Dear Nicaragua Chicken Boy, Knowledge is portable. In your case it was an official Republic of Nicaragua chicken. Barely two years of age and living on the rim of Managua airport in a shanty slum that recalled the likes of Bombay. From afar, the daunting hodgepodge of corrugated steel and random billboards jointed into scrapbook housing looked inevitably dismal. Yet a random dirt road stroll guided me to you, your enigmatic chicken, and a full cycle of emotions. When I first encountered you, you held your new chicken close. You were enamored. At first I was enthralled by Nicaragua's Corn Island (Islas del Maiz), the larger of two tiny Carribbean island paradises 50 miles off the east coast. Every August 27, Corn Island's Freedom Day festival commemorates the emancipation of slavery there in 1841. The atypical commotions include coronating Ms. Corn Island, potato-sack racing and casual Carribean blacks dancing close in dimly lit reggae joints. The Creole English-speaking locals swear by 1940's/vintage country music with the bass amped to the max. Unlike the rest of the largest country in Central America, the Caribbean coast was never colonized, remaining a British protectorate until the late 1800's. The overland route to Corn Island from Managua passes through Bluefields, a remote town on the rainforest-covered coast. The Managua-Bluefields excursion involved a five-hour boat trip down the Rio Escondido. Then, another boat trip across open aquamarine water brought me to Corn Island. When the sun rises over Isla del Maiz development wages its war on pristine beauty. Nicaragua's first contact with Europeans came in 1502, when Columbus sailed down the Caribbean coast. More contact with foreigners is coming. Once a haven for buccaneers, large resort hotel blueprints are attracting big money. A warning for you: let the clean turquoise water, hanging gardens, sandy white beaches skirted with coconut palms and coral reefs, be. Imagine Cancun. You have options. Consider them. That chicken wasn't exactly what you expected, but you held on. Nicaragua is the centerpiece of the isthmus bordered in the east by the Caribbean Sea and in the west by the Pacific Ocean with three distinct geographic terrains: the Pacific lowlands, the north-central mountains and the Caribbean lowlands. You still reel from being a Cold War battleground, the 1979 Sandinista revolution and ensuing Contra war, an ambitious revolt that was thwarted by U.S. interference. The Sandinistas lost power and the economic dictates of the IMF and World Bank (privatization and deregulation) are taking hold. This emergency, infrastructural adaptation has diminished inflation, infused business seed money into the upper class and left much of the rest of the country unemployed or bewildered. On a positive note, the unmediated anarchy has ceased, human rights violations have been minimized and the battles are mostly political. Peace Corps volunteers seem to be improving countrywide standards in agriculture, education and technology. And, capitalism blossoms at Managua intersections. Stop light vendors peddle everything: furniture, antennas, floor mats, monkeys, towels, iguanas, toucans and dogs. Anything is available on demand if you pull over and wait. And while you wait, (on domestic justice, political stability, and for your rooster to quit struggling in your arms) chicken boy, envision life from a jugglers perspective - maneuvering five airborne balls representing friends, kin, health, occupation, and your higher power. Keeping all of these balls in the air becomes an incalculable yet worthy chore. Understand that the occupation ball is made of rubber, if dropped it bounces back. The other four - friends, kin, health and higher power - are crystal. If dropped they are usually irreversibly damaged, never the same. Vie for balance in your life, despite corrupt strangleholds on national harmony. There is a future to look forward to, one that you influence. Maintain the relationship with your country just as you hold that chicken, and sketch a blueprint beyond coffee, cotton, sugar, meat and bananas. Six of the world's eight species of marine turtles attempt to nest on your eternal springtime beaches. Your southern neighbor, sea turtle-friendly Costa Rica, has reinvented itself via ecotourism. Turtle egg poachers have been reemployed as sightseeing guides, whereas in Nicaragua, marine turtles are still food. On the beach, I came across the horrifying sight of four-hundred-pound Green Turtles, rendered helpless on their beach egg-laying journey by being flipped upside down and left to die slowly over a period of weeks. Painfully gazing about, gasping, they begin to digest their own insides. It's terrible to witness these tremendous and beautiful creatures fade, helplessly faintly staring with inverted, desperate, dying eyes. Let's begin by convincing the TGI Fridays in Managua to edit the "Chocolate Malted Turtle" desert from their menu. You cried when your chicken scratched you. That's ok. They've got claws. Nicaragua's going to make you cry too. Rebuilding is difficult, but hang in there. There are reasons to be optimistic. I hiked through the jungle alive with 30-foot tree ferns, roaring Howler Monkeys and a natural garden setting that beckoned Emerald Toucanettes. The air was heavy with biomass musk. The blessing of the shaded moss, palms, stringy vines and ever-present bird chorus was only interrupted when a provincial Spider Monkey above resorted to a massive tree branch-shaking offensive. I looked up at the territorial, beagle-sized monkey and his "you Better split now" glare when he delivered a targeted urine drizzle. I moved on. Remain optimistic, one way or the other. At least enjoy the ever-present bird chorus. After my meeting with Nicaragua's future, I retraced my inbound steps out of the neighborhood along dirt packed streets with chickens pecking near the shanty homes. I left one more thought for the little chicken boy with the contagious smile: Remember that earthquakes and war have erased most of the physical relics of Nicaragua's cultural heritage especially its colonial architecture. So talk to your grandparents. When they die, it's as if libraries have burned. Carry that knowledge amigo, and remain inimitable.