Trabajadores Por La Paz y Solidaridad

In 1982 the Nicaraguan government sent a message out to the world asking people to send supporters to their country to help with the harvest. It was to help the people of Nicaragua see the support that people around the world were giving to the new government that had overthrown the old corrupt government. They were being attacked by “contras”, who were funded by the US government.

I believe it was BC Tools for Peace or another connected group who decided to organize a Brigade from BC to go to Nicaragua for a month. I had recently acted in a play about Nicaragua called ‘Sandinos Daughter’, learning a lot about the revolution. I had just left my job. I was learning a bit of Spanish through my work with La Quena Coffee House, a non-profit society that was created to help Latin American refugees and other Canadians discuss culture and politics. This Coffee House had been opened for a year or so, and ultimately became known across the country. I had become involved as a volunteer. With their recommendation, I was able to join the Brigade and go on the month-long trip to help with picking cotton (or coffee, or whatever else was needed).

We had to get our passports very fast and arrange to go. Three of us from La Quena volunteered to create the banner above, which our brigade took, and carried at a rally in Managua. We held a garage sale to help fund our trip, and our Spanish teacher tutored me a couple of time to help me with my Spanish. There were orientation meetings, and lots of discussion about what to take.

We landed in Managua, the capital city, but were quickly transported via bus to Leon, a major city near the “finca” (farm) we were going to work at. but first we stopped off for a big banquet with speeches thanking us for helping. It was very hot, and my ankles were swelling up. The only thing I remember about Leon was the speaker jokingly telling us that this was actually the coolest time of year. We were able to walk around the city.

At this point we were joined by another brigade from Toronto called “the Canadian Brigade”. They had many specialized workers, including doctors and construction workers. They had been planning to build a health clinic in an an area that was undergoing a lot of violence, so they were sent instead to our finca with us. In addition, a few people who turned up from Sweden joined us. It was great to meet people from Toronto and elsewhere.

After the banquet, the bus took us to the Finca, where we would live for the next 3 weeks. It was a large farm. We were taken to a huge open space building, with 2 or 3 inch cotton futton-type mattresses on the floor. There were two rooms — the main room and a smaller room which was offered to women who preferred to be more private. The second room became my home, and I got to know many of the other women.

The first night we came down to the centre of the farm, and discovered a small store. I noticed some people had tonic water, and I decided to buy some. By the time I got there there was none left. This didn’t seen strange, given the size of our group, but we were not happy when we realized that our group had basically bought up the entire months supply of tonic water that night – cultural shock?

We organized group discussions about the politics of what we saw, bringing individuals with specialized knowledge to our evening meetings to help us understand.

There were concrete sinks with the water going to the ground, and that is where we brushed our teeth and washed our clothes. We hung our clothes up to dry on barbed wire fences. There were no rope-type clotheslines, nor any clothes pegs.

The next day we started our work. The militia man who brought us to our field looked puzzled when we asked him how to pick the cotton — surely everyone knows how to pick cotton? But he did show us, and we started picking cotton. It was pretty simple to pick, except you had to be very careful not to touch the dried out pod at the bottom of the cotton ball. If you touched it it was very painful. I started out wearing a hat, soon changed to a scarf, and by the end I just work a headband to catch the sweat. My feet stopped swelling, and I adjusted very quickly to the climate. One friend however got so overheated they had to call a medic to give her a shot to help her cope with the heat.

At the end of each day, we would bring our bags of cotton to the truck to be loaded up. We worked from morning to around 1 or 2 pm, and then were not expected to work for 3 or 4 hours. When it got cooler, we went back to the fields for maybe 3 hours to finish picking cotton.

During the siestas, and in the evenings we had the opportunity to meet with locals, with each other, and hang out in front of our barracks. It was an opportunity to practise Spanish, and read and relax. We also were extremely lucky as there was a cement pond with 2 or 3 feet of fresh water available for us to go and “swim” in. This was more like a cool sauna where we cool off, and it was wonderful. One time I hitched a ride from a fellow on a tractor-type machine. He was very curious about me and I about him. People were generally very friendly. Our presence also started a major business for the locals to make money by selling baked goods or cool drinks.

A week or so in we had the opportunity to all take another bus to a big rally in Managua where there were thousands of people. Young people everywhere were throwing each other up in the air, and catching their friends in a blanket. On our way back we were taken to a small town restaurant where people could order a meal. It was on the ocean, and I actually took the opportunity to walk along the beach. At some point we drove up a very narrow road to the summit of a volcano, where we looked down and watched the smoke coming up.

After 3 weeks at the Finca, we had one week in Managua. We spent it at a lovely set of cabins, with a central dining area where we were served breakfast and dinner cafeteria style. At night we hung around and visited. I remember dancing, and learning how to spin and when completely dizzy falling into someones arms.

It was a lovely opportunity to relax and just explore the city. There were a few group tours, like a visit to a bean processing plant or a visit to one of the Managuan markets, but what I remember most are the times we were able to go out on our own. There were no buses, but they had little camisetas, or trucks, that everyone took. It was a little nerve wracking as they were so full. Young men hung out the back holding onto ropes. I didn’t think I could do it, and was very happy when I got on to find out these young men pushed me into the centre, and didn’t expect me to hang out the back.

At the end of our trip, we were all set to go to the airport and return home. However, our leader didn’t realize she had to confirm our flight. There we were, ready to take off, and we discovered all our flights were cancelled. We hung around the airport all day, very tired, but in the evening were taken to a buiding where we actually had access to a real indoor shower, which we all took advantage of. We had a relaxing night talking with other guests there, and returned to the airport the next morning.

Twenty-three of us got on a flight via El Salvador, where we just set down and took off again, and then on to Honduras. Unfortunately, the airport there was shut down overnight, and we had to leave for 6 hours. Someone discovered there was an all-night restaurant we could go to, and that is what we did. We all ordered as much junk food as we could, as we had not had access to it for a month. I think I had a hamburger and an ice cream sundae. The next day we flew to Mexico City, where we positively ran through the airport and got onto our previously-booked flight to Vancouver, Canada. And we were home.

After I got home I started studying and learning even more about the politics of Nicaragua and what a country needs to do to try to change itself. I found out how difficult it is and the many things a country can do to try to make life better for the people who live in a country. Nicaragua was a wonderful attempt at making that change, and did manage some, but ultimately it did not succeed. This experience gave me a great insight into how others live, and the importance of struggling for a better life. I never regretted going.