Warming up to Managua

You could say Managua and I got off to a rough start.  Not 24 hours after arriving in this sweaty city, bowel trauma had me locked in the bathroom.  Tests revealed that I’d contracted a bacterial infection, likely from eating at the fritanga new friends had introduced us to the evening before.   Lured by the promise of fried cheese, fried beef and fried plantains, I neglected to heed warnings from veteran volunteers to wait a month before eating at such dives.

Other challenges emerged once my stomach stabilized.  Crossing the street, for example.  All commercial activity in Managua is scattered along either side of a four-lane mini-highway.  A normal day demands playing human Frogger at least twice. My strategy is to wait several minutes for a perfect moment and then run wildly across like a madwoman, my heart pumping.   The locals, on the other hand, appear unfazed by the ordeal.  I watched a woman walk unhurriedly across the four lanes of traffic while carrying a basket of bananas on her head, and pushing a baby in a stroller, confident that cars and buses would slow down.

On top of the risks of bacterial infection and death by street crossing, there are security concerns.  Travel advisories recommend exercising a high degree of caution in Managua as incidents of armed robberies have been reported and foreigners can be targets.  Matt and I take this warning seriously and return from simple errands depleted from keeping our guards up.  I handed my Nicaraguan colleague a map and asked him to label with a magic marker any areas he deemed unsafe.   He returned it to me nearly completely blackened out; only a narrow strip down the middle was unmarked.

But despite our rough start, I’m warming up to Managua.  I’ll never forget my first visit to Roberto Huembes market: a dizzying indoor maze of hammocks, fruit, handicrafts, household appliances, and mounds of unrefrigerated meat.  Still learning my numbers in Spanish, I mistakenly handed a woman 50 cordobas for some limes (about $2) instead of the requested 15 cordobas (about 50 cents).   Rather than accept the extra cash, she patiently smiled and repeated the price until I understood.  It was a small thing, but I was warmed by this act of empathy and honesty.  

On the bus back from Ometepe Island this weekend, I noticed myself looking forward to returning to Managua.  Unlike the quaint island town we had just visited, Managua boasts limited natural beauty and its inhabitants are guarded.  It's been missing a downtown core ever since a massive earthquake destroyed the city in 1972 and relief donations were stolen by corrupt officials. Any Managuan will tell you that you ought to get out of the city on weekends to visit either Leon or Granada, nearby towns with more tourist charm.  But for now Managua is the place where we have a bed, a coffee maker and a small collection of books.  It’s where Matt and I spend evenings inventing up new uses for the pitaya and the yucca. For now it is home.

Thank you for supporting my work in Nicaragua with a donation to Cuso International! Here's my fundraising site.