Managua, which is hardly a city at all, has few buildings more than a single story, and a new piece of trash every few steps. In terms of government resources, it's pretty well understood there's not enough to make aesthetics a high priority. Driving through the capital was like being home to a place I have never belonged, and never will truly BELONG.

But despite all those unpleasantries, the endless stares (and I really mean endless) from all directions are curious and kind. They say to us, who stick out like the North Americans that we are, "Hey, I'm not sure why you want to visit such a poor place like this, but you're welcome any time ... maybe you could even buy some of my produce so my family can eat tonight."

So, I find myself starving here in the only way I've ever known - for the answers and for hope. And the feast is already on its way, I know it. I have faith in something, even just a morsel of new revelation that will help me see what appropriate response could possibly mustered to the raw truths we're seeing here in Nicaragua. I'll share what morsels I scrounge up with all of you reading.

Wish you could all be here with us.

Thanks for reading,

Keith