Two Women, Two Busses

Two Women, Two Busses  

I had to be in Managua last week.  There had been announcements that protestors were setting up a “tranque”, a roadblock on the main highway between north and south. The idea was to force the government to give in to their demands. The tranque stops traffic, but sometimes the protestors let busses through.  There are security issues for volunteers who get stuck in the tranque, and so the day before I left, I called the security jefe to ask if I could travel. I was told it was safe, that there might be a delay, but that the protestors were letting busses through every 45 minutes.

On the bus ride down, I struck up a conversation with a Nicaraguense who was living in the States and had been for 22 of her 32 years.  Romy lives in Washington State and speaks perfect American English.  She travels back to Nicaragua once a year or so to see her father in the north and was taking the bus to Managua to meet up with her mother. As a part of introductory chit-chat I asked what kind of work she did and she said she was a “janitor”, her word, with such candor that I liked her right away.  We talked a lot about the problems of her country and the parts that make it so seductive. She sees improvements. She remembers as a child standing in line for milk, which must have been rationed in the hard economic times after the wars.  But she is shocked that in her father’s town there is no water for days at a time, common in parts of this country. She laughed about the acceptance with which her father’s family deals with the water situation, collecting barrels of water while it’s flowing for future use, while she has gringo outrage that services aren’t reliable.  We talked about education, jobs, tourism, and we exchanged contact information.  Then we came to the tranque.

The situation had changed.  The busses weren’t going through.  Instead we had to get off the bus and walk through the tranque and on the other side get on a bus that would take us the rest of the way to Managua.  Romy sensed danger and asked me if she could go first. (One thing I’ve noticed is that although I feel I can deal with any situation here, however much hubris that statement might reveal, I am an excellent follower and so if some other volunteer or person I trust takes the lead, I happily follow.) Romy took me by the hand, literally, and we walked through the strange landscape of the tranque-- stopped vehicles, people on foot lugging their bags, opportunistic food and drink vendors, and pedicab drivers offering to provide rides to the busses on the other side.  Then we came to the protestors themselves, ex-military guys who think they are owed benefits by the government.  They wore old camo and carried vintage weapons that I imagine had been stored somewhere since the wars in the eighties. Their faces were masked.  They had set up two rows of tires across the highway, one to the north and one to the south.  The tires were scorched looking—they had been set on fire at one time.  Romy and I moved fast.  A man tried to start a conversation with me.  He spoke a little English.  Usually I take time to talk to these guys, but Romy moved me along until we cleared the tranque and found a bus.  We rode together to Managua and she made me promise to text her when I got to the Peace Corps office.  She has the address of this blog site and I hope she looks it up so she can read how much I appreciated her help.

For the ride back home, Peace Corps was advising by-passing the tranque.  This detour amounts an 8 hour ride, instead of my customary 3 ½ hours on the bus. I rode 2 hours to Leon without event and was standing in the sticky heat waiting for the bus for the next leg of the journey when another Nicaraguense started up a conversation in English.  We traveled together for a few hours.  Her story is worth hearing.  She grew up on a farm outside of Esteli.  She is the oldest of several children and traveled to school on foot an hour and a half each way.  In her final year of high school someone suggested she apply for a USAID scholarship to study for two years in the United States.  There were 24 places for 800 applicants and she made the cut, living with a family in the northern mid-west and studying at a college.  She studied business administration and entrepreneurship.  When she got back to Nicaragua, she became an entrepreneur.  She started by arranging for facilities and translators for a non-profit sending a team to work in Nicaragua, and from that beginning, she has developed a good client list.  She’s a networker, she knows how to get things done. For example, she personally visits any facility she books for her non-profits and lets them know what they need to do to get her continued patronage. The rooms better be ready, the food better be good. She accepts that she can’t live with her family all the time.  She travels home when she can.  She keeps a planner like an American, has a cell phone full of contact information and is always looking for a new marketing opportunity.  Me, for example.  In order to help out her aging father, she has arranged for her family to take in tourists who might like to live on a real Nica farm and enjoy the natural beauty in the hills around Esteli—hikes, waterfalls and the like.  $15 per person per night and you can make tortillas with the family and participate in farm life and all meals are included.  I may just go to give it a try and let you know how it is.

I don’t know any people in the capital city, and maybe there are a slew of them like her in Managua, but in my experience she is completely unique.  I have to say it was refreshing to encounter her optimistic, can-do attitude, especially here where I can see the need for people to get things done, to make things happen. So good for you, USAID, keep the scholarships coming. As for me, not too bad for a couple of bus rides over two days.