As a couple of you might know, I went to Nicaragua on an
eight-day trip full of challenging interviews and sights, of which I’m still
not sure how to feel. However, in
writing about these instances I hope to form clearer ideas. Each paragraph is a
different moment of something I experienced:
I zoom down the street in a bus,
Ticabus to be exact. Through the window I see a more arid landscape, scattered
with casitas. The walls surrounding the houses are not of
concrete, as in Costa Rica, but rather incorporate wire, zinc, and wood. An unfamiliar sight catches my eye and takes
hold of my neck as we fly past the horse-drawn cart carrying bundles of wood
along the busy street. Through the other
window I see a billboard colored with magenta, mustard yellow, baby blue, and a
portrait of Daniel Ortega holding up the peace sign. It reads, “¡Vamos por más victorias!”
Walking
through the Managuan mercado I see
sights very different from the ones back home.
To my left a woman is vending shoes, making sure that everyone within an
ear-shot knows that hers are top notch and the cheapest around. I walk past a man seated on the ground in the
middle of the market; he’s selling pirated videos at about $1.50 a disc—our guía recommends them. To my right is a large piece of carne hanging from a stand, free of any
plastic wrap. Below the meat is a huge
pot, steaming despite the already oven-like heat of the eatery. I walk past iguanas tied and muzzled.
They average the length of my forearm and are ready to be cooked for a
meal.
I’m
standing above the central plaza of
León, looking at a museum designated to the Nicaraguan Revolution carried out
by the Frente Sandinista de la Liberación
Nacional (FSLN). Red and black
decorate the building and slogans commemorate the movement. I look at the words scrawled on the outside
walls in spray-paint. They read, “BUSH
GENOSIDE / ENEMIGO DE LA HUMANIDAD / MUERTE AL INVASOR (Bush genocide / enemy
of humanity / death to the invader).” On
top of the museum we overlook the city square.
On a backdrop of volcanoes I see the legacy of a recent revolución. I begin speaking with our tour guide. He tells me openly that he lost many friends
in the civil war. I ask him if it was
worth it, all the violence, all the death.
The unexpected “Sí” is hard to
comprehend. He recalls that even though
his generation had to die or suffer with psychological consequences, it was necessary
so that his children and the following generations could live a free life. He only received psychological help four
years ago, he says, but he has learned to live despite the past. He asks me if I could understand 45 years of
authoritarianism. I cannot. We then take a picture and he throws up the peace sign and a smile. As I leave he waves and says, “¡Bienvenidos a la tierra de Sandino!” (Welcome
to the land of Sandino!). I wave and
exit the museum perplexed. Never before
had I heard someone talk so comfortably about both violence and peace.
We board our bus once again, but this time with a visitor. The students all know who he is, we’ve been instructed beforehand, but don’t hurry him with questions. We return with this stone-faced man to our hostel outside the city. He tells us that he was a fighter for the Nicaraguan Resistance against the Sandinista Movement (depending on what side one is on the term “Contra” of “Resistencia Nicaragüense” applies, I choose to call him part of the Nicaraguan resistance because it’s what shows most respect towards his position). The sun is setting as his story is being told, which seems to symbolize soldiers forced into hiding after continuing years of civil war with deep international ties (Iran-Contra Scandal) His accent is thick and he sounds to be from a very rural area. Perhaps most interesting is what he doesn’t say. His gaze is elsewhere as he describes a period of time, but never specific details or personal memories. He’s the third asked to talk to us about the unspoken events, the other two declined. No pictures. No first-hand accounts. No laughter. Words are essential for chronicles; silence, for recovery. I leave with a surreal qualm in my chest. This stuff is real here.
Well, that's enough for now. I hope you can see it was a lot to process. It was difficult, but good.
Como siempre, gracias por leer,
-Austin Vander Wel
