Going to Heaven on a Dark Cloudy Day

By Edmundo Barreto

The author chronicles in this book the metamorphosis he experienced that are invaluable lessons that we can all apply to our own lives. He was guided and inspired by God to write this book and was enlightened with wisdom, warnings, prophecies, and new ways to do businesses to aid the extreme poverty that afflicts Nicaragua, which is about to be overrun by modern pirates that will decimate the poor and force them out of their land.

Nicaragua is facing an irrefutable potential devastation of the land as a result of a geopolitical war developing in that small nation. It is due to an unconstitutional dictator that has illegally given away the patrimony and decided—unilaterally—to give the sovereignty of a nation to a Chinese counterfeit businessman with close ties to the Republic of China, and they intend to build a mega canal to supplant the Panama canal. That project could cause irreparable damages beyond anyone’s imagination—damages that could have consequences well beyond the borders of the poor nation of Nicaragua. But God, in his divine wisdom, has chosen to intervene and will use this book to tell the story of Nicaragua to the world and to stop this travesty from happening.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Oct 25, 2018
• ISBN: 9781546260585

Edmundo Barreto

The Author is former political refugee from the poor small nation of Nicaragua, forced out his land as a young man by a revolution that claimed tens of thousands of lives in 1979. He arrived in California escaping the war and became a part of another revolution, - the technology revolution in the Silicon Valley- where he strived to become a wealthy man and someday go back to his homeland to help the poor in the small town where he was born. Although he did enjoy some financial success, he was never able to achieve his lofty goals, despite having worked for over ten startup companies in the Silicon Valley in search of his elusive dream and eventually gave up on his dream and settled for a standard middle class life, when he moved to the state of Arizona, where he currently resides with his wife and kids. An inconceivable turn of events turned his life upside down and his once desire to make tons of money vanish and the result of that conversion, led to writing a book that will touch you in ways that few books will ever do. A book that will examine your own life biases and forever impact the way you look at money, religion, immigration and business and will also test your faith or lack of faith if you are skeptic and even more powerfully if you don’t believe in God.

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© 2016 Edmundo Barreto. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 10/24/2018

ISBN: 978-1-5049-2313-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5462-6058-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018911281

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Scripture quotations marked AMP are from The Amplified Bible, Old Testament copyright © 1965, 1987 by the Zondervan Corporation. The Amplified Bible, New Testament copyright © 1954, 1958, 1987 by The Lockman Foundation. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Scripture texts, prefaces, introductions, footnotes and cross references used in this work are taken from the New American Bible, revised edition © 2010, 1991, 1986, 1970 Confraternity of Christian Doctrine, Inc., Washington, DC All Rights Reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Prologue

Bluefields

My House

The Balcony Of My House

Little Boat

Joy Ride With My Father

Hotel Del Cueto

The Scream

Destiny Love

The Prince

Their Broken Heart

Leaving Home

The Thief

Precious Gems

Poor Plan

Refugee

Face Book

Guatemala

North America

President Reagan

The Intruder

My First Job

Atheism

My Assyrian Family

My Mother

New Mexico

Beisbol

Alzheimer

Lullaby

My Broken Heart

There Is No God

Wave Of Energy

All My Questions!!!

Going To Heaven

Confirmation

Holy Spirit

The Church

My Mother’s Love

Journey

Transformed Faith

The Dream

Letter Of Love From The Heavenly Father

The New Bluefields

The Mysterious Canal

Autonomy

Law 28

Tourism, Robusta Coffee & Cocoa

Irrigation Project

False Humility

A Friendly Hand

The Other God

The Mighty Lion

Do You Believe Me?

My Resume

The Deceitful Pride

Nicaragua’s Economy

The New Business Plan

The Impact

Money For Love

Nicaragua’s Future Economy

Remittances

Deficit

Capitalism

The List

Intellects

Religious Wars

Messages To The United State Of America

The Mistaken Muslim Faith

President Obama

The Bible

Moses

The Picture

The Other Picture

The Soup Of Stones

Epilogue

Hello,

My name is Inigo Montoya

You killed my father!

Prepare to Die!

PROLOGUE

S orry, I could not help myself!

And since you don’t know me from Adam, I thought this would be an appropriate introduction to ‘break the ice’ by using one of my all-time favorite movie quotes line from the movie The Princess Bride

Inigo Montoya is a fictional character in William Goldman’s 1973 novel The Princess Bride. And In Rob Reiner’s 1987 film adaptation

On a serious note, I would like to share with you a story that is neither fictional, nor scripted by Hollywood. This is a story of meaningful portions of my life, which is not an extraordinary life, however, my story contains extra ordinaries and God-inspired messages that I must share with you.

I’m no one of consequence; I’m not famous or well known in any social circles, except for my family and friends, nobody knows me. I only mention this because it is not my intention to convert this book into my autobiography. However, I sincerely believe what I must share with you, will not have the same impact unless you; the reader, can in some way associate my story with a believable person, and only then, once you get to know me, will my story become vital and believable. Nonetheless this book is not about me, although it may seem like it for a while, it really isn’t. Actually; this book is about you, because the Lord will allow you to absorb from my story, only what He desires for you to discern.

I believe my story must be told and it is for this reason I will share with you portions of my journey through life, but my story leads us through this Book to one undeniable truth: __ The greatest love of all __

‘God’s love for us imperfect human beings’

M y name is Edmundo; my Spanish speaking friends call me Mundo.

Conversely, my English-speaking friends call me Ed. Somewhere along the way I lost a part of my name in both cultures. Very few people in my life time have called me by my full name.

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Everything you will read in this book is real. It is a partial story of my life; a life filled with struggles of faith, love, war, broken hearts, and a search through seas of uncertainties to find the true meaning of my life. But it does also contain a small portion of my parents’ life, as seen through the lenses of my eyes.

I’m not a writer! I have never written anything like this before, especially something resembling a Book. In fact; English is my second language, but I will do my best to try to keep you awake while I introduce you to the characters of my story and if you overlook my Greenhorn/Mickey Mouse style of writing, I will promise you this: it will have an impact on you! It certainly had a colossal impact on me! Because my life would never be the same again;

-After a dark cloudy day in Arizona –

BLUEFIELDS

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I   was born in the small tropical town of Bluefields Nicaragua, the kind of place where even the wind slowdowns in its path.

The town is situated on the Caribbean coast of Nicaragua and it is ironic, because there was very little blue in Bluefields Nicaragua, if it were up to me, it should have been called;-Greenfields of Dreams – Instead, the town was named after a Dutch pirate named Abraham Blauvelt; who seemingly hid in the Bay’s waters in the early 17Th century. Blauvelt; means the blue pastureland.

The Picturesque town of Bluefields was built by the shore of the bay nestled along its coast. Beyond the town; majestic rain forest jungles with canopies of trees full of tropical birds, monkeys and numerous other exotic creatures.

The bay-Bahia de Bluefields-was a mixture of salt and fresh water enriched by an overabundance and diversity of fish, shrimps, oysters and clams. The bay provided a staple diet of seafood for the inhabitants of the town. At The end of the bay tended the Caribbean Sea portion of the irrepressible Atlantic Ocean; which provided us with yet another diversity of fish, prawns and lobsters. On both sides of the bay; fresh water rivers; however, the main one was the magnificent river Escondido.

Back in my childhood days, the Escondido River produced many of the daily essentials in Bluefields; its enriched soil along the banks of the river facilitated the perfect gestation of mother Earth’s many offspring, which sprouted as majestic trees of exotic wood, sugar cane, bananas, oranges, rice, beans, corn, and countless other crops.

The Escondido River, its rich banks and surrounding land, was not only the life-line of the town, but likewise; the only way in and out the town whenever you travel to the Pacific coast. The Pacific coast accounted for much of the municipality and population that comprises the nation of Nicaragua. The Atlantic coast; although larger in size, was the least populated region of the country.

Tended like an old dying man forsaken by his family; Bluefields was in many ways isolated from the rest of the nation, since most people from the pacific coast were not aware we were part of the same nation. During my childhood the few times I visited Managua, the capital, whenever I mentioned I was from Bluefields, I was often asked if I carried a passport, and although we were part of Nicaragua, we were frequently forgotten by most politicians and ignored by others, as a result, Bluefields was a very small town; honestly, a place for which change and growth, developed at a snail’s pace. The local economy was mainly driven by sea food processing plants for exportation to other countries, but mainly the USA, and in earlier years before my time, we also exported bananas, sugar cane and exotic woods.

We lived in harmony in a melting pot of different ethnic backgrounds; blacks, whites, Mestizos, Chinese, Indigenous, you name it. We never distinguished one another, neither race nor color mattered; we were color blind. It was truly a different place, a big happy family, and a very small community; where people practically all knew each other and in my curious imagination…

‘Our little town flourished like a treasure hidden by the latent hand of a sleeping giant’

Life in Bluefields was exceedingly innocent and safe. We never closed our front doors during the day. Friends and neighbors would come over to visit without invitations, because everyone was always welcome. Although we did close our doors at night, it was just to signal that we were going to rest for the remnant of the night.

The crime rate was virtually nonexistent, and when it did happen, it was just petty stuff. In fact; this will seem like a joke; but I want to remind you that nothing in this book is a product of my imagination, every part of it is just the way it was, but then again, as seen thru the lenses of my eyes.

Whenever there was a theft, or something mysteriously disappeared in the town, the complex police investigation was always the same; all it took was to find out which one of the two known petty thieves’ in the town was not in jail the night the items disappear! Was it M. Nieves? Or was it Nodal?

The investigation was always flawless! It never failed! ‘Whichever one of the two was out of jail the night the items disappeared… Bingo! You had the guilty Person! Sure enough; they searched his house and they found the missing items. Back to jail he went! There would be a few months of no thieveries; until one of them got released from jail again.

I changed the real names because this was petty stuff and I don’t think it is appropriate to divulge their names, but if you are from Bluefields and you are about my age, you know who they are.

Only a small group of families had phones and those phones were seldom ever used. I can only recall a handful of times that our phone rang; it was such a rarity, that when it did; it made you jump from your seat! Or, drop whatever you were carrying in your hands at the time. It was truly startling, and it took a while to grasp; that the atrociously laud sound you were hearing, was a phone ringing, since you literally forgot they were there.

But once you collected yourself; you picked up the phone and there he was; Chico Arce; the town phone operator and one of the most colorful characters in town. He was one of the few openly Gay people in the town, and proud of it.

-I guess he was ahead of his time –

Chico would say in his unmistakable effeminate voice:

Youuu got a call from Dr. Gutierrezzzzzzzzzzz

"Dooo youuuuu accept it?

The phone service was not connected to the outside world, or to the rest of the country for that matter. I believe they envisioned connecting it with the outside world, but it was one of those projects that never materialized, and as a result it was only used for the small town, and of course…

-Chico’s own treasure trove of everyone personal business –

Yes; you could always hear him breathing on the other side of the line; cautiously gathering ammunition for his lucid tongue, while avidly listening to every word.

I believe only about 50 families had phones, the quality was so poor, you were better off just poking your head out the window and blaring your message, the end results were the same anyways!

-Everyone in town knew your personal business –

Chico was a very popular guy; you can always see him in town whispering in people’s ears everywhere he went; including any corner intersection whenever two or more people gather up to gossip, you knew Chico had passed by!

To communicate with the rest of the country and beyond, we did have a telegram service and guess who delivered those? Yep! Chico! And he would announce in his high pitched; piercing, penetrating voice __ Chale Jr is coming back from college, get your wallet ready Dr. Barreto because he is coming to PARTYIEEE __ yes, this was before you had a chance to open the envelope that contained the original telegram marked; ‘Personal and confidential ‘that simply read;

Hi Dad, I’ll be home this weekend school is over

But besides being the nosiest guy in town; he was also hysterically entertaining; a one-man posse and I have his image ingrained in my mind and I’m chuckling as I write this anecdote about him.

Recalling some of his crazy totally gay sayings makes me laugh to these days. I will not include them in this book, because they were truly inappropriate, loaded with metaphoric rhetoric and jam-packed with sexual innuendos. They simply would not translate well in English and let’ face it; even if I could translate them, in this political correctness world we live in; I may just get lynch if I try! But they were legendary for all of us that knew him in person.

He has passed away I heard, but he was an intricate part of the local folklore of our town.

May he rest in peace?

I had a fantastic childhood; in fact, I could say that I grew up in paradise; I contemplate that besides being a gateway safe house for pirates; it was; My paradise .

My parents were a little bit older by the time I came into this world. I was the last of eight kids… you guessed it! A catholic family! My parents were so exhausted from raising the previous seven kids, that I had a ‘free ride’ for the first 18 years of my life.

You could safely surmise that I grew up a spoiled rotten child. Life was good for little Mundito; let’s see; my dad was a Supreme Court of Appeals Magistrate. My mother was; well; let’s just say…The best mother any child could ever hope for; the lady just loved me so much! I could do no wrong in her eyes and when you are the last of eight kids; it creates a special bond between mother and child! We had that special bond and I loved her just as much.

There were many families larger than mine; as a matter of fact: eight kids were considered a medium size family back then, I know; how times have changed! I take a second look whenever I see a mother with more than two kids nowadays.

The town had two high schools and a handful of elementary schools, three or maybe a few more churches, depended upon whom you asked? One park and two movie Theaters – check that-It was one and a half movie theaters; we had a second movie theater. But it burned down!

Nevertheless, there was one other theater that some time open its doors, not in our town, but in our sister little town of el Bluff; El Bluff; was located at the end of the bay; where the ocean meets the bay.

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That theater some time opened its doors; it all depended upon them having enough spare film, to patch up the burned-out sections of the old worn out films on the reels.

Nope! It did not matter if it was for the same movie!

Picture this…

You are watching a murder / mystery movie. The scene is of a dark, foggy wet street in London. The plot had just reached that critical moment when the music and the suspense were at its highest crescendo; there was just enough light emanating from a half lighted post, and as the mysteries mass murderer character face was to be revealed, just as you sit on the edge of your seat biting your nails and……

Yahoo! Yahoo! Yahoo!

Screaming soldiers in a cavalry chasing Indians, riding their horses at full gallop!

__This happen during the movie and it made me jump from my seat two feet in the air!

Remember; there are no made up stories in this book.

Everything here is real.

And after all these years I wonder; was that the story of Jack the ripper I was watching? If it was! I should rent that old movie-I never got to see who it was-The film burned again during the scene of the soldiers chasing the Indians.

Nope! I didn’t get to see what happen to the Indians either, because the movie was over!

-No Mam! They did not return my two bucks either –

I waited for 15 minutes for my money because the movie theater operator said he would return the money, but I did not wait alone – everyone else watching the movie was also waiting for their money to be returned.

And that is a good thing! Because it took that long for all three of us to realize he had sneaked out from the back door.

Oh yes! I almost forgot, one fire station and of course;

A baseball stadium, after all we are talking…

Beisbol

The Caribbean…

Hello!

MY HOUSE

M y house was what you could call; beach front property.

But somehow that term creates the illusion that we lived in a high-priced neighborhood. It was not! Not much different than most places in town, after all this was third world country standards, but it was a very nice home given our standards. However; it did have a privileged view; or what you could call a million-dollar view because my house was in a small cove and my backyard was literally the Bay. At the end of the backyard resides my pride and joy; – My little canoe-Or My little Boat as I always called it.

My house was originally constructed of wood; it was a Victorian style home, with a veranda in the front of the house, a large flower tree on the left side of the yard, which produced beautiful red flowers that emitted a wonderful fragrance after the rain, a perpetual remembrance of nature’s countless perfumes. The flowers nectars were constant and provided the daily intake of nutrients all yearlong for families of hummingbirds, bees, butterflies and countless other creatures.

The entrance was a concrete patch that split the front yard in two and adorning the yard, were two dwarfs golden color coconut trees, one on each side of the yard, with voluble green palms swaying from side to side to announce the arrival of the wind. It was a pretty house, but it had reached the age of ancient old wife’s tales and with aged comes deterioration and decay.

My father went to great extents attempting to preserve it, but due to the proximity and over exposure to the water; the wood rotted quickly. In part due to the excessive amount of water and the saline in the water that corroded the nails holding it together; and thus, the reason why; my house was eventually reconstructed using concrete in the back of the house and the front of the house was not remodeled to preserve its original Victorian architecture.

It was not exactly what you would call an architectural landmark! But the house did have a very special small open balcony in the rear of the house, with unobstructed view of the bay and a persistent refreshing breeze generated by the proximity of the waters; Nature’s own air conditioning and a welcome relief, because it was always hot and muggy in my town.

Living at the edge of the water had some added dimensions to everyday life; I was privileged to live in harmony with nature.

On windy, dark rainy days; the waves would upsurge and create a foamy substance that served as a stage background in a theater, to highlight the charming dance of seagulls, flying low, in harmony with nature, nearly caressing the crest of the waves, as these birds were seemingly surfing along, enlaced with the foamy waves.

Early in the morning, on most clear days, you could witness the sunrise as it appeared on the horizon; Shining its radiant light on the bay, illuminating the trees full of birds that had come too nestled on its branches during the still of the night; similarly lifting the veil of darkness that started the wailing concert of seagulls, welcoming the brand-new day.

And during the nights-my favorite time of the day-

The picturesque scene of the full moon; with its silvery sheen resting on the tranquil muddy waters of my longed Bluefield’s bay, and its static reflection only being distorted by the slight ripple effects generated by the occasional local fisherman’s boat,-out for a joy ride with his loved one-leaving behind in its path, a flickering flash of moon light. These are scenes that still linger in my mind, after 52 years of existence in this planet.

One other peculiar thing about my backyard; was the crabs that had transformed my back yard into their homes; their homes; were holes they had dug into the red clay, creating virtual miniature tunnels underneath the surface of the grounds.

These crabs were some sort of mutation of crabs that once lived under water but had now adapted to live on dry land. They were beautiful; with an overabundance of colors, but they seem to be creatures forgotten by time, meant to live in a different time and left behind by the unforgiving march of time.

I think Charles Darwin would have appreciated their evolution. But for me; although their colors were beautiful, they seem menacing and scary at the same time, especially when I was a young child.

The creatures were very invasive and with their holes so abundant and deep, they compromised the structural integrity of the house, hence the reason we tried to eradicate them. I used to hunt them with homemade slingshot, and later with a 22-caliber rifle that once belonged to my older brother, and another of my prize possessions in life; one that I consequently inherited once he went away to college.

Both my brother and I-sometimes my father-use to shoot them from the second-floor balcony, when they came out for their daily sun baths after being in their dark murky holes for hours. But to no avail, they kept reproducing faster that we could exterminate them. We cautiously spied on them, walking silently, as cats after a prey; we would hide behind the walls of the house and quietly, ever so slightly, take a peeked around the wall… if they heard us move! Or saw us! They would quickly crawl back in their holes. It became a cat and mouse game. The minute we could see them sneaking a peek outside their mini caves; we shot them. The hunting game became a family tradition passed on from multiple generations. We never got rid of them, but we did contain them.

THE BALCONY OF MY HOUSE

M y favorite feature of my childhood house, I can remember many a times coming back from school after a long, hot and muggy walk and just sitting in that balcony, cooling off by the breeze of the bay, while enjoying my mother’s freshly squeezed tropical juices and relishing the view and the plethora of activity of the natural residents of the bay.

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-Not my house but almost identical-

Photo courtesy of ASELAB-Asociacion de Ex Alumnos LaSallistas de Bluefields.’s

And during the nights; playing my guitar and counting the stars, admiring the enormity of this vast universe. With the gaze lost in the darkness of night; enjoying the show of the flickering stars I often wondered…

Does God exist?

That Question would reverberate like a cave echo in my mind, for most of my adult life.

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Marina Monterrey Espinosa;

My beautiful mother was born in Nandaime; a town located in the department of Granada on the pacific coast and she moved to our small town when she married my father.

My mother; was one of four kids, three girls and one boy. Their mother left this world regrettably too soon. My mother and her sibling were but small children, when my grandmother Josefina Espinosa Vaulcher passed away, leaving my grandfather Alfonso Monterrey Aviles to tend for the kids, he never remarried and my grandmother’s half-sister; Carmela Espinosa Talavera, lovingly referred to as; Tia Carmela, eventually raised my mothers and her siblings.

I don’t know that much about my mother side of the family, I do know I have, oodles of cousins, some of which I never met to this day.

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My beautiful aunt; Maria Josefa Monterrey Espinoza; I never had the pleasure of meeting, like her mother before her, she too left this world regrettably too soon, but she left behind 11 cousins; let see if I can even name them all; Rene, Alfonso, Roberto, Emilio, Maria Josefa, Alvaro, Mario, Aldo, Irene, Ricardo and Julieta. Darn! I’m tired just thinking about all my cousins’ names and after naming them I realize that I only met five of them. In fact, I had to ask for help from my niece Maria; my cousin Emilio’s daughter to get all their names.

What a shame! But I still hope to meet them in person someday, although, my cousins are all significant older than me and we are running out time, but they all lived on the pacific coast of Nicaragua, hence the reason why I never met them all. Nicaragua is situated across both the Atlantic and the Pacific Ocean, and in between Honduras and Costa Rica.

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I do have many cousins from my paternal side of the family; my Aunt Pastora Barreto Centeno; my father’s sister, they all lived in Bluefields, but no one my age either, her youngest; Armando Medrano Barreto was much older than I; he was my older brother’s age. He passed away from cancer a few years ago, may he rest in peace. We were not close due to the disparity of ages, but he was extremely close to my brother and they grew up playing together and had a close long and healthy relationship as adults, just like brothers. My cousin Armando left behind three kids; Armando Jr. Morian and Zela, they all live in Miami today and I only met two of them; but they were very little the last time I saw them, when my cousin was still alive. I hope to meet them again.

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I did have a relationship with my Aunt; Alicia Monterrey Espinoza; my mother’s other younger sister, not a long one, but she was the only aunt I ever knew from my mother’s side of the family. I do warmly remember my aunt Alicia; she was quite the adventuress one, and fiercely independent. She broke the mold really; she only had two kids, two girls; my cousins Carmen and my cousin Emma; both also considerable older than me.

My Aunt lost her husband, my cousin’s father in a car accident and later remarries my uncle Roberto, who had several kids himself from a previous marriage; I never met his two elder sons; but he had two younger sons around my age and they added to my long list of cousins, although not blood related; to this day I still cherish some wonderful memories with Mario and Eduardo and my beloved cousin Nelly. I did get to know them better than all my other blood cousins.

As of my Uncle Julio Monterrey Espinoza, my mom’s only brother; I never met him either; he too passed away at an earlier age and left behind 5 kids. I found out that I have three beautiful ladies’ cousins; Maria Isabel, Nora and Maria Alicia, I have met them though Facebook only all this many years later. I also had two male cousins; Alfonso and Manuel,-Alfonso was murdered during the meaningless revolution in Nicaragua-and Manuel lives in Canada today, I think?

I never met them either, one the disadvantages of being the last of 8 kids and living on opposite sides of the country. But I hope I will get a chance to meet them all again? It appears that my two older cousins remember me as a young child when my mother took me along for a visit in Managua – I have a vague memory.

Don Chale! Ah! What I guy! My dad; he was quite the story teller. He grew up in Bluefields and would tell me stories about our little town before there were any electricity and night lights. He would tell me how he and his friends; would walk on the streets at night, with only the silvery reflection of the moon and on nights of no moon; the fireflies sparked the streets long enough for them to see. By the way, my father name was Carlos; Chale, was a nickname for the name in English; well some sort of Spanglish for Charles is probably more likely.

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Bluefields, was once an English colony and an English-speaking town. It used to be capital of the English protectorate over the Mosquito Coast in 1678. With a crowned Miskito king who governed the area. A large percentage of its local habitants were a mixture of blacks, Mestizo, Miskito in addition to other indigenous communities of Garifuna, Sumu, and Ramas and few other international nationalities, including the Chinese, who were prominent store owners of the local commerce.

The English language was introduced by the British and endured in our culture passed on from generation to generations, and along the way; kept deteriorating to the point of almost becoming incomprehensible to any English-speaking person not from the town; at least the version spoken on the streets.

All my childhood English speaking friends could speak proper English when so desired, because it was properly taught at the other high Scholl in town;-Moravian Scholl – and one of the other major churches in town.

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ASELAB-Asociacion de Ex Alumnos LaSallistas de Bluefields.’s Photos

We had three major churches, all Christian’s churches; Catholic, Moravian and Angelical churches and a few others; but I was not familiar with those. I believe they were evangelical churches, amongst others.

However, the rest of us who did not attend that high school; we attended the rival school;-Cristobal Colon-and for the most part we did not speak English.

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ASELAB-Asociacion de Ex Alumnos LaSallistas de Bluefields.’s Photos

But the English street version was the only version we heard and frankly, the only version used by everyone, except of course, when they had to speak English to a foreigner.

My family; and most families like mine would fall into the category of mestizos, we did not speak English, and we were not too dark in complexion, not all white, but more of a combination of Spanish settler and the local Nicaraguans, contingent upon on how many generation removed from our European ancestors or how much mixture in the family genes.

It was not uncommon to see multiple complexions amongst the same family members. In my case; my maternal grandmother was half French and half Spaniard. My mother’s father was from Spaniard descent and my father side of the family also emigrated from Spain.

My paternal grandfather, Armando Barreto Guerrero, was born in Leon, on the pacific coast of Nicaragua and moved to the Atlantic coast during the gold rush, there he married my grandmother and they had my father, who was born in a very small town called Pispis-I know-it is a strange name, almost sounds vulgar (ha) but is not a common language, nor English nor Spanish, it is an Indigenous language-Miskito-and I think that is how it was spelled?

The little town does no longer exist; in fact, it was probably never on any map. From my recollection-which could be off-It was a mining little town that disappeared after the mining rush was over, but they consequently move to Bluefields, and there they had two more kids, my aunt Pastora and Edmundo Barreto, my uncle, who died as a young boy and whose name I inherit.

My father was inscribed as born in Bluefields, although he was not born there, he was a PisPis man? (Ha) but Bluefields is all he remembered. He was very young when his parents made Bluefields their official residency. My grandfather became mayor of our beloved little town later in life.

My grandmother; Maria Centeno was a Nicaraguan lady and she was born in the small town of Pispis, I’m not sure how long she lived there before she met my grandfather? However, she later moved to Bluefields, when she married my Gran father.

I’m not sure how many generations removed from any European descend, or even if she had any mixture at all. Being the last of the bunch; in my recollection of my grandmother she was already a senior citizen in her 80’s and never really had a chance to talk to her much.

I do remember she could barely see, and her hearing was not that great, so, I always had to say in a loud voice; this is Edmundo grandmamma, and she loved to hear my name, because I was named after her youngest son who died as young child. She would smile most of the time, but sometimes she would get sad as well.

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My aunt Pastora had 6 kids herself, now; I can name them all no problem; Nancy, Zela, Fanny, Angelica, Guillermo and of course my dear cousin Armando who I mentioned earlier. They are also mixed in skin color, because our grandmother had less mixture with European genes? Consequently, some of us where born a little darker than the others, in fact; my father and I were the darkest ones of the bunch in my immediate family.

However, my older brother Chale Jr. as most people called him growing up, and my beautiful sister Marta they had lighter hair and skin. The rest of us had darker hair; Chale had blond curly hair as a child and because I did not have the lighter hair and had darker skin, he would mentally torture me as a young child with stories telling me I was really not a part of the family! and he connoted this story of how our father found me one day, floating on a large broken banana tree, partially carved to resemble a tiny little boat that had drifted due to the currents of the bay, and as bad luck will have it!

Came to rest in the backyard of the house

He went on to explain;

__Dad was just sitting in the balcony one morning, drinking a cup of coffee, thinking about a political speech he had to give the next day, as he was taking a sip of the delicious Nicaraguan coffee with his eyes transcended on the bay, looking out towards the beach and …

He heard a baby cry

He went down to the beach to investigate…

And surprise! There is where he found you!

He was astounded you had survived! And said;

It’s a miracle this boy was not eaten by sharks

-It must mean that Sharks don’t like the smell of bananas-my brother said.

Well… like I was saying; Dad felt so sorry for you; and he decided to bring you home,-You know-Just to feed you for a little while, before they found a permanent home for you.

And then! He said;

-There is where Mom blew it!!-

She ended up falling in love with you, because you were kind of cute – albeit a little darker-and somehow… talked Dad into keeping you around.

By the way-He would ask me?

You ever wondered why? Your name is; Edmundo Felipe?

-That my friend; is because they found you in the month of May, spot on Saint Felipe’s day.

I really believed my brother, he kept repeating and expanding the story by pointing out things like my larger nose, bigger butt etc. and he kept drilling that story into my young brain for quite a few years, and I truly believe it! So much so; that sometimes I used to cry myself to sleep on many a night and I remember thinking…

Being adopted Sucks!

I really don’t know why those sharks let me go?

The tall tale went on for a while; I was really a young gullible child and extremely Naïve, besides, my brother started with that story when I was around four years old or so, he was nine years older than me at that time when he had me convinced it was true.

It was not until a few years later in life, when I was studying a passage of the bible in Sunday school; I noticed that my brothers’ story; had too many similarities with the story of Moses floating on the river Nile, and not until that very moment…

I finally believed my mother’s side of the story!!

And I must confess, although that happen such a long time ago, yet mysteriously I still poses a strong desire to kick my brother’s ass for it as I write this!

Oh well!-Life goes on-I got over it!

Besides I figured; I can always call myself …

Drum roll please…

‘The Nicaraguan Moses’ (Ha)

LITTLE BOAT

L ife in my town was great for a small child; I don’t know what it would have been like as an adult? I never got to experience an adult life there, but it was wonderful for me as a child and as a teenage boy. When I was not in school and I could skip Sunday morning church; I would spend most of my days under sun light wandering about in my little boat on the bay; fishing, swimming and going into adventurist trips, exploring every inch of that bay and just having a good old time.

I would often go on my adventures trip with one; sometimes two other friends; never more than two, because my little boat could not carry more than two besides me.

I will share with you one of those adventures.

This adventure has a direct correlation to the main principal theme of my story and is one that almost made my brothers made up stories about the sharks not eating me, a reality.

One that day, my trip started just like many others; I got up early in the morning and observed from the balcony that it was a calm, quiet day with absolutely no wind. One of those rear mornings the bay was very calm during the day. Very still waters; like the surface of a mirror! Not a ripple!

I loved days like this; it just inspired me to go out on a joy ride out in the bay. Canoeing on days like this was so easy, there was no wind, no currents, and no waves to impede you progress as you paddle. The little canoe just seems to slide effortless through the still waters, like a knife on soft butter.

On most calm days like this; I would venture out much further into the bay and closer to the sea. I never venture beyond the bay, after all, this was a very small canoe that effortlessly capsized; with a one-horse power motor (me).

That morning my next-door neighbor’s nephew was up and playing on their back yard and when he saw me approach my little boat, he wanted to come along for the ride. He was visiting his aunt from Mexico. I mentioned to him I would be going much further than usual that day, because it was nice weather, he said no problem, asked for permission and off we went.

We Paddle and first made a stop about 45 minutes to one hour away from the town,-depended on how fast you paddle-it was about ¾ of the way into the bay, not that far away from the sea. We stopped at one of my favorite locations, a small uninhabited island called Isla Del Venado (Deer’s Island)

I used to venture there from time to time on clear days like this. This time it was no different, upon arrival we immediately went looking for guavas, we climbed the tree and enjoyed eating the wild fruit. Guava is not a juicy fruit but tasty and as result of eating the guava we got very thirsty, so next we climbed a small coconut tree, we had no knife or any other means to open the coconuts and so we struggled for a while by hitting the outer shell with rocks we picked up from the shore and proceeded to crack the shell in order to drink the water, after some sweat equity we had pay off and proceeded to drink the sweet coconut water, __nectar of pirates__ and a very refreshing water rich in B vitamins and potassium.

Coconut water also contains electrolytes that restored our expended energy from so much paddling. We went on with our day and continued with our exploration; doing our best impersonation of Christopher Columbus discovering America.

Then we saw a family of wild Toucans,-a fruit-eating bird with bright feathers and a very large multi colorful curved beak-Playing;-monkeying around-on trees nearby. Jumping from branch to branch, seething and yelping at each other while in dispute for the half-eaten mango and using their long feathery tails as virtual third leg to impel their bodies and gain momentum before jumping to the next branch.

It was an amusing show and I remember thinking; how great it is to live in concert with nature – Ironically, I remember thinking;

This is such a special day!

I have never been anywhere outside my little town, Bluefields, the bay; was my world, all I knew, we had no TV growing up in my house, and although I had never travel or seen other places, I always had the feeling that my life there was very special,—like living in paradise—but it was also everyday life at the same time, with all of life’s nuisances, challenges and routines.

The good and bad of life; but for some reason that day felt different than others, I couldn’t help that feeling; This is a special day

The morning progressed and after sitting on a large rock at the shore of the bay while eating delicious sweet Mangoes, we were looking away at the Island next door. The island next door; (Half of Kay) was much closer to the ocean; in fact, it was where the bay and the Atlantic Ocean met. I had never been to that island on my little boat before, it was the proverbial Forbidden island I had been there only once before, as a much younger child with my father and some of his friends on a fishing trip, but that was on a much larger boat, a motor boat.

The bay was still very calm, and I started to think about taking the risk and going to this island, after thinking and considering the possibilities; I went for it! It was some good solid 30 minutes of paddling to reach the Island from where we were.

We started to paddle; my expectations were mounding, my heart was pounding with the excitement at each stroke of my paddle, I felt like a kid that went after the proverbial cookie jar put a way on a tall out of reach cabinet. I have had thoughts in the past of going to this island before, but this day was so special, it was past noon and the waters were still very calm, __a rarity for the bay__ as the winds usually picked up during the midday and on most afternoons.

We had not been in the water but five minutes when the weather suddenly started to change! It appears it took seconds for the weather to change, the wind picked up, the still waters suddenly became choppy and paddling got much more difficult. I did not panic; after all, I have had similar chopping conditions in that bay many times before, in fact, often; these conditions were more typical for the waters of the bay.

The only difference this time, is that we were hours away from home and now very close in proximity to the Ocean and that Ocean was always rough, so we had a decision to make; do we continue to the island, or do we go back to the island we just left?

Well; we did not have to make the decision, the goal quickly changed; it very quickly became: Let us Paddle like crazy for our lives! The wind changed again! Only this time; it was like a small hurricane. The waters also dramatically changed, the smaller waves of the bay became much larger and very frequent, and to make matters worse; the currents intensified, like I never experienced it before.

We had the normal human reaction,-run away from danger-and tried to get back to the previous island to weather the storm. We started to paddle like mad boys! But we were barely advancing. Everything was not pushing us towards the ocean; the wind, waves, currents all at the same time. We paddled as hard as we could and all we could do was to keep the boat from being swept away, we were not advancing. And down came the rain… It was a powerful rain!

Thick drops that hurt as they contacted the skin… and the worst of my nightmares, the larger waves were now coming into the small boat. It quickly flooded the small boat and we capsized! I saw my friends paddle get away from his hand! I screamed at the top of my lungs…

Don’t let it go! We need that!!!

It was too late, the currents and strong winds, quickly swept it away. I held on to my Paddle for dear life! And with the other hand I did the same with the floating capsized boat.

The rain was so strong, I could barely see my friend just a few feet away from me and all I could do was to scream to him to hold on for dear life:

Don’t let go!!! Don’t let go!!

If you let, go! You are dead!

We were in the water for a while and the storm was not lessening, if anything, it seemed to get even stronger. Panic set in on my friend and he started to cry. I too was scare to death! And started to weep, I have never been so scared in my life and I started to pray and started to say… God please help us!

I knew that if we got swept into the ocean, we were more than likely not survive! The ocean waves were much larger and would have surely battered away that little boat like a toy in those waters!! We kept holding on to that little boat for dear life and I could feel the currents under our feet sweeping us away.

The only hope I had, was that the currents seem to take us in a whirly motions, not strait out towards the sea, so I thought; the spinning is good! At least we are not heading straight anywhere, but the rain was at this point more severe and we could not see where we were, nonetheless, the fact that we seem to go around in circles disoriented me to the point that I had no clue where anything was, no point of references because we could not see.

I don’t know how long were in the water? But we made a couple of attempts to claim back on the boat. I used to know a technique to get the water out of the boat, even though we were still outside of the boat. We attempted it after gaining a little courage, but it was to no avail, my technique wasn’t working! The waves were relentless, simply too big and we could not see a thing!

The rain had created an impenetrable curtain of water, we had no idea how far we were from the ocean, and then it got worst… Thunder storms! Accompanied by very frequent lightning! We could hear them hitting the water so close and it was terrifying!

When it rains it pours I don’t who invented that phrase? But I surely understand what it means, literally!

We were under those conditions for a long time, I don’t know how long? But it felt like forever! My hands started to shrivel, holding on the boat became more difficult, alternating hands; one to hold on to the boat and the other hand holding on to the paddle. I was getting weaker, my neighbor was able to use both hands, but I couldn’t help to thinks about his situation, he was there visiting his Aunt, what a mess I thought, this poor guy just thought he was going for a joy ride, look at mess I got him in!

I could barely see him, with the pounding wind, waves, and heavy rain; also, I could barely hear him! I would occasionally yell out… are you ok? He responded each time with Yes, I’m ok!

As the time elapsed I started to think about my mother, my father, my entire life; my whole life was rerunning back on my mind like a movie.

I remember even laughing…Yes! I was no longer weeping, I was laughing! Laughing about the irony of Life; I was not the Nicaraguan Moses after all. (My brother caca mania story) but a part of his made-up story was going to become a reality; for sure I thought I was done, I will drown and end up at the bottom of the ocean, as shark Food!!!!

I closed my eyes and started to pray again. I realized at that very moment that I had lost my faith; I had been struggling with my faith and believe in God. I couldn’t recall when the last time I even remember the existence of God? But I still had some remembrance of God, my faith was not completely gone, there I was thinking of God again! But only when I had my back against the wall, so I said;

God! If you are real! Help us!

I closed my eyes and it took what felt like five seconds after I said it and…

Everything came to a sudden stop!

The rain, the wind, the currents…

It all just stopped!

The silence was detuning the contrast of the deafening loud storm; it was unnervingly calm, and extremely quiet! I opened my eyes; we were finally able to see again. We were very close from that ocean and from being swept away.

It was a long quiet row back home, with only one paddle. As I paddle away; I was pensive and looking back at the whole ordeal we just been through, and couldn’t stop wondering;

—Did God answer my prayer?

Or was it just an incredible coincidence?

I have spent my entire adult life since that moment wondering if God stopped that storm?

We did not make it back into town till twilight.

We got back to the house, my parents were so happy to see me; they were anxiously waiting; along with my neighbors.

They were all very worried and were even thinking of organizing a small group of people to search for us, as night time was quickly approaching; we left the house early that morning. My mother told me; you had us worried to dead. She gave me a big hug, a kiss and a smack in the head!

I never told anyone about my ordeal, especially not my parents, I played it down and told them we got delayed by the storm and we waited it out on the island.

I did not want them to worry and for sure; if they ever found out, they would have never let me go again on my adventurist trip. In fact; I have never shared that story with a single soul in my life, until just now.

About my friend; For sure he was scared to death! But he probably had no clue about my worries, the proximity of the ocean, etc. In fact, I never shared with him my worriers-before I unilaterally made the decision to go to the island-and all the other worries that were on my mind as we were drifting, and I never shared with him that I was praying to God.

Oddly we never talked about the experience, we were so scared, and I guess-in a word-decided not to ever talk about it. I don’t know if he ever knew how close to the end of our life we came? I sure did!

This was unlike any other experience I ever had, and I had many, but nothing like this one.

JOY RIDE WITH MY FATHER

T hat little boat, ah… What a wonderful collection of memories! I could probably write an entire book about my adventures in that little thing.

Not all my memorable stories involved scary near-death experiences, there were a few more of those, but I also had others that were just as memorable. Many of them were humorous, especially one other story that is very dear to me; when my father attempted to ride in my little boat.

My father had commission a local craftsman to make that boat for my brother Chale, and once he moved away to college, I inherited it. Come to think of it; my first guitar was also a passed me down from my brother. My first guitar was a guitar that my brother had painted—with regular oil-based house paint—in a psychedelic multitude of colors.

My brother grew up in decade were Hippies were prevalent, hence the reason he attempted to make his guitar look Groovy. The thick paint annulled the vibration of the wood; consequently the sound was very similar to the metal baby toys guitar from the 70’s and you had to play that guitar in sound proof room to hear it!

It is worth mentioning that my father later bought me my own first guitar; probably the only thing he ever purchased for me and was not a passed me down from Chale.-I guess I owe my brother more than I thought-

My father was a bit older by the time it became My little Boat. My Mother had persuaded my father that he needed to spend a little more time with me;-you know-Father and son quality time and my father valiantly decide to join me for a joy ride in the bay.

My little boat had a well-earned reputation in our town for being-the most difficult boat to ride in the entire town-But truth be told, only two people in town knew my boat was not the most difficult boat to ride; it was, the second most difficult boat to ride in the town and you had to be extremely agile, with great equilibrium, only Unicycle riders should attempt to ride my boat, or perhaps hi-wire walkers and circus performers.

My boat was used by a few people; me, my brother, Papi__ my dear childhood friend whom I have not seen or heard from in 34 years__ my friend Guillo and a few other friends;-after countless days of training-and Norman Burey, the owner of; ‘The most difficult boat to ride in the entire Universe’ It was a tiny little boat, with room for only one person-and a skinny one-that boat was only ever ridden by Norman? Or perhaps his older brother, since I think he also inherit form his older brother like me. Regardless; I could never get in it without capsizing it.

Back to my father;

He attempted to get in the boat, and upon carefully placing his first leg in the boat; immediately capsized the little thing. He excused himself and he said something like; well…hum… it has been a while! But; don’t you worry! I can do this! He attempted it again and again he capsizes the little boat, we did this several times, each time becoming funnier, at this point, I was already laughing every time even before he attempted to put his foot in it! It took a while… But we finally manage to be in the little