A governmental facade....if only the world knew

Upon existing the plane, my fellow classmates and I were instructed to halt by my teacher who was frantically trying to reorganize and redistribute our passports before we reached customs of the Managua Airport. As we waited in the hot and stuffy terminal, the only concerning thought I had was how I was going to communicate with my worrisome mother and boyfriend for the next seven days.As we walked outside the airport doors, we were greeted by our taxi-a van not equipped with air-conditioning for eight- and a lingering smell of cow manure. After the men constructed a seven foot tower out of our luggage, they firmly secured it with a sheet of black tarp, and gave us a thumbs-up to go. 

Winding up and around the mountainous terrain for two and a half hours was upsetting for the stomach but fuel for the soul; the rolling hills, green scenery, and natural beauty of the countryside was a phenomenon to the naked eye. As we approached the confinements of Esteli,Nicaragua's beautiful terrain was juxtaposed by the poverty of the men and women who roamed the streets. The mission of our trip was to spend the next seven days working hand-in-hand with the Catholic sisters of Centro Sor Maria Romero to fix the multitude of physical damages the school endured within the past year, assist in cooking and serving the locals lunch, and most importantly providing a "beacon [of hope] on the road to better things" for the children of the village. 

On the third day, the head missionary took our group on an expedition throughout the town; we walked through countless homes made of cement walls and dirt for floors, through homes where a plastic bucket a quarter of a mile away constitutes as the family toilet, and through homes without a trace of rice. The physical poverty of the town was astonishing but the feelings I mustered walking through the homes could not compare to the heart-wrenching stories that belong to each resident; the story of a boy who worked fourteen hour shifts at the local cigar factory for six months in order to buy a mattress as thin as one found in a college dormitory and the nine year old girl who is sexually assaulted by her uncle for a piece of candy were dumbfounding to the ears of a naive Floridian. The emotions were overwhelming and left me speechless. Deeply disturbed by the vivid scenes of poverty and neglect, I began to question what I witnessed. How do these atrocities persist? Why isn't THIS considered a global crisis? 

Children walk up to 8 miles a day in hopes that Sor Romero will have enough rice to fuel their stomach till they make the journey again the following day. Although homelessness and abandoned children stretched from one end of Nicaragua to the other, government officials declare that poverty does not exist within their country making it impossible for publication that encourages reformation of the country or the adoption of children by outside sources. The citizens of Esteli have been afflicted by oppression from the Nicaraguan government for decades, making their daily lives a struggle to stay alive. 

The majority of visitors are vacationers who rarely travel farther than the outskirts of Managua's beaches; if only the world knew what was going on in the less densely populated areas of the country then maybe there would be a call to change, a call to end all suffering.We are truly blessed to be able to call ourselves citizens of the United States of America, the "melting pot" of the world, home to all kinds of people regardless of their race, religion or creed; the American society exemplifies the Biblical teaching of "all individuals are created equal in the eyes of God" for America does not grant certain individuals superiority over another but is rather open to individuals worldwide who are in pursuit of success. 

Citations:
Conrad, Joseph. Heart of Darkness. NY, NY: W.W. Norton and Company,Inc., 1988