The trials and triumphs of daily life
“Rain is grace; rain is the sky descending to the earth; without rain there would be no life.” ~ John Updike
I like a rainy day. It gives you a chance to step back, relax and reflect. It changes your whole perspective on the day. It brings balance to the rush.
This is from the window of the Green Flash at Bo Bush’s Island House on the island of Guanaja, Honduras.
This is in Colonia Monte Hebrón on the edge of El Pino.
“Poverty entails fear and stress and sometimes depression. It meets a thousand petty humiliations and hardships.” ~ J. K. Rowling
Angelito is 2 years old. He wakes every morning to the smell of smoke wafting through the house. His mother is outside the door, under the porch roof, heating coffee on the fuego (handmade mud oven). He is wearing the same clothes he wore yesterday … and the 2 days before that. He eats a few beans and corn tortillas for breakfast along with his parents, 2 brothers Marvin and Erikson, and his cousin Uliser. They grow the corn and beans on their land.
The one-room, adobe walled, dirt floor house is attached to the back of Angelito’s grandfather’s house. It offers little protection from the rain and wind. The family is fortunate, though, to have one of 4,800 gravity-fed, slow sand water filtration systems installed in the region by the Danli, Honduras and Brattleboro, Vermont Rotary Clubs. Intestinal parasites are a terrible problem in rural Honduras from inadequate sanitation, flooding, drinking unfiltered water and going barefoot. Angelito often plays on the muddy ground around the house, so he is still exposed to the danger of parasites.
They have also been provided a tank-less commode from UNICEF for their outdoor bathroom. It is in the front yard on a concrete slab, wrapped with a piece of black plastic. Next to it sits the pila – a concrete reservoir with attached scrub board for washing dishes and clothes and bathing.
But even with this help from great organizations, Angelito’s family still faces “humiliations and hardships” every day. What else can be done so people like him can face a brighter future?
My brother and I are walking down the muddy road in Linaca, Honduras that cuts between two steep hills near Danlí. We are only a few miles from the Nicaraguan border where Contra Rebels set up training camps in their fight against the Sandinistas in the ’80’s. It’s damp and colder than you would expect a Honduran morning to be. But it is January 1, and we are 2,600+ feet above sea level. It’s quite a change after spending last week on the sweltering North coast. We pass some coffee beans spread out to dry on a concrete pad. They are grown on the other side of the hill. Then we come to a farm-house and stop in front of it. The red sacks stacked on the front porch catch my eye.
A young man rides up in front of us, greets us and ties his horse to the fence post. Then a call comes from the front porch inviting us over. It’s the owner. As we walk up to greet him, he has his daughters grab some gray, plastic chairs from the kitchen and invites us to sit with him. Then he sends one of the boys up the road to get some Pepsi. “And hurry!”, he says. We ask about the red sacks. They are full of beans they grew on their farm. There must be a couple thousand pounds. They also grow corn. “You’re staying with Don Pedro, yes?”, he asks. Don Pedro is the 84-year-old patriarch of the family with whom we are staying. The news of us being here has gotten around. He says, “Don Pedro is a good man.”
One of the daughters comes out with a pan of liquid with a blob of white material in it. They explain it is cuajada, a mild flavored, soft milk curd. A powder is added to cause the milk to form a solid and separate from the whey. She continues to work with it until it forms into a ball. Then she gently squeezes more of the whey out until it has the consistency of flan and can be sliced.
We are each given a generous portion to sample along with warm corn tortillas. I am surprised at how good it is. It looks like the white homemade cheese served throughout the country with almost every meal. The cheese I am not crazy about. It is strong and is too salty for my taste. But this is very mild and very soft.
As we thank them for the cuajada and the hospitality, the farmer promises he will send some fresh milk up to the house for us tomorrow morning. It’s great to have good neighbors.
Sebastian called me in February to say someone had been kidnapping children to harvest their organs – 2 in El Pino where he lives, 6 in Colón, and 4 in San Juan. He has to walk to school and was afraid to go out. Many of the parents in the area were walking their kids to and from school, but there are 5 who attend school in Sebastian’s family at different places and times, and their mother couldn’t walk with all of them. So she asked them to run to school and not pay attention to anyone and then come home running. I can’t imagine the fear. Could there be anything worse?
Recently I was told the perpetrators have moved on, but uneasiness still remains.
It all began with blood curdling screams from outside where Charly and Yeison (pronounced Jason) were eating lunch. Then anger. I kept hearing the dog’s name, Chingo. What had happened?!? It turns out that while they were eating, Chingo was standing nearby, staring and waiting for them to offer him something. The two newborn peeps, Jorgito and Marisol, were pecking at the ground around their feet. Then one of the kids accidentally dropped some food on the ground and Chingo lunged and snatched it up. But he didn’t stop there. He also swallowed little Jorgito in one gulp. It happened so early in his short life, I never got a picture of him before he was snuffed out.
(Below: Charly is trying to protect Marisol)
I am blessed to have been able to serve as a volunteer in Honduras for 2 to 4 weeks at a time for the past 20+ years. People will ask, “How was the trip?”, “How was the weather?”, “Did you see any snakes?”. But here, through these stories, pictures and videos, I want to share about the people and places I’ve encountered, to give you a glimpse into the trials and triumphs of daily life in rural Honduras. I encourage you to leave comments and questions. And don’t forget to subscribe.
Rural Honduras 