I took a brake from a life that feels light years away about ten days ago, only to find myself in a country of which existence and history I ignored only a month ago.
Now I sit here on the verge of one of the most dramatic moment in its history, November 5th 2006, 3am. Hours from election, hours from a dramatic emotional discharge which root back to the tragic events of the last thirty years of revolutions; where both social chaos and natural wrath have torn this land apart and driven its people in shitty pitiful circumstances.
I am but a white man fleeing his reality, a gringo doing humanitarian tourism. Although I wish to do my best to help these people, I am fully aware that I shall learn more from Nicaragua, than Nicaragua could ever learn from me. Kids here have lived and suffered more than I ever care too.
Today I went shopping in Managua with Edith and Alain, my colleague and my boss from Oxfam. We left early and I had to skip breakfast. The sun warmed our 2 ½ hour ride towards the capital, once there we decided we had the time to visit Granada which is renowned for its beauty, but most of all there might be espresso there! I seems like I haven’t had an espresso in ages. Crossing trough Managua, we only stop for traffic and sometimes for red lights, at every stop or deceleration we have visitors popping from every window, we purchase peeled oranges in the middle lane, fend of some squeegees that only pretended to wash your windows with a dry cloth. Hoards of children surround our car at a given red light, one insult us of “gringos”, Americans, insisting for a dollar while his comrades extend their bare arms in the car. Their ages varying between maybe 7 and 15, the sheer number of them got us in alarmed mode. We had given all our change at the past red lights, and had nothing to spare. I suddenly remembered I had bought a bag of mini Snicker bars at the last gaz station. I poured the treats I their hands. They were even happier than the kids to whom we had given money. For the next 3 corners we had kids running after us asking politely now for whatever we had given their friends. In some ways I got my own drive-by trick or treat’ers, our own Nicaraguan Halloween. When we emptied the chocolate, candy and cookie reserve from the car, Edith sped off. She barely stopped until Granada.
I had a double espresso in the sun lit inner court of a coffee shop owned by an American, and then we ate at an Asian/Nicaraguan restaurant, a refreshing brake from the eternal chicken and frijoles we ate everyday. After lunch I went for another espresso, as I knew I would miss it dearly. Before we headed back we bought bags of chocolate bars, ammunitions to make it thought the checkpoints back to the capital.
We finally got to Managua’s shopping center witch felt like a mirage; only two days ago we were in the jungle, in huts, meeting with the farmers and sharing their meal. But now we were suddenly modern again, we went to Radio Shack and I got some speakers for my PC. We bought some kitchen ware and memory sticks, a benching press for my boss, a boxing kit for me. I bought the gloves and the punching bag. I’ll have Russell our handy man install it next week,
We then went to the supermarket and bought the essentials and the not so essentials, our capitalist needs came out, like junkies needing their fix, we just had to buy. We got back to Estelí around 9h30. The sun had gone hours ago, all the bars were closed and the streets empty, we almost forgot, tomorrow is Election Day. So we stayed in my newly furnished flat, and had some drinks, talked of everything, love, work, politics for hours. As I stayed smoking on the gallery after everyone had went to sleep, I decided to install my newly bought speakers and listened to Bono’s CD.
As the music fades away, sleepiness lurks in. catch you later.
