Managua, Nicaragua en los años 1979-1984
My papa said “the air lost its aroma of children playing and eating fresh soil in front yards. The smell strong and moist from summer rain. Mangos drop on top of zinc and clay ceilings waking up guard dogs and slender roosters in the early morning hours. The noise of laughter and creaking rocking chairs that carry the bodies of dozing abuelitos and small children is replaced with military Jeeps who cologne the towns with gun powder and burned rubber. Our one-story casas resemble packets of coloring pencils as they all have a unique color: brown, green, pink, blue, and yellow. However, the brightness is being overtaken by the violence beginning to erupt, and neighbors begin to lock their front doors por la primera vez. People avoid eye contact with officers standing near town plazas. People remain cautious and hide with the 5 pm sunset. The smell of grilled carne asada and baho is diminishing and turn into savory delicacies. When a neighbor cooks meat, the surrounding houses know what’s for dinner, and the gap in their stomachs grow with jealousy. But some are excited. Those in red fill our small streets with yo quiero patria libre o morir chants: The Sandinistas.”
