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 5^th, 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.