Here is the first part in a series (I don't know how long it'll end up being; I've only written this first section) giving you a glimpse at what a day looked like when getting to know an Unsung Hero's contact.
Here you go.
Part One: Kilometer 90?
Wednesday, February 27
Beep, beep, beep. Beep, beep, beep. “Scott, you ready?”
6:00a.m. – It’s day three of our three days of nearly ceaseless travel. By days end we will have spent 24 hours in taxi, bus, or car since Monday finding and meeting with Unsung Heroes. Hearing their hearts, documenting their visions, empowering their hopes.
Today almost didn’t happen. Last night Scott had communication problems with the main contact that lives back in the States, but Abby was able to confirm a meeting after phone calls to their local network.
6:15a.m – Scott puts his phone back in his pocket; Pastor Jaime, our main contact for this month, is at our church for the third day in a row before 6:15 to give us a ride the bus station.
“He, he, he,” Jaime laughs as we walk to his dark blue 2000 Toyota Corolla. “I’m tired! I need at least…three cups of coffee,” he says like a high-pitched cartoon character. (Note to Pastor Jaime: if you’re reading this, I say that affectionately. We very much enjoyed your sarcasm and lighthearted approach to ministry this month.)
Pastor Jaime has short hair, but it’s curly. His big eyes, smile, and ears mirror the cartoonish voice he speaks in most of the time. He tells us that Nicaraguans like to joke and make sarcastic comments to “help forget about the difficulties they experience.”
The drive to our bus stop is normal: a herd of 15 cattle slows us at the single-car bridge; kids sit on the cross bar of a bike as another pedals; embers flicker on the side of the road as trash turns to ash from their overnight burn. The scent of melted plastic pierces your nostrils and makes you cough. Although still unusual, the smell is becoming familiar.
The tires bounce across the ride hexagon bricks that form the winding road. Scott pulls out his phone and asks Jaime to call our Spanish-speaking-only contact for the day. This means I will have to translate our entire meeting. Until then, I want to make sure we get the best information possible so I leave it to the pastor. When he hangs up, he says our meeting is scheduled for 9:30 or 10:00 and that our contact will meet us at kilometer 98 to pick us up in his white truck.
6:30a.m. – We approach the end of the brick road and intersection where we will meet a bus for Esteli, then on to Dario. Jaime parks across the main road on a dirt strip, littered with litter. He gets out of his car and runs to ask some locals when the next bus will come. He returns to tell us 8:30a.m.
“No worries! I will drive you to Esteli.” Jaime jumps back in his car to drive us to the main bus station an hour away, adding two hours to his already fully packed day.
Throughout our Unsung Heroes month we’ve encountered other small and big obstacles to distract us from our goal. And consistently, as we’ve accomplished them, there’s always been something resplendent on the other side. Obstacles excite us.
Jaime tells us more about Nicaragua on our way – it’s both easy and difficult to minister in the country; the government wants to help the people but also wants to be respected. Nicaragua had a civil war back in the 1980’s that resulted in controlling factions moving to neighboring areas in Costa Rica and Honduras. With that move, employment and money left. Costa Rica also acquired rich, fertile land, but Nicaragua still owns the river that separates the two countries.
7:30a.m. – We arrive in Esteli. Jaime drops us off at the bus station and tells us to call him on our way back in the evening. He doesn’t expect us until at least 8:00p.m. It’s going to be a long day.
“Managua, Managua, Managua!,” shouts a bus attendant. I lean over to Scott and tell him to look for a bus to Dario.
“A donde vas? Vas a Dario? El bus para Dario aye,” the bus attendant points to us and to the bus. We grab strawberry fruit bread, Ritz queso crackers, sweet bread, and a coke then jump on a bus headed south.
8:00a.m. – The large white bus takes off for Dario. Mostly old men sit around us wearing Yankees hats. I’m pretty sure the Yankees airmail merchandise to Nicaragua. It’s scattered all over the place. A high-school-aged boy stands at the front of the bus wearing a checkered button down shirt, holding a guitar. He tells us that his dream is to entertain people with his guitar and needs help getting to college. He plays some music for us then walks down the aisle to collect donations. This is pretty normal.
Today we are meeting with the Rainbow Network. They build sustainable communities by providing water, education, medical clinics, and microloans for locals to build a business – usually small house markets or hammocks. We want to try everything we can to meet people in these communities that really fuel their projects.
We pray that we’ll be protected for the day, then just hang out.
“I’m so glad we’re going today,” says Jessica. We had to miss out on a pool party to make this visit.
“I got supernatural rest last night. I had to ball up my sleeping bag liner and shove it against my ear to drown out the voices but I went straight to sleep. I just felt really blessed.”
I pay the ticket man 90 Cordobas (~$3.75USD) as he passes by and ask him in Spanish if he’ll drop us off at Kilometer 98. He turns his head and squints his eyes in confusion, talks to the bus driver, then walks back to say yes.
9:45a.m. – “Kilometre noventa ocho!,” shouts the bus driver. The ticket man comes and gets us. As the bus slows to a stop I get a weary feeling. My gut senses something amiss. I look around and see cropped areas fenced off by barbed wire. On the other is a gated distribution center. We get off. There is no white truck and no shops, stores, or city in site. The bus drives off.
The closest town we know of is 10 minutes behind us by bus.
9:46a.m. – We call our contact. He says a few words, then service cuts out.
9:47a.m. – Our contact calls us back. His name is Nelson. We tell him we’re at Kilometer 98. We lose service again.
9:48a.m. – Our contact doesn’t pick up when we try calling.
9:50a.m. – Nelson calls us back and hands the phone to Felix, his English speaking coworker. In our broken English and Spanish conversation I make out, “You’re at the wrong stop. You should be at kilometer 90. Come here and we’ll pick you up.” He hangs up.
9:54a.m. – We’re stranded. In the middle of Nicaragua. With no idea of how to get where to go.
Stay tuned for what happens next…
