Nicaragua

Los Amigos de las Americas. Medical aid. Monumental humanitarian goals. Great personal fulfillment. Spread the American Dream! Manifest Destiny forever! Bullshit!

Ah, but long will I remember those gruesome three weeks in July, those 1500 shots, the 450 minor first-aid chores, and the scientific revelation in San Luis, Nicaragua, the suture. The suture, complete with all the latest equipment: sewing needle, cotton thread, sterilization with alcohol, and animal anesthetic. Yes, twenty years from now I’ll reminisce over my zealous benevolence.

Or will I? Was I more affected by that eight-year-old urchin shrieking, “You American son of a bitch! May you be damned!”? Will I remember that night club where I got the come-on from that obstinate whore whom the basest marine wouldn’t lay? Will I ever forget the duty-blinded cop who carded me and incarcerated me for my chronological status combined with my inebriation and for my “hippie appearance.” Was I profoundly influenced by the anti-American peasant rally where I found myself stranded, the only G>gringo in thirty thousand, accused of being a CIA agent involved in clandestine activity?

I really can’t decide now how I was influenced, though I have notions. Was the excitement of the experiment worth the psychological turmoil? Guess I’ll return next summer and find out.