NicaDayz - Drinkin' buddy

Date: Tue, 11 Jan 2000 10:34:23 -0300
From: jberman@ibw.com.ni (Josue Berman)
Subject: Drinkin' Buddy

"I need a change, Josue. I know I'm lucky to have this job, but I have 17 years doing the same shit."
Darwin and I sat on his porch, talking and drinking away a warm, golden Thursday afternoon. Little dust clouds blew up and down the dirt street in front of us and behind the row of houses across the way, rose El Hatillo, one of the three hills surrounding La Trinidad. As the dry season took hold, the hill's cattle-grazed grasses and scrubby trees were turning
browner and tanner by the day. The sky above the hill was a rich royal blue and the lazily setting sun made the colors of everything punch. Darwin was one of the first Trinitenos I met when I arrived in town nearly two years ago, and from that first encounter he has remained my best friend here.

Darwin is a great buddy to drink with, but by no means is he merely a 'drinking buddy.' He always stays coherent when he drinks, and we always end up talking about cool, significant stuff. The spontaneity of our sessions is what I like best. On this day, he had come by my house sometime after lunch and invited me to put down a bottle of Gran Reserva, the
7-Year-Old Flor de Cana that is suave enough to drink with nothing but rocks. On this day though, we drank it out of wine glasses with fresh-squeezed oranges from the tree in his tiny back patio. Darwin doesn't drink much these days because of a work/stress-induced intestinal illness. He is a professional musician, a percussion player in a fiesta band run by his older brothers. At first glance, it's a great gig: he gets to travel all over the country playing music and going to parties. He makes more money per month than most Nicaraguan doctors, teachers, farmers, or laborers. But the traveling and the hours are exhausting, there are no vacations, benefits or bonuses, they play the same songs over and over again, and like he said, he's been doing the same shit for 17 years. As someone who has changed careers pretty much annually, I couldn't even imagine the drudgery of it and I totally sympathized.

I reached down for the bottle of rum, poured myself a couple of fingers, and then added some of the orange juice. He took the bottle and repeated the process as he spoke to me.

"Tourism is on the rise in Nicaragua," he said. "The big ships just started stopping in San Juan del Sur, and 800 people got off the boat to spend money there in one day. More people will be coming to this country, and maybe I can do something with this. Maybe I can teach English."

"Or Spanish," I said.
"Yeah, I'd just need to go to the States for a little and better my English."

"In a year, you'd have excellent English," I said confidently. It was true. Over the years, he's studied on his own with tapes and books and videos. He's had a number of gringo friends who have passed through La Trinidad, and he always makes a point to practice. He's also a smart dude who dedicates himself and learns rapidly. He was feeling trapped and bored by his job, but he didn't want to complain because he knows how fortunate he is to have this opportunity. Anyone can realize this just be looking into the houses of his neighbors and seeing the dirt floors and crowded rooms, partitioned off with dirty sheets. His house was like that too, but he's managed to put in floors, buy furniture, a stereo, TV, cable. There's no fat retirement fund, but he can usually buy medicine when he needs to and can buy new clothes and gifts for his daughters. He took another sip from his glass and whistled, a sucking-in, high-pitched whistle that only his family responds to. One of his daughters, Darling Vanessa came running from Grandma's house next store and planted her head in her dad's lap. She's seven years old and absolutely beautiful.

"Si, papi?" she asked.

"Go and get us some ice," he ordered, although it didn't come out sounding like an order at all - more of an accostumbed polite request that was obeyed without question. She ran back out into the street and dissappeared.

Darwin's a stocky guy, kinda like me, thick in the neck and shoulders. In Spanish they call this 'chaparro', and of Darwin and his nine siblings, the people say 'chilamate' which is a type of wide, stocky tropical tree. His hair is black and kept short (although it used to be super-long and curly - I saw a picture once and with his big shnozz, he looked like a latino Howard Stern), and his face wide-chinned, a tiny bit chubby and pitted from acne. His hands are fat and stubby (like mine), and he has enormous, rock-hard hand-drummer's callouses on his palms and fingers which he often picks at.

Out of all the Nicaraguans I've met, Darwin is totally atypical. It's not because he is so intelligent, clever and well-read, although he is. Many Nicas possess these traits as well, but not so many in our barrio. What makes him stand out more, I think, are his sense of humor and his perception of things like friendship and personal space. I can relate to him and joke with him without the cultural barriers that normally pop up with my other Nica friends. He is absolutely genuine, sincere, and we've never had a single misunderstanding, or 'cultural bump' as my Peace Corps trainer liked to call the little problems we'd come up against. Also, Darwin has never once asked me for a single thing. I can count on one hand (with fingers to spare) the number of people in my pueblo of whom I can say this. Combine these traits with the best of the positive Nicaraguan characteristics - i.e. warmth, generosity, hospitality - and you've got yourself one helluva good amigo.

About two inches remained in the liter bottle and the sun wasn't quite down yet. A couple of clouds in front of us started playing different colors, and a cool sunset breeze swept up the street, bringing with it a light cloud of fine dust. We hadn't stood up in over an hour and I knew that when we did we would feel pretty drunk. No matter. We both felt good.

I remembered the day - sometime in March, 1998 - when I first stepped foot in La Trinidad and ended up in Eudelia's comedor looking for lunch. I mentioned it to Darwin and we waxed nostalgic.

"You were in the kitchen," I reminded him, "and Eudelia didn't understand my shitty Spanish when I tried to order a plate of chicken, so she called you out to translate."

"Son of a bitch!" he laughed. "Eudelia came back and said, 'Darwin there's a gringo out here and I don't understand shit of what he's saying.'"

"And then you told me about the Boulder, Colorado connection to La Trinidad and I couldn't believe it because I had just lived there, and then you started inviting me to beers. It was about noon on a Sunday, and I had to wait for Nibardo to get back from drinking at the beach, and I didn't know anyone in town, not even one person, so I accepted."

"Hijueputa! and Nibardo didn't get back until ten o'clock and he was drunker then us!"

We laughed together and looking down, I saw that the bottle had somehow been completely emptied. I looked back up and saw that the sun had somehow completely set. Looking across at my friend's face, I realized, with a pang of sadness, that I was one day closer to leaving this place.