Through the open front window of our cement box casa overlooking the dusty street, we watch neighbourhood children play baseball. Our window, of course, is not screened but decorated, as most typical Central American homes are, with wrought iron bars that serve as security. Maybe insects still have free passage but presumably it’s difficult for bad hombres to crawl through narrow spaces. Our casa sits at the end of a no-exit street lined with other similarly styled homes with various degrees of attractiveness/decay.
A year ago this was our winter home in Léon, Nicaragua, in a working class (a step above poverty) neighbourhood called Cuatro de Mayo, so named for those killed there during the Nicaraguan Revolution of the late 70s/early 80s. We chose this city because of its cultural and historical significance. We chose this home because it was the only available rental unit renovated to accommodate foreigners who needed amenities: a half-decent kitchen with a roof over it (never mind the red ants I had to pummel with clenched fist each morning; or the tarantula in the bathroom drawer), a stove with an oven (i.e. more than a hotplate), and air conditioning, the latter most necessary in 35 C plus heat.
As foreigners on this short, volcanic black dusty street, we were curios. So we wanted to show residents we cared about, and were interested in, their life and families.
We were watching the kids out our front window play baseball with a rubber ball. They used their forearms as a bat.
“Let’s buy them a bat!” we chimed together. Obviously they couldn’t afford a proper bat. Or a proper baseball.
Nay. Nay. Let’s think about this. Who gets to keep the bat? Maybe the bat would create envy, discord. Maybe the ball would get lost and cause tears because it was special.
Ultimately, we concluded these children were using what was available to them to play a game they loved. If we interfered in any way, we would upset the balance. They were having fun and they didn’t need any North American do-gooder gift of so-called ‘proper’ equipment.
As foreigners on this short, volcanic black dusty street, we were curios. So we wanted to show residents we cared about, and were interested in, their life and families.
We were watching the kids out our front window play baseball with a rubber ball. They used their forearms as a bat.
“Let’s buy them a bat!” we chimed together. Obviously they couldn’t afford a proper bat. Or a proper baseball.
Nay. Nay. Let’s think about this. Who gets to keep the bat? Maybe the bat would create envy, discord. Maybe the ball would get lost and cause tears because it was special.
Ultimately, we concluded these children were using what was available to them to play a game they loved. If we interfered in any way, we would upset the balance. They were having fun and they didn’t need any North American do-gooder gift of so-called ‘proper’ equipment.
Gradually we came to know these people. And vice versa. How hard they worked for such little pay! They struggled for any small luxury. Blanca, next door, offered to clean our place for extra money after working in a health clinic all day. As soon as we paid her, we watched as she took her little boy’s hand while he skipped beside her to the nearest tienda for a special treat.
One day, the wage earner from the run-down shack across the way presented us proudly with two home-baked cookies. The taxi driver farther down the street drove us to our destinations making sure we knew where to go when we got there. Gradually we felt comfortable and absolutely safe among those living on this dusty little street where women tried hard to keep their homes clean by sweeping water over the dirt. Always a friendly Buenos Dias, a wave, a warm greeting from children and adults as we left or returned ‘home’.
It was an emotional farewell when it came time for us to depart for Canada. One neighbour presented us with signed copies of their son’s photograph so we would not forget them. Unexpectedly, we felt close to these people.
It was an emotional farewell when it came time for us to depart for Canada. One neighbour presented us with signed copies of their son’s photograph so we would not forget them. Unexpectedly, we felt close to these people.
Today, we are heartsick for our former neighbours. We read Nicaragua is in turmoil. In crisis.
Reports Nicaragua Today:
Initially triggered by now-aborted reforms to the near-bankrupt social security system, the unrest broadened into a rejection by many Nicaraguans of President Daniel Ortega, who is seen as autocratic.
From the Nicaragua Daily Mail:
Clashes broke out in Nicaragua between opposition demonstrators using homemade mortars and pro-government groups, with the worst occurring in Leon, northwest of the capital Managua.
A barricade was built across the main road into the city which was used by anti-government protesters to fire their weapons from. Since protests began last month, 76 people have been killed and more than 800 wounded.
Léon! Our Nica hometown! What about the families on our street who scraped by each day selling their homegrown vegetables, tortillas, firewood? What about the old vendors who hawked their wares and stopped to chat with our neighbours? And what about the kids on our dusty little street? I still hear their laughter. Can they still safely play baseball, soccer, tag…be carefree…play cards under the street lamp at night? Who will take care of them if their parents are affected?
Sadly, I have learned it is the real people with nothing who protest for a better life. And it is the real people, many innocent, who suffer the repercussions of violence.
Reports Nicaragua Today:
Initially triggered by now-aborted reforms to the near-bankrupt social security system, the unrest broadened into a rejection by many Nicaraguans of President Daniel Ortega, who is seen as autocratic.
From the Nicaragua Daily Mail:
Clashes broke out in Nicaragua between opposition demonstrators using homemade mortars and pro-government groups, with the worst occurring in Leon, northwest of the capital Managua.
A barricade was built across the main road into the city which was used by anti-government protesters to fire their weapons from. Since protests began last month, 76 people have been killed and more than 800 wounded.
Léon! Our Nica hometown! What about the families on our street who scraped by each day selling their homegrown vegetables, tortillas, firewood? What about the old vendors who hawked their wares and stopped to chat with our neighbours? And what about the kids on our dusty little street? I still hear their laughter. Can they still safely play baseball, soccer, tag…be carefree…play cards under the street lamp at night? Who will take care of them if their parents are affected?
Sadly, I have learned it is the real people with nothing who protest for a better life. And it is the real people, many innocent, who suffer the repercussions of violence.
Map: Nicaragua
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