Tasbapauni and Pearl Lagoon

After staying in bluefields for a while i met a brother from a neighbouring english congregation. He came from a town called Pearl Lagoon, which is labelled as "Laguna de Perlas" on the map, even though the community is entirely english speaking. There they have a small congregation of 12 publishers (at the time) and a special pioneer couple. The town is on the southern shore of the Pearl Lagoon, which is a very large body of water. The territory of this small group is extensive, so the congregation has their own panga which they use to reach the communities and farms around this lagoon and on the connecting rivers.

The group travels out once a month to its more isolated territories and i had the opportunity to join them on one of these trips. We were gone for about one week, and we went to a miskito village named Tasbapauni, which in miskito means "red dirt". The group was leaving early monday morning, so i had to leave bluefields sunday morning to make sure i was there the night before. When i got down to the wharf i was told there were no pangas going to pearl lagoon today. "Is there any way at all to get to pearl lagoon today?" I asked. The man said that if i had to i could take a panga to another town named kukrahill, and from there catch another boat or even a bus to pearl lagoon. Since i had to be in pearl lagoon by evening i went with this option.

So one hour in a panga heading north, and i was in kukrahill. A small, mostly spanish town in the jungle. There were taxis waiting to take people from the wharf to the bus terminal, obviously i wasnt the only one heading to pearl lagoon. The taxis had to take several trips to get everyone, and somehow i ended up on the last one. I wasnt in a big hurry because at this point i was only an hour from pearl lagoon. However, when the last taxi made it to the bus terminal, the bus had left. And there is only one bus in kukrahill. So now me and a few people from the boat were stranded in kukrahill. I asked around, but nobody seemed to have any ideas on how someonemight get to pearl lagoon. Except that there was a bus about 15 minutes ago, and contrary to what i was told at the wharf in bluefields, there were no pangas leaving from kukrahill.

I phoned a brother in pearl lagoon to ask if they had any ideas, and he said that there should be another bus later that evening. The other people that were on the boat confirmed this. That bus was coming at 5 pm, it was now around 10 am. I decided to walk around town a bit, and find something to eat at a corner store. The owner of the store went inside to get my change, and a little boy was standing in the doorway, staring at me with his jaw almost on the floor. His expression was one of complete shock and bewilderment. "De donde usted?" (Where are you from?) He whispered. I told him i was from canada, and he ran back into the house. I guess they dont see a lot of tourists in kukrahill.

I placed some magazines with some of the others from the boat who were with me waiting at the bus terminal. As the sun was starting to set, a blue van finally pulled up to the bus stop, and slid open the side door. This was the bus. Apparently the regular bus had broken down but the van had room for everyone. The driver tied everyone's luggage to the roof and we all crammed into the van. It wasnt too tight really, everyone had a seat so no one had to stand.

I guess the driver was feeling adventurous, since he decidede to take a "short cut" to pearl lagoon rather than taking the road. So off we went driving through the tall grass on some old forgotten trail through the jungle. About 10 minutes in we had a flat tire. Either due to a rock, or the bus being overloaded, or both. Everyone got out and we stood around watching as they changed the tire. Everyone was calm, and seemed to be in a good mood. That stood out to me about the caribbean culture, laid back and worry free.

Finally we made it to Pearl Lagoon, and i spent the night at the special pioneer couple's house, which was also the kingdom hall. It was a treat, because not only did they have running water, but they had a water heater as well. I had my first hot shower in months.

The next morning we loaded eveeything on board the "Mensajero 3" and set sail for Tasbapauni (Though not literally because its not a sail boat). The weather was not ideal, although it usually wasnt. The congregation went on these trips once a month regardless of the weather. It took us 3 hours to reach Tasbapauni, it was raining hard on the lagoon, and there were strong winds creating waves taller than the boat. There were 5 of us on the boat, and we shared pieces of 2 or 3 rain suits. Some of us got jackets, and some got pants. One sister wore the rain pants on her head to keep her hair dry. We used cut open milk jugs to bail water out of the boat. The only dry thing in the boat was the litrature, which was in a plastic bin.

As soon as we made it to Tasbapauni we started witnessing, ignoring the fact that we were sopping wet from head to toe, and that the town was in the middle of a tropical storm. One brother stayed behind to guard the boat, the two sisters went to do a return visit from when they came a year ago. Myself and the captain (special pioneer brother) went to do some territory. We came across a shelter near the wharf where a group of people were taking shelter from the rain. We went inside and the brother started witnessing to the whole group while i handed out magazines to everyone inside. They all were very excited to get the magazines and seemed very interested. Most people in Tasbapauni speak 3 languages: Miskito, English, and Spanish. We had literature in all 3.

Every home we called on was very receptive, and the entire week we spent there was extremely productive. We didnt stay in Tasbapauni at night though, as the navy had warned us that we should leave before dark. Although to us it seemed like a peaceful and quiet little town. Instead we stayed at a farm on the other side of the lagoon, where a local sister had prepared supper for us each night. After supper he brother would tell us stories from the nicaraguan revolution by candle light. The farm house had no electricity, but did have running water thanks to a rain water tank on the roof. I can remember laying down at night, and as soon as i closed my eyes i could feel the motion of the waves even though i had been on land for hours.

I was so glad to have had the opportunity to go on this trip. Many need greaters have gone to pearl lagoon over years, and they often say "if you go, you HAVE to do the boat thing!" And i agree completely.

Crossing Nicaragua

Bluefields is on the Caribbean coast of Nicaragua, its a city of about 70,000 people (there are many conflicting statistics on the actual population). The eastern half of Nicaragua is divided into two departments (similar to provinces or states). Despite the large geographical area, this half of the country contains only 5% of the country's population, mostly along the coast. So the few communities there are fairly isolated and because of this there are no roads going to Bluefields, which made this the most interesting journey of my life. I hope to top it some day but its not going to be easy.

One of the La Concha brothers owned a truck, so he and a few others from the congregation helped us load our baggage into the truck and drove us to Jinotepe, where we met up with Javier. We spent the night at his house and slept on the floor in the living room. The next day he had organized a going away party and BBQ for the evening. We got to eat meat from an animal called a Peliguay.

La Concha to Jinotepe

The next day we went down to Managua. Jinotepe, La concha, and Sta. Teresa are all in the mountains, and to go further east we needed to take a bus from the capital. While in Managua we ate at McDonalds for the first time in months, and it tasted wonderful. However, after finishing my bacon cheeseburger I came to realize my body had become accustomed to Nicaraguan food, and the burger just didn't sit right. 

After getting a few things in Managua we were taken to the bus terminal. We bought our tickets in advance, which was unusual since normally in Nicaragua you just get on the bus and they collect your money once the bus is moving. The bus was quite a bit nicer than the normal buses as well, it wasn't a refurbished school bus and it had comfortable seats. The bus took us as far as El Rama, in the middle of the South Atlantic Autonomous Region. We left at around 2 in the afternoon, and the trip was 5 hours long. We stopped briefly a long the way and people got on the bus to sell snacks and drinks. We bought Quesillas (not sure about the spelling) which we were told were safe to eat. A Quesillo is a tortilla, with a slice of cheese on top, and shredded lettuce, folded in half with a white sauce poured over it. They serve it inside a plastic bag, and you bite a hole in the bag and suck out the contents. The tortilla dissolves in the sauce and the result, although messy is delicious. It also agreed with me much more than the american food we had in Managua.

Managua to El Rama

El Rama was a very interesting place. My first impressions were that Tarzan must live here, and that we had left civilization behind. Along the way we had contacted some of the congregation in Rama by phone, and they had arranged for two sisters to meet us when we got off the bus. It was dark when we arrived, and I remember seeing one of the sisters out the window gesturing for me to throw my suitcase out the window of the bus so she could catch it. We decided to wait for the crowd to clear off the bus rather than hurling 50lb suitcases out the window.

I was a bit nervous, as Rama is a very busy place especially at the bust terminal and it was well after dark. The sisters took us to a house where there was a gathering going on. As we were walking I heard someone say "Good evening!" It caught my attention because I hadn't heard much English during the past month and a half. "Are you looking for the bus?" said a man with a clipboard. "No, thanks... I'm with them" I replied, and pointed into the crowd. "Oh... ok then" he said. I think he was confused, I was probably the only other white guy in the entire town and somehow had connections. I met him and his group again later in service, I think they were a group of students studying the rainforest and he was the teacher.

When we got to the house there was a big group of people, mostly in their 20s studying for that weeks meeting as a group. They were all regular pioneers from Mexico, and other parts of Nicaragua who were in a program called "La Ruta de Precusores" where the Mexico branch sends pioneers to remote territories for 3 months at a time. The sisters who met us at the bus were from Masaya, Nicaragua and the brother conducting the study was from Veracruz, Mexico. They were a diverse and energetic group and it didn't take us long to make a lot of friends. The sister who owned the house brought everyone food and we got into the study. We hadn't even unpacked and we still had our backpacks, ready to pass out from the exhaustion of carrying our bags halfway across town, but we joined in on the study anyway. 

After the study, one of the brothers there who owned a moto-taxi took us to the home where we would be staying for the next 3 days. The house was made of wooden planks on a concrete pad, with a zinc sheet metal roof. A very typical Nicaraguan home. It didn't have plumbing, but they did have electricity and WiFi. We each got a bed in a room that had a hole in the floor, where there was a pvc pipe that went out to the gutter on the street. This was where we brushed our teeth and shaved. The bathroom had a similar layout, except that it was separate and had a shower curtain to serve as a door, and it had a toilet connected to the sewer.

In the morning we had home made corn tortillas and black coffee for breakfast, then headed off to the service group. In the light of day, Rama is a stunningly beautiful place. Three rivers intersect the town, people who live further out in the country use them for transportation. Long narrow wooden boats (similar to canoes) called dories are used to transporting people and goods across the river and down to the different farms. There are many houses with grass roofs and ones built on stilts, in contrast with the Spanish style houses seen in the western parts of Nicaragua. The gutters are almost big enough to drive in, which gives you a hint about what kind of rains they get. Everywhere there isn't a street or a house is thick jungle. Trees often have vines growing up around the trunk.

The heat was hard to bare. It was much more humid in Rama, and I was getting dizzy even though I drank about a liter of water within a few hours. No one seemed to have a thermometer, all I know is I had never felt heat like that in my life. I didn't know the human body could sweat that much. Despite the heat though we  had a great time in service. The people were very friendly and receptive to the message, it was clear that starting studies here was no challenge.

We stayed for two or three nights. We tried to give the family that we were staying with some money for room and board, but they refused to take it. They really showed how you don't need to be wealthy to be generous.

It was time to go to Bluefields. The road that we came on ends at El Rama. To go any further one must go by boat down the River Escondido. At the main wharf in Rama we bought our tickets to Bluefields. In order to get to Bluefields you have two options. Option one is to get a ticket on a "barco" which is a cargo ship that comes in several sizes. This method costs less, and takes about 6 hours to reach Bluefields. Option two is the Panga. A Panga is a speedboat that can hold about 10-14 people safely. Usually there are 16 passengers plus the driver. This option is a bit more expensive (still very cheap) and takes 2 hours. We took the Panga. Our luggage was placed in the bow of the boat with a plastic tarp over it to keep things dry. We were each given a chunk of orange foam which the captain referred to as a life jacket. After some initial engine trouble we were off. The front end of the boat lifted up off the water and a huge arc of water trailed the boat as we went speeding down the river.

Panga (At the wharf in Bluefields)

The river opened up into the Bay of Bluefields, and we could see the city on our right, and the Caribbean sea on our left. A Creole English speaking brother was waiting for us at the dock, and he took us to a cab. On the way to the cab we walked down several alley ways where larger homes and restaurants with balconies overlooked the narrow walkway, I'm glad we had a guide or it would have been easy to get lost. I had always loved the Jamaican accent and I was thrilled the first time he said "mon".

View of Bluefields from the bay (In the rain)

Bluefields blew my mind. Until this point the further east we traveled  the less modern and the more wild things looked. But Bluefields had paved roads, taxis that were real cars and three story buildings. Despite being notorious for heavy rains Bluefields generally gets a lot of sun, and today was very bright, which really brought out the colors of the buildings. Every building was a different color, deep blue, purple  green... Everything was different though. It seemed like somehow we had ended up in another country. People were speaking English, the architecture was different, the climate was different, and the food was different.

As I mentioned earlier Bluefields has a population somewhere around 70,000. Not more than 100,000 and not less than 30,000. Although Spanish is still the official language here, many of the local people speak English as their first language, although many consider it to be a different language and call it Creole, because of the dialect and heavy accent. I stayed here for three memorable months, helping in the English congregation. I stayed with a local Creole family whose kindness and hospitality I will never forget. I'm sure they saved my life a few times thanks to their advice and care which helped me to thrive in a completely foreign environment. My travelling companion, Dai Jun continued on to Corn island where he served in a Spanish congregation.

Kingdom hall in Bluefields

View of Bluefields from the Clair home

Memorial Season

During the month and a half in La Concha we asked the circuit overseer and some local brothers about where specifically within Nicaragua we should go to help. They gave us the names of a few places, some of which we were able to go and visit for a few days at a time, including Masaya and Santa Teresa.

La Concha Kingdom Hall

Service in Sta. Teresa

Territory in La Concha

During this time I really had very little idea what was going on. I had taken Spanish in school and thought I learned a fair amount. after getting there I quickly realized that I had learned nothing at all. I felt like a child, not understanding what was going on around me, and relying on the brothers I worked with in service at the doors. It was some time before I was even able to take calls. I remember my taking my first door in Spanish, it was every bit as scary as taking my first door in Canada when I was an unbaptized publisher, if not more so. The woman I spoke to was very friendly and accepted the magazines, but probably didn't understand any of what I was trying to say. Approach work was also terrifying, it was like I was doing everything for the first time all over again. Eventually the memorial campaign began and I was able to memorize a short presentation for the invite, which took some of the pressure off.

Taking my a door in Spanish

It was a slow process, but over time my Spanish improved and I even got to know some of the Spanish speaking brothers and sisters in the congregation. Looking back I really learned a lot in a short period of time through immersion, but it was still the hardest thing I've ever done. There were times when I wanted to give up, and times when I thought I would throw myself under a bus if I heard one more Spanish word. The memorial in La Concha had well over 300 in attendance, the congregation having just over 80 publishers.

The brother who gave the talk at the memorial was from a city on the east coast called Bluefields, which was one of the places we had been considering going to next, and in fact was the home town of the Nicaraguan sister in Canada that first told us about the need. He gave us some contact information and a few days after the memorial we left for Bluefields.