Cabs, Busses, and Crazy Preachers.

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Every time I come to write a journal entry I am so overwhelmed by things that I want to say that I can´t end up thinking of ANYTHING! Strange. So perhaps I will just tell you about my day today.

This morning I went to "El Oriental" again with Raúl, Juliana´s son. We took the bus there: a welcome treat, since Juliana dislikes taking transit and only ever takes cabs. The cabs here are really cheap, (by our standards: US$2 can take u almost anywhere in the city) and ppl use them like buses. But they do not function like our cabs in the sense that they are by no means seen as more"rapid" transportation. Here, as many people as can fit in a cab are squeezed in. So if you get into a cab, you often have to wait as the cabbie pulls over to pick up someone else on the street: which includes time spent haggling over the price (since fares are flat-rate, not by time) and time to help them load their luggage (if there is any) into the trunk. And if you happen to get into a cab in which there are already ppl, you have to wait your turn to be dropped off; sometimes taking you all across the city and back b4 it´s your turn! Although I have seen some interesting parts of Managua that I might not otherwise have seen as a result of these time-consuming diversions, including one povery-ridden "barrio" (the worst, no, ONLY one I have seen) with dirt roads, shacks, and heaps of rubble. Raúl (who was also with us) said to me: "This place used to be so dangerous that cabs would refuse to take you here. I guess things have changed!", he says jovially (trying to reassure me?), " People still die here all the time though, and it´s always in the news", he informs me. Reassurance flees. Any thoughts I had had of taking out my camera had suddenly evaporated!

Well, today Raúl and I took the bus, not a cab. The public busses here are school buses, brightly painted, and in various states of disrepair. If the cabs function more slowly than ours, the busses make up for their laxadazical nature with their incessant speed! You quite literally have to run and swing yourself onto the bus and push into the crowded door, as it begins to take off with you barely clinging on. And getting off is worse: sometimes it barely stops at all, and you stumble out in a half-falling-run. To signal a stop you have to give a high-pitched whistle (something I have yet to master, but which even the old grannies seem able to do!). And being inside the bus is another story altogether. Street vendors climb on and make the aisle their market place, shouting over top of one another: "Sweet milk candy, strawberry, vanialla, chocolate!", "Frozen water!", "Fresh fruit! mango!", etc. They don´t pay to get on, and disembark after having made the rounds to everyone seated (or standing, clinging on to bars mounted on the ceiling).

Today I had the lovely (NOT!) experience of a preacher getting on the bus, and making it his personal pulpit. "The day of the Lord is near!", he bellows menacingly at us, wagging his finger, his ponderous black Bible open in the other hand. "Repent, sinners!". I look around in disbelief: but everyone else seems to be ignoring him, staring passievly out of the windows. Nothing phases them anymore: from street vendors selling their wares to Pastors trying to sell their message. "Look at the sin of this world," he continues in a booming voice, "Abortion! Sex!" He then lowers his voice to a friendly tone:" True, there are various KINDS of abortions...BUT ALL ARE MORTAL SINS!" he booms, almost toppling me out of my near-by seat. Caught off gaurd. "This is why God created AIDS", he continues. He proceeded to go on in this manner, with me getting progressively more angry to the point that my arms were clasped tightly around me to stop myself from SCREAMING at him in Spanish! Pompus, judgemental jerk. How convenient for him, a MAN (who will never have to deal with being pregant and left as a single mother), to preach that abortion is an unequivocal SIN. Here, in Nicaragua, which has one of the highest rates of teenage pregnancy worlwide (the average age for giving birth to the first child being about 14). It is not uncommon here to see a pregnat 13 year-old. And generally she´s a single mother: Nicaragua also has one of the highest incidences of single mothers. Children raising children. And these girls, mothers-who-are-children, often die of birthing complications. Two have died since I have lived in Nueva Guinea, one being 14 the other 13 (reportedly the victim of rape by her stepfather). "I want to hit him" I tell Raúl, dead seriously. He just laughs, "RelA--AX!" he tells me, "No one else is taking any notice of him". It´s true, no one was.

That´s not to compare Managua to a city like New York, where crazy ppl are so abundant that nobody takes any notice. That´s not the case at all. In fact, one of the things that struck me the most about this place is the extent to which it is a SOCIAL culture. Everyone knows everyone else´s business. In Nueva Guinea everyone leaves their doors wide open, inviting othres to drop in at any time (hence my trouble with the kids!). Privacy is virtually non-existant-- literally a foreign concept. In Managua everyone lives in gated compounds: walls topped with spikes and broken bottles. All doors and windows barricaded with metal bars, which take on swirly, decorative shapes to try and mask the fact that they are still just prison BARS. The human need to reconcile security with aesthetics. Outside Juliana´s (walled, barricaded) house there sits (no, slumps) a drunk named Marlon, his slurred Spanish drawl making good on every stereotype of the "drunken Mexican". Juliana feeds him, always sure to "give some to Marlon" at every meal: Rice tied in a clear plastic bag, passed to his out-streched hands through the bars that top the yard wall. This is just one example of this social, look-out-for-your-neighbour society. I have never seen a truly "homeless" person here, in the sense that they literally sleep on the street. Everyone has some sort of shelter to go to, even the ragged street vendors that risk their lives to walk between the cars at stop-lights to sell their goods. People look out for eachother here: they watch one another´s kids play in the street, they scold other ppl´s children, offer household supplies if a neighbor runs out, share food. They may ignore the booming Pastor (goodness knows their daily lives are full enough of the--capital C-- Church), but they do not ignore one another.

That leads to one fainal thing: the Church. The Church here is so omnipresent, the culture so saturated in Christianity, that it has taken on a life of its own. Like some wierd, mind-controlling cult. It´s not any faith I recognize, and I certainly wouldn´t align myself with it. Like my inner-war against the hypocrytical bus-pastor. How can the Church force the Nicaraguan government to remove sex ed. from the school curriculum, when teenage pregnancy is such a drastic problem?! HOW?! Where is the LOVE? I certainly don´t see it in the cold face of the creepy, White, blue-eyed Jesus icons (seen everywhere here, including pasted on the dashboard of the bus this morning) that gaze mournfully down on the sea of brown skin and dark eyes looking back. The Church here is enough to make me lose my faith. Except that I have come to the conclusion that I would rather DIE than live a life without my faith, my Lord. So, chosing life, I am forced to watch this monstrocity of a "Church" devour the life of Nicaragua´s inhabitants. I feel like a hippie crying "All you need is love!", ranting against "organized religion"! I think I should have been born in the 70´s.

Well, that´s all for now. I know thie entry has been kind of controversial, so feel free to comment! Until next time:
Seeta

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Comments

[Thelma]

Hey Seeta! I was just catching up on your blogs- my interent access has been pretty sketch for the past couple of weeks (i'm lying- actually since sumer started)- but I totally know what you mean about this warped- almost automonous cult- like church- it's the same type of fanaticism that's present in a lot of western african countires (I have particularly ghana in mind) and its' definitely been exported to toronto- we should talk more about that when you get back- miss you lats friend! ;)Thelma