” We aren’t to feed the monkey’s, ” Mario warns, much to the dismay of my fellow tour boat passengers.
” Monkey’s are loco…..If you knew what I know you wouldn’t want to get close to them. ”
Our boat stops at Monkey Island and several of the small mammals come to the water’s edge to greet us.
One lone monkey scampers out on a tree limb, reaches his hand out, and a young tender hearted woman, in another nearby tour boat, gives him a treat.
This group of monkey’s was marooned here years ago and they provide entertainment in exchange for people food that isn’t even good for people.
Our foraging solo spider monkey, once he has his fill of handouts, leans down and drinks from Lake Nicaragua.
He might get hungry but he won’t ever run out of water.
Taking what someone freely offers you doesn’t count as begging.
This monkey and his business are not messing around today.
Lake Nicaragua is in the top five largest lakes in the world and has enough water to keep Central America hydrated for hundreds of years if the tap turns off.
Mario, our tour guide, brings out his map and shows us where the new Panama Canal is going to be built.
Looking at the map, he points.
The new canal will go from the from the Pacific Ocean to the Caribbean Sea cutting through the southern part of Nicaragua, using this lake and a new man made fresh water lake to feed water to canal locks. China is scheduled to start this new canal soon and the project will change this country forever.
” These islands, ” Mario continues, ” are for sale.” He puts away his map, gestures with his hands, and grabs our attention.
” That one, ” he continues, is owned by one of the wealthiest families in Nicaragua, the Pella family. They own the Tona beer company too…. ”
The good thing about owning an island is that neighbors are separated from you. The bad thing is some of your neighbors are living in galvanized sheet metal houses with boats dry docked in the yard and laundry hanging from makeshift clotheslines..
Men fishing in the river pause and watch us, then cast out their nets and pull them back in with tonight’s dinner.
When the sun goes down fires glow in the woods as day is put to bed and stories roll out of their bunks.
Most who live on this lake never want to see anything crossing it that ruins their fishing.
Baseball is played much the same everywhere it is played.
The rules are the same. The setup of the bases and equipment is much the same. The length of the game can extend in close games, be called off because of weather, or the daylight left in the empty lot or street where kids emulate their heroes.
Some games are played in massive stadiums with thousands of spectators, night lights, press boxes and entertainment. Other games are played on simple fields like this with chain link fences keeping spectators off the field and concession stands selling soft drinks and plantain chips.
This umpire calls the game as he sees it and there is no room for protest, no instant replay, no second guessing.
No one cares about skin color or political philosophies.
What counts on this field, is how well you hit the ball, catch the ball, throw the ball, help your team win the game.
When growing up, baseball was the national sport of the United States.
We had the New York Yankees, a multi World Series winning team with a barn full of horses like Babe Ruth, Mickey Mantle, Whitey Ford, Yogi Berra, Coach Casey Stengel and many others.
One of the best players on the Pittsburg pirates was Roberto Clemente, an outfielder who was not only a great baseball player, but a great man.. When he was killed in a plane crash, taking food and supplies back to his ravaged Managua after an earthquake, it didn’t register because we didn’t know much about Nicaragua. People traveled less then and we didn’t have internet to bring the world immediately to us.
Baseball doesn’t take a lot of equipment or a lot of space. Most kids can catch a ball and swing a bat, and parents support their kids. On Saturday, Nino leagues start at the Lion’s Park at one end of Calle Calzada, around eight thirty in the morning,
Today, I watch the Sharks play the Academy and the Clementes play the Dissur team.
The game moves in slow motion because it takes longer for kids to throw from first to third, chase down balls in the weeds at the outfield’s edge, try to move under a foul tipped ball in the batter’s cage.
Some of the kid’s scowl at their team mates at a bad play, others kick their helmet on the grass after a strikeout.
One of these players will make it to the major’s, just like Roberto.
In the Nino League, the team that makes the fewest fielding errors, usually wins.
My Mombacho apartment is a few blocks from a neighborhood school attended by kids in uniform, carrying backpacks. They learn reading and math in the morning. In the afternoon, they assemble in the street in front of their school and little drummer boys begin a military cadence.
The parade practice goes well and considering children’s futures is my teacher’s hard to get rid of habit.
Some of these kids will go into professions. Some will be builders and others artists. Some will leave Nicaragua and not come back till they are old, sending money back to support their families. Some will end up in the streets, victims of poverty. Many will be mom’s and dad’s, contributors to the city and country.
These kid’s energy level is high and their enthusiasm is up.
When I hear drums, I fall in step, remembering my own school band days practicing marching at seven in the morning in a dusty dirt lot by the new Manzano High School stadium in Albuquerque in the 1960’s.
Practice makes parades perfect and these kids will represent their school well.
Education is always more than pencils, paper, and books.
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