I will never truly understand

I will never truly understand.

As the days trickle by and I become more and more accustomed to life in Honduras, much of it has become normal. I don’t think twice about checking to see if there is enough water in the bathroom to flush and it is second nature to put the toilet paper in the trash can. I greet people with a kiss on the cheek and I know to duck my head when a truck comes plowing by throwing clouds of dust in my direction. Yes, I have adapted to the ways of life here and yes, I now know how to act, how to behave, and how to live a little like a Honduran. But, maybe this is where it ends.

Just a couple of weeks ago, we were driving to Terrero Colorado (one of the villages in which we work) and I was riding with Julio, a Honduran friend. Julio is one of the leaders of one of the youth groups in the Church. He works in construction and painting and has a beautiful family of three children. We were on the first day of what would be a two day painting project of the Church with a group from Elms College and I was driving with Julio sitting shotgun. The conversation turned to the things that I didn’t expect to find or was surprised by in Honduras. I explained to him that any expectations that had come with me to Honduras had been forgotten and replaced with the actual reality of Honduras. We moved on to other conversations but were interrupted by a little shriek from me as I slowed down to lets a couple of chickens cross the road. Julio joked that I should just run them over and take them to lunch for us. I grimaced and seeing my discomfort, he continued to joke about the horrible method of killing a chicken by holding its head and spinning it around by its neck until it dies. My grimacing grew and I think some disgusted faces were made. He then chimed in saying, “Well, when you are hungry and poor, you have to do some things that aren’t pleasant.” In an attempt to justify my faces and remarks, I quickly said, “No I understand,” but before I could finish my sentence, he quickly cut me off and said “No you don’t understand. You have never been hungry or poor enough to have to kill a chicken with your hands.” He put me in my place and he was completely right.

No matter how much I try to tell myself that I have come to live a Honduran life, there are some things that I will never truly understand. I have never really been hungry. I have never had to ride a bike miles to school and I have never had to struggle to stay in school. I have never been in a situation where money was a real problem. I have never experienced the death of a relative or a loved one from reasons or causes that could be easily cured in other parts of the world. I have never lived a life where I wake with the sun to go to work and then return home as darkness falls knowing that each day will repeat in the same way. I have never experienced poverty as my life.

And so with seven months of life here, Julio is right. I don’t understand what it is like to be so hungry and with no other options than to kill a chicken with my hands and I probably never will. And so I wonder what I do understand about the people here. I may have had my struggles in different areas in my life but can they truly compare to their struggles and do my experiences grant me any ability to relate? I don’t know.