An AA meeting in Nicaragua.

Leon, 19 marzo 1990.
I woke up this morning feeling a heavy attack of a mental depression occupying the inside of my skull. The cronic depression that the whole of the Nicaragua population seems to suffer for brought about, no doubt, by the unjust american economic blockade that effectively has closed the country off to the outside world.
No oil, no import of the most basic necesities for a dignified human life, factories have closed down due to the lack of raw material that have to be imported from abroad.
Restaurants that are open but have no food, bar that have no alcoholic beverages, cinemas that rerun outdated movies, pas de electricite and more of this stuff.
No wonder the nicaraguan people clamor for change. The live in the back garden of the biggest superpower in the world, Los Estados Unidos, and they know it now.

"Alcohol is the source of all evil"! With a start I'm back in the here and now and realise I'm in the middle of a AA meeting.
Micheal, the brittish alcoholic I met in my Hotel yesterday has convinced me to come along to this AA meeting and he is busy now making a statement, explaining his views on King Alcohol, he's on stage and fenting his frustations, no doubt having the time of his life.
His skinny frame is trembling, beads of clammy sweat roll down his bleak cheeks, his clenched fists going up and down in the air, his light brown eyes full with devine determination.
Too bad he doesn't speak a single word of spanish. I mean it seems real unlikely to me that most of the 20 odd males present in this room can understand his thickly accented english but they encourage him on clasping their hands every so often. I've a strong suspicion they just wanna be polite

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