Chinandega Miracle

Today I will visit a Christian school in a comarca (semi-rural area) on the south edge of Managua.

I offered to take a taxi, but three Nehemiah Center staff members, who have all been to this school before, were unable to create a reliable set of directions for a taxi driver.

You see, Nicaraguan cities have no building numbers and no street signs.  Only a few major roads have names, and those names can be learned only through conversation with local residents. Directions are given by a mysterious combination of landmarks and number of kilometers from a city’s central point.

I learned last week, though, that this Nicaraguan shortfall has one upside.

When our team travelled three hours from Managua to Chinandega, our driver was a professional who owned his own large van and transported people for a living.

He secured our luggage to the roof of his van with a skillful web of bungee cords.

En route to Chinandega, he avoided potholes and eased gently over speed bumps. He skillfully snaked through semis, bicycles, and horse-drawn carts. He came within inches of pedestrians without touching them.

And then, in Chinandega, he did something that widened the eyes and dropped the jaws of  five of his passengers to their hairy chests.

He rolled down his window to a blast of hot Chinandega air, hailed a passerby, and without embarrassment asked directions.

Three different times.

For the same destination.