Pagada

Travel to Toronto was less than convenient. My flight was canceled, a later flight left much later, and the 22-hour trip resulted in a somewhat blurry first few days. Somehow, the fish in Lake Ontario got over their not unreasonable fear of my famed piscatorial talents, and the local wineries survived the Beatty invasion, and a very good time was too soon relegated to the past tense. My return to Nicaragua was uneventful, thankfully.

During my absence, the violence continued. Within five days of my return, the government-paid paramilitaries and National Police forces descended on the Carazo district with deadly intent. The popular tranques in Diriamba and Jinotepe were besieged and dismantled, with more than 20 deaths, mainly of young men defending their towns. A dozen people, including journalists, sought sanctuary in the Basilica of Saint Sebastian in Diriamba.  A Catholic cardinal and the bishops of Managua and other dioceses traveled to Diriamba to liberate them, but a mob of masked Orteguistas and paramilitaries, armed with guns and machetes, attacked them viciously. The monsignor and priest of St. Sebastian were beaten. Journalists were attacked and their equipment destroyed.

Mrs. Daniel Ortega, also called vice president Rosario Murillo, described the incident as thoroughly "Christian." She is, unsurprisingly, the most hated woman in Nicaragua.

Pope John Paul II visited that Basilica. Christmas, 2016, my sister Mary Mary and I attended a beautiful midnight Mass there. I asked Maria José if there were Ortega supporters in Diriamba. She shrugged and said, "Pagada." Paid.  The local Sandinista party apparatchiks pay people to oppose the popular uprising. And beat elderly monsignors.

This is a very dirty civil war.

Duck, Duck, Duck the Gunfire

Prior to my (still hoped for) flight to Toronto this weekend, I still had one more gift to buy for a sibling. I knew what I wanted, but the shop in Diriamba where it sat in a display case has been shuttered for the past few days because of the armed gangs harassing local neighborhoods. I figured it was worth one more try, so I caught a microbus, which left me on the outer rim of Diriamba, since it could go no further. I got a motito for the rest of the trip, and, Hurray! The shop was open!

Purchases in hand, I stopped at the super, where some food was now available, grabbed another motito, and we headed off for home. Just as we reached the edge of the city, a passing moto warned my driver that the Las Esquinas tranque was under attack, and not to go there. It was lunchtime, so I told the driver to take me to Mi Bohia, a decent restaurant nearby. I figured if I had to wait to get home, I might as well have a nice lunch.

No sooner had I taken the first sip of a very cold beer when the loud rattle of gunfire erupted just outside the restaurant. We all -- I, the waiter, and the few other customers -- dropped to the floor. A fellow who worked there peered out the window and said a camioneta was there in the street, firing at a barricade in the next block.  He turned out the lights, and we waited through several more bursts of gunfire. When it seemed safe to sit up, lunch arrived and I calmly enjoyed my delicious red snapper, feeling as if I were starring  in a Fellini film. The gunfire returned, briefly. When I had paid my bill, the proprietress made a phone call to check on the situation in Las Esquinas. "You should wait here," she said. The fighting was still going on, so I sat there in the entryway for nearly another hour.  Finally, a motito came by, and said he could take me to the highway, where I could walk north in hopes of finding a microbus.

This photo of Ticuantepe from La Prensa gives a good idea of how cities like Diriamba are blocking the camionetas' access. 

When I started walking, it was nearly one-thirty, and the sun was intense. A couple of guys were also looking for a bus to Managua, and one offered to carry my shopping bag. It was hard for my old legs to keep up with two young men, but I soldiered on. We walked about 1.5 kilometers before we finally spotted a waiting micro. Sweaty shirt and burning feet. Oh, bliss!

The shooting was over in Las Esquinas, and the tranque was wide open. The micro dropped me off in front of my gate and I fairly somersaulted through the porton to quiet, safety, and home. I could never have imagined being in such a situation, but oddly, it seems almost manageable. You just have to make it home.

My fingers are crossed that I will travel safely to Managua, to the airport, and parts north with no trouble. Nothing is definite in the current atmosphere.  Wish me luck, please.

Strange New World

After yesterday’s national work stoppage, my trip to Diriamba this morning was an odd mix of eerie calm and unsettling evidence that the town has been transformed into a fortress. The death three days ago of a 15-year-old boy there, and continuing reports of attacks on tranques and ordinary civilians by the camionetas – small white pickup trucks carrying armed paramilitary thugs who shoot to kill at no discernible provocation– has caused many people to simply remain at home. Roads that lead from the center of town into neighborhoods have been closed to vehicular traffic to discourage the camionetas. Somewhere, there are stretches of newly unpaved roads, as the paving stones have been ripped up and used to build the barriers. In consequence, the motito that brought us to Diriamba had to take lengthy and circuitous detours to get us safely to the mercado.

Photo from La Prensa

The usual crowds of shoppers and vendors have thinned out. Many stores are closed, and although local farmers are selling their produce, the usual bounty that comes from the wholesalers in Managua cannot be delivered. There was rice today at the supermarket, but little else. No milk, cheese, eggs, meats, pasta, beans, canned goods – nada. Beer aplenty, and scotch—say no more, say no more!

And what has become the new normal: lines of semi tractor-trailers, simply standing idle on the main thoroughfares. I noticed a number of propped up engine hoods, and wondered how many of the big rigs simply die in place, or run out of fuel while idling for hours on end. 

My plans to join my siblings in Canada for a week are in jeopardy. The early morning flight I hope to take in a week has been canceled for several days by American Airlines, citing security concerns. My secret theory is that there are too many unsold seats lately, and by suspending a regular flight for a few days, a sold-out plane will result. Anyhow, they say rescheduling will not cost more, if another flight can be arranged. Fingers crossed. Hell, just getting to the airport is questionable.

Travel Notes: Tranques for the Memories

When the tranques (barricades, TRANK-kays) first appeared, the big rigs pulled to the sides of the road to allow local traffic to pass, understanding that halting commercial transport of goods was the primary aim of the stoppage.  The little tuk tuks and bicicletas could pass, as well as motorcycles and taxis. Even the microbuses could manage to get through, going up one-way streets, on sidewalks, inching along just microns from the next vehicle.

No more. Today, the tranque returned to Las Esquinas, and the big semi tractor-trailers are stopped at all angles -- some actually parked perpendicular to the road -- to thwart every effort to pass through. In some cases, the rigs are parked so tightly to each other that even skinny pedestrians cannot pass. I do not blame them. Vegetables are rotting in their rigs, orders are likely being canceled. This is all very bad for business.

This morning, I caught a passing bicicleta to Las Esquinas, intending to take a bus to San Marcos to return some books to the Keiser University library. Somehow, by zigzagging through the standing trucks, we made it almost all the way, only to find that no buses could get through to San Marcos. I asked one of the tranquistas, a young guy with a bandanna masking his face, how far the stopped vehicles extended down the road to San Marcos . He thought perhaps a kilometer, and was quite sympathetic. So, I decided to walk as far as I could to see if, at some point, motitos were helping to get people into San Marcos. The tranque was composed of stacked paving blocks, and a large log, still smoking from being burnt. Other men helped me over the log with utmost courtesy, and I started down the road past the big rigs. Many drivers had slung hammocks beneath their trucks or between roadside trees, and were taking advantage of the opportunity to grab some zees. People were selling drinks and food. Eventually, it was clear that I would be halfway to San Marcos before the road opened up, if ever, so I turned back and found another bicicleta to take me home.

This photo of the tranque at Las Esquinas is from an article in the website Confidential.com.ni

Two hours later, the backup had reached well beyond my front gate. No traffic is headed north toward Managua. Hard to believe it's the PanAmerican Highway.

Looking north, toward Managua.

Looking south toward Diriamba

I have seen online posts that say gasoline is both scarce and costly. Some shelves in grocery stores are empty. The tranques are beginning to hurt ordinary Nicaraguans. Restaurants are closing. Tourism-based businesses are being shuttered. I've heard that banks are running out of money. Jobs are disappearing all over the country. When and where will it end?

Post scriptum, next day:
Maria José accompanied me as I tried again to get to San Marcos. We walked to Las Esquinas, where I bought some cold Cokes, which we passed out to some of the tranquistas. We continued on foot to Santa Clara, about two miles from my house. There, we were able to get on board a microbus which took us into San Marcos. Keiser U. was open, but only one entrance was available, another half-mile walk to the opposite end of the campus. My dogs were aching! We later went to the bank, so I could prepay July's rent, stopped at the grocery to buy Scotch (it had little else on offer) and we went to Casona, a nice restaurant, empty of customers, for lunch.

We grabbed a ride back to the line of trucks, about a half-mile out of Las Esquinas, and made it home on a bicicleta. With four new books and two bottles of whiskey, I'm set for the next week or so.

P.P.S. Monday, 11 June
Maria José informed me that there is no propane left in Diriamba or Las Esquinas, save for five filled tanks still available. Normally when I need propane, I exchange my empty tank for a filled one , but with half a tankful still, I decided to shell out $60 to purchase a filled tank, which should see me through September. Daily, I thank my lucky stars for Maria José.

A Dangerous New Word

The internal strife in Nicaragua continues. The army is still mainly on the sidelines as hundreds of thousands of ordinary citizens, unarmed and determinedly peaceful, march to demonstrate their complete disgust with the Ortega government. The huge Mothers’ Day (this week in Nicaragua) crowd was estimated at 700,000, or one tenth the country’s population!

Uncredited photo from Facebook group.

Daily, I peruse the opposition newspaper La Prensa online. Its coverage, along with posts by Nicaraguans on a Facebook group site (Expats in Nicaragua) is my primary source of information about the protests. 

I learned a new word on La Prensa’s front page recently: francotirador. It means sniper. Which, in turn, neatly defines the government’s response to the public demonstrations. Hired Sandinista youth and, some say, Cuban mercenaries, well-equipped with Russian sharpshooter Dragunov rifles, fire both rubber bullets and live ammunition into the crowds, killing indiscriminately. The death toll reached 100 this week, with more than a thousand injured.

Imagine the U.S. or Canadian government hiring snipers to “discourage” public demonstrations.

Please take a moment and watch this short clip from the Mothers’ Day demonstrations. Then play it again with closed eyes. Then, try to measure the courage and determination of a people trying desperately to rid their country of its voracious power wielders, for the second time in less than forty years.

https://www.facebook.com/AGNER.ALEMAN.3/videos/2001697979840802/?

Trolls and Tolls

This morning, as I prepared to go to San Marcos to return some library books, my empleada Maria José told me that the “T” junction at Las Esquinas (where the road to San Marcos connects to the Pan American Highway) had been commandeered by a group of mainly young men, stopping traffic and charging money to be able to continue on. I wasn’t sure I heard her correctly; there is a National Police station right there at the intersection, and I could not believe such an anarchistic hijacking of the freeway would be tolerated.

True enough, when I hired a bicicleta to take me to the bus stop in Las Esquinas, traffic was backed up in all three directions. The bicicleta wove in and around the idling trucks and vans and brought me to a waiting motito, where the driver explained that the buses were not running. So I hopped in and went on to San Marcos.

The big news of the day was the beginning of “dialogo” in Managua, between the Ortega government and representatives of various rebellious factions from the continuing protests and government violence. A clear majority want Ortega to go, but the Sandinista party and those who are its functionaries are perforce loyal to Ortega. Nobody seems to expect anything particular to emerge from the dialogo, but it is seen as a victory to have forced Ortega to the table.

I stopped at the grocery after the library, and then found another motito back to Las Esquinas, where we were blocked by an even larger gang of mainly young men, who had laid big stones and pieces of wood across the road. The motito driver tried to get someone to let us through, without success. Someone set off some firecrackers, which elicited whoops and people running from further away. It was clear that the least disturbance could raise the excitement to uncomfortable levels. I paid him and got out to try and find a bicicleta. Then, suddenly, the blockade opened and some traffic was allowed to proceed, and the motito came by and picked me up again.

I asked the motito driver why the police were just standing around, watching the extortion for passage. “They are afraid,” he said. “The new gasoline tariff of 15% is why the men are getting the money.” I later read in La Prensa that these tranques --blockades-- were held at other major arteries in the country, protesting rising food costs, in addition to gasoline and propane.

From La Prensa

There were perhaps 50-60 men in the intersection. All along the highway to my front gate, onlookers were standing, watching. Half a kilometer to my house, another group of men had obstructed the highway with wood and palms.  The sound of trucks idling lasted for two days. No doubt, the usual food and drink sellers were doing brisk business.

This is a tense time. So many people whose poverty and powerlessness have become intolerable can be momentarily intoxicated by these moments of brute power and anarchy. Not exactly a harbinger of stable daily life, as the thunderous blast of firecrackers continues.

It's a Smaller World After All

My inquiries regarding line-of-sight internet came to nothing. It would have been possible, but the cost to install a 110-foot antenna would have been more than $1,600. My brief fantasy of working online for 10-12 hours per week for a Chinese linguistics concern as a native English speaker and having unlimited excellent reception of internet television screeched to an abrupt halt. Now, I have only BBC World news channel, which stretches about four hours of news programming into 24 through endless repetition. Is one channel in English enough to warrant paying for cable access every month? And my problems with shaky internet service remain. I had not realized how limiting it is to have no television AND very little streaming capability.

Suddenly, it has rained nightly for four days, or daily for four nights, if you prefer. Suddenly, dozens of roly-poly fat beetles appear out of the darkness, attracted by my reading lamp. The dogs chase them until they give up, exhausted, helpless on their backs, waggling their little legs until I sweep them up and dump them outside.

Keiser University has concluded its spring semester, which means I'll have no students to tutor until September. Suddenly, my small world has become microscopic. I definitely will be buying some more chickens.