POST by LIZ: A Fruity Jump Start

Today, we finally were able to pay for our car to be fixed – it had problems with the radiator and had been sitting in a dodgy car yard for the past 3 weeks looking all sorry for itself – but I digress.

I was so elated to be finally driving our own vehicle again, I decided to go out and celebrate: I put my foot on the accelerator and drove down the open roads to pay our rent, electricity bill and get enough money to pay Zeta gas (who promised they would arrive at the house in 50 minutes to fill up the empty gas tank). 

First stop: ATM to get the dinero.  With the engine purring, I pulled into the parking lot four spaces away from the ATM.  This is important, as I was about to get a wad load of cash out, and I´m always a little edgy when I – a single white gringa-looking female – go to the ATM in a country that wreaks poverty and has incredible high petty crime statistics.

As I pull in, I am confronted with a smell of rotten fruit combined with a strong odor of Flor de Cana belonging to a toothless, grinning man whose clothes were not even fit to be called rags. 

I´m trapped between my car door and this fella.  There´s only one way to get out of here, I thought. Nodding, and clutching at my bag, but trying to appear like I´m not clutching merely carrying it, I bung on my best, convincing, Spanish accent, pretend to take a sniff in the air and said to the chap, “MMMmmmm muy delicioso pero otra dia okay!...OOOOkay” and then I squeezed past him and his basket of naranjas.

I almost reach the solid concrete steps of the bank then realise that I forgot to lock the car – just a minor detail – grrrrr…

I quickly scurried back, eyes down, put the key into the lock turned once, turned twice, then felt the warmth of the alcoholic breath of the rotten fruit man on my neck. Swallowing back the fear and frustration, I side step him singing out, “si, si, muuuuuy deliciosooooo… okay… otra dia…”     

SAFE.  I made it inside the bank. The cue to the cashiers looked longer than the Great Wall of China, but I had to pay the electricity here or we´d be holding candles tonight, and it wouldn´t be for the sake of Christmas. 

Wishing I had brought a book to read, I funneled my way into the line. After 35 minutes I reached Carlos´ booth.  He kindly served me, and then asked me for directions to my house.  WEIRD – I´d never been asked for my home address before – actually, there really aren´t any street names in Nicaragua, as Bono publically pointed out when he wrote the song “Where the streets have no names”… so giving directions is a skill in itself.

…  okay.. my directions.. now wait… what was it… left at km 12, past the broken down horse cart, when you reach the dirt road follow it all the way up, slow down for the chickens crossing the road, then chuck a right when you hit the biggest pot hole and the house is on the left.. or was it the third biggest pot-hole.. no wait, Ortega, wanting to win votes, had it recently graded pre the elections, so that would be where the third biggest pot-hole used to be.

Carlos smiled, then I realised this was more than just a bank transaction. Rambling, I apologized, telling him to scrap all of what I had just said as I really didn´t know where I lived, and normally my HUSBAND comes to pay the bill.  Rejected, Carlos handed me the receipt and eyed the cue for the next customer. 

Remembering that I needed money for the rent and the gas - which was due to arrive in less than 10 minutes, I stopped at the ATM. I withdrew cash, separated it into smaller amounts and stuffed it here, there and everywhere, with the mindset that if I did get mugged I could pull out one section of money and hope that my mugger would be satisfied with what I gave. 

I made my way back to the car.  My “friend” was now sitting on the wall a few feet away, he started to get up, so I nodded quickly and yelled out “MAÑANA, MAÑANA!” and he regressed. 

I felt the car seat under me. I put the key in the ignition and…NOTHING! I tried again… nothing.. “Drat.. the battery is flat!” Pockets and purse stuffed with money that´s already spent, I clambered back out of the vehicle. 

My fruit friend came swaying towards me asking me if I need any help.  I needed to work fast!  “Esta bien” I confidently said, as I popped the hood, and made my way to the back of the car thanking the Lord for giving me jumper leads!

But my friend ignored my response and viewed this as his mission too.

Calmly, I waved my jumper-cables to a lady pulling up next to me and was about to ask her if she´d give me a jump start, when my comrade took it on himself to promote my plight to her.

Wide eyes, looking like the Easter bunny who´s just been told bunny soup is on the menu, she grabbed her purse like it was some child who was about to be kidnapped, locked her door making sure she didn´t turn her back on us, and ran into the bank. 

“Gracias” I yelled in vain and turned, almost Eskimo kissing my “helper”. 

“What shall we do” he muttered, scratching his head and butt at the same time.  “WE” oh good gracious, I started to realise that I was never going to get a jumpstart as I watched person after person dart in and out of the bank shaking their heads at me before I could utter one syllable.

But wait! Before you start playing a sad song, there´s always a silver lining! I spotted a car pull in. I asked my “butt scratching-faithful companion” if he´d be willing to put his fruit basket down and check to see if all the tires were pumped up. Posing this request as a “perhaps this is why my car won´t start” but secretly knowing this would hide him from view for a few seconds. Thankfully, he was willing and got down on his hands and knees.

I composed myself and approached the humming car with my Puss-in-Boots eyes. Success!  The man took pity on me.  I pointed to my no-life car and he started to pull up next to it.  Suddenly, my tire- checking buddy jumped up from under the car grinning and saying something about “US” needing assistance to my new helper. 

The guy in the perfectly-working-battery-functioning car started to jam it into reverse! I threw myself onto his car and pleaded with him to help me. He nodded, clicked his central locking button, wound up his windows, and popped the hood.          

My fruit-selling-now-turned-wannabe-mechanic incorrectly hooked up the leads for me – it was like November 5^th celebrations with sparks flying everywhere! I asked him to switch them over - which he did.  SUCCESS! 

The good Samaritan in the other car stepped on his gas pedal helping us with a quick removal of the leads.  My fruit selling friend lowered the hood of my car and handed back the jump cables. “Gracias” I said, and slipped him some Córdobas.  “Hasta mañana” he grinned, picked up a rotten orange and walked backwards while he peeled the orange with his one good tooth.

As I made my way back home I realised, after all of that, I had forgotten to pay the rent!  “Mañana” I thought to myself smiling and thinking about how beautiful Nicaraguans are.