Another entry from the letters written from Nicaragua in 1984:
In the mornings, the sun rises to the day’s activities that
began in the fading darkness of the early dawn.
The night’s chill is burned off quickly in a rising cloud of haze. The noise, so very much a part of life here
in Nicaragua, remains constant through the morning: cows lowing, dogs barking, children shouting,
chickens clucking and pigs squealing – not necessarily in that order or volume.
I am now at the rural farming cooperative “La Quinta”,
officially with the name of “German Pomares Ordoñez” – the name of a Sandinista
commander who died fighting against the Somoza dictatorship. The cooperative is located about a half hour
truck ride from the city of Estelí, travelling more or less east along a
winding mountain road. I began living
and working at the cooperative around August 5th, after a short and
complicated trip to the Costa Rica border in order to renew my visa for another
three months. At the moment, my main
job at the cooperative is helping in the construction of simple houses for the
families that live and work here. Right
now the work is making, moving and laying brick. Later, when we are able to cut enough planks
from fallen trees, we will finish off the upper halves of the houses.
Much of the growing of basic grains is being done in the
form of cooperatives in Nicaragua.
Basically, the concept of cooperative farming brings together varying
numbers of rural families who before the revolution had little or no land on
which to grow food. “La Quinta”
cooperative is made up of families who at the time of the revolution were
living about fifteen kilometers from here, on land that was ill suited for
other than cattle grazing. Most of the
cooperative members worked as day laborers (peons) for a large landholder. According to what has been explained to me,
the Sandinista government bought up about 3000 acres of land from the former
owner, and then sold it to the members of the newly formed cooperative with a
low interest, long term loan, to be paid mainly through their production. The new land includes flat and arable fields
that are along the dirt road that runs between the city of Esteli and La
Concordia, located in the coffee region of the country. The families that live here now grow corn,
beans, potatoes, cabbage, a type of cane for cattle fodder, all as a collective
enterprise. They also have about 50 head
of cattle for milk production and sale.
In the little time I have been here, I have been constantly impressed
with the successes of the cooperative.
Not only have they learned to live and work together, but they continue
to grow; learning new farming techniques, increasing their production of basic
grains and vegetables so that they are fast becoming a major provider of food
in the area.
There are currently about fifteen individual families making up the
cooperative - many related in one way or another. They live in a closely knit grouping of
houses. There is a main building – what
used to be a barn or storage area for the larger private landholder – where six
families are living, each separated by a few slabs of rough cut wood. There is also a part of the main building set
aside for a small classroom where two volunteer Cuban teachers provide
elementary school classes for the children and literacy education to the adults
(most of the adults first learned to read during the literacy campaign in the
first year after the Sandinista’s took over).
There are lots and lots of children; at one point I calculated around 75.
Most are under the age of 10.
As in most cooperatives located in the mountainous region of
the country, La Quinta is organized as a
self-defense unit. This basically means
that all of the members have received militia training, are armed and take
turns in round-the-clock vigilance against the event of an attack by the
counter-revolutionaries operating out of
Honduras and financed by the U.S. government.
In my last letter I wrote of an attack on the “Mira Flores” cooperative, located on the other side of
Estelí. About two weeks ago the contras
came back and attacked again. Again the
attack was on the farm families living and working there. Again they destroyed houses, crops and
animals. Again they killed innocent
people. It may be that this time they
will have their desired effect: some members
of the cooperative may be afraid to return.
Others continue to struggle, continue to rebuild their farms and
hopes. The seed potato project that was
destroyed in the first attack is being rebuilt with a further commitment of
funds from the Dutch government and people.
Tomorrow, members of La Quinta are travelling to Mira Flores with a
donation of a truckload of potatoes grown on the cooperative.
The first morning that I was here, I woke at about 5 a.m. to
the sound of young calves being herded about two feet past the front door of
the small structure where I am staying.
As I walked toward the main corral where the cows are milked, I noticed
that they had one cow set apart, tied closely to a tree. After securing the cow with a long sturdy
rope, they turned it loose from the tree.
Obviously sensing that something was up, the cow ran frantically up and
down the road. At one point I had to dodge
very quickly as it headed my way! Three
of the farmers then chased the cow into the fenced –in confines of the living
space and quickly tied the end of the rope around a post. The cow was knocked off its feet to the
ground when it ran to the end of the ropes length. One man quickly ran up and tied the cow’s
feet. The reality of that McDonald’s
hamburger I was yearning was brought home as he sliced the cow’s jugular vein
with a quick thrust of a sharp knife. A
half-dozen dogs darted in and about the legs of the onlookers, lapping up the
spilling blood as the cow slipped into death.
A group then went about butchering the cow on the spot. The meat was distributed among all the
families of the cooperative. As there is no electricity, and therefore no refrigeration
here, we ate roasted beef, fried beef, stewed beef and beef soup for breakfast,
lunch and dinner for about three days.
My second day on the cooperative ended with what at the beginning was a tranquil evening. Bedtime came at around
9:30 as the last of the kerosene lamps were extinguished. About an hour into my dreams, there was a
short burst of gunfire not too far away in the mountains, followed by a rapid
increase in my heartbeat. The normal
procedure I’ve developed in Nicaragua is to wait and listen to see if the
gunfire goes on for more than one burst – a sign that something or somebody
might be shooting back. This time, there
was about five minutes of rapid, semi-automatic fire – something that definitely
didn’t sounding like some bored night guard firing off a couple of
rounds. I ran through the dark to the
front of the main building, listening to the sound of shells being loaded into
rifle chambers by other members of the cooperative in preparation for a
possible attack by the counter-revolutionaries.
After about five minutes, the report came in. One of the guys doing his nightly guard duty was
using his AKA semi-automatic rifle to get rid of some raccoons that had gotten
into the corn…
The day here – as far as work goes – is pretty much over
around 1:00 in the afternoon. (Please
remember that we start at 5 a.m.). The
rest of the afternoon and early evening is spent doing odds and ends – talking
a lot. My Spanish has improved, as there
is no one here to speak English with.
Still, there is a lot I still don’t understand.
I’ve pretty much decided that I’m going to spend the time
remaining to me in Nicaragua here at this cooperative. The opportunity to be involved in a small
part of the development that is taking place in Nicaragua, especially in the
rural area, is too good to pass up. I
know that a lot of people have expressed concern and discomfort that I’m going
to be in a rural setting in a country where the Reagan administration’s “covert
war” is directed most. I guess I find
myself hard pressed to completely assuage those concerns. I would probably be safer living in Managua
or another major city. But then again, I
wouldn’t experience half as much as I do here.
As I have mentioned before, I don’t feel that I am putting myself in any
inordinate amount of danger. There is a
war here. The Nicaraguan people live under
the constant threat of attack in their everyday lives. There is nothing I can do to change
that. I wish there was. But believe me when I say that if there was
any indication of an impending attack, I’ll be leaving quickly.
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