Nicaragua During The Time Of The Contras Poem by mutt barker

Dry night wind,

escorted,

gun in back,

just play the game,

let them rob me of my money,

kind thieves, saved my day, and left me half

when the capitan became concerned that a theft had taken place,

the soldiers to whom I was turned over,

by a young farm family

I had left the main highway to walk along the lake shore

lots of dead turtles washed up on shore.

strange. soon night was falling, and I felt the need to return to the main road, the Pan American Highway, Completely quiet at night, the wind blew mercilessly through the dry grass, soldiers at my back, two young men, younger than I,
instructed me to kneel, they put the barrel of their gun in my back, the other went through my pockets, my wallet...

A two hour walk to the headquarters. No cars, the whole time. My blanket in a sack, balanced on my head.

The wind whipped the dry night grass, moon lit.

Papers flew everywhere when the door was opened. the wind whooshed us in the door.

The Capitan, he was going through my items, and came across a poem written by a young lady,

If I cant be free, to fly away like a bird...

the Capitan read it from beginning to end, in the dimly lit room, His voice was filled with feeling

he soon let me go, to a hotel for the nite, at the amazing price of twenty five cents. so much for exchange rates totally out of whack,

This was war torn Nicaragua.

The hell was coming over from Honduras, along that border,

I was at the other,

brought by a Costa Rican bus.

six short months In Costa Rica lay behind me,

three months in Nicaragua lay ahead

I had changed about three dollars at the border, recieving some twelve thousands of cordobas, after paying a crossing fee of a forced currency exchange at a long outpaced rate of some seventy cordobas per dollar, filling out the form of where I was going to stay, Hotel Estrella they said was one place I could fill in.

In the cab ride around Managua, I asked for a cheap place to stay, at first he took me to one place, it was three dollars US per night, I went back to the cab, and said it was too high, then he took me to Hospedaje chepito, now that was more like it, It was about twenty five cents a nite, after the currency exchange

there was no change for a ten cordoba state-run bus ride, so if you handed the driver a hundred note, the custom was to accept the bills from the people behind you. later I felt guilty of doing this. bee-yet-tone they would mumble(a guy with lots of bills)

Every month, or week, the prices would about double. Once, the government, in frustration with the black market forces, doubled all the salaries of the workers. Overnight, the sellers of food doubled their prices. so well cleaned the workers arrived onto the buses, and if the line they made was disorderly, the driver would chastise them, and drive off. sometimes he might circle back, and check on the line, and then let people on.

A poorly dressed Hot dog vendor made much business near the stops.

there were independently operated buses, that charged true prices for a ride, such as 200 cordobas, they had the best air conditioning, the passenger side front windshield was missing, the air whooshed through the bus. a lady with a large basket of fresh bread got on, filling the bus with such an aroma. she got off at a local marketplace. I came by her a short while later, and she had sold most all she had.

small kids would be up in the trees, breaking off dry tree branches for fuel to cook with. They were hard to see, but you could hear the snap...snap... Ice was a novelty, a man gave me a piece, admiringly, with feeling.

I met a small family, Husband, Wife, one little girl, an infant boy, They adopted me for a short time, I rode with them to the countryside, they would buy a pig, have it slaughtered, and bring it back into town to sell. Otherwise, the State would pay the farmer very little. this was the black market. People paid little for their bus ride. but were charged much for their 'bolsas' or bags they would bring into town, which were loaded on top. Once I jumped up there, to ride, it was so crowded inside, I didn't realize I had overstepped my bounds. The caretaker stared at me for the whole ride, to make sure I didn't steal anything, the thought never occured to me, to steal. I think I was charged extra when I came down, as I was up there with the 'bolsas'

I met a guy at the farm, who was the only survivor of an attack on his convoy. He was quiet, in the shadows.

The maximum sentance in Nicaragua, was twenty five years. When the Sandinistas won the revolution against Somoza, they did it with steel plate welded to cars, to make homemade tanks, the winners named the streets after those who had died. One of the members of the old regime, who had done many atrocities, when he awaited his sentance, was told he could go. He could hardly handle it, so I was told.