On the Road to Rio (Blanco)...

Forgive the awkward display of pictures...I'm still learning how to do this...also, forgive me for such a wordy blog this time...I'm still learning how to do this! Truth be told, I'll probably never figure out how to do the picture thing the way I want it to look and I'll probably never learn to be brief and concise. That being said, I have to tell you about our up-close and personal experience with the transportation strike which, by the way, was declared as over on Monday…we’ll see how long these concessions last. The buses and taxis were given a price reduction for fuel – the large transports and private vehicles were not. As of yesterday, diesel, which is the cheapest of the fuels, was selling for $5.10 per gallon…the highest fuel prices in all of Latin America. I wonder what the prices would be if Hugo Chavez wasn’t such a good “friend” to Nicaragua…

I want to preface this account by saying I have never particularly been a union supporter. I won't go in to detail as to why I have always taken a dim view of unions, but suffice to say, I have. I'm not declaring my beliefs on this subject to rile anyone up who happens to take the opposite viewpoint. I just want to clarify what my stance had always been prior to the transportation strike here in Nicaragua. But God changes hearts...even those of us who thought He had already done His heart work.

Our second Saturday here, we took Susanna's car (with Jim driving) and went up north to Rio Blanco to work on arrangements for a team that will be coming in June. Sergio Torres, a young man who is pastoring a church plant in Rio Blanco, went with us. He usually goes up every Friday by bus (a 6 1/2 hour trip each way) and returns to Managua on Monday. Since we were making the trip on Saturday, he waited a day to take advantage of a shorter ride up (4 1/2 hrs. on non-strike days!) and it would be a free trip, at that.

Not too far out of Managua, we came across an area where there were numerous semis parked along the roadside with the drivers all sitting in their cabs. No one was out milling about...it was eerie. We read later in the newspaper, (okay, actually, we just looked at the pictures…) that the next day there were two of those semis set on fire as the strikers clashed with the strike-breakers.

We kept driving north and finally hit a barricade set up by the strikers. There were many buses and taxis parked alongside and across the road to keep traffic from going through. This particular road that we were driving is the main highway to the northeast area of the country so it is well-traveled, although I have to say, not at all well-maintained! They kept us there for about 15 minutes before letting us through and on we went.

The next roadblock they just waved us through after a couple of minutes when they saw we were gringos in a private car. Of course, they didn’t bother to move the tires out of the road so Jim had to straddle them and weave in and out of the big rocks placed as added obstructions but two of the strikers did raise the steel cable for us to pass under. Being given preferential treatment because of the color of our skin is as uncomfortable as is being taken advantage of for the same reason.

It didn’t get really interesting until we came to the next roadblock. This one had quite an accumulation of traffic stopped. There were strike breakers, private cars, individuals transporting their goods to sell (livestock, eggs, grain, etc.) plus the “pirates”. The last category are privately owned trucks which pack people in to them in unbelievable quantities and charge them an exhorbitant amount to take them from place to place.

Of course, with such a gathering of people in one place for what we were told could be up to a 3 hour wait, the vendors with their little carts came out in full force, selling tamales, shaved ice, bags of water, tortillas, beer, etc. Music was playing through loud speakers (Latinos seems to love their music as loud as they can get it) and a flat bed trailer had been set up as a stage at the barricade. The police, who were supposed to be there to maintain order (although only one had a gun), simply found a shady place under a tree, and watched the proceedings…one was stretched out, snoozing peacefully in spite of the noisy carnival atmosphere.

After watching for a few minutes and determining it was more of a celebratory gathering than an angry one, Susanna and Sergio got out of the car and walked to the front to find out how long it would be up before we could pass. I had my camera out taking pictures and Susanna decided to take her video camera along with her. Jim and I stayed in the car…I want to tell you it was to protect our belongings, which in part was true, but more so, honestly, it was because it was air conditioned and it was going to take more than an interesting assemblage of characters to get me to give up the A.C. at that point.

The leaders of the strike saw gringos with cameras and asked Susanna what we were going to do with the pictures we were taking. She told them we were going to send them back to people in the States who weren’t hearing about the strike. She asked them if anyone wanted to say anything about the strike and she would put them on video. They loved that! They passionately told their stories of rapidly escalating prices, especially fuel and food, and no rise in wages. Their families are facing terrible hardships due to the inflation. The public transporters didn’t feel they could raise their prices any higher as the public couldn’t afford any more hikes and they came to the conclusion that they couldn’t afford to operate anymore until something was done to bring relief – they were looking for subsidized fuel pricing more than anything and they believed the government not only could help them but should. They said they were prepared to stay there for a month without moving.

When questioned about what would happen to their families if they went on strike for a month, one of the men said that all the money he was earning was going back in to buying fuel and that his children were already hungry…he didn’t feel he had any other option but to join in a nationwide strike. Even though he knew it would create a hardship for some, he was hoping it would ultimately bring relief for all. It’s hard to argue with logic based on empty bellies.

When Susanna and Sergio finished their conversation with the strikers, they came walking back to the car – about 30 minutes later – and told us all that had been said. Evidently, the strikers were so thrilled that someone would come to “report” on their plight to America, they were going to let us go on through and were going to radio ahead to the next blockade so they could talk to the video camera and get their pictures taken by the American “reporters”. Susanna said she was going to put her video on her Facebook page so that it would be available to her friends and family back home. Whatever was said, the strikers must have believed we were somehow connected to the press because we basically sailed through all the remaining roadblocks. All totaled, we encountered six during the trip and at each one, I tried to look very professional, holding my little Pentax first one way and then another. I snapped pictures fast and furious and prayed the entire time that we would make it through without any repercussions from the authorities, the vendors or the crowds. It was a situation that could easily have turned ugly without much provocation.

We were told that there would be a total shutdown on all the major highways the following Monday so we needed to make sure we were back home in plenty of time. Sergio decided to return to Managua with us that same day since it didn’t look as if he would be able to get a bus home if he waited to go home on Monday. He was going to have his brother preach for him.

We spent a couple of hours working on project planning and then decided to head back so we would be in Managua about dark…that was the plan anyway. It seems our VIP status had expired sometime between the trip up and the trip home. Since all the pictures had already been taken and all the speeches already given, the strikers really had no incentive to let the carload of gringos pass through the barriers and so we found ourselves sitting at each blockade…from 30 minutes to an hour. Even the cute little blonde (Susanna) didn’t buy us any leeway with those guys! Although they gladly took the candy and soda we handed out to the leaders at each post.

What had earlier been reminiscent of a neighborhood block party, was quickly turning in to a camping-out beer party. For guys who couldn’t feed their families, they somehow seemed to find the money to buy their beer from the very happy street vendors…or I’m assuming they had to pay for it. The majority of the public were very supportive of the strikers and their position so maybe there were generous, union-minded, independently wealthy beer vendors who were gladly opting to hand out the Tonas without any compensation. I doubt it.

We finally made it home after 9:00 p.m. that night...it was a long day but one filled with such interesting sights and experiences. I felt we had the special privilege of hearing first hand the hearts and minds of the frustrated strikers. For the most part, they were just hard-working folks with families to feed, who felt backed into a corner. These weren't people who were upset because the rate of inflation prevented them from buying a new boat or were being forced to vacation closer to home this year. these were people who were at their wits end as to how to continue to work and still try to feed their families when they were already being stretched to the breaking point. I understood the country (minus the government) as a whole, being sypathethic to the strikers.

God was so good to us though throughout the entire day. He got us to Rio Blanco and back without incidence. He protected us from the giant axle-eating potholes, He gave us 6 hours and five minute bladders for a six hour trip, He inclined the strikers to look favorably upon us on the way up and kept the inebriated crowds from taking their lack-of-finances frustrations out on us on the way back. And once again, He helped us see life with a different perspective. The road to Rio won't ever look quite the same to me again.