Chapter 6: Necesito Voy a Somoto

The next day, fearing the infamous treachery of Managuan taxi drivers, I took the gringo shuttle to the busy north-bound bus station in Managua and found my way to Somoto via the express bus to Ocotal, and a quick taxi ride with some very helpful locals to a gas station on the side of the highway just outside of Somoto. Somoto is a relatively untouristed town in the north of Nicaragua about half an hour from the Honduran border. I went there to volunteer for a non-profit project set up by a friend of mine named Sonya who had lived there for three years with her husband doing development work in the communities. She connected me with a local woman named Ada that runs the project who had tasked her son, Arol, with delivering me to my home stay family. Arol met me at the gas station we got in another taxi that took us a few blocks to a little second hand clothing store where I was greeted by an older man with a very round belly and a young woman named Christabell who informed me that I was early and asked me to sit down.

(bus station in Managua - this lady is selling snacks for the ride)

(on the road to Somoto - the landscape got drier and hillier as we went north)

With my Spanish slightly out of practice from talking in English to other gringos for the previous week, I managed to understand that this was the house of Christabell’s parents, but that I would be living “ariba” (above) at the house of Christabell and her family and that we would go there later, because I wasn’t supposed to arrive until five. So, I hung out at the store trying to talk to people in broken Spanish, and drinking a nice cup of coffee with some various biscuits. I soon found out that “ariba” meant at the top of a very steep and rocky hill, in a house with an amazingly beautiful view, a large dog, two 10ish year old children and Christa’s husband Geraldo. They got me settled in my room – which was actually their room, and which wasn’t ready on account of my being early, and I got myself showered and clean of all the dirt that one acquires on a long bus journey with open windows.

Christi then informed me that I would be going back down the hill to meet Raphaela the woman who was going to take me the next day out to the communities where the project was working. I got down the hill on the back of a motorcycle, fearing for my helmetless head as we traversed the many boulders and potholes that made up this as yet unpaved road. It turned out Raphaela wasn’t at the store so we went back up the hill on the motorbike, and luckily my head remained intact. It is standard practice for motorbike passengers to not wear helmets around here, usually, but not always, the drivers do – and that was my first and last ride up the hill.

The next day I opted to walk rather than take my chances on the bumpy motorbike ride - I met Raphaela a 60 something year old smartly dressed woman who took me off in a taxi to the first community called Appatule. We were met there by a group of women who had been beneficiaries of the kitchen garden program associated with Sonya’s project – they all introduced themselves and expressed their appreciation for their gardens and the project and for the work Sonya had done in the community. From there we looked around one garden after another, along a long dirt road, in the near equatorial heat of the day - being barked at by dogs, and dodging cows and chickens and various animals along the way.

(meeting of all the participants in the Patio Project - they all talked about how they benefited from the project)

(Raphaela my tireless guide (in red) and some of the ladies from the community showing me their garden)

Our final stop was a parcel of land that had been planted with all manner of fruit trees including mangos, papayas, oranges, lemons, avocados, passion fruit, marones and other fruits and veg and medicinal plants. The marone trees were in bloom and our guide, the 23 year old daughter of the family that owned the land, kindly gave me a few marones to try (which I later learned were actually cashew fruits). They were incredibly juicy and tart and delicious – and they had something in that made your mouth feel dry despite being inundated with the most juice I’ve ever seen come out of a piece of fruit. I don’t think I’ll ever get to try those again unless I go back to the tropics, so I will just have to remember the taste until then. We were fed some beans and tortilla by the homeowners and gradually made our way back to the road.

(just one of many many many chickens I met on my travels)

(cashew - the red part is the fruit and the dark green nobby bit sticking out of the end is where the cashew nut lives - who knew!)

The next day Raphaela took me out to another community called Uniles, which is where she is from – we visited a number of homes and more gardens, most of which belonged to various relatives of hers, including her very elderly mother. Sonya’s name was like gold in both these communities, and anywhere that Raphaela mentioned my connection to her we were greeted with warm smiles and hugs and coffee.

(Raphaela's mother's patio garden in Uniles)

We did a lot of walking in the hot sun, which was hard work for me, but the challenge of this exertion, made it all the more amazing to see women carrying buckets of water on their heads for miles because the area is just so dry. One woman told me that it hadn’t rained there for over a year. There were mountains of dust that blew up in the breeze, and, like everywhere else in Nicaragua, there was garbage everywhere in the roads, and pathways, and in the stream beds, and on people’s property. This is a major problem because many of the kids don’t have proper shoes – and when they are running around in flip flops where there are old razors tossed in the street among other things, there are going to be injuries.