It’s been a few months since I was in Nicaragua. Life seems to just flash by sometimes. But, I want to revisit it. I don’t want to forget. There was so much to take in, I think I’ll look back years later and fully realize the impact those 10 days had on my life.
Nicaragua was my first step back into foreign missions since I was a child. I was amazed at how many forgotten memories flashed through my mind just due to smells and hearing Spanish all around me. I was more impacted by how little I saw as a child.
We circled the Managua airport for about an hour in the plane. The fog was so thick and the thunderstorm so bad, we couldn’t land. Finally we were cleared for landing…. Right about when the power went out at the airport. We hit the ground with great force, the plane braking and a skidding sideways. I am normally terrified of flying but for some reason, all I could do was laugh as people on the plane screamed. Welcome to Nicaragua.
We passed through the dark and quiet city as rain pounded the fogged windows of the car. I saw a few billboards plastered with smiling dark-haired people who looked more “American” than Nicaraguan. After an hour drive through thick fog on the Pan American Highway, we reached Diriamba. Within five minutes of entering Kari and Andrea’s home, I saw a gecko, a mouse, and a cockroach. The first two critters did not bother me nearly as much as the palm-sized insect. Andrea stepped on it. Crunch, white ooze spilled out of the body.
The smells. Diriamba smelled like no other place I have been. The air was thick with humidity and burning. Most people cooked on wood stoves due to costs of electric and gas. They also burned their trash. If it is possible, the air smelled strongly of wet smoke. Due to thunderstorms on a daily basis, it permeated even from the water, clinging to your skin and clothes. After a few days, however, it was almost unnoticeable.
The sounds. Unlike nights in the United States with background noises of electronics and clocks or perhaps traffic on the street, it was silent. Once it grew dark, everyone went inside and it was quiet. Usually a storm interrupted the quiet to rain down into the courtyards and beat on the tin roofs. The silence would occasionally be broken by the throaty calls of a gecko. Until you’ve heard one, you can’t really understand.
Dogs would bark from time to time. Then it would be eerily silent again only to have a mango drop from a tree onto the tin roof. Bam! It sounded like an explosion, jerking me awake with my heart racing. On a windy night they would drop and roll down the roof at a frequent rate. The noise was so loud you thought a full grown person had jumped onto the roof. Finally, whistles would sound throughout the night. It was night guards checking the streets. I wasn’t sure if the whistles were to warn or something or signal that all was well.
Mornings came early. The sun came up around 5 am and so did the city. It started with cries of children awakening, dogs barking in the homes, and pigs. Oh, yes, the neighbors had a pig. The pig went through a ritualistic death squeal at just about 5 am every morning. He wasn’t dying. He was just practicing it. I would roll over and attempt to stop my ears with the pillow but it did no good. Carts and taxis rumbled by, blaring horns and people walking up and down the streets shouting out goods to buy. Someone stood out side the gate inquiring if we wanted any plantains or pico.
Since the houses consisted of plaster walls shared by neighbors, tile floors, open court yards, and tin roofs with no insulation, you had no choice but to share your life with the neighbors.
Getting ready in the morning didn’t take much. We munched on pico (a triangular refined white bread with sugar), did our best to emulate a mocha, and spread out throughout the house to read our Bibles and journal. There was a lot to journal.
Toiletry was as primitive as modern day allows. With a small broken mirror propped up on the table, we took turns doing our hair. Mine was so curly from the humidity I was lucky if I could run a brush through it. It just clung to my neck and forehead. The water rarely ran during the day, so we filled a bowl with water from the reserve and scrubbed down our faces and necks in the courtyard. We brushed our teeth over the drain which ran through the courtyard and then just spit into it…. Everything from the shower, sinks, etc ran through this open drain and out into the sewage.
Our laundry, towels and wash clothes were draped over the line in the courtyard or clinging to the metal gates at the openings of the different areas of the house. It took days for things to dry. If we were not quick enough, sometimes, it would rain on the drying clothes, adding to the days we had to wait for them to dry.
The streets. Imagine rows, upon rows of colorful but dirty houses with cracked and pealing paint. There were no yards, no spaces between buildings. All exterior walls were shared with the house next to yours.
Everything was behind metal bars. Andrea and Kari had a small front courtyard with some plants but metal gates with a bar covered roof led into their front door. The front door had another metal gate. The sidewalks varied in height and were much narrower than in the United States. The streets were paved mostly with bricks and were deeply rutted with potholes. Trash and mud filled in the cracks. Starving dogs wandered up and down the streets while people, cars, horses, carts, and bikes all avoided hitting each other. Taxi horns blared to communicate anything from “get out of the way” to “do you need a ride”. While it doesn’t sound appealing, there was an incredible charm and personality to the streets. Everything seemed so much closer, people sat with their doors and windows open, calling out to one another.
The barrio. The barrio was another story. The roads that ran through were mud and dirt. Homes were plane cinderblock with packed dirt floors. There weren’t always doors but open holes for windows and doors. They had yards in the barrio, protected by crude barbed wire fences and strung with clothes lines. A lot of their toilets were separate from their homes and their sinks were set up in the front yard rather than in the house. Barefoot children ran around in their underwear and peeped at us from behind plants and doorways.
“Adios,” they shouted and then quickly blushed and averted their eyes.
..... to be continued.
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