MANAGUA, NICARAGUA—July 18th, 2023. The eve of the 44th celebration of the triumph of the Sandinista Revolution in Nicaragua. On tomorrow’s date, 44 years ago, the Sandinista National Liberation Front (FSLN) toppled the Somoza dictatorial government and took control of Nicaragua.
Already, the capital of Managua is alight with nightly celebrations. Political rallies, dances, fireworks, acts of community service, and neighborhood events honor the Sandinista victory. The ineffable presence of Sandino, now only the mythologized silhouette of a long dead revolutionary icon, lords over the festivities. ¡Viva Sandino! ¡Viva Sandino! ¡Viva Sandino!
Avenida Bolívar, the central parade fare of all of Nicaragua (think America’s National Mall, but steeped in the lore and imagery of the Latin American far-left,) has been firmly pinned to the Earth by thousands of red-on-top, black-on-bottom flags waving out F—S—L—N, F—S—L—N, F—S—L—N as they billow in the cool winds of Lake Managua.
Using the internet, I have found hospitality with a generous stranger who happens to live just a street away from Avenida Bolívar. The house is humble, and I sleep in a small room facing the street with rebar-caged windows open to the air. Thin sheets of yolk-colored foam have been stacked to form a mattress at the base of the window. Not much separates me from the night and its noises. In fact, a neighbor swings by several times during the night calling for my host to borrow cash or ask a question. Even in Nicaragua’s biggest city, a strong sense of community reigns.
I’ve ended up in the midst of this national celebration by accident. I knew little of the history of Nicaragua and had no idea that my stay in the capital would coincide with their version of the 4th of July. I did, however, have a vague notion that the ruling party wasn’t particularly amicable with my own government. Would an American have any problems walking amongst throngs of impassioned Sandinistas?
Along the sidewalks of the Avenida, vendors have set up tents selling patriotic garb. My own politicized Americanness clouds out any inkling of making a purchase as a novelty. Yet, I still recognize in the vendors huckstering FSLN t-shirts those who deal in American flag clothing back at home. This is a celebration of the political religion of nationalism. Flags and t-shirts are the sacramental garb of this faith, no matter what nationality is being worshiped.
Fleets of buses have parked in large clearings. They will caravan through the city tomorrow honking their horns incessantly. Porta potties line the streets, and some government workers are out spray painting rust on fences around government buildings. Daniel Ortega will speak here tomorrow. Everything must look in order.
The Avenida runs perpendicular to the broad shore of Lake Managua. A promenade hugs the deep blue waters and has a permanent installation of carnival-like, steel trees. As I turn my back to the lake, the Avenida cuts a clearing straight into the heart of the government district. At the end of the straightaway, a massive statue sitting in a traffic circle depicts a well-known face. Hugo Chávez looks sternly over the bustling celebration.
Just to the right cheek of the Venezuelan strongman, a sort gastronomical market, called Tiangue Hugo Chávez, has been permanently installed to sell traditional Nicaragua food and drinks. Corn is the foundation of everything here. Sweet corn pancakes, called güirilas, are roasted between banana leaves. Nicaraguan pupusas sizzle on griddle tops. Soups—a variety of soups like cheese, chicken, and oxtail—are ladled out into bowls while fish fry until golden brown. All of the delectable foods are washed down by an array of cacao drinks, horchatas, and juices.
Most of Nicaragua’s national drinks, though, are corn based. In 1997, the Central Bank of Nicaragua published a small pamphlet titled Cuatro Bebidas Tipicas Nicaraguenses (Four Typical Nicaraguan Drinks.) The pages outlined a series of drinks that are remarkably similar, but still differentiable for those who know about their corn. Two of the drinks combine cacao and corn: tiste and pinolillo. The other two, tibio and pinol, are simply made from corn. Chicha, too, is corn based. And, in some cases, Nicaraguan moonshine, called cususa, is distilled from corn chicha.
In the midst of this national celebration, I discover some corn cususa at Tiangue Hugo Chávez.
Cususa is not exclusively Nicaraguan. The term refers to illegal spirits (read, moonshine) in much of Central America. It is synonymous with other regional terms for clandestine distillates like guaro, blanca, and lijón. Others might just call it contrabando.
An 1894 book, Quicheísmos by Santiago Ignacio Barberena, presents a dictionary of common words that derive from the Mayan language in Central America. The author lists cususa among them, offering two potential etymologies: qu (source or origin) + xutz (to quarrel, argue) = cususa (the source of quarrels,) alternatively, qu (origin or provenance) + tzutz (to pay tribute, as in tax) = cususa (the thing that is taxed, referring to Spanish control of alcohol production.) I cannot say whether either of these etymologies are founded.
As is the case for much of Latin America, the cheapest and most rot-gutty spirits of Nicaragua are produced from sugarcane. The technology of distillation arrived shortly after sugar plantations were established throughout the Caribbean and its coastal lands. In the first centuries of European conquest of the region, a rum factory would have been a ubiquitous neighbor to any trapiche, or sugarcane press.
Yet, here in Nicaragua, the importance of corn in traditional chicha bruja production makes corn liquor a logical next step.
The cususa that I find at Tiangue Hugo Chávez is not moonshine. This is a legitimate, tax-paying modern brand that has taken the legacy of illegal distillation and used it for marketing. The liquor in the bottles, though, is representative. Like most moonshine, this cususa has a chemical scent, but it is based on corn and has a familiar sweetness and funk. At 48% alcohol, it tastes surprisingly watered-down, but the distinct corniness of the spirit is apparent.
In the book, La comida nicaragüense, Jaime Wheelock draws on the knowledge of a traditional cususa producer named Demetrio Picado from the pastoral region of Camoapa:
“In a container with water, soak 4 measures of corn for 24 hours. Take it out, drain it and put the corn in another very clean container. Heat water to which 5 pounds of sugar are added and place in the container with the corn, allowing it to rest for a day to ferment. Take out the water and cook it, without the corn, in a jug. A “bindes” is placed over the mouth of this jug, which is a small pot with an opening at the bottom so that when the water in the jug boils, the steam rises towards the bindes. A cloth is rolled between the bindes and the jug as a seal to prevent steam from seeping through the slits. The bindes has another lateral opening through a small wooden board placed next to the upper mouth of the pot. A cloth is placed over the mouth as a lid with cold water that must be changed constantly. Thus, the alcohol vapor that entered the opening of the bindes is released from the cooking jar and rises to the cooled plate where it condenses, falling in drops on the small wooden board that, attached to the reed, carries the alcohol out to the bottles. A honey is made with 5 pounds of candy in water and plums are crushed; It is strained and once cold it is poured into the cucusa to obtain “el morir soñando” [to die dreaming.] The corn that we previously removed can be used for eight days, soaking every 24 hours to extract the chicha and distill again.” *
This description describes a form of distillation that is more often associated with Asiatic technologies that arrived to the Pacific coast of Mexico in the early 1600s. It is interesting to note that this recipe calls for both sugar and corn and that the corn can be continually reused.
While my surroundings on the eve of this Nicaraguan national holiday are foreign to me, the cususa at the market is surprisingly recognizable. The great American moonshining tradition produces unaged corn whiskey that is not that distinguishable from this cususa. White lightning, perhaps, is an appropriate translation for the Central American moonshine term “blanca.”
I sip the cususa straight, getting a sense for its harshness, its corny substrate, and the environment in which it is being sold. But rather than sticking around for the actual celebration, I head back to my host’s house where his landlord is stinking drunk and sitting half naked in the living room after a political rally. He loves the FSLN party, he tells me. He loves Sandino.
Then, seemingly out of nowhere, the house begins to shake. The world begins to shake. “Put on your shoes immediately,” my host tells me, “Come outside.” A 6.5 magnitude earthquake has hit El Salvador, we are feeling it all the way in Managua. We sit outside, lest an aftershock do any real damage (Managua knows a thing or two about real damage.)
In December of 1972, a massive earthquake struck Managua. The city was left in ruin, and the Somoza dictatorship did nothing to help. In the wake of the destruction, discontent in Nicaragua reached an all time high. The revolution would fight for years after the earthquake, but the inefficacy of the sitting government was laid bare for all to see.
An earthquake during this national celebration is a reminder for the Nicaraguan people of the past. Here I am, drinking cususa, surrounded by FSLN flags, feeling the world shake beneath my feet. The reality of being alive is intensified in Managua—or maybe it’s just the cucusa rushing to my head.
The next morning, before the sun rises, I head to the bus station. I won’t stick around for the arrival of Ortega. The city will come to a standstill and I will be stuck in the midst of thousands of celebrating Nicaraguans. I head to the tourist town of Granada, just 2 hours south, and leave Sandino behind.
Barberena, Santiago Ignacio. Quicheísmos: contribución al estudio del folklore americano. Tip.” La Luz”, 1894.
Conzemius, Eduard. “LOS INDIOS PAYAS DE HONDURAS. ESTUDIO GEOGRÁFICO, HISTÓRICO, ETNOGRÁFICO Y LINGÜÍTICO.” Journal de la Société des Américanistes 19 (1927): 245-302.
Cuatro Bebidas Tipicas Nicaraguenses, Banco Central de Nicarauga, 1997
Wheelock, Jaime. La comida nicaragünse. 4. ed., Editorail Hispamer, 2007, Bogota, Colombia.
*ORIGINAL SPANISH: En un recipiente con agua se pone a remojar 4 medios de maíz durante de 24 horas. Se saca, escurre y se pone el maíz en otro recipiente bien limpio. Se pone a calentar agua a la que se añade 5 libras de azúcar y se echan en el recipiente con maíz dejando descansar un día para que fermente. Se saca el agua y se pone a cocer, sin el maíz en un cántaro. Sobre la boca de esta cántaro se coloca un “bindes” que es una olla pequeña con un orificio en la parte inferior de tal manera que al hervir el agua del cántaro suba el vapor hacia el bindes. Entre el bindes y el cántaro se enrolla un trapo a modo de sello para evitar que el vapor se filtre por las hendijas. El bindes tiene otro orificio lateral por una tablita de madera colocada junto a la boca superior de la olla. Se pone encima de la boca una pana como tapa con agua fría que debe cambiarse constantemente. Así se desprende el cántaro en cocimiento al vapor de alcohol que entrara el orificio del bindes y sube hasta el plato enfriado donde se condense cayendo en gotas sobre la tablita de madera que adosada al carrizo lleva el alcohol, hacia fuera hasta las botellas. Se hace una miel con 5 libras de atado de dulce en agua y se les desbarata ciruelas; se cuela y ya frío se vuelca en la cucusa para obtener “el morir sonando”. El maíz que sacamos de previo puede ser utilizado durante de ocho días, remojando cada 24 horas para sacar la chicha y volver a destilar. PAGE 244
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