Esteli, revolutionary speaking

14July
Got the bus up to Esteli from Leon. Now I am nearer true Nicaragua. This has been a true FSLN town. Many of those around here fought hard. Many of the leaders or members of FSLN came from here. This is cowboy country. Cowboy hats and jeans mix liberally with baseball hats and mini skirts. Feels like I have come to a frontier town and in a way I have. Both from the revolution point of view but also its proximity to Honduras.

There are lots of FSLN flags been waved from cars. I walked for hours around town to get a feel for the place. Snapping lots of fotos of colorful murals. This was knackering but I found a lovely cafe, Licuados ananda, inspìred by a guru no less...

Something is happening tonight. I can feel a buzz in the air, and they are erecting a huge stage, sound system included. However, I stay in after dinner.

15July
Today I had to wait until the museum I came to see opened. Galeria de Heroes y Martires. This is a galery of fotos and memories of the young men and women, who lost their lives in the revolution. Sometimes there is no foto just a shirt and maybe cufflinks or a pair of boots. These personal effects contained in a few bare cabinets. But the mothers wanted their children to be remembered in what ever way was possible. And more inportantly to remember why and what they died for. Under some fotos were captions explaining when and where they died. There are also explanations of the history of the different leaders etc. since the late 19 century. The urge to free themselves from tyranny has had a long history. I must have whiled away 2 hours in the place. These people need to be remembered as individuals. Why should I read one not another, so I try to read all. It is sad to see such wasted youth. Some of the victims joined the fight at 14.

Sometimes a family lost more than one of their children.

There was one really interesting story. An Article and story appeared about the reoluition and a foto captured the young guy throwing a petrol bomb. This foto became iconic. So the writer decided to follow up on this man 25 years later. He was in his early 20s then and rose to be a commander in the FSLN and was well respected for his bravery and military expertise. As a thankyou he was offered a scholarship outside of Nicaragua. But he could not leave. I guess in case he was needed again. He is now, a car mechanic, poor with 8 children. He hankers back to his glory days, when he was really somebody and things were different. It was a sad yet memorable story behind the news foto. See attched here.

Another iconic foto was the breastfeeding mother. A baby in one arm and a rifle in the other. A painted version of that was a centrepiece in the museum.

The mothers maintain the gallery and are there to talk should you feel the urge. However, my Spanish is not up to it. I so want to converse but I can´t. Some of the mothers who started this have now died or are too old to continue maintaining this. The museum. is very basic, simple, primitive and above all very poor. But amazing! Some of the fotos are the only copies. They are not even all protected by glass so are fading and disintegrating. My question is what happens when the last of mothers die. Who will be there then. Who will remember? Will it just close and be just a minor anal in history? If even that. It was a sobering and educational morning.

It was after lunch before I left for my next destination. Somoto. A rather cute little village. I walked from the bus station outside of town to the hotel recomended in 10 minutes. It was that small. I got the bus to Espino, the last stop before Honduras. I gopt adopted by this El Salvadorean, who helped me along the way and guided me on to the right bus or off at the right time. Through him I found a bus short cut and waited with all the locals. I often find myself the only tourist. My travelling companion is very clean cut. Quite smart with a cleanly pressed shirt. Professional looking. He and I get separated for the final leg. I see him chatting to a fellow passenger. He takes out a bible. I figure he is a bible salesman at this stage. He then moves to another passenger. Then he stands up in front of the bus and starts preaching. At first all are interested. Something novel. And he continues preaching... Despite the embarking and disembarking of passengers and the influx of people yelling and selling their wares along the bus aisle. He still preaches. Even the nun in the seat opposite me falls asleep. He carries on. He doesnt read his audience. He is enraptured in his own sermon.

After several hours, I am in a little town of Perquin in El Salvador. I am up in the mountains, high in the forest in the centre of what was the FMLN territory, the guerrilla group/freedom fighters of El Salvador.