Crossing Borders

The “Switzerland” of Central America. That is the beloved title given to Nicaragua’s southern neighbor, Costa Rica. A coast so rich that an estimated 500,000 – 1 million Nicaraguans have settled there in search of a better life.

Sound familiar? If it does not, then it should, for crossing borders is a popular topic and political issue in our United States.

The idea of crossing borders used to be intangible to me. I could have read as many news articles as I wanted to, listened to lecturers speak about immigration or life in an emerging economy ad nauseam. I could have joined the border patrol and parked my butt on a concrete wall between Texas and Mexico with binoculars for weeks at a time. Even then, I would have never understood the significance of crossing borders.

Crossing borders is more than a generic sound-bite, and it is more than an issue that can be resolved with policy. It is more than academic study, and more than a physical presence. It is patience, it is investment, and, above all, it is survival and human life.

Between 500,000 and 1 million Nicaraguans live in Costa Rica because of one simple factor: Quality of life. What does “Quality of life” entail?

It entails earning a wage quadruple the amount that you would earn in your native land while performing the same duties; sending that extra wage back to family members still in your native land; earning an income that, by definition, may pull you out of poverty.

It entails sleeping in a structure without fear that it will crumble or leak; working in buildings that have solid walls, support services, and floors; taking transportation that is beyond a yellow school bus on its one hundredth repair; having confidence that there are available and functioning emergency services if a time were to arrive when you need them.

It entails receiving an education that teaches you how to spell correctly, how to punctuate, how to analyze and how to think; learning basic facts like how many weeks there are in a year; understanding basic arithmetic and how to read and write; being a part of a system that gives the best and brightest, and the not so brightest, opportunities to study more; believing that with the education you’ve received, you can excel in a job, assuming one is to be had.

Quality of life can work both ways, however. It can work against you when you are resented by the community you have crossed to, where you are the excuse, the scapegoat, the one to blame; when, even as you perform the tasks and do the jobs that nobody else wants to do, you are held in lower regard; when your family or loved ones are far, far away, and the only person you have to depend on is yourself.

During my latest excursion to Costa Rica, it became clear to me why crossing borders is a common practice of Nicaraguans. While it is certainly not Switzerland, Costa Rica is a pot of gold compared to its northern neighbor. With a civil war settled sixty years ago, and peaceful, prosperous regimes that have poured resources into education, Costa Rica has reaped the benefits. Did I mention that they have no Armed Forces?

Cars look wholesome, and not like they will far apart when they strike their next pothole. Construction is contagious, as if there are too many things to build and not enough people to build them. Restaurants are diverse, offering a variety of cuisines, and are filled with customers. The atmospheric vibe is alive, not apathetic, and the upbeat spirit of the people reflects that. Tourism is flourishing in every corner of the country, and offers affordable hotspots to Gringos and Europeos alike. In so many words, and simple comparisons aside, Costa Rica lives up to its growing reputation.

While the distinctions are plentiful, something still remained unclear to me after my mini-excursion to the rich coast: how could two worlds in proximity to one another, be so far apart in everything else? Furthermore, why do our discussions related to crossing borders revolve around how to keep people out, instead of what would it take for others to believe in their country the way I believe in mine?

By no means am I an expert, but at least I know better than to cast a soundbite.

Tough by circumstance

Imagine not having your car, a subway or a metro, and not being able to afford the bus. You’d be forced to commute by making use of the limbs you were given. You’d be forced into walking, into biking, into hauling stuff on your back, over your head, or over your shoulder. You’d be challenged. You’d be expending energy. You’d be working overtime. By circumstance, you’d probably be pretty tough.

Nicaraguans do not appear to be the fittest people in the world. A very low percentage of them work out at a gym. None of them jog. Their diet is characterized by bubbling oil with some food sprinkled in. Their greatest pastime includes sitting on stoops in plastic chairs staring at people as they walk by. It is not unusual to see the same person in the same position in the same chair at the same house at the same hour every day.

As you walk the streets and witness the coping mechanisms for this transportationally-challenged atmosphere, however, the preconceived notion that Nicaraguans are unfit quickly disintegrates. Though their work is not formal, nor their exercise in a gym…Nicaraguans are expending energy…and they are working very hard. They are tough in ways inconceivable to many of us. Take a look at what I mean:


















My home-country gringos have spent decades and decades perfecting the vehicles through which they optimize time and convenience. This wave has yet to take place in Nicaragua, where very few people own cars, where there is no subway or metro, where those in poverty are on an economic rung below affording the bus, or a horse buggy for that matter.

As a current member of the Nicaraguan community, and a lifetime member of a gringo culture inundated by technology and convenience, I spend little time wondering what is better or what is worse, and a lot of time wondering what can be learned from these distinct realities.

For example: How much would America benefit with regards to health and environment if its citizens were forced to walk or bike instead of taxi, metro, or drive? Would Nicaragua’s work-related efficiency, production, and output improve if less time was spent in manual transit and physically expending energy ?

I suspect that we share similar responses to these questions. And while these responses offer a balance between “convenience” and “work overload,” I have realized from walking the brutally hot streets of Masaya, for a measly twenty-five minutes a day, how tough the Nicaraguan population is. How dependent I used to be on convenience. And how we often don’t know how tough we are until cornered into a situation with few to no options.