AIDS in Nicaragua

Poverty in Nicaragua

Mid January , 2008

On a short haul bus between Managua and Granada Nicaragua

Hola Amigos y Amigas,

The three of us had a couple days to kill, so a trip to the lake side tourist town of Granada was planned. Granada was laid out immediately adjacent to The Lago De Nicaragua, a huge and although not quite North American Great Lakes size, clearly the largest in Central America. The human population hasn't been to kind to the El Lago in recent years, but it's still a nice place for a lakeside tourist resort town. Granada itself was a little run down and showed the influence of the Spanish architecture, left over from the days of the Conquistadors. Old world, very much third world, but charming nonetheless.

Lodged in a suburban Managua hotel at the time, we took a cab into town, and had the driver drop us off after a brief ride through touristy (NOT) Managua. My rather clear general impression of Managua was that of crumbling ruins. The poverty oozed out between the cracks in the sidewalks and the walls, just as the vegetation was trying to do. The maintenance workers and wheels of the automobiles could keep the weeds trimmed, but the poverty was another story entirely. We asked for a drop off near the bus line, and thus were able to hop onto a highway bus and settle into our somewhat crowded, hot, and somewhat smallish seats on a bus that looked like it had a 50/50 probability of making the agreed upon destination. But those seats which seemed adequate for the locals, were clearly not built for gringos, even gringos who had lost a little weight after a tiring voyage from Zihuatanejo, Mexico to Barillas, El Salvador. No other seats being left, a rather smallish nun sat next to me, for which I was thankful (that she was smallish). I tried to blend in and tried hard not to sweat too much, probably unsuccessfully in the dank tropical heat and mid day sun. The good news is that the windows worked as decent ventilation once underway.

Just prior to the bus pulling out onto the highway, an emaciated male figure was pushed onto the bus from the rear. I don't have any idea how old he was, as it was difficult to tell where the age started and the emaciation stopped. The fella doing the pushing was buff by comparison, although somewhat neglected himself in the nutrition department. I got the distinct impression that the two were traveling companions, and the gentleman being pushed could not have gotten on the bus without the help of his companion. The bus being standing room only by this time, the two stick figures sat on the floor of the bus near the driver as we pulled out.

By this time, I had spent enough time Central America to get used to seeing without understanding, so I watched and took mental notes as the healthier of the emaciated duo had a brief exchange with the driver. A nod of the head, and then arising from the floor, the stick figure began a rather longish speech, moving up and down the aisle as he spoke in Spanish. I wished that the three gringos aboard had chosen seats near enough to converse, so we could pool our limited knowledge of the language and try to get an understanding of whether we were being asked to shake the money out of our wallets, or just another mundane plea for a vote for Danny Ortega, a local politico. Not seeing any weaponry on board, I wasn't concerned for my physical welfare and ultimately, it turned out to be a plea for money. Of course, the plea being made in Spanish, it all fell on my deaf ears and you wouldn't be reading this if not for the fact that the stick figure repeated it in English, apparently for the benefit of the three gringos aboard.

What he repeated in English, was a sad tale of woe, about an individual (himself) who grew up in Georgia, near Atlanta, contracted AIDS, and flew to Nicaragua on the mistaken belief that the AIDS drugs he needed that were available and un-affordable in Georgia, were made available and made affordable by a state subsidy in Nicaragua. He was unfortunately wrong about the Nicaraguan state subsidy and was slowly withering away, having been reduced to begging on the public buses in one of the poorest countries in Central America. Having heard and this time understanding his entire speech, which was sad enough, I was mostly struck by his closing line. He said in very clear English, 'Thank you for listening' and then casting his eyes downward, 'or at least for not laughing at me'. It was the 'laughing' part that grabbed my heart strings and my purse strings. The nun to my right also dug deep, which surprised me nearly as much as the stick figure's tale...

Adios Amigos y Amigas

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