Nicaragua

Nicaragua

Criton

May 2011

I decided to spend the day, wandering around this port city. So I wandered off the ship and out in to the very hot, sunny day. Once I left the secured port area, numerous bicycle taxi drivers accost me.

“Only $5, madam. One hour. Only $5”.

“Please, please madam. Come with me.  Only $5 US”. 

They call and beg and wear me down.  One young man smiles more broadly than the others.  I am his now and he knows it.

Joseph is to be my guide for the next hour.   With his broken English and my very, very limited Spanish, we converse as best we can.  And I enjoy every minute of his company and understand maybe 45% of what he told me.  He is 21, married and has a 7-month baby, Ashley, who is a great source of pride for him.  He wants to take me to meet his family. And when he makes the offer, I am defensive and hesitant.  Is this a scam? Is he going to take me to some place where I am going to be robbed?  I am not as young as I used to be and I have to stop taking risks.  But then I thought, “Do I really?”  What if I don’t make it through today?  I’ve had a pretty good life up to this point.  This wouldn’t be a bad exit point.  And do I want to become suspicious of everyone’s motives?  Do I want to be so damn defensive? My gut tells me to go and see and so off we went. 

And when we arrive at his house, he is so happy to see this little, beautiful daughter of his.  His quite, petite wife stands beside him, dutifully and quietly.  She runs and fetches him a cold glass of water.  And she poses for a family portrait at my request.  She stands in the background as Joseph does all the speaking for the both of them.

I wandered down the street and take photos of the neighborhood. Joseph wanted to come with me but at my insistence, Joseph stays behind and played with his little girl.

The streets are quiet and void of cars.  There are motorcycles and kids playing soccer and people on the steps.  This port fits my image of modern Cuba: simple, quiet, hot, friendly people.

I ask Joseph if I can go inside his house.  He seems hesitant at first.  But then he agrees. I wonder if he compromised himself in hopes of gaining a better tip from me.  I hope not.  Bit I do really want to go inside.

The house had no lights on as just one small effort to reduce any more heat.  The windows are opened and have window guards, as did the front door.  The cider block walls and the linoleum floors remind me of an old school classroom. 

The two couches are upholstered and ugly, ripped in multiple places so that no matter where you sit, the exposed, hot foamed cushions touch your skin. 

There is a large wooden desk with an old, dusty PC in full view.  A few family photos adore the chipped walls, which are badly in need of a fresh coat of paint.

Joseph shows me some family portraits and a trophy he won in high school for football.  His sister in law sits on the couch, nursing her baby and watching a soap opera on the television.  She completely ignores us.  I say hello but she does not respond. Joseph’s wife had vanished and I am not invited to view any more of the house.  But it looks as if there may have been two more rooms behind some shower curtains.

Joseph tells me that he and his brother and spouses lived in his house.  And then he indicates that his parents also live here.  But I am not sure I got this right.

As we leave, Joseph turned to me, and then he looks around, smiles widely and gestures with pride and said, “My house.  This is my house.”  I tell him it was beautiful. The wife reappears and I take a few more photos and off we go back to port.