Colonial Drain

Sitting in my old colonial house (Granada, Nicaragua) I watched as the storm rolls in, big thick clouds blackened the sky and soon enough it starts to poor rain. The rain falls on the old, half tiled roof, drowning out all other sounds of the city. I watched as the water starts rising and broaches the kitchen, kissing the edge of the stone curb. I half expected my house to start flooding when I noticed the drain below me; I became fascinated with it. I watched as the water ran through this old colonial drain. After a while I noticed bits of flowers and fallen fruit getting stuck, blocking its flow little by little. The water still passes enough to drain, but with difficulty as it had been collecting all the run off sentiment on the way. I quickly became obsessed with this post colonial metaphor of this “post colonial” drain. Granada is a place with rich history in conquerors and political violence. From pirates to presidents, it has seen the massacre and segregation of many communities and more recently, the massacre of equal access to human basic rights and needs. Walking around the Streets of Granada you don’t see many signs of the recent civil war, but if you look closely enough you can still see bullet wholes in the sides of buildings and even in some cars. Talking to civilians about their experiences in the war has led me to find that although the country is no longer war stricken, the collected run off of the traumatic  and stolen experiences are still prominent in the lives of many, particularly those within “El Barios”.PTSD is still effecting many and it is not being recognized within the greater community.