Managua, Nicaragua, 29 November 2000

With the trickling-off of the rainy season in early October came an
onslaught of Hurricane Mitch-related activities that threatened to
bury me in October and November, and now that I finally have time to
breath and contemplate again, I realize the northern autumn has drawn
to a close and Orion has begun his winter's climb through the night
sky.  Winter is nearly upon us.

Upon you, that is.  Here in tropical Managua it's still 85°F and I can
break a sweat while toweling-off after my morning shower, and during
my lunch break I have the good fortune to be able to go out and swim
laps under an azure sky.  There are disadvantages to living in
Managua, but frostbite isn't one of them.

All's well down Nicaragua-way, but I'm busier than I've been since
leaving Boston, and my old Peace Corps hammock-days seem like they
ended a million years ago.  The Hurricane Mitch Reconstruction program
is nearing its midpoint now, and there's plenty going on: dam safety
inspections, hydrologic modeling, designs for failing rural roads,
river bank-stabilization, technical assistance, quality management
programs, aerial mapping, and all the logistics work that accompany
those endeavors.  I'm having fun, but I'm working nights and weekends
again.

One trip into the mountains of Nicaragua took me through the gorgeous
Pantasma River Valley of Jinotega which was verdant with fresh oranges
at the time.  We stopped along the road to enjoy some fresh guirila
(sweet corn tortillas cooked over a wood fire) and farmers' cheese,
and then fought our way through the mud to the river's edge to find
that it had swollen during the previous night's downpour, and there
was no way to get the vehicle across.  But in Nicaragua there always
is a way, if you're willing to be patient. We struck a deal with the
owner of an old east-German truck left over from the war years, and
crossing the river on a small footbridge with our survey equipment on
our backs, rode in a bumpy piece of history out to the project site.
Some day when my commute once again consists of interstates and
cloverleaves, I'll miss Nicaragua- all of its hardships and all of its
adventures- dearly.

What I won't miss however, is the sadness of such desperation.  In my
three years in this poor little country I've seen the situation grow
even more dire and poor people grow far poorer: two banks have folded
in the past three months requiring the expenditure of tens of millions
of dollars' worth of the government's international reserves.  Both
banks folded for the same reason:  the owners lent all the money to
themselves and never paid it back.  The inevitable devaluation of the
national currency that ensues is going to be a hard blow to many.  The
high-level corruption and embezzlement continues unfettered with the
distinction that now in the final year of the Liberal party's rule
it's more blatant than ever, even unabashed.  Last week the president
fired half of the Ministry of Transportation (before Christmas!) in
political vengeance, and last night Sandinistan supporters blocked the
highways and stormed the National Assembly for really the same anger
that's consuming American voters: the November mayoral votes are
taking too long to count and noone's sure that they're being counted
fairly.  These days, even ex-patriots and aid-workers grit their teeth
in anger and impotence against a system that lets the powerful rob
with impunity from the second poorest people in the Americas.  The
anger and helplessness that the Nicaraguan people feel must be so much
more acute.  "We're Indians," a young man in Jinotega told me
forebodingly, "and an Indian never forgets."
Which makes me wonder yet again how it is I can love this country so
much.  What I'm learning after three full years in Central America is
that Nicaragua's charm is its simplicity, and the meaning that
simplicity lends to life.  What I pondered while traveling this month,
as the darkness of night finally crept over the mountains of
Chinandega and the smoke of wood fires began to curl upwards through
the tile roofs was this: that Nicaragua's neediness implies hope, and
that because Nicaragua has so many problems there are so many ways to
help.  

And so while the Hurricane Mitch program thunders through the
holiday season and into 2001, Nicaragua remains to me what it has
always been: the scraping sound of crickets in the evening and the
silhouette of the jagged earth against the night sky, a country where
people aren't afraid to talk to strangers and you can get a smile out
of a kid by giving him one first.  The stars are crisp over the
mountains now that the rains have passed, and the wood smoke still
smells vaguely of beans and corn, the cashew trees are full of
fragrant pink buds and the avocado trees are in flower. There's still
plenty of adventure in Nicaragua for those who are willing to look for
it, and plenty of beauty for those who appreciate simplicity.  And
Orion, rising on the eastern horizon, brings with him a sense of
reassurance and peace.