On the roof of the church we finally had the chance to feel the sporadic breeze sweeping over the stark, white roofline.  I shifted my weight occasionally, trying to avoid overheating the pads of my feet on the warm cement, kicking up light clouds of chalky dust as we walked through the maze of whitewashed domes.  It felt like a scene from Star Wars, other worldly, and far from the Nicaragua I’d come to know. The blazingly bright, clean white against the backdrop of the tin rusted shacks and dirt roads offered a contrast I had yet to see in this country.  I stood silently, nearly visualizing the gusts bouncing…