BACHERO
A FILM BY ROBERTO DE LA OSSA CH.

It's 5:00 AM in Santa Teresa, Costa Rica. As the sun rises, pelicans migrate, following each other over the waves along the coastline of the small beach town where most people live from tourism and enjoy a relaxed lifestyle. As the day begins, a humble Nicaraguan farmer wakes up in a confined shack built by himself and a dozen other immigrant laborers who live there. That early, it’s still dark, and he steps out of his bunk bed onto a dirt floor to start getting ready for the day and pursue his goal of earning a decent living to sustain his family back home. He realizes he is on his own, and it’s tough because he misses them. Despite the hardships, he hasn’t lost his sense of humor or faith, which are part of his culture, and he makes fun of the shack calling it his “five-star hotel.” He has migrated from Nicaragua, Costa Rica’s conflicted northern neighbor, a country that spent decades in a civil war and is now under a dictator’s control. The past two years of the pandemic have only exacerbated the suffering and limited his opportunities, forcing him to leave home to look for work. He knows he can earn more in a day in Costa Rica than in a week in Nicaragua, so he feels he has no choice but to leave since his family depends on him. He travels far and risks his life to cross the border illegally with the hope of having a job, a scarce luxury back home. His only sin is not having a visa. He is frightened because Costa Rican immigration officials regularly catch immigrants without visas and send them back. However, the long border has no clear boundaries, and despite the fear of being caught again, his determination and faith in God motivated him to try as many times as needed. The duality of the situation is not lost on the immigration officials, who are compassionate to the Nicaraguans’ plight. After days of walking through mudflats, fording rivers, evading thieves, jumping over walls, and riding any transportation that will take him, he feels lucky to arrive at the place with a promise for work. In this strange country and community, survival is foremost. He joins others like him living in a small temporary shack made from aluminum-zinc sheets, cardboard, wood scraps, and anything else they find. It’s a makeshift dormitory built with their own hands, next to the construction site where they work. Nomadic, they move from one location to another when the construction job ends. They sleep in 1x2x2-meter bunks stacked in two rows and enclosed with cardboard partitions for privacy, only inches from one another. A single bare lightbulb illuminates each bunk space. In these tight quarters that fit only a single bed with barely enough room to sit upright, he keeps everything he needs to live – a thin foam mattress, sheets and a blanket, a few clothes, personal hygiene items, a backpack, and a mini- fan to stay cool in the nearly 80- degree F (25 C) nights. He learns to live with this group of strangers where he has no personal space and sleeps where he can hear anyone’s tiniest whisper. He has to line up to share a tiny concrete floor shower with a tube for water with a dozen others. There is one sink for brushing his teeth, washing dishes, and washing his clothes. This shack – a bache, as it is called in Spanish – is his new home and village. It is where he will sleep, cook, eat, shower, hang out, lift weights, have his hair cut by his workmates, and spend his time during his quest. His days start early. He’s up by 4:00 AM getting ready and preparing coffee and breakfast for his workmates. He begins work at 6:00 AM as low cost labor in tough, physically-demanding jobs under sweltering heat and humidity. The irony of the booming construction industry is that it is building million-dollar luxury homes and tourism businesses while few know anything about the men creating their paradise. His biggest fears are getting sick and not being able to work or being caught by immigration authorities, so he rarely leaves the bache. He prefers to go unnoticed, be almost invisible, feeling it's safer that way to accomplish his financial goals and hopefully return home one day soon. No one knows that aside from being a farmer and construction worker, he is also a gifted musician, has a high school diploma, and took university classes. Like him, many others are also educated and had careers before becoming immigrant laborers. He often feels lonely and deeply misses his family, his number one priority; they miss him too but are proud of his sacrifice. He pours his heart out in song, reminiscing about the rural farm where he lived in Nicaragua, a pristine natural area surrounded by lakes and volcanoes. There, he has everything he could want except the opportunity to earn a living. He calls his loved ones before it’s time to sleep and then starts the routine again in the morning. At night he is so tired his hard bunk bed seems like a luxury mattress. Because sustaining his family back home is his primary focus, he scrimps and saves every bit to send money to them twice a month by Western Union. He buys food every two weeks at a Chinese supermarket an hour away during his limited time off because it has the lowest prices on basic staples. The supermarket provides transportation for Santa Teresa construction workers, recognizing the large client pool. On Sundays, his group’s mutual love for baseball returns childhood joy to their lives. They play the Nicaraguan national sport at the beach, divided into teams amongst themselves in as serious a match as if they were in a stadium packed with fans. Cash-strapped but ingenious, the men handcraft their own bats, make baseballs out of tree rubber and socks, and catch with their bare roughened hands. Sometimes, Americans living in the area ask to play and are welcomed by the Nicaraguans, who profoundly believe that "we're all the same; we are all the same flesh and blood." The drama of his journey in Costa Rica concludes with an act of empathy, solidarity, and a helping hand from a friend that allows him to use his talent as a musician and singer. He bridges cultures and language barriers, using the commonality of music, with a British professional musician residing in Santa Teresa to perform together on weekend nights at a five-star hotel. In addition to his day job in construction, he can earn what he makes all week in one night. The duality loop closes with him crossing societal and cultural divides to be a star in the community. This film is a glimpse into the unseen story of the bacheros. Their life story is the same as thousands more. Nearly half a million Nicaraguans live in Costa Rica, representing more than 75% of the foreign population. Since only 2018, almost 150,000 Nicaraguans have arrived in Costa Rica seeking international protection, a better life, and economic opportunities. Most work in construction, domestic chores, agriculture, and security, but there is much more to know about them. - Roberto de la Ossa Ch.