“Everyone gets everything he wants. I wanted a mission, and for my sins
they gave me one. Brought it up to me like room service.”¹
He couldn’t believe he was back in Managua. He felt like he was being punished for some overlooked blunder. Some long forgotten slight. It was still only July and the Nicaraguan heat was blasting waves from every surface. It was even hotter than the Birmingham he’d just left and Trilby hadn’t thought that was scientifically possible. He’d spent the last two weeks in the Magic City, following a story in Pelham involving fireworks, rednecks and white slavery. Juicy stuff here in red dirt country. The embossed lettering on his U.S. passport read the name Trilby Mayhew. He was incognito and why not? This was, after all, Central America, with it’s lush valleys and deep hidden jungle secrets. A garden of Eden where the beers ran cheap and the policía wouldn’t hesitate to dump you in a pile of trash, with a rusty knife lost in your belly. Certainly a time to watch your six. It is the Daniel Ortega interview with T. Mayhew.
His rental car was waiting for him when he got off the plane. It was a rusted, yellow Mercedes with crumpled fenders and exposed speakers. It was littered with cigarette butts and the dashboard was covered with faded carpet. Usually, he enjoyed the reliable service of chicken buses and city shuttles, but, due to the numerous roadblocks scattered around the city, the bus service had gotten pretty sketchy. This car smelled strongly of Lucky Strikes but the Blaupunkt stereo worked fine and was blasting “Papa Was A Rolling Stone” by the Commodores. It was fine that the front quarter panel was wrinkled and limp. He never minded riding around in dented and shattered vehicles. it encouraged other drivers to be wary and they subsequently kept their distance. A banged up hood says, “Yea. I did it and I might just do it again if the mood catches me right, so watch out bro”.
He left the bar at eleven in the morning for his meeting with the president. Only hours before he woke up somewhere nearby, confounded as to when, exactly he’d been hit with a tire wrench. So many real questions, valid and otherwise. The hotel and cantina were connected so the convenience of traveling back and forth couldn’t be understated. He couldn’t be sure exactly where he’d slept but the bed hadn’t been turned down. Watching always, for important and informative clues that may well shed some light on the night’s activities. The bar faced out toward the street and he enjoyed several micheladas while the city came to life. His head was beginning to clear and the disconnected visions began to form into a kind of story. But like an old audio cassette, some parts of the recording were garbled and unclear.
Pictures flashed in his pounding head. One after the other, in no concernable order…playing Bruce Springsteen songs with the band. Fifteen Miles on the Erie Canal “you better know your neighbor, you better know your pal”. Mexican dirt weed. shots of something delicious. some kind of homemade jungle brew. dancing with a bearded witch, or as she called herself, medicine woman. còrdobas and hanging bags of water. someone wearing the fried skull of a sea bass on their head. a surfboard. a table is broken. someone is angry. someone is bleeding…
Dr. Zog’s Sex Wax
He figured the blood on his arm was his own, but thankfully he couldn’t locate any injury. The surfboard was still in his hotel room and he had no idea where from where it came or to whom it belonged. Likely stolen. The twelve foot long board took up virtually all the space in the tiny room, making it difficult to fumble around and impossible to get to the bathroom. He’d have to deal with that later. The morning sun was intense and he’d begun to render as the rum streamed from his pores in buckets. The flashback continued as he entered the Sandinista party headquarters. The president didn’t live or work in the presidential palace due to the fact his wife found it to be haunted. Rosario Murillo had a very keen sense when it came to the spirit world.
He was led by a large black man to an immense sitting room with open window and flowing red and purple drapes. There was an ornate bird cage in the corner– inside it, sitting on a fake branch, was a large scarlet macaw named Lupé. Occasionally he would do a little dance and scream out some incomprehensible Spanish phrase like “¡Deja que su madre se rinda!” or “La cabra siempre tira al montaña.” There were more hanging sandwich bags of water about and still there were flies everywhere. What was the real science behind this folklore gibberish? His hands continued to both sweat and shake, but all in all, he felt better.
Daniel Ortega’s relationship with the United States never been very smooth, due to U.S. support for Somoza prior to the revolution. The government was opposed by the Contras, who were funded by the Reagan administration of the United States, in a vicious civil war.
Born in the wretched barrios of Masaya and imprisoned in El Modelo for robbing a bank in Managua, Daniel Ortega has led the life of a true revolutionary outlaw. There he wrote poems, one of which he titled “I Never Saw Managua When Miniskirts Were in Fashion”. By 1979, a tide of rage finally propelled the Sandinistas to power. After serving as a revolutionary leader, Ortega was elected in 2006, but has been accused of increasingly autocratic rule as he and his wife have tightened their control of state institutions.
Ortega enters the room. He is wearing satin pants and a short sleeve flamenco shirt.
Mayhew: Daniel, thanks so much for speaking with me. I’m sorry to inconvenience you while Brazil plays Belgium in the World Cup.
Ortega: No worries at all, my friend. It’s nice to see you again. You know we don’t play football in Nicaragua. It’s just for poofs. Would you care for some rum?
Mayhew: Flor de caña if you have any.
Ortega: Nades says I. Absolute piss. Try some Zacapa XO from Guatemala. Mother’s milk. Did you bring me a catcher’s mitt?
Mayhew: I did, but I already gave it away to some kid in the Parque Central, with the rest of the gloves I brought.
Ortega: What a silly waste. By now the huelepegas will have traded them for glue. You know, all the kids are doing Resistol these days. It’s a sad testament to a lost generation. Would you like a little? Just one huff like the old times? Chayo always keeps a little bottle in the drawer. Just let me know. It will be like that summer we went surfing in Maderas. I had just gotten out of prison and we were running with a crowd of complete reprobates. Considering all the exposed rocks and Methaqualone, huffing glue would have been the least of our problems.
When was the last time we saw each other? It must have been in Bimini with that blonde mother-daughter combo. We were using Don Aranow’s boats to run dope back to Miami. So much fun. And you and your friends sunk that sailboat off of Biscaine Bay on your way to the Dry Tortugas. Standing on the reef. Surrounded by floating seat cushions and cans of Busch Light.
Mayhew: Easy guy, I never claimed to be Pedro Cabral and that boat was never seaworthy. It wasn’t my fault it sank to the bottom of the Gulf Stream before I could have my lawyer look over it. That would have answered plenty of questions.
One of your closest advisers has accused opposition activists of trying to engineer a “soft coup”. Considering the three months of unrest and violent repression, are you going to step down as president?
Ortega: (laughing) Hell no. And what is a “soft coup”? Is that like a soft mutiny? Roadblocks all over the city? Trucks with basic needs and services can’t get through? The cantinas are running out of beer and rum. Call it a “coup d’etat” for all I care but it’s got no soft version. If this is a real revolution, it’s going to take more than homemade mortars.
Mayhew: I think that’s one of the points. You’re critics are saying that you’re using unreasonable force to take back Masaya. Over three-hundred have been killed in the last few months with no end in sight.
Ortega: The “scorched-earth” campaign with vibrating pillows and martinis just isn’t working. Let’s be realistic. The protesters are using homemade mortars and slingshots. We all know the story of David and Goliath but someone should remind these kids about the Creeks at Horseshoe Bend, the Sioux at Wounded Knee or the Cheyenne at Sand Creek. Really. Didn’t his protest began at the Polytechnic University? If you’re going to try and take over a country, you might want to crack a book.
A thin woman enters, wearing three or four rings on each of her fingers and many turquoise and silver bracelets on her arms. Her sundress is floor length and is covered in colored bright stripes. She is wearing a necklace made from human eyeballs, or beads painted to look like eyeballs. It’s reminiscent of the perverse trophy a deranged soldier might acquire in war.
Mayhew: Chayo! How have you been? You look divine.
Rosario: Where have you been hiding yourself Trilby? I’ve missed you so much. Oh my…You’re aura looks a little gray. When you leave here, go straight to this address and have it cleansed. (hands over a business card)
Samuel: Rosario, thanks for joining us. You are the First Lady of Nicaragua. You have served as the Nicaraguan government’s lead spokeswoman, government minister, head of the Sandinista Association of Cultural Workers and Communications Coordinator of the Council on Communication and Citizenry.
Rosario: Don’t forget, your “compañera” was sworn in as Vice President last year. It was written in the stars, dear heart.
Lupé: “Esta en las estrellas”
Mayhew: You are maternally related to Nicaragua’s national hero, Augusto Sandino. Tell us a little about your history and education.
Rosario: I attended high school in Great Britain and studied Art at the Institut Anglo-Suisse Le Manoir at La Neuveville in Switzerland. I studied at the University of Cambridge in Great Britain, and University of Neuchâtel in Switzerland. I also attended the National Autonomous University of Nicaragua, where I am later became a language professor at the Instituto de Ciencias Comerciales and the Colegio Teresiano during 1967-1969.
Trilby: You certainly have a varied history in art education. Is why you installed giant, metal trees all over Managua?
Rosario: It reminds people of your American Las Vegas. Fun, bright and happy.
Mayhew: And in the summer, they both smell like rotten plantains. Revolutionaries in the area have begun to tear down the metal trees you’ve placed around town. How do you plan to deal with this new threat?
Roario: They cost nearly three million to install and that, my friend, is a pretty penny. I can’t imagine how much it’s going to cost to replace them. In a country this poor, I”m surprised that’s how the people want us to spend our money. And besides, people should be real careful when vandalizing state property. From here on out, anyone caught damaging public statues will be run down like dirty Chupacabras.
Ortega: Don’t scare the man, my little goat-sucker.
Mayhew: Daniel, your relationship with Venezuelan President Nicolás Maduro and your involvment in Alba Petróleos de Nicaragua, S.A. has recently been under scrutiny. How do you respond to the allegations of theft and embezzlement?
Ortega: We are still quite close with Nicolás and his wife Cilia. He actually has food trucks show up to his house every Friday night. Can you believe that? As far as our relationship with Albanisa, we use funds provided by Venezuela through the Bolivarian Alliance for the Americas to increase the role of the state in the economy. Through Petronic we own a 49 percent share in ALBA de Nicaragua, the company that imports and monetizes Venezuelan petroleum products. The Sandinista Party has used ALBANISA funds to purchase television and radio stations, hotels, cattle ranches, electricity generation plants, and pharmaceutical laboratories.
Lupé: “Luplanza el diazepam”.
Mayhew: Exactly what business do you presently own?
Ortega: The government owns and operates the National Port Authority, National Lottery, and National Electricity Transmission Company. In sectors where competition is allowed, the government owns and operates the Nicaraguan Insurance Institute, Nicaraguan Electricity Company, Las Mercedes Industrial Park, Nicaraguan Food Staple Company, the Nicaraguan Post Office, the International Airport Authority, and the Nicaraguan Petroleum Company.
Rosario: Don’t forget the the National Sewer and Water Company.
Lupé: “Todos defecan”
Ortega: Through the Nicaraguan Social Security Institute, we own a pharmaceutical manufacturing company, other companies and real estate holdings. The Military Institute of Social Security also has a controlling interest in companies in the construction, manufacturing, and services sectors. Other companies have unclear ownership structures that include at least a minority ownership by government officials.²
Lupé: “Las cucarachas entran pero no salen”
In August 2016, In order to eliminate any dissent against President Daniel Ortega’s quest for his third term, the Nicaraguan Supreme Electoral Council dismissed 28 opposition legislators (16 members and 12 alternate members) from Congress). These days, soldiers in the regular army have also taken a stance against the regime and have made it clear they are unwilling to fire on Nicaraguan citizens. Ortega has continued to use the police force and private security forces to take back Masaya and other cities.
As he sat on the tarmac, waiting to head back to Florida Trilby looked through his notes and tried to make sense of what he’d learned. There was going to be no easy way out for these people. The citizens aren’t ready to give up and Daniel Ortega isn’t in any hurry to step down. As a matter of fact, he’s prepared to get behind Rosario as the next presidential candidate for Nicaragua. Barring an early election next year, it seems as though this couple isn’t going anywhere. He enjoyed a Bloody Mary as he tried to put some of the pieces together. It looked as if history was repeating itself and somewhere in this story, there was a lesson to be learned.
One day, in the foreseeable future, this is going to happen here in the United States. Hell, it already has hundreds of times, but just in small, disconnected batches. Someday the ax is going to fall. The other shoe is going to drop. We have elected our own dictators and every one of their strange and dark decisions is met with revelry and applause by over half of the electorate. If our leaders are the problem, then we are the ones to blame. We are the fiends and the bigots. We are the insulated war mongers. We elect the dogs and in that truth, we are a shadowy reflection of them. You’re welcome for all the children ripped away from their parents and from the schools frozen with the fear of gunfire. It is a river of intolerance in a sea of trained apathy, and right in the middle of it sits a gyre filled with flip flops and plastic bags. We are the cruel, heartless jackals tearing away at the raw meat.
As a result of our unique political discourse, there is a widely-held perception that we all seriously disagree with each other. The powers that be have used special mirrors and fog machines to create narratives of arbitrary shapes and pretty colors that are rendered meaningless after trickling down to the sub-layers and sewers. We have no real idea as to how we disagree, we just know that we do. Because we saw it on the news or read it on Facebook. We’re using mortars and slingshots. How long till the streets have barricades? Will your army just stand by and let you take over?
Like a minnow in a giant wave. Swim around little fish. Hustle and jive as much as you can in search of food and protection. There’s no getting out of the wave.
References
Coppola, Francis. Milius, John. Apocalypse Now. Transcript (1979)
https://www.export.gov/article?id=Nicaragua-State-Owned-Enterprises. Retrieved 7/11/18
