So, Mr Ortega is back in the driving seat. You know, I spent some time in Nicaragua and I'm not surprised that the ex-prez can make a come back. So what if he did whatever it is the American press say he did. The truth on the ground is that Nicaraguans are very peaceful, very friendly and very poor. They couldn't give a flying monkey if the privelaged few had their riches taken away and redeployed to arms to fight off the American-funded Counter-Revolutionaries.
I don't mean to sound overly political, but all the Nicaraguans I met were lovely lovely people. Even the thirteen year old soldier I shared a cigarette with while he hugged his carbine to his chest outside the army barracks in Rio Blanco. A really nice kid. I couldn't speak Spanish very well. He couldn't speak English at all. But he smiled just the same as any one else I've ever met.
And the family in Achuapa that housed, fed and washed my clothes for three weeks: a nicer bunch you couldn't hope to meet.
When we were sat at the top of a mountain overlooking the valley finca owned by one of Nicaragua's most prominent barristers, we were told folk tales that really gave a feel for how full and complex these people are. And for all the sophistication of a barrister, he still was never happier than when he was wading out into his lake, dragging a net across to scoop up a large haul of fish for the fiesta he threw that night.
When the sun peaked its head up over the distant mountains as I sat outside the house in Achuapa I was so happy and at peace. The family's dog was sat at my heel, the dad was out cutting wheat with his machete, the mother was collecting water to cook the kidney beans and rice, the kids were getting ready for school and the world was just busily getting on with life.
Good on Mr Ortega. Please don't fuck these loveley people over.
Peace out.
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