Este bus es muy lleno

What defines a full bus?  When it reaches the maximum capacity written at the front of the bus?  When every seat is full?  When nobody else can fit behind the white “do not cross” line up near the front?  Here in Nicaragua there is an expression, “The bus isn’t full, just ask the women sitting on top of me”.

Waiting at the Catarina Rotunda outside of my training town San Juan de Oriente, my training group and I are trying to catch a bus to Managua at 7am.  The first bus passes and stops in front of us.  The side slide door is open and the emergency door in the back is open with bodies bursting at the seams.  A few brave women at my bus stop make the commitment to get on that bus.  They push their way into the mob of bodies and somehow disappear into the mass, like the bus just swallowed them up.  Three more buses pass and a few more daring souls disappear into the swarm of bodies and the bus drives away with heads, arms and legs sticking out at both ends.

After waiting for an hour and watching 4 “full” busses pass, a bus appears that is completely packed, but it looks like there is enough room that maybe we could be the people sticking out at the ends.  We all break out in a sprint, three towards the back emergency exit and I make a quick decision to attempt the front.  Pushing my way through the crowd I grab both handles and push my body forward.  I am able to squeeze and push enough to get both of my feet onto the first step of the bus.  “Yes!  I’m on!” I think to myself, having no idea the fate of my three friends who ran to the back of the bus.  With everyone pushing, I eventually make it up all three steps.  Five more people were lucky enough and pushy enough to squeeze on after me.  I manage to get myself into quite the position.  My back end is literally squashed into the driver’s right shoulder.  My left leg is between the driver’s seat and the clutch, my right foot is stuck between two women’s legs and three women are wedged into me from the front and the side.  To balance myself I have my left hand on the front windshield, my right hand is guarding my purse and clutching it close to my body.  As we stop to pick up more people, yes more people, all the bodies sway in different directions into each other like a wave and I have to fight to keep myself up right.  Completely drenched in sweat, I look around and count; there are 15 people up here in the front, between the bus driver and the door.  In front of the usual place on a yellow school bus that says “do not cross this line”.  Fifteen!  And we keep stopping to fit more!  I take a deep breath and prepare for an hour drive in this position.

Then the guy who collects the money climbs through bodies to collect our fees.  Somehow we each have to reach into our pockets and purses to pay him.  Then he continues to push his way back through the bus sliding and squeezing through bodies to make sure everyone pays.  The crazy thing is that this works.  Everyone works together and is surprisingly kind to one another.  Somehow we all fit into a strange, sweaty puzzle piece of bodies and together, we all manage to make it to the city in one piece.  Wild.