La Kukala is a small village in the mountains outside of Limon. Now, I live in a small village. So if people here call La Kukala a small village, they mean SMALL. This place is in the middle of nowhere, accessible only by one small dirt road that takes you up through the hills, over rivers, between cliffs, and through five different fences that you have to get out and open before passing. The most acceptable ways to get there are either by ox cart or walking, but I convinced Don Felix, driver extraordinaire, to give our van a shot (he proceeded to swear in Spanish every time we went over a giant rock or had to get out to open another fence).
Martita, my favorite Nicaraguan woman of all time, visits La Kukala once a month to provide health consults and distribute meds (when she has them). Every month, she walks two hours to get there, lugging along bags of meds, a scale, and other supplies (keep in mind, Martita is about 225 pounds, five foot nothing, and does not own a pair of sneakers). The government doesn’t require her to make these visits – she does them because she loves the people that live there and wants to ensure they’re well. So I decided that she should no longer have to walk – instead, we’re driving her there every month (in the process, I’m learning quite a few nasty Spanish words as Don Felix still can’t get over why we are doing this).
About 50 people live in La Kukala, all of whom are related in one way or another. These people have next to nothing. They live in small shacks scattered throughout the mountains, sleep in hand made hammocks, and eat whatever they grow on their land. They hardly every make it into “town,” meaning where I live, so they have very little contact with people outside their community. So for them to see Americans trampling through their village, it’s quite the spectacle.
We spent the day conducting well visits with every single member of the community. A house in the “center of town” let us set up a remote medical clinic and the community members came down to be seen by Martita. When we were done, Martita packed up her stuff and pointed to the mountains – she knows every member of the village and knew exactly who had not come down to be seen – so we hiked up to their houses, listened to Martita grill them as to why they didn’t show up, and then provided medical care in their homes.
Some pics of my favorite little town in the middle of nowhere.
Martita talking to the community members about gynecological health. Love how the men come to hear as well - there's not much else to do there I guess.
Trying out the sling shot. The people in La Kukala use these for hunting and to knock mangos out of trees. One shot and they can pick out a mango the size of my palm from the top of a tree.
As opposed to hitting mangos, I was much better at slinging the rock directly into my hand.
A cow enjoying out mango droppings.
Mango drool.
The school in La Kukala. Donated by some European prince. Problem is that the government requires at least 12 students in order to pay for a teacher and La Kukala doesn't have enough kids.
One of the La Kukala elders. She's a sassy little lady and was going nuts chasing a cow out of her yard, whip in hand.
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