We pulled our pickup over at the Sebaco junction of the Pan American Highway. Hundreds of people swarmed the little truck. This was routine. It was Nicaragua, 1986, and the country had been knocked on its ass by a US blockade and the insidious slow drip terrorist assault that came to be known as the contra war. It was a cruel formula – the contras ambushed and blew up buses and trucks; economic sanctions kept the vehicles from being fixed or replaced. A proud and happy people turned mendicant. Standing beneath monster billboards challenging the children of Sandino to defend the people’s revolution, dozens of men and women, along with…