trying to get some, but after struggling through, he finally found a small piece. He came back over to his little sister and me and, without even putting thought into it, he handed his one piece of candy to his little sister. As a five year old who was half starved, he was still watching out for his little sister.

Being with those kids taught me so much. I learned about selflessness and love and happiness. Every time I looked at the kids they would have a smile on their face from ear to ear. They had nothing, but yet they had the world. A two year old taught me a lesson about happiness. A five year old taught me a lesson about selflessness. An eleven year old taught me a lesson about giving. Children of God taught me a lesson about life.

I have one other little boy that I met and I feel as though it would not be right if I did not tell you about him. He was ten years old and lived in the village where we were working. His name was Oliver, and he was my buddy. He was always by my side and, even though we could not understand each other, we talked all the time. One thing that I really miss is the language barrier. It is a funny thing to say, but it is true. It made me more observant. I had to watch the person closely as they spoke and I had to listen harder than I ever had to before. It caused me to have to think before I spoke and to try to communicate in ways that I never had to use before. Oliver and I understood one another pretty well, so we were able to have small conversations. He was such a remarkable boy. He loved his family so much, and he loved God so much.

Every night all the Americans would have a Bible study together, and one night we had it out on the beach. All the community kids came. Oliver sat with me and, as we sang worship songs, Oliver tried to sing along, even though he knew no English at all. I loved that. He had one of the biggest hearts I have ever known. On the day we said our goodbyes, he was the hardest one for me to let go of. We both just got down on our knees and hugged and cried. We cried so hard. As a ten year old, he let go of everything. He did not care what his friends were saying; he just sat there and cried with me.

This has been my tidbit dedicated to Oliver. I wish I could write everything down but… I do not think that would work. Oliver showed me love. He had so much love, and I hope I was able to bring a pinch of that back with me.

The whole trip was a success. While we were there, more than three-dozen people accepted Christ. We were able to see the changes in their lives and the changes in their community. Also, because of the help that the Nicas provided, we were able to finish the water line and see running water before we left. This was something that was not expected to happen until the end of the following week. The Nicas knew no end to work. They worked so hard and so long each day, more so than any other community Project H.O.P.E. had ever assisted.

This year we were truly blessed. I look forward to next year, as I know for sure I will go again.

With much love for the Nicaraguan people,
Chelsea Cobb