Fleeing Nicaragua

Elizabeth Pierson ‘21

Every hair was pulled back to create the perfect high bun. It was embellished with fresh flowers. My mom chose red ones and painted my lips to match. I was dressed in my huilpil – my Nicaraguan national dress. This was our tradition every September 15 before I stepped on stage to dance in honor of Nicaragua’s Independence Day. As my bare feet shuffled on the wood floor and my hands gently held the tips of my skirt, swaying it back and forth, my fear turned to a feeling of pride of being “Nica.” This strong sense of identity, which I developed growing up in Nicaragua, is what made it so hard for me to leave the only place I had ever called home at the age of fourteen. It is also what, since I had to flee the violence and protests in 2018, has given me a sense of calm in my new home in Miami. Three months into the academic year, I stood in front of the student body at my new school in Miami. I flashed the first slide of my presentation on my home country, an image of two nuns and a priest kneeling in front of a line of armed paramilitaries. The church in the background was riddled with bullet holes. The picture barely began to illustrate the fear and oppression we Nicaraguans have lived with every day since April 2018. Over 300 people lost their lives, thousands had been kidnapped and tortured by the oppressive government. I had to finish my freshman year on-line because my school was in the middle of a literal war zone. There were blockades built by college students from the cement blocks from the road as a manner of self-protection against the paramilitaries that were attacking them for no reason. You could not pass by without running the risk of being shot. My school was on the other side of the round-about. The flag that I remember always flying high was completely destroyed and filled with ashes and holes. Several months after arriving to safety in Miami, I traveled to Washington DC to attend the Organization of American States presentation of the Report on Human Rights Violations in Nicaragua. I listened to experts detail the violence they uncovered and was vividly reminded of the oppression that Nicaraguans continued to live with every day. This coincided with a conversation with a friend in Nicaragua about how hard it was for the Nicaraguan Commission to help Children with Cancer (CONANCA), an organization where I had volunteered and raised money since middle school. I had an idea! In the months that followed I presented and secured approvals to start a CONANCA Club at my school. Soon, more than one hundred students registered as members and we set up a booth at the family festival, where we raised more than a thousand dollars. Even though I was 1,1021 miles away, I found a way to find peace in helping my country and support a cause important to me. Although I know I am blessed to be safe in Miami and have tried to make a difference. I am still affected every day by the humanitarian crisis in Nicaragua. My dad was not able to come with my mom and I because of his job. I worry about him every day and know that my stay in Miami is just the eye of the storm.