Nicaragua – the {r}evolution apparel blog

Our Return to America: Success, Failure and Plans for the Future

We knew this wouldn’t be easy, but we didn’t know how challenging it would be either. With all the options we’ve seen in retail and online, we thought sourcing organic cotton would be more accessible.

The past two weeks have been a splash of cold water to the face.

While we haven’t found the answers we were looking for in Nicaragua, we’ve learned a heck of a lot about the industry and the obstacles we’re going to have to tackle in the process.

Here’s what we’re looking at:

1.) Organic cotton is generally only “made-to-order.” This means huge minimums. Like 15,000 pieces huge.

2.) Organic cotton only represents 0.76% of all the cotton grown in the world. Kind of like finding a needle in a haystack.

3.) Because of #1 and #2, organic cotton is very expensive. Several times more expensive than normal, pesticide-soaked cotton.

There is only one manufacturer of organic, knit cotton in all of Central America. We spoke with them extensively, considered their terms and constraints, and couldn’t make a definite decision to sign on the dotted line. Both financially and logistically.

We’ve made a commitment to producing our line organically, because, ethically, it’s the only way. We need to find a solution. An environmentally-friendly supply chain. An ethical mode of manufacturing. A system of production we’ll feel good about. But for right now, we’ve exhausted the organic cotton options in Central America.

So what’s the next step for us?

More research. More planning. More networking. So that somehow, somewhere, we’ll find what we’re looking for.

We both went back to the States this weekend, in time to spend the holiday season with our families. For the next month or so, we’ll be exploring our options and learning from the ‘veterans’ in the industry. Merino wool? Another country? Made in the USA? We aren’t sure what comes next.

What we do know is that we’re going to make this happen. For All of Us. {r}

No Cameras, No Passports, No Problems: Safety in Nicaragua

When’s the last time you thought about your safety before walking outside?

Most of us wouldn’t think twice. Generally, we feel safe and secure and know that we’ll probably leave our comfortable homes and return to them without any problems.

How lucky are we?

I’ve traveled to cities that have been deemed ‘unsafe,’ usually due to media sensationalization or freak stories that happen to 1 percent of the population. I’ve learned not to believe what Lonely Planet tells you, because in places like Cambodia and South Africa, I’ve never felt safer.

Yet in all those times, I’ve never had locals tell me not to walk around or leave the confines of the hostel. I’ve never had to take a 30 second taxi ride just so my groceries wouldn’t get stolen. I’ve never seen security guards holding machine guns outside every store on the block.

And then I came to Managua.

Nicaragua is the safest country in Central America. There may be people who read this, having been here, and think I’m way out of line. We’ve been here for two weeks and have only had one semi-dangerous experience, so maybe I am.

But being in Managua has made me think about the safety and comfort we take for granted at home.

With travel comes the expectation that you will be treated like a “foreigner.” Stares? Sure. People are curious about those who look different from them. The frustration of paying too much “gringo tax?” This isn’t our first rodeo; we expected that too. A few rude comments here and there? Fine, we understand machismo is a part of the culture.

But our experience here has been sadly unnerving. We follow the rules the locals have suggested — we only walk around in a five-block radius.

Yet during the majority of the five minute walk to the grocery store, we get hissed at, whistled at, and name-called. We dress conservatively, keep our heads down, and don’t speak English.

It’s an eye-opener. How lucky I am.

I’ll eventually go home to the comforts of my own home, and I’ll feel, well, safe. I’m not one of the millions of people all over the world who constantly live with the fear of theft, assault, or worse.

While this hasn’t been one of the more enjoyable cities I’ve come to know, that’s part of travel, too: learning about the lives of others, and in turn, learning about your own. {r}

You Win Some, You Lose Some {Part II}

{This is Part II of our Nicaragua update. The original post can be found here.}

The rules for our market visit were simple: wear pants, don’t bring your passports, don’t bring a bag, don’t bring a camera, put your money in your bra. We followed Sonia’s instructions and arrived at what seemed to be fabric row, a long street with a dozen very similar stores, selling bolts and bolts of fabric.

At almost every store we got the same answer: we don’t have the fabric you’re looking for. We spent about two and a half hours, searching for the right material to make samples and went home with nothing.

It was a discouraging day and an understandable low for us. We are struggling to find a production system we can afford, while sticking to our ethical values about how we want to manufacture our line. The options for organics in Nicaragua are incredibly limited. There are excessive minimums that come with ordering, no option for patterned fabric, as well as other restrictions that seem daunting to a small start-up like us.

And honestly, we’re exhausted. After a lot of traveling, a ton of work, and infinite brainstorming, we are burnt out.

We need to find a solution. Organic cotton. Fair trade labor. With lots of color and pattern options. Without excessive minimums. And without shipping fabrics from one side of the world to the other.

It’s not easy, and we knew it wouldn’t be, but instead of succumbing to the pressure of “let’s do this yesterday!” we’re going to take a step back, breathe, think, and try again. We owe it to ourselves to take the time that we need, and if we still haven’t found a production method, then it’d be hasty to spend over 500 dollars making samples.

Nicaragua is supposed to be stunningly gorgeous. So we’re going to get out of the city for a few days, get some much needed R&R, and tackle our dilemmas from a different angle.

There are a million cheesy quotes I could end with about hard work and determination, but I’ll simply say this: who needs a beer? {r}

You Win Some, You Lose Some: Update from Nicaragua

Somehow, we made it to Nicaragua. It only took two buses, four countries and 21 hours. About the amount of time it takes to fly to Asia.

We arrived in the capital city of Managua at 1:30am. We made a few bad decisions along the way and ended up in a run-down “hotel” (the cab driver’s recommendation) with barely enough money to scrape together for a night’s stay and the taxi fare. After a night of which neither of us slept, we high-tailed it out of there early the next morning to a more reputable hostel in a safer area of town.

Managua — no me gusta. The guidebooks warn of all the capital city doesn’t have to offer, and it was advised not to walk around much, or even leave the hostel unnecessarily. Kristin and I have had multiple conversations since arriving about how much we take safety for granted in our own country. The constant “machismo” and cat-calling is also starting to wear on us, but is simply a part of the culture here.

Onto a better note, on Monday we checked into a dormitory-style community residence called Casa Calquera in Ciudad Sandino, a town right outside Managua. It’s only five minutes down the road from the Jubilee House Community, the organic and fair trade cooperative we came to explore for producing our clothing line.

Early Monday morning we met with Mike, an American ex-pat who runs the co-op, about our options for doing business with them. Our meeting was overwhelming, to say the least.

Because of the nature of the cotton-growing, organic dyeing and fair trade manufacturing, everything is made to order, which makes things expensive for a bootstrapped start-up like us. It was made even more clear that we’re going to need to raise a lot of capital — about twice as much than if we were manufacturing in a sweatshop or more traditional means.

We decided we would take things one step at a time, sticking to the philosophy we’ve had all along, so Mike set us up to meet with a Nicaraguan woman, named Sonia, who we could work with to produce our samples. Sonia runs a small organization of her own, funded through a private grant, that takes prostitutes off the streets and teaches them how to sew.

Speaking only Spanish, we showed her our sketches, spec sheets, measurements and a few material samples we had with us, and little by little, discussed the potential of producing eight samples. Of course, this also involved negotiating a price, and bartering in another language is a whole different ball game. Once we agreed on a fair wage for eight patterns and eight samples, we arranged to go to the market the following day to look at fabrics.

We’ll save the details of that adventure for a follow-up post, as well as the big decision we’ve made in revamping our plans. {r}

HOW DID WE GET HERE?

{the blog}

Tagged: Nicaragua

Our Return to America: Success, Failure and Plans for the Future

No Cameras, No Passports, No Problems: Safety in Nicaragua

You Win Some, You Lose Some {Part II}

You Win Some, You Lose Some: Update from Nicaragua