The kindness of strangers

“Granada, Granada Granad-a!!!!”.

At once we jump to our feet and wave at the colourful bus hurtling down the highway in the south of Nicaragua. It slows, but in true Central American fashion it doesn’t quite come to a complete halt. A moustachioed local man leans out of the back door.
‘Granada?’, he enquires.
‘Si, si, vamos a Granada!’, we respond in our makeshift Spanish, hurrying from our place under a pine tree. Stretching out and grabbing hold of my backpack, the Pinalero man helps me heave it on to the bus before I jump aboard.
Huffing and puffing, we hand over 8 Cordobas to secure our place upon this not-so-secure looking vehicle. Wedged between my backpack, the window and a Nicaraguan woman eating a plate of deep-fried beans, I look around and take in my first ‘chicken bus’ experience. Latin power-pop is cranking through the speakers, every seat is occupied and there are two arm chairs also in transit.
I’d been warned that pick pocketing and occasionally hijackings are commonplace on these buses, and with my blonde locks I have 'foreign' written all over me. I am surely the perfect target. I hold my money-belt in place and ignore the stares of fellow passengers as we race around corners and bounce over bumps on our way from Rivas to the old colonial city of Granada.
Suddenly, a powerful jolt sends a young boy flying across the bus, colliding with my friend. Expression unchanged, the boy props himself back up and brushes off his scruffy school uniform. Unbeknownst to him, my friend's day-pack falls to the ground, zipper open and all. Alarmed, I try to attract my friend’s attention, but my warnings that his valuables were about to be claimed by a hungry little thief were drowned out amidst the Spanish chatter. Then, hoisting the bag up in his small arms, the boy tugs at my friend’s shorts. Smiling brightly, he points out the open zipper and hands him the bag. Surprised, my friend examines the contents and utters a word of thanks.
I smile a little. I had been expecting the worst from one of the poorest economies of Latin America, and instead I’d quietly witnessed another act of kindness from a stranger.
The woman eating the deep-fried beans had just polished off her meal, and she looks at me once more.
This time I meet her gaze, and she is beaming.
Nudging me, she says, ‘Bienvenidos a Nicaragua.’ Still smiling, I thank her.
Nicaragua, I do feel welcome.
“Granada, Granada! Proxima parada!”.
I jump off the bus. I feel very welcome indeed.