Noli Me Tangere

Honduras Travelogues - Vol. 5

A wispy fog was dissipating as we climbed on the bus for our return to school. In these steep hills it made for spectacular effect, though I was too sleepy to drink it all in. I sat next to a cute girl of about 15 with a face that seemed placid but permanently preoccupied. Since she was already on the bus, she likely lived in the city. While the other kids buried their heads in books, she simply covered her eyes with her arms and was silent. I asked Tom if she was okay.

"There's a good chance she's crying. I think her home life is pretty rough."

Later that day, she and the rest of her class would make a presentation for the school assembly. It was sort of a special day at the school, so the latter half of the day was spent playing games and listening to a 30-minute presentation on--of all things--personal hygiene.

After a demonstration of how to make homemade deodorant and toothpaste, Ester the headmaster stood up and offered a rebuke. "Some of you come to school and when you raise your arms you're killing your classmates," she explained to a smattering of laughter. I hadn't noticed a B.O. epidemic at the Instituto El Rey, but Ester knows best.

As part of the celebration of the end of exams, the kids played some games, including one where a guy and girl are chosen to stand in center of the pavillion (surrounded by the rest of the school) and do a silly dance while the crowd chants:

EL POLLO!!!!
El pollo con una pata (step with one foot)
El pollo con las dos patas (step with both feet)
El pollo con las alitas (flap arms)
El pollo con la colita (shake booty)

Then it dissolves into fits of laughter and cheering. The kids are particularly fond of putting the awkward nortamericanos in the center for this exercise, and didn't hesitate to choose Kelly, Tom and then me before the game was over.

Many homes in Honduras have what appears to be palm roofs, but are actually thatch manaca roofs. As the bus passes some of these roofs, Tom explains that there is a parasite that lives in those manaca leaves that can bite you and deposit eggs in your system. The egg hatches, and the parasite then lives silently in your body until middle age, when it stops your heart and you die.

You'd be surprised how many things there are on your arms that look like bites.

Nothing refreshes (and removes biting parasites) like an afternoon swim in the river. TKO and I were climbing on the rocks when we saw a head bobbing upriver. It was Peter, so we talked to him. He is not a typical Honduran. Peter was a New Hampshire dairy farmer who first came Honduras to clean up after hurricane Mitch. Upon returning to the States, he sold the farm, packed up his things, and moved to Las Mangas. He has lived here ever since. Now he spends his time teaching music at the school and investing in farming projects. He also spends a lot of time with the local youth, which sometimes necessitates swimming in the river 5 or 6 times a day.

People here talk about Mitch sort of like we talk about 9/11. They tend to think of life in terms of the way it was before Mitch, and how it was changed by the storm. 11,000 people died (nearly 6,000 of them Hondurans), and the face of this river valley was permanently altered. The main bridge on the only road was washed away, preventing any aid or supplies to reach the residents further up the road. Larry, whose residence at the time was destroyed by flooding, says that the river grew new banks and huge boulders appeared where none had been before.

At dinner, Larry reached for another serving and wearily announced, "Yamileth went home today." Just months after her husband Santos succumbed to the same disease, AIDS sucked the last bit of life out of her as well. And she has 6 kids who now will most likely be dispersed to different homes for the remainder of their childhood. AIDS seems to still be sort of a silent killer here, largely unknown and unconfronted.

I would be leaving in the morning, so TKO and I took care of remaining business, including delivering that maple Alvarez to its new owner. Peter, an organist by training, had wanted to take up guitar but found himself discouraged by his slow progress. No doubt the instrument(s) on which he was trying to learn was also an impediment. So we sat in his closet-sized living room and talked to him for a while before Tom finally announced that the guitar was for him. He didn't seem to get it at first, but later I think he was appreciative of the gift. Peter loves to sing hymns, and I pray that guitar would play many hymns, and that Las Mangas would produce much good music. And who knows; maybe there are future Santanas and Segovias in these hills.

Posted by aokie at September 6, 2004 01:24 AM