La Chureca

Have you ever read an article or a book where the author refers to a random place you've once traveled to? Like when the Montreal Gazette writes an excerpt on a small restaurant in Little Italy you once went to eons ago, or when National Geographic shows pictures of Chichen Itza that you last saw on your trip to Cancun. Don't you get this overwhelming sensation, the sights, the smells, the colors... don't they all come rushing back? And the magical feeling like you're there again, at least for a moment, is so strong that you catch yourself breathing in and enjoying the memory of Montreal's best pizza? Maybe? Maybe not?

Okay well it happens to me. I love it. Being "side swiped" by an author mentioning casually in a book or article a place you've been when you haven't thought about it for such a long time that you've consciously forgotten it's existence.

I'm reading "O Me of Little Faith" by Jason Boyett. I haven't heard of him before, but I'm truly enjoying his style of writing. Perhaps, it's because I think & talk the same way? In any case, in the chapter I just finished he was talking about a moment in his life when He truly "felt" or experienced God. He also mentioned these moments are rare, so they've only happened 3 times in his life. One of which was in Managua, Nicaragua at "La Chureca".
Where? Well, my friends it is THE place that stole my heart when I was 16 years old.
It's the city dump. Oh no, but not just any city dump. This place is hell. Barefoot children with swollen bellies walking around in garbage, hospital waste and carcases. Parents scraping leftovers from restaurant garbages, men being crushed everyday by the merciless drivers from the garbage trucks. The fumes from this place can be smelled for kilometers. In fact, the stench the moment the airplane doors open is enough to make most people want to go home.
Jason was talking about a concert they put on in this hell-hole for the people who live there out of sheer poverty and no other way out. He said it was amazing - even though he walked out with someone's feces on his pant legs. In those moments, we forget about rich and poor, about clean and dirty. In those moments, even amidst needles and dying cows, we get a small, smelly, glimpe of heaven.

All that to say, I miss Nicaragua. The smell, the sounds of kids laughing and the taste of the air. On that note, I don't miss blowing my nose and having black come out... or brushing my teeth and spitting black into the sink... but small sacrifices for the faces below.