What turned out to be the first center we would visit was a factory that had been occupied by the community and transformed into a community center in the Antimano district. There were medical staff, a non-perishable and hot food distribution center, many many beds and a table where refugees could have replacements made of their identification cards. (Absolutely NOTHING gets done here without ID (Cédula) – I tried to but a falafel the other day and they asked me for mine. When I told them I was a foreigner and didn’t have one, the clerk was a bit put off but settled for my passport!)
There were kids everywhere, faces freshly painted by some roaming clown, playing soccer with any bit of detritus that could be kicked, screaming through the din of adult conversations and organizational meetings. Really, kids the stuff of poetry, bouncing red balloons through groups of tired faced adults and laughing laughing laughing. Playing through the puddles of a converted factory floor.
It was only after 15 minutes after arriving or so that I gathered the event that was taking place was to be put on by the group on to which I had attached myself. Embarrassingly, it was ½ hour after that that realized that the event was in large part centered around a performance by Sandino Primera. Embarrassing, because I was talking, playing soccer, and laughing with him for a bit without realizing who he is and why everyone wanted to say hello to him.
His father, Alí, was a folk singer (“The People’s Singer,” in fact) who died in a car accident in 1985. A Communist Party militant known for playing in factories, barrios, schools and streets – in addition to festivals like the Central American Peace Concerts held in Managua in 1983 (during which time he unapologetically defended the Sandinistas against the United States) – this refugee center would have been precisely the place where Alí would have appeared. When his son, Sandino played classics by his father like ‘Disparos’ everyone not only sang along, they rocked the house in a manner you might not expect to see in a refugee center. When he played ‘Techos de Cartón’ (lyrics below), a particularly pertinent song in the given situation, I almost cried. (Anyone who has seen the Mexican film 'Voces Inocentes' about the civil war in El Salvador is familiar both with the song and the sentiment).
Next we were off to another refugee center, this one in Catia. It was a similar situation, as far as services are concerned. However, this center was rather different. Built precisely for this sort of situation, this structure had family dormitories (men and women were separated at the previous site) a cafeteria and sporting fields. In all between the two centers, we encountered hundreds of families displaced by the deadly rains of 2008.
Techos de Cartón (Alí Primera)
Que triste se oye la lluvia
En los techos de carton
Que triste vive mi gente
En las casas de carton
Viene bajando el obrero
Casi arrastrando sus pasos
Por el peso del sufrir
Mira que mucho ha sufri..
Mira que pesa el sufrir
Arriba deja la mujer preñada
Abajo esta la ciudad
Y se pierde en su maraña
Hoy es lo mismo que ayer
Asunto sin mañana
Que triste se oye la lluvia
En los techos de carton
Que triste vive mi gente
En las casas de carton
Niños color de mi tierra
Con sus mismas cicatricez
Millonarios de lombrices
Y por eso
Que tristes viven los niños
En las casas de carton
Que alegres viven los perros
Casa del explotador
Usted no lo va a creer
Pero hay escuelas de perros
Y les dan educacion
Pa’ que no muerdan los diarios
Pero el patron!
Hace años muchos años
Que esta mordiendo al obrero
Que triste se oye la lluvia
En los techos de carton
Que lejos pasa la esperanza
En las casas de carton
... and the english translation:
How sad does the rain sound
On the roofs made of cardboard
How sad it is, the way my people live
In houses made of cardboard
Here comes the worker
Practically dragging each step
Carrying the weight of suffering
Look how much he’s suffered
Look at the weight of such suffering
He leaves his woman pregnant
Down there is the city
And he loses himself in his maze
Today is the same as yesterday
A situation without a tomorrow
How sad does the rain sound
On the roofs made of cardboard
How sad it is, the way my people live
In houses made of cardboard
Children the same color of my country’s earth
With their same scars
Millions of worms
And because of that
How sad it is, the way the children live
In houses made of cardboard
How happy do dogs live in the
House of the employer
You won’t believe it
But there are schools for dogs
Where they receive education
So they won’t bite the newspapers
But the employer!
For years, many years
Has been biting the worker
How sad does the rain sound
On the roofs made of cardboard
How far away, does hope pass by
In the houses made of cardboard
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