This past week the team and I decided to go on a miniature vacation. We had been working diligently on the school for the past week or so, smashing rocks, moving earth, and pouring cement. Our ministry host recognized our work, and gave us two days off to recover and relax. There had been talks of going to a volcano, the beach, or just lounging around Palacaguina. Eventually, we decided on the beach, and booked our stay the night before.
We left out sleepy little town around 1 in the afternoon. We caught a bus outside our house, that would then deliver us to a larger bus depot, where we would catch our next connection. We were headed to Leon, the ‘second capital’ of Nicaragua. Leon is a nicely sized city, 30 minutes inland from the Pacific coast. We had heard about the water being warm, and the city exciting, so we set out eyes on Leon.
The first bus was a retired school bus, painted all sorts of colors. The bus was jam packed with people— standing room only. We shuffled down the narrow aisle with our daypacks cinched to out backs. With every step, my bag would swing around and bump another passenger. People were used to this scene. They hardly moved when we attempted to squeeze by. The color of our skin only bought a quick glance, then back to their phone, or in some cases naps. Men were walking up and down the aisles, with bags of chips, and banana bunches hoping to sell their homemade snacks. Old men were snoring and their heads would tilt and swivel as the bus took tight turns. Children were staring at us white skinned Americans, and as soon as we looked their way, they would hide their faces out of embarrassment. We were on a bus in Nicaragua. The bus driver announced the destination, and we tried to settle in for the hour long ride.
By the end of the ride, we had all found seats. People exited throughout the route, and we would slide into seats and set our bags on our laps like they were our children. We entered the bus depot, and paid our fare. A nice lady walked us down the street to the other bus depot, where we were to catch the next bus. She had a gimp in her walk, so it took extra long. We thanked her upon arrival and entered the station.
Immediately, men swarmed our group. Taxi drivers, bus drivers, and random men with cars all gravitated towards me, as if they saw their next paycheck walk into the room. The group sat down in an empty corner of the station, while me and another girl tried to figure out how to get on the right bus.
We shortly discovered that the last public bus to Leon had left early that morning. We looked at each other and quickly tried to figure out what to do. Men were continuing to offer to drive us in there taxis, vans, or minibuses. Another man was trying to explain to me how to get to Leon via public bus, which included 3 more buses and hours of waiting around. We eventually loaded on a public bus, planning to go to a city, then waiting for a few hours, only to catch another bus to Leon. Men continued to make offers to me, and they were all outlandishly expensive. I realized that we could either pay an expensive ride to go directly to the hostel, or take the cheaper and more painful route with public buses.
Right when I thought we were going to be spending the whole day catching and waiting for public buses, a man appeared. He walked out of the bus station with confidence in his step. He was dressed like a man of respect. Unlike the other men in dirty jeans and ragged t-shirts, he dawned a pressed white shirt, slacks, and worn dress shoes. He caught my eye with his clothes, but it was his calm and confident demeanor that made me interested. I hopped off the parked bus, and asked the bus driver when we were leaving. Ishmael saw the distress and panic in my eyes, and extended his hand.
I shook it, and told him my name. He did not begin yelling numbers at me, or try to rip me off with unreasonable prices. He asked how I was, and where I wanted to go. I told him Leon. He pointed over to his truck, and offered to take the group and I directly to Leon in the back of his truck. He made a fair offer, and I agreed on it. I told the rest of the group what happened, and they gladly loaded up in the bed of his truck. Ishmael told me to sit in the passenger seat, so I could translate and navigate. I felt secure and safe, despite never knowing the man. Something in his eyes just seemed right, like he was sent to pick us up.
We stopped at a gas station to get snacks and drinks for the 3 hour ride to the coast. Ishmael put gas in the truck, and we were on our way. While much was lost in translation, Ish and I talked in the cab of the truck. I told him of our trip, and how our time in Nicaragua haD been so far. He shared about his family and how he wanted to go to the States one day, and buy a bigger truck that runs on diesel. We spoke of surface level things, but it was natural and he was patient with my limited spanish vocabulary.
On the way, Ish stopped in a field, where a smoking volcano could be seen in the distance. He took pictures of the group, and told us about the volcano. He also offered to swing by some hot springs on the way. He told us that he loved bringing his family there for weekend getaways.
We ended up getting lost in Leon trying to find the hostel. We drove around for a while, and could not find it in the city. Upon further searching, we discovered that we had to go further towards the coast. We told Ish, and he gladly drove us an extra 30 minutes to the coast. He never complained or mumbled about our disorganized confusion.
After three and a half hours in the back of a windy truck bed, we arrived to out beach side hostel. We hopped out of the truck, and paid Ishmael. He then walked us to the hostel to make sure we arrived safely. We said our quick goodbye to Ish, and walked int the hostel, dreary and beat form the long day of travel.
From the central part of the hostel, a direct view of the ocean was seen. The smell of the salt water and the sound of crashing waves refreshed my weary body. I was immediately renewed and filled with excitement of our new location. I nearly forgot about the hectic bus station, and the windy ride up there— the ocean was making it all seem so small and non important.
Our time on the beach was incredible. We swam in the ocean, surfed the waves, and enjoyed relaxing by the pool. It was a needed retreat. We met people traveling from all over. Some young, some old. There were people from Europe, teens from the States, locals who worked at the hostel. The variety of the people was incredible, and each had a story to tell. Our surf instructor was from Sweden, and the teen taking food orders was a local Nicaraguan, who lived down the street. It was such a unique place— a cosmopolitan, bohemian place to lay our heads.
Back to Ishmael. The more I think of it, the more I realize how good of a man he was. Sure, we paid a hefty amount of coin for him to take us to the coast. But he was not trying to take advantage of us, or wanting to use us to get extra money. We were in a vulnerable place, and he understood that. His compassion and care for us was visible. He came in and picked us up just at the right time. In his fresh white shirt, he was our angel. He gleamed in comparison to the other drivers. It was not even a toss up when I saw him… I knew he would be our driver.
At some point in the ride, he asked me why we were traveling to all these countries. My initial answer was that we were tourists. In Nicaragua, missionaries are not always welcomed or accepted. When crossing the border, we could have no clothing or other indication that we were missionaries, or they very likely could of denied us access into the country.
While I was trying to explain that we were tourists, I felt like I needed to tell him the real reason we were in Nicaragua, but held my tongue. He later told me that he was a member of a church, that hosts North Americans similar to my group who do service and missions work. He talked of how it does not matter where you are from, or what race you are. But rather it is Christ that makes us brother and sisters. He told me he looked at us as bothers and sisters, and had loved getting to know me.
At this point I knew I had to tell him, so I did. I explained how we were traveling the world to make Christ’s name known— whether it was working in schools, pouring cement, or preaching the gospel on the streets. His response was incredible. The whole mood was lifted. He kept asking more and more about what we are doing, and where we have been. We spoke about the Bible. My biblical Spanish was very limited, so it was only a few words here and there, but the spirit was alive in the cab of that car.
I now understand why it was such an easy choice to ride with him. It was not his little truck, nor his fresh pressed clothes. It was the spirit of God in him. It broke down the language barrier. It was the calm in the storm. It was the constant in the flowing. It was the light in the darkness. It was the spirit in him.
Ishmael was such an easy choice because he was a man of God. He was sent form God at just the right moment. Just like the woman who kindly walked the group to the other bus depot. Just like the bus driver who told us when to get off. God had us in His hands throughout the whole day. Even when things seemed messy and out of control, He provided in some wild and beautiful way.
It is funny how in the moment, these things seem lucky or coincidental. They seem like things of happenstance, along the lines of ‘right time, right place’. It is only upon reflection that I truly understand how we are held in His hands. Whether it be Ishmael the Angel, or the other unsung heroes along the way, God placed people to get us to Leon, and I am thankful that I have the God of the universe on my side to look out for me even when I do not realize it.
Update:
Currently we are in Managua. We finished up work in Palacaguina on Sunday, and headed south. We are in a hostel for two nights, then heading further south to San Juan del Sur. There we will meet up with the whole squad for a week of debrief and preparation for our next stop. Speaking of next stop, due to political unrest and violence in Ethiopia, the staff has decided to reroute us to Rwanda for two months. I am looking forward to this change, and seeing what God is doing in Rwanda, and how we can be an active part of that. Prayers for safe travels would be greatly appreciated.
Also! I still have fundraising to do. As of now, I need a couple thousand dollars before December. Your donations go so far in spreading the Kingdom, and any amount is a blessing not only to me, but to the lives being touched by mobilizing the hands and feet of Jesus. Would you join me in spreading the light and love of Christ to those in need?
Thank you to everyone who is following my journey! It means so much to have support and love from home, and I could not do this with out you.
Peace and Love,
Ethan
