Cashew Girl

It seemed that I had seen her around town somewhere before. Sure, I had only been in Nicaragua for less than a week but this small child selling cashews on the streets of Granada was more than vaguely familiar. Yet it wasn't simply that she looked like so many other impoverished children I'd already met walking about.

That night, I was having dinner at the Bearded Monkey to see if their food was as good as the guidebook said and to check out the strong expatriate community that hung out there. And it seemed that the young cashew girl was also part of the community; the young girl knew the gringos running the joint quite well and that was enough intimacy for her.

Tom and Kelli asked about her family and how she was doing with school. They even stepped out from behind their work at the bar to play with her a bit. Yet when they returned to work, so did she. Although slightly cleaner and seemingly better off than the children living on the streets, she was as persistent a salesperson as they were.

Mind you, I was not inclined towards a bag of cashews at the time, but her charming smile was too difficult to resist. In those deep brown pools of her eyes, I saw the same desire as in some students I taught years ago. She had a determination to make something of her life - even in painstakingly slow and tiny steps. Five Cordobas - or about 27 cents - were hers; and I had a bag a cashews.

The next afternoon I was surprised to see this dear child approaching me in the Parque Central, as I watched the world of Granada at dusk pass me by while sipping on my refreshing cacao con leche. And while her eyes held no less intensity than the day before, I couldn't give in now; no doubt others would surrender to her as easily as I did the night before.

But she persisted. And while I fashioned a plan to make her scram, little did I know where it would take me. Engaging her in conversation sprouted a cultural and linguistic exchange that was as much an education for me as I hoped it was for her.