Warm Cornflakes for the Soul

I previously only heard about it from other trainees, but last Monday, for the first time, I was served the infamous cornflakes with warm milk and sugar. It has actually grown on me…well, at least the warm milk part. As for the sugar, that’s another story. It comes with everything in liquid form. Zuko (equivalent to Tang) is automatically served with lunch and coffee with dinner (not breakfast, I don’t know why) and both come with sugar already- seemingly with 50% content. Almost a week into being with a new family, I’ve declared to them that diabetes is hereditary in my real family and I’m a potential candidate and that I often suffer from dehydration, hence, water is best for me. I thought I made it clear that I prefer my cereal without sugar, but it still seems sweet to me, but as for the rest of the meals, I have managed to dodge everything and stick to H2O.

Just small adjustments to this new life in a new city with a new family for field-based training. Everything is different here in La Esperanza I can’t say things are better or worse in comparison to Santa Lucia, as both places have their plus and minuses, they’re just different. The change has been well-received, however. It is nice to lead a life beyond the confines of the training center, away from an elementary schedule and lifestyle.

New family. Apart from the sugar situation, everything has been great with my new host family. I have a teacher mom, an accountant dad, who works 7 days a week, and three siblings aged between 16 and 20. They have a seemingly different lifestyle from my last family- humble, but not exactly primitive. They have an electric stove but only use it rarely and cook most meals using the fogon, or wooden oven. As in with firewood and a furnace and all that good stuff. Nobody has a cellphone, but they do have two TVs. Also, for a few days I didn’t think they had a refrigerator since I didn’t see one in the kitchen- until I walked into the living room and found a massive one there. Pretty interesting. But the best perks would have to be that their tortillas are homemade (I am currently in training) and I have my own hot shower!! Woohoo! A nice break from the ice cold mornings I’ve gotten used to.

More importantly, however, is that my family is great to talk to. Especially the mom and one of my sisters. I spend a lot of my time conversing with them- the most memorable one being one evening when electricity was out for a long time and yet, time flew by. My sister is everything opposite the typical Hondureñan youth- hates reggaton but is passionate about rock music, loves black clothing and wants to pursue a career in Military Psychology (or along the lines of) which will take about 12 years of study. She can also crank out about a million tortillas a minute. I am in perfectly good hands.

A Preview of Municipal Development. The nice thing about training here is that Spanish classes are done in different homes and luckily, I reached a level where I only have to go to class three out of five days a week. Which means, I have more time for the community project. The main goal of being in this town is to get hands on experience working with a municipality, a community-based organization and a student government. There are three groups working in three different municipalities and the other day we were able to meet different mayors (and vice-mayors) and start making contact with the people in the municipalities. How do I describe the experience? For now, let me just say this, DMV would be a perfect institution compared to what is here. It merits its own entry and I will paint a better picture once I have spent more time in and have a much closer look.

But for now, I am grateful be a step to closer into figuring out what being a community developer really is and finding a way to be useful where help is really needed.

Of Basuras and Bolos. La Esperanza is in the department (equivalent to a U.S. state) of Intibucá and is one of the poorest parts of the country. It is here that I may have seen a better representation of the country’s situation. Honduras is infamous for its bolos or borrachos, i.e. drunks. It’s not uncommon to find one, or several of them, passed out on the side of a street or some random doorstep. A slightly comical sight the first couple of times, but seriously a tragic reality. Supposedly, drinking here starts on Fridays and go on until Monday, so the most common day for bolo sightings is Sunday. Most of these people are vendors from out of town whose earnings never make it back to their families because they spend it all on guaro (bolo’s drink of choice- cheap, potent, pretty much like gasoline as one local described it to me; often laced with lead, as in, lead the mineral).

A slightly more popular sight than a bolo would be basura. Trash, trash everywhere. Even on top of the mountain, when I went hiking last month, I saw food wrappers. People walking down the street would nonchalantly toss their garbage on the ground, or out of a moving vehicle. And I mean soda bottles or food scraps- nothing discreet at all. The sad thing is, the people can’t be completely blamed for their bad habits. Waste collection service is non-existent in a lot of places, so people are left to find creative ways of "managing" their trash. If only the people were educated better, waste management shouldn’t have gotten out of hand, which brings me to…

Education. In a word, this is both the biggest problem of the country and what anyone wanting to help out should set as a priority. This is a heated issue right now with all the teachers nationwide on strike, protesting the president’s reneged promises. I have heard both sides and am sympathetic to certain points of both parties, but bottom line, there is a huge problem that needs to be fixed. ASAP. Here is a snapshot: out of 200 class days last year, only 92 days were completed due to the never ending strikes, and generally, only a small percentage of students get through high school. It is not uncommon at all to find cities with mayors having only an elementary education. I have only been here over a month and most week days, I found kids being out in the street instead of in school. Also, does child labor ring a bell, anyone?

Having seen this, I realize that any development work to be done here by anyone will essentially be on education. There are so many issues to choose from. Let’s not forget that Honduras also has the highest HIV rate in Central America. If I may surmise, the same should go for teen pregnancy. Thirteen, fourteen year olds having babies everywhere. There are families with up to fifteen kids. Out of the ordinary? Sadly, no.

This is not only a poorly educated population, but an impoverished one. To add insult to injury, an everyday sight would be a local walking some distance on muddy, unpaved streets, carrying a heavy load, while SUVs drive past with music blasting, carrying the beautiful, rich people. In a way, this has been my reality too- carless and living on a stipend, I have begun to be in solidarity with some of the people’s plight. But not exactly, for my situation is temporary and by choice. I can go back to my cushy life in the States now if I wanted to. Choice. I have one, the rest of them don’t.

Argh. Where does one begin? With one person, realistically. In training, we are constantly reminded that we are not here to change the world or save a community. We are not even to see the fruits of our labor within our two year tenure. But we are here to plant seeds, to open eyes, to show alternatives. To empower and instill pride. Be it with a child or a small group of women.

My conversation with my sister over candle light was a dose of hope. The most poignant insight she shared with me was that she doesn’t care too much for going to the U.S., like the rest of her countrymen. She said she believes it will be best for her and her country to stay here and do good things here. She even taught me words to poke at those impregnated early, making it clear that she isn’t about to be a statistic. Sure she loves Blink 182 and loves her black skirt with black knee-high boots- but she is a catracha (native) through and through. And whenever I see her rhythmically churn out the tortillas as she bobs her head to a reggaton (which she puts up with for her sister’s sake) song, I don’t think she is about to forget who she is anytime soon.