~ HONDURAS ~ part two ~

It’s been kind of busy here at college lately.  Studying for midterms, classes, work, you know, just campus life.  Yesterday though, while at work I was speaking with my coworker, an older lady, and the topic somehow took a turn toward mission work.  I began telling her about my Honduras trip and its impact on me.  I ended up leaving work late because I was so busy telling her about the experience that I did not realize my shift had ended.  Walking back toward the dorm, I remembered that I had not worked on my blog for a while.  So on a rainy, cold and grey Saturday, here I sit, cuddled up in a comfy chair in the SUB with laptop on my lap and a coffee in hand, thinking about waking up to that first morning in Honduras. . .



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Upon opening my eyes, I was surprised to find that I was not as disoriented as I thought I would be.  I knew exactly where I was, and was immediately curious.  Through the window I had a limited view, but I could see miles worth of sugar cane and huge mountains in the distance.  Diving into my clothes, I stepped out into the thick, sticky morning air. The compound was surrounded on all sides by miles upon miles of sugar cane that if I had been standing next to would have towered over my head.  Large, emerald mountains loomed in the distance, looking wild and untamable.  For once in my life, I couldn’t even tell which way was North; in itself a rare occurrence for me to lose my sense of direction, I had absolutely no reference point and was completely lost within this new world. Cast away from everything I once knew. Vulnerable. But I welcomed it with a spirit of adventure and an energy I’ve never known before. With what I had lost, I immediately discovered something anew.

As I stood on the second story deck of our dorm building, I also got my first look at the compound itself.  Directly out in front of me was a large field, dotted with trees, which made up the center of the compound.  The compound itself was about an acre and surrounded by a thick, cinderblock wall topped with barbed-wire.   Heavy iron gates were the only civil way in and out and were kept locked during the night and when no one was home. 

In the corner, to the extreme left of the dorm building where I was standing was the gate that we used the most and backed into the corner was the small house of the yard-keeper.  Along the adjacent wall, somewhat offset so that it was not parallel with the protective barrier was the white building that Tom and Amy stayed in and which also included the dining room where we would often all congregate.  To the right of this building was the chapel building.  Unlike the other building though, this chapel was indeed parallel to the wall so that a little corner was created between the two buildings; in this corner was a large mango tree. 

In the far corner of the compound, tucked neatly into the corner itself and mostly hidden by a small tree or two sat a small cinderblock building, scarcely bigger than a shed.  Here lived a mother, her two sons, her niece, her father, her husband (when he was home from work) and their family dog, Osso.  We came to know this family well and even had the opportunity to help them out a bit, which I will narrate later on. Romellia was a very nice lady with a kind heart and a ready smile.  Her young son of four years old, Alessandro, was one of the most adorable little kids I’ve ever had the privilege of playing with, and her niece, Sarah, was equally irresistibly cute.  We never had the chance to meet either her older son, who was always away at school, or her husband, who was working six days a week, and even though we saw him often, sitting outside, I don’t think any of us had the chance to speak with the older man who was her father.

Along the wall to the right lay the other large dorm building that stretched nearly the length of the wall and touched corners with ours. This created a little square pocket in the corner that one could look down upon if they walked to the very end of the deck. This little space was used as a small garden. In the far corner to the right, against the other, unused dorm, laid a small shed, some wooden pallets, and a place for the large moving van that Nathan and I had ridden in the previous night. 



The grass was bright green in the center except underneath the trees where there was more dirt, chickens roamed throughout.  Most of the trees were fairly large, and offered some amount of shade, but could not protect one from the humidity. Not even any of the buildings could do that since the only air conditioning we had were fans.  The dogs though, had decided that the small amount of shade was better than no shade at all and would often be found underneath the trees, under some porch, car or other. Though intimidating, the large Doberman guard dogs were rather friendly, particularly the one that was still part puppy.  One dare not pet them though for fear of the fleas and other insects caught up in their fur. The Dobermans were far healthier though than poor little Oso (means “bear” in Spanish), the mutt owned by Romellia’s family. Who, aside from being malnourished, crawling with bugs, and irritated by a sore on one of his haunches, was often plagued by the children themselves who thought it fun to pull his poor, scrawny little tail.



our dorm building



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I have now spent most of the day here in the SUB, but I dare not step outside. As soon as I do, I know I will be soaked to the bone by the torrent of coastal rain.  It is a strange contrast, because in Honduras, we were literally praying for weather like this. . .

* * *

In Honduras, it is HOT.  Early in the morning, you are immediately wet and you stay that way. Never dry. 106 degrees and 100% humidity ensures that.  Quickly, you learn that your favorite part of the day is that ice cold shower you take at any opportunity you can; sometimes two or three within a day because they feel so good!  As the hellish sun disappears to the west, thunderheads roll in and make the sky dark ebony. Lightning splits the darkness as thunder severs the silence, dancing through the clouds, getting closer and closer. Suddenly, the heavens are pierced and a wall of heavy, coin-sized raindrops comes from the darkness.  Soaking the earth within seconds.  The sound of the rain on the roof is music to the ears and the stickiness of the nightly storm’s electrically charged air is welcomed over the sluggish, thick air of midday.  Every night, the storm and every day, the heat.  I only saw the stars one night and there were thousands, burning brightly in the ebony. Wild and foreign.



Alessandro and Sarah

 

That first morning though, after assessing our current location, we tumbled into the dining hall for a quick breakfast and the day’s schedule; church, possibly shopping, lunch, more church.

Dressed in our Sunday clothes (the best out of the few we brought), bibles in hand, we piled into the two vehicles. Nathan and I, along with a few others decided to take up our vantage point in the bed of the truck, hoping to get a better view of the area that way and also hoping to find some relief from the heat by taking advantage of the breeze created by the moving vehicle.  First destination: Primera Iglesia del Nazareno, San Pedro Sula. 

From the back of the truck, we definitely got to see a lot. Dilapidated houses, miles upon miles of sugar cane, mangled guard rails, the Pepsi logo on every other sign, mountains encircling the entire valley, horse drawn fruit carts (that Diana was desperately trying to get a picture of but couldn’t), people mowing their lawns with machetes, kids playing soccer, animals lounging in the scarce shade.  As we got closer to town, naturally, there was significantly more traffic, stores and people.  Though it was not uncommon for people to ride in the back of trucks, our vehicle attracted quite a few looks, people gawking at the foreigners with the pasty skin and the girl with the pale hair.  But we were too absorbed in looking around that we didn’t give a ton of thought to the stares we were getting. Rather, we were taking in the buildings, the tangled power-lines, the “car wash” where a person was washing a car with a bucket of soapy water and a hose, the market place, the strange palm trees with the yellow coconuts, the walled and barred window houses and the stores guarded by men with shotguns.

Eventually we pulled up to the church and I gratefully jumped out of the back of the truck to let the blood flow back into my legs which had fallen asleep during the course of the drive.  We went into the church building, receiving more stares as we went, and took our seats in the back. The sermon began with the band, playing songs that we all knew by heart, translated to Spanish.  It was then that it first kind of hit me that, here we were, all one in the same, worshiping the same God together, despite being from entirely different countries. Though we couldn’t speak Spanish (okay, well, most, Nathan and Lindsay ;) lol) and they couldn’t speak English, we all understood each other; because we had come together with one heart to worship the same God together. The sermon was really great, I couldn’t tell you that I remember every detail that was said, but it certainly spoke to our hearts. They even had a translator for us. We shook hands with a lot of the other members and spoke via translator with a few.  The kids were particularly cute and would boldly come up to you pat you to get your attention and then confidently shake your hand. One very young girl, maybe three years old, who was sitting directly in front of Nathan and I took a particular interest in us. She had turned completely around and had her little legs hanging through the space in the back of the pew where the backboard and seat nearly touched. Back to the pastor, small hands sitting on top of the back rest, big brown eyes peering just barely over the top and legs dangling through the back.  She was adorable. I wanted to get a picture of her, but her mom eventually nudged her and whispered something that I’m sure would have been the English equivalent to “stop staring.”

After church, we again loaded into the truck, drove by the marketplace to see if it was open (it wasn’t), and then headed to El Progresso. We backtracked along the highway from where we came, drove past the compound, past a giant banana tree field, over the river and into the smaller town of El Progresso.  In El Progresso we stopped in a promising souvenir shop and were let shop for a while.  I found a piece of pottery that I thought would make a great gift for someone in my family and a wooden necklace that I thought was really pretty.  The pottery that I found was made in the style known as Lenca. It is native to Honduras and has a signature black and off white pattern to it painted over red clay.  The necklace I bought was made right there in that shop, the shop which we were in doubled as a wood carving shop and there were hundreds of souvenirs made from carved wood, large, beautiful trunks, toys, necklaces, wall decorations, etc.  For those of us who finished shopping before the others, we stepped outside because it was cooler out there than in the stuffy building that had poor air circulation. So we gathered out in the shade and admired the caged parrot displayed by the front door who, to our amusement, we discovered was able to say “hola.” 

Back in the truck, on our way to the compound for lunch.

Several hours later, once again on our way to El Progresso. This time though, we were on our way to Efrain’s church, to attend his service and to see the project for our group.  Though a significantly smaller congregation and a much more bare building, what the church lacked in funds they made up for in sincerity and enthusiasm.  Efrain’s message was even better than the one we heard earlier in the day. Too small to have a band of their own, instead, they cranked the volume way up on an old stereo set hooked up to some giant speakers and blasted their favorite worship music loud enough for the entire neighborhood to hear.  Meanwhile, they prayed and cried, sang and shouted out to the Lord with all the passion that was in their hearts. Holding nothing back.  Efrain prayed and preached (Lindsay translated), another wonderful message that spoke to our hearts, he thanked us for being there and then he concluded in a way that I’ll never forget: “I have something in this cardboard box right here [motions toward large box sitting on floor]. Anyone who feels called or lead by the Lord, you can come and see what is inside and thank the Lord for what you see.”  Called, and lead by curiosity, most of the congregation made its way toward the box.  Eventually our team was able to make our way toward the front and I quickly peeked my head between several others and got a quick look. Surprised, because in the box there was a face staring back at me.

Inside the box was a mirror.



first look at our project :)



Upon finding out what was in the box, rather than returning to their seats the congregation dropped to their knees right then and there at the foot of the alter, the stairs packed with praying people, those who couldn’t fit on the steps stood behind also in prayer. Our team joined them and we prayed for a long time. Prayed that we could do good, that we wouldn’t disappoint them, that we could have a good influence, but also that we would be changed and transformed by these people just as much.

All our hearts cried out in unison, nations joined together, worlds united.