I know that I love what I do here but today I had an especially grateful moment. Walking home from our first meeting of ‘Domingos Divertidos’ (Fun Sundays) hand in hand with a little six year old boy named Noe, I looked around me and everything just felt right. In front of me, Tyler walked on the dusty road holding hands with Marvin and beside me, Noe and Cristian talked about how they were going to ask their Papi to make sure they were always free and ready for Sundays. And ahead, the sun was beginning to set and the clouds perfectly floated above Talanga. A perfect feeling of contentness and blessing.
Today was the culmination of over a month and half of planning for the start of our program Domingos Divertidos. When we first arrived, I wrote a blog about visitors—and I said that my favorite visitors were the afternoon visitors, our little visitors. These visitors were just a handful of the street kids that live in Talanga. They would come to our house run wild with Oso, our dog, and play ball. Like hurricanes, they whipped through our house touching and asking for everything. They were wild, chaotic, and completely in their own world.
Well, fast forward to four months later, in November, Tyler and I started planning a program for these children that have so little in their lives. Most of them don’t go to school and many spend most of their time on the streets running around bare foot. They either don’t live with their parents or their parents are busy working and so leave them with nothing to do all day. With these children in mind, we set forth to plan a program that would meet once a week to teach in an interactive and fun manner. This group would be something special—just for them—and in each meeting, we would give them a snack or some incentive to come back. Through the month of November and December and early January, we met with Prof. Daniel to write a mission, vision, goals statement, a list of goals, find a location and write a curriculum for six months.
A week before our first meeting was planned, Tyler and I went out on a search to find these kids. Tuesday morning, we found one and were later visited four or five times by different combinations of the kids we had met earlier in the year. As we explained the idea to them, they were excited but didn’t know what day it was and so had no idea how many days there were until Sunday. And so here we encountered our first problem. This is when we made the rule only one visit a day. Wednesday morning we were awoken at the crack of dawn by another visit and then we made the rule that they are only allowed to visit to switch books in the afternoon. As the days passed by, we encountered quite a few visits and we also had some combination of these mischievous ones climb our wall when we were not there to play with Oso and leave our front gate wide open. When Sunday came around, we weren’t sure if any of them would realize that it was the day for Domingos Divertidos or if they would come to our house.
And so Sunday came and at 1:30 exactly, we had three knocks on our door and the grinning faces of three of our little friends. Edwin, one of the boys, told me yesterday that he was going to change his clothes and wear shoes especially for our program. And he wasn’t the only one. Marvin and Cristian both came over cleaned and with shoes. Marvin was even wearing part of his school uniform. They went to search for Noe, Marvin and Cristian’s little brother, and then returned to the house. Because of the heat, they all decided to wash their faces with buckets of water from our pilla and were thus fresh faced and sparkling clean for our walk to the library where the program would start. As we walked, Edwin took my hand and then Noe the other. Then Marvin held Tyler’s hand and Cristian took Edwin’s hand and told Noe to hold Tyler’s so that we would be like a chain. And so there we walked all six of us hand in hand to the library.
When we arrived, our plan was to have them write their names on the board so that we could write the right spelling on their name tags. I called Cristian, the oldest, to the board to write his name and the others followed up in suit. I asked Cristian to write his name and he started and then Noe asked me what letter his name started with. It soon became clear that none of them knew how to spell their names. Cristian is 11, Edwin is 10, Marvin is 7 and Noe is 6. They do not know how to spell their names. After a quick lesson on how to spell their names, we moved on to rules and they helped us write some rules. With that done, we made name tags and they couldn’t have been more excited about markers and paper. After completing those, we watched a movie, ate a snack, prayed, and then played with stickers. A short game of soccer followed.
And then we headed home. After three hours of meeting, our first meeting was over and these wild crazy hurricanes that had swept through our house in the first months we were here had now become these relatively calm friends with whom we had shared laughter and watched a movie. There are moments from my time with them that just jump to mind and make me so grateful for what I’m doing. Noe, the youngest, was enthralled in the movie. We watched The Tigger Movie—and his eyes rarely left the screen and chuckles of laughter erupted from him every once in a while. And when we told them that Tyler and I like thank yous and pleases, the next four or five sentences from each of their mouths was covered in thank yous and pleases.
I don’t feel like anything I’ve written does justice to the feeling of contentness and joy that I received from today. Simply to have the respect and calmness of these four boys to listen, to help each other out, and to laugh and learn with us is incredible. Yes, they are mischievous and naughty and wild, but the little pieces of paper that we gave them to tell them about Domingos Divertidos came back to us today a little dirty but tightly folded and safely held in their pockets. One of the reasons why we created this program was to give these kids something of their own, something special that shared with them the love that they deserve in their lives—and today I felt like, maybe, in a small way I had achieved that.
I love what I do.
Monday, January 28, 2008
Worn Out
Worn out
I love what I do here. I love waking up with a different day ahead of me. I love spending most of my time being a kid or being with children that fill me with laughter and smiles that stretch from ear to ear. I love knowing that I never know what a day holds me and that surprise after surprise awaits me. But, despite how much I love being here, sometimes I just feel plain worn out.
When I think about the enormity of some of the issues that Honduras face, I sometimes just want to give up. Despite differing degrees of poverty throughout the country, there are many giant issues that plague Hondurans on a day to day basis. For example, over 70,000 people suffer from HIV/AIDS in Honduras. For the ninth year, Honduras has had the highest population of HIV/AIDS sufferers in the Western hemisphere. Does that number even shock you? Do you even realize the enormity of that number? We visit the Casa Pasionista, a home for those suffering with HIV/AIDS or the sickness as they call it here and we spend time with maybe 7 internos—I think that means that we spend time with a 1/1000 of the people that suffer from the sickness in Honduras. Are we even scratching the surface?
Illiteracy is another issue that is just so huge that it easily becomes overwhelming. As a child, I was brought up being read to most nights and loving the magic of escaping into a new adventure each night. It breaks my heart that there are so many children who cannot read. We visit Corralitos, an aldea, and we have started bringing books to lend to the children. Today, when we visited one of my favorite houses where almost 11 kids live, I lent out books to 4 or 5 of the children to later find out that only the 2 oldest who were not there know how to read. We have another little boy who is 9 nine years old and cannot read. What is the point in lending books out to children that can’t read? Shouldn’t we be addressing the bigger issue of illiteracy?
And so in day to day work, it can be very discouraging to look at the big picture. When there is a desire to help, a sincere genuine desire to do something for the betterment of lives, it can sometimes seem plain pointless. Will bringing books to aldeas even begin to start addressing illiteracy? Will one year spent in a town make any difference in the lives of Talangans or mine? Will one support group for domestic violence victims do anything to alter the cultural acceptance and silence towards domestic violence? In asking all these questions, my mind suddenly went back to an Oscar Romero prayer. He says,
“It helps now and then to step back and take a long view.
The kingdom is not only beyond our efforts, it is even beyond our vision.
We accomplish in our lifetime only a tiny fraction of the magnificent enterprise that is God’s work.
Nothing we do is complete, which is a way of saying that the kingdom always lies beyond us.
No statement says all that could be said.
No prayer fully expresses our faith.
No confession brings perfection.
No pastoral visit brings wholeness.
No program accomplishes the Church’s mission.
No set of goals and objectives includes everything.
This is what we are about:
We plant the seeds that one day will grow.
We water seeds already planted, knowing that they hold future promise.
We lay foundations that will need further development.
We provide yeast that produces far beyond our capabilities.
We cannot do everything, and there is a sense of liberation in realzing that. This enables us to do something and to do it very well.
It may be incomplete but it is a beginning, a step along the way, an opportunity for the Lord’s grace to enter and do the rest.
We may never see the end results, but that is the difference between the master builder and the worker.
We are workers, not master builders;
Minsters, not messiahs.
We are prophets of a future not of our own.”
My hope is that I might be able to keep this prayer in the fore front of my mind, but right now, I just feel completely worn out trying to be the worker.
I love what I do here. I love waking up with a different day ahead of me. I love spending most of my time being a kid or being with children that fill me with laughter and smiles that stretch from ear to ear. I love knowing that I never know what a day holds me and that surprise after surprise awaits me. But, despite how much I love being here, sometimes I just feel plain worn out.
When I think about the enormity of some of the issues that Honduras face, I sometimes just want to give up. Despite differing degrees of poverty throughout the country, there are many giant issues that plague Hondurans on a day to day basis. For example, over 70,000 people suffer from HIV/AIDS in Honduras. For the ninth year, Honduras has had the highest population of HIV/AIDS sufferers in the Western hemisphere. Does that number even shock you? Do you even realize the enormity of that number? We visit the Casa Pasionista, a home for those suffering with HIV/AIDS or the sickness as they call it here and we spend time with maybe 7 internos—I think that means that we spend time with a 1/1000 of the people that suffer from the sickness in Honduras. Are we even scratching the surface?
Illiteracy is another issue that is just so huge that it easily becomes overwhelming. As a child, I was brought up being read to most nights and loving the magic of escaping into a new adventure each night. It breaks my heart that there are so many children who cannot read. We visit Corralitos, an aldea, and we have started bringing books to lend to the children. Today, when we visited one of my favorite houses where almost 11 kids live, I lent out books to 4 or 5 of the children to later find out that only the 2 oldest who were not there know how to read. We have another little boy who is 9 nine years old and cannot read. What is the point in lending books out to children that can’t read? Shouldn’t we be addressing the bigger issue of illiteracy?
And so in day to day work, it can be very discouraging to look at the big picture. When there is a desire to help, a sincere genuine desire to do something for the betterment of lives, it can sometimes seem plain pointless. Will bringing books to aldeas even begin to start addressing illiteracy? Will one year spent in a town make any difference in the lives of Talangans or mine? Will one support group for domestic violence victims do anything to alter the cultural acceptance and silence towards domestic violence? In asking all these questions, my mind suddenly went back to an Oscar Romero prayer. He says,
“It helps now and then to step back and take a long view.
The kingdom is not only beyond our efforts, it is even beyond our vision.
We accomplish in our lifetime only a tiny fraction of the magnificent enterprise that is God’s work.
Nothing we do is complete, which is a way of saying that the kingdom always lies beyond us.
No statement says all that could be said.
No prayer fully expresses our faith.
No confession brings perfection.
No pastoral visit brings wholeness.
No program accomplishes the Church’s mission.
No set of goals and objectives includes everything.
This is what we are about:
We plant the seeds that one day will grow.
We water seeds already planted, knowing that they hold future promise.
We lay foundations that will need further development.
We provide yeast that produces far beyond our capabilities.
We cannot do everything, and there is a sense of liberation in realzing that. This enables us to do something and to do it very well.
It may be incomplete but it is a beginning, a step along the way, an opportunity for the Lord’s grace to enter and do the rest.
We may never see the end results, but that is the difference between the master builder and the worker.
We are workers, not master builders;
Minsters, not messiahs.
We are prophets of a future not of our own.”
My hope is that I might be able to keep this prayer in the fore front of my mind, but right now, I just feel completely worn out trying to be the worker.
Saturday, January 12, 2008
New Eyes
I find myself cuddled up in blankets listening to the constant, beautiful pitter patter of afternoon rain on our large corrugated metal roof. Though we are in the midst of what is supposed to be the dry season, the coldness of winter has finally arrived and the warmth of my bed is a perfect place to hide from the cold and rain. Today marked the end of a nine-day visit from Mum and Dad and though as I write, I feel that the weather outside mirrors the sadness in my heart for being without them, I am also acutely aware of the renewed perspective and importance that their visit has given to my work. Because of a flat plane tire, Mum and Dad arrived a little later than expected in Tegucigalpa and after some quick introductions to the team, we jumped into a rental pick up truck to drive to Lake Yojoa. This was my first time driving in Tegus, but I decided to wait to share that with them since driving period is a little scary in this congested city. As darkness started to cover the countryside, we arrived at the lake to meet our friendly and very typically English innkeeper and see our home for the next three days. And then we lived the highlife with the people in Honduras who spend hours on the lake in their boats and come to the marina to fish and get away from work. We were surrounded by the most breathtaking scenery of mountains, lakes, and untouched greenery. Our days were consumed by visits to 43km tall waterfalls decorated by rainbows, early morning rowboat rides accompanied by toucans, bats, turtles, and iguana spottings, and countless hours spent catching up on the past four months over coffee and snacks. The tranquility of the still and beautiful lake seeped into our days and when Sunday arrived, we somewhat begrudgingly made our way to Talanga.
But Talanga would hold a different kind of treat—a challenge nonetheless, but one in which hospitality and giving would be redefined. After being picked up at the airport, we made our way to Talanga to check into the nicest hotel in Talanga to find out that the hot water was not working, but would be fixed. Mum and Dad being flexible as they are said no worries and we started our walk into the center of town. We stopped first at the hardware store of Isabel, my host mom, and with overly generous slices of bread pudding, we spent an hour or so together. And then planning on a quick visit to Chico, our corner store neighbor, we spent another 30 minutes sharing the jokes and laughter of families. Mass ended the night with introductions and a celebration of our faith that though different surpasses boundaries of language and culture.
The next couple of days seem to fly by in a blur—Monday, we ventured to Valle de Angeles to explore the numerous artisan stores and share a meal with the team and Tyler’s girlfriend, Maria. With Monday being New Years Eve, we made our way back to the hotel to rest and shower—but since electricity was low, the electric water pump was not working and so I got my right leg shaved before the water went out. New Years Eve was celebrated in high spirits with a lengthy mass, a dinner and fireworks at Isabel’s, visits to see nativity scenes and friends, and finally a massive explosion of fireworks and the burning of the old year. Tuesday, Mum and Dad were welcomed into the community of Terrero Colorado in two separate holiday get togethers where we offered food and companionship and where hike like walks became jokes understood in all languages and humble thank you s from both groups were shared. We feasted on candy bars and chips that night because none of the three restaurants in Talanga were open. Wednesday, Dad put on his soccer shoes to join the kids and Mum joined in the exciting Uno game in Camelotal. We visited the Montesorri classrooms at the orphanage and then spent an hour or so meeting some of the internos at the Casa. A last night feast at Old House ended our time in Talanga.
Departure date had arrived and as we drove to the airport, we received a phone call saying all flights were cancelled. At the airport, the news seemed different so with a sad good bye, we parted our ways with the promise of continuous communication. Well, about three hours later—through much detective work, I found out that the flight was canceled and that they were rescheduled for Saturday and were checking into a hotel. Matt, Amy, and I found my parents in the Mariott—and shared some cake with them and made plans for a sleep over the next night. Last night was spent sharing time with my family and enjoying some creature comforts in the Mariott. And then today, our second round of goodbyes stung as painfully as the first time and two little parts of my heart boarded the plane for Miami.
I could write for pages about what Mum and Dad and I did while they were in Honduras, what we talked about, what we saw—but when it comes down to it, that’s not what was important. What was important was the way in which the people welcomed them. They were treated as royal visitors—given precious gifts of food and even more precious words of welcome and love. They were invited to feasts and thanked for their visits. And they were truly thanked—not just haphazardly—but sincerely and humbly thanked for their visits to humble homes where their time shared was seen as the beginning of friendships. As my Mum so perfectly said, in this time where language and culture were not shared, human relationships were stripped of all excess to the heart of a simple human welcoming another human into their home. They were surrounded by children who with no insight of their lack of Spanish chatted and read fairy tales to them. And so it was in these experiences that for me, I was given a new appreciation, a new understanding of the love that these people can share with complete strangers. I swelled with warmth, with pride to see these people that I have come to care for and love welcoming my parents with such loving hearts and genuine actions.
And so, though right now, it is hard to think of anything else than my sadness of them not being here, I have been blessed with a new perspective and new appreciation for the people I live with, the people I work with, and the people I can now call friends. Seeing Honduras through new eyes has given me a new sense of purpose—not only to try and welcome and love the people as they did my parents, but also to be able to look at Honduras with the curiosity, the questions, and the appreciation that my parents brought with them.
Saturday, December 29, 2007
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
Christmas in Honduras
When I first applied for this program, one of the things I most feared was being away from my family—especially for Christmas. Like most families, Christmas is a joyful celebration of food, presents, Christmas decorations, and the love we share. The magic and excitement of Christmas gifts and visits from Santa as a child has now grown into a deep sense of gratitude for a day that seems magically reserved for everyone and everything I love. There is just something in the air in my house for Christmas—we all become beautifully aware of how blessed we are and it is a day that we all look forward to sharing together. It is a day full of delicious food, excitement, sincere giving, love, and Christmas touches that are O’Toole unique. And so in anticipation for this year, I expected that Christmas would be hard—and it has been. Throughout the day, my mind traveled back home to sit at the end of the table for dinner or sit on a couch to open presents and each time when I found myself back here, my heart sank a little. Thinking about my dog wearing or eating his antlers or who got to put baby Jesus in the manager or looking at the picture of Grace and I in Santa hats from last year reminded me just one more time how painfully I missed home.
I do not write all this to sound like the Grinch but to share with you the struggle that Christmas brought me. When I thought about this email, I had hoped that it would be similar to the optimistic Thanksgiving reflection that I wrote. But as I write this, I find it becoming less optimistic and maybe slightly more bittersweet.
As Christmas time approaches, there are normally little signs that signify the day is near and that the Christmas spirit is around. For me, I think about coming back home from college and putting up our Christmas tree and our decorations. Christmas candy starts appearing in the stores and the temperature is a little colder. All of my family makes their way home and I start buying Christmas gifts. This is when I know Christmas is near. But, here in Honduras, Christmas came a little differently. With no college to mark the beginning of Christmas break, no stores selling any different candy, and the temperatures still pretty high during the day, it was hard to tell that Christmas was coming. You could easily have thought we were in the middle of March. And so our signs for the arrival of Christmas were slightly different. With three major Christmas projects, we immersed ourselves in a month of heavy work that kept us both busy and distracted. Firstly, we were donated six huge bags of beans—so we bagged them and partnered them with bags of rice to give to one of the poorest neighborhoods in Talanga. We handed out over 300 bags of rice and beans. Secondly, with the money we raised from the big expoventa sale, we started a three tier toy project to give toys to Camalotal (a nearby aldea), Telerevista (a local TV program), and then to a handful of poor areas of Talanga. In total, we handed out 350 toys—and they were all wrapped. And then lastly, we worked with the children of Terrero Colorado and Louis, the choir director, to put together a Nativity play. And so for me, the signs of Christmas coming were the coming dates of these projects. Talk of making elaborate Nativity scenes in homes and baking catamales became common among the people as we started learning the Christmas traditions here and the days started ticking down.
And then Christmas Eve arrived. In Honduras, Christmas is Christmas Eve and all the big celebrations are on the eve as opposed to the day. This Eve put the sweet in my somewhat bittersweet Christmas time. It could not have been better and as I was experiencing it all, I could not stop thinking how lucky I was to be in Talanga and Honduras for this night. Our night started with the performance of the Nativity play in Terrero Colorado at 6 o’clock. However, it had slipped our mind that Terrero does not have electricity and thus no lights. And so by the light of one gas lantern hanging from the ceiling of the little Church perched on the side of a hill, the children performed the Christmas story. It was beautiful—and it was one of my signs that Christmas was here. The Church was packed and when the carols came up in the play, the whole Church sang along. And that’s when I knew my Christmas was here. I got chills and realized that maybe above everything this was what Christmas truly was. Sitting in that simple ten wooden bench Church with the decorations of crepe paper and a tiny tree, I thought about where I was and how I was celebrating Christmas and my heart gleamed with joy. A prayer was said by the leader of the group and as we all held hands, prayers of strength were asked for us and protection for our families far from us.
With some quick goodbyes and catamales in hand, we headed back to Talanga for the 8 o’clock mass. New clothes are a Christmas tradition here and Hondurans love to dress up. Matt had pants made and the rest of scrounged through our suitcases to find something a little dressier than normal. And so we made our way to Church to find out that the power transformer for that neighborhood had gone out. Without light or microphones, the mass was lit by little candles down the aisle and candles on the altar. A simple celebration of a simple birth.
After the mass, the streets of Talanga came alive with families and friends visiting house to house in excitement for midnight. We made our way to Isabel’s, my host mum’s, and ate dinner with her family. Laughter was our music at this house as we played with fireworks, new toys, and cameras. We dined on chicken and rice and potatoes and tortillas and lounged on couches joking and playing. Our celebrations then moved to the streets where we all became children playing with sparklers and watching the ‘tricky tracks’ go off and the ‘mariposas’ flying high. With some photos taken, we headed off to Prof. Daniel’s house. Prof. Daniel is the wise owl of Talanga and knows someone in every office and seems to own half of Talanga too. At his house, the festivities were well underway. With good food and drinks, everybody was having fun. Fatima, a member of our formation team, and her boyfriend and half of her family were there and the good cheer of the night continued with some very interesting Mexican dancing. When midnight arrived, everyone jumped up to give hugs and Feliz Navidads to each other. And the second meal of the night. Another tradition in Honduras is to eat at midnight on Christmas. And so we dined on our second meal of chicken and rice. As an hour or so passed by, we headed to Tyler’s host mom’s house. She lives right near the Church and they were still without power and so we arrived in the house to find them eating and talking by the light of the moon. Our Christmas Eve continued by moonlight to conversations about family and a proud mom retelling stories about her son. By the light of candle, Tyler and Angel tried to put together a puzzle. As another hour passed by, we headed home to a wrapping paper roll fight and then finally to bed at 3:45am.A night of laughter, joy, and friendship that warms the heart and made the night one of the best so far in Honduras.
Christmas day was harder. Since the 25th really isn’t a celebration here, the day passed more or less like a normal day and it was hard to feel the Christmas spirit. I have already mentioned that Christmas was difficult and so I won’t bore you with countless details—but it was tough.
And so my bittersweet Christmas came and went with the beauty of celebrating the Christmas story by the light of a lantern and in the innocence of children, the simplicity of a candlelit mass, the warmth of laughter and joy shared with friends, and the deep gratitude for having a family and memories to miss incredibly so.
Merry Christmas to all and hope it was a beautiful, simple, warm, and thankful day.
I do not write all this to sound like the Grinch but to share with you the struggle that Christmas brought me. When I thought about this email, I had hoped that it would be similar to the optimistic Thanksgiving reflection that I wrote. But as I write this, I find it becoming less optimistic and maybe slightly more bittersweet.
As Christmas time approaches, there are normally little signs that signify the day is near and that the Christmas spirit is around. For me, I think about coming back home from college and putting up our Christmas tree and our decorations. Christmas candy starts appearing in the stores and the temperature is a little colder. All of my family makes their way home and I start buying Christmas gifts. This is when I know Christmas is near. But, here in Honduras, Christmas came a little differently. With no college to mark the beginning of Christmas break, no stores selling any different candy, and the temperatures still pretty high during the day, it was hard to tell that Christmas was coming. You could easily have thought we were in the middle of March. And so our signs for the arrival of Christmas were slightly different. With three major Christmas projects, we immersed ourselves in a month of heavy work that kept us both busy and distracted. Firstly, we were donated six huge bags of beans—so we bagged them and partnered them with bags of rice to give to one of the poorest neighborhoods in Talanga. We handed out over 300 bags of rice and beans. Secondly, with the money we raised from the big expoventa sale, we started a three tier toy project to give toys to Camalotal (a nearby aldea), Telerevista (a local TV program), and then to a handful of poor areas of Talanga. In total, we handed out 350 toys—and they were all wrapped. And then lastly, we worked with the children of Terrero Colorado and Louis, the choir director, to put together a Nativity play. And so for me, the signs of Christmas coming were the coming dates of these projects. Talk of making elaborate Nativity scenes in homes and baking catamales became common among the people as we started learning the Christmas traditions here and the days started ticking down.
And then Christmas Eve arrived. In Honduras, Christmas is Christmas Eve and all the big celebrations are on the eve as opposed to the day. This Eve put the sweet in my somewhat bittersweet Christmas time. It could not have been better and as I was experiencing it all, I could not stop thinking how lucky I was to be in Talanga and Honduras for this night. Our night started with the performance of the Nativity play in Terrero Colorado at 6 o’clock. However, it had slipped our mind that Terrero does not have electricity and thus no lights. And so by the light of one gas lantern hanging from the ceiling of the little Church perched on the side of a hill, the children performed the Christmas story. It was beautiful—and it was one of my signs that Christmas was here. The Church was packed and when the carols came up in the play, the whole Church sang along. And that’s when I knew my Christmas was here. I got chills and realized that maybe above everything this was what Christmas truly was. Sitting in that simple ten wooden bench Church with the decorations of crepe paper and a tiny tree, I thought about where I was and how I was celebrating Christmas and my heart gleamed with joy. A prayer was said by the leader of the group and as we all held hands, prayers of strength were asked for us and protection for our families far from us.
With some quick goodbyes and catamales in hand, we headed back to Talanga for the 8 o’clock mass. New clothes are a Christmas tradition here and Hondurans love to dress up. Matt had pants made and the rest of scrounged through our suitcases to find something a little dressier than normal. And so we made our way to Church to find out that the power transformer for that neighborhood had gone out. Without light or microphones, the mass was lit by little candles down the aisle and candles on the altar. A simple celebration of a simple birth.
After the mass, the streets of Talanga came alive with families and friends visiting house to house in excitement for midnight. We made our way to Isabel’s, my host mum’s, and ate dinner with her family. Laughter was our music at this house as we played with fireworks, new toys, and cameras. We dined on chicken and rice and potatoes and tortillas and lounged on couches joking and playing. Our celebrations then moved to the streets where we all became children playing with sparklers and watching the ‘tricky tracks’ go off and the ‘mariposas’ flying high. With some photos taken, we headed off to Prof. Daniel’s house. Prof. Daniel is the wise owl of Talanga and knows someone in every office and seems to own half of Talanga too. At his house, the festivities were well underway. With good food and drinks, everybody was having fun. Fatima, a member of our formation team, and her boyfriend and half of her family were there and the good cheer of the night continued with some very interesting Mexican dancing. When midnight arrived, everyone jumped up to give hugs and Feliz Navidads to each other. And the second meal of the night. Another tradition in Honduras is to eat at midnight on Christmas. And so we dined on our second meal of chicken and rice. As an hour or so passed by, we headed to Tyler’s host mom’s house. She lives right near the Church and they were still without power and so we arrived in the house to find them eating and talking by the light of the moon. Our Christmas Eve continued by moonlight to conversations about family and a proud mom retelling stories about her son. By the light of candle, Tyler and Angel tried to put together a puzzle. As another hour passed by, we headed home to a wrapping paper roll fight and then finally to bed at 3:45am.A night of laughter, joy, and friendship that warms the heart and made the night one of the best so far in Honduras.
Christmas day was harder. Since the 25th really isn’t a celebration here, the day passed more or less like a normal day and it was hard to feel the Christmas spirit. I have already mentioned that Christmas was difficult and so I won’t bore you with countless details—but it was tough.
And so my bittersweet Christmas came and went with the beauty of celebrating the Christmas story by the light of a lantern and in the innocence of children, the simplicity of a candlelit mass, the warmth of laughter and joy shared with friends, and the deep gratitude for having a family and memories to miss incredibly so.
Merry Christmas to all and hope it was a beautiful, simple, warm, and thankful day.
Monday, December 24, 2007
A Small Ball and Ten Men
Futbolito literally means small football or soccer ball—and that is exactly what it is. Starting in November, the basketball court in the middle of the park in front of the Catholic Church became the home for futbolito every night. Hundreds of Talangans filtered into the three step ‘stadium’ seating that surrounds the court to cheer on their team or boo for their rivals. Just like at high school football games, most of the girls came dressed to the nines and the guys came to see them. Some nights the crowds came dressed for the cold with scarves and hats and other nights, the cool summer nights were perfect t-shirt weather. Each night, three games were played until the last couple of weeks of the tournament that would decide the winners.
Any team could enter futbolito—and so in total, there were about 30 teams of varying ages and physiques. For example, the Mayor’s team was comprised of slightly older men and the local youth group at the Church, the Emproistas, had a team of twenty year olds or so. Some players had lots of experience and others not so much. And depending on the level of experience of the players, different games turned out closer than others. This also happened to be the funnier part of futbolito. The ball is tiny and some of these men were a little bigger and didn’t seem to have played much football—and so the combination provides a very funny visual..
In addition to the games, local food vendors set up stations around the park. You could find a sample of some of the most common dishes here including puposas, carne asada, licuadas, and especially greasy French fries. One of my personal favorites was the yucca stand. I have never eaten yucca before Honduras—but it’s delicious. It tastes very similar to potato but with a slightly different consistency. Another part of futbolito that seems almost as important as the game was the oranges. Every morning, the park would be scattered with orange outsides and some games at night were even paused for orange fights. Oranges are eaten differently here. Instead of peeling them, they cut the peel off the edge kinda of in a spiral and then cut them in half. It is then your job to suck as much orangey goodness out of the halves. Hondurans also enjoy eating oranges with salt and pepper. It’s an acquired taste that I have yet to acquire. But the oranges that Glenda, one of our friends, sold were delicious—like little pieces of yumminess that I will now always associate with futbolito.
One night, three of us went to futbolito with Naza, Isaac, Sadie, and Gloria (four kids/friends). It started raining as the Emproistas game started but we were pretty well bundled up so we stayed to cheer them on. Sitting on the front step, you have to be ready to dodge flying balls and slide over if one of the players wants to do a free throw. As the rain started to get a little heavier, second half started and then out of nowhere, the power went out. It was pitch dark and being in the park in the middle of Talanga with hundreds of people was not where we wanted to be. It was crazy—I don’t think I’ve ever been in the middle of a town in complete darkness. We took the kids home and then made our way back to our house where the power returned about 10 minutes later.
Futbolito: A small ball and ten men.
Any team could enter futbolito—and so in total, there were about 30 teams of varying ages and physiques. For example, the Mayor’s team was comprised of slightly older men and the local youth group at the Church, the Emproistas, had a team of twenty year olds or so. Some players had lots of experience and others not so much. And depending on the level of experience of the players, different games turned out closer than others. This also happened to be the funnier part of futbolito. The ball is tiny and some of these men were a little bigger and didn’t seem to have played much football—and so the combination provides a very funny visual..
In addition to the games, local food vendors set up stations around the park. You could find a sample of some of the most common dishes here including puposas, carne asada, licuadas, and especially greasy French fries. One of my personal favorites was the yucca stand. I have never eaten yucca before Honduras—but it’s delicious. It tastes very similar to potato but with a slightly different consistency. Another part of futbolito that seems almost as important as the game was the oranges. Every morning, the park would be scattered with orange outsides and some games at night were even paused for orange fights. Oranges are eaten differently here. Instead of peeling them, they cut the peel off the edge kinda of in a spiral and then cut them in half. It is then your job to suck as much orangey goodness out of the halves. Hondurans also enjoy eating oranges with salt and pepper. It’s an acquired taste that I have yet to acquire. But the oranges that Glenda, one of our friends, sold were delicious—like little pieces of yumminess that I will now always associate with futbolito.
One night, three of us went to futbolito with Naza, Isaac, Sadie, and Gloria (four kids/friends). It started raining as the Emproistas game started but we were pretty well bundled up so we stayed to cheer them on. Sitting on the front step, you have to be ready to dodge flying balls and slide over if one of the players wants to do a free throw. As the rain started to get a little heavier, second half started and then out of nowhere, the power went out. It was pitch dark and being in the park in the middle of Talanga with hundreds of people was not where we wanted to be. It was crazy—I don’t think I’ve ever been in the middle of a town in complete darkness. We took the kids home and then made our way back to our house where the power returned about 10 minutes later.
Futbolito: A small ball and ten men.
Death
Death is neat, tidy, and hidden in America. Corpses are not seen until they are cleaned up and painted for wakes and as soon as a person is declared dead, their body is covered with a cloth or blanket. Instead of saying that people die, many say they pass away. Children are not exposed to death and death is neither gruesome nor publicly bloody—but here, death is a grisly public affair.
Open any Honduran newspaper and flip through the first ten pages and you will see a photo of a car accident victim or a murder victim. These photos are not for those with weak stomachs. Just recently, a seminarian was killed in a car accident. Driving at high speeds, he lost control of his car three days before his ordination. As if the story itself wasn’t tragic enough, the press captured every personal and unnecessary moment in photos. One photo showed the destroyed car—pretty typical for all journalism. Another photo showed the girl who was the passenger in the car lying on a stretcher obviously cut and suffering from lesions to her body struggling barely to hold on to her life. And then the last photo was of a lady pulling a bloody cloth of the face of the lifeless seminarian who was on a morgue table splattered with blood. These photos are not even the worst of what we have seen in the newspaper—and this is a daily affair. Death is not covered up and the gruesomeness of death seems to make it a better news story.
In a similar manner, in day to day life, death is not covered or hidden. In fact, I saw my first real dead body in Honduras. As we traveled to San Pedro Sula about a month ago, we were driving through Tegucigalpa when traffic came to a slow. As we passed by the obstruction, we saw a bicycle strewn across the road, a car, and a body lying on the road. He was bleeding from his stomach and the police were standing beside his body. We were driving in the heart of rush hour traffic and nothing was being done to cover this man’s body. Gasps from our car were quickly followed by the heavy silence of minds in prayer.
Such a sight was shocking for us—a group of four twenty some things, but for Honduran children, this is not out of the normal. They are used to death in a strangely comfortable way. In the first couple of months we were here in Talanga, a man was killed—someone tried to cut his head off and failed leaving a couple of arteries still attaching his head to his neck. Gruesome and bloody yes I know. But who did we get this news from? We were told about the murder from two little girls (8 and 9) who sell us banana pancakes most afternoons. It had happened in their neighborhood and they had seen the body with the head.
And so that is death in Honduras—grisly and horrible—but then there is also a very different side that came out on Day of the Dead. Whole families go to the cemetery to decorate grave stones with beautiful flower arrangements and bring crowns to place on the grave stones. They bring food and drinks to enjoy the day and it is a joyous celebration of the lives of those who have died. It is a beautiful day and the markets fill with flower vendors. Children bring games to the cemeteries and help their parents with decorating.
Two very different sides of death.
Open any Honduran newspaper and flip through the first ten pages and you will see a photo of a car accident victim or a murder victim. These photos are not for those with weak stomachs. Just recently, a seminarian was killed in a car accident. Driving at high speeds, he lost control of his car three days before his ordination. As if the story itself wasn’t tragic enough, the press captured every personal and unnecessary moment in photos. One photo showed the destroyed car—pretty typical for all journalism. Another photo showed the girl who was the passenger in the car lying on a stretcher obviously cut and suffering from lesions to her body struggling barely to hold on to her life. And then the last photo was of a lady pulling a bloody cloth of the face of the lifeless seminarian who was on a morgue table splattered with blood. These photos are not even the worst of what we have seen in the newspaper—and this is a daily affair. Death is not covered up and the gruesomeness of death seems to make it a better news story.
In a similar manner, in day to day life, death is not covered or hidden. In fact, I saw my first real dead body in Honduras. As we traveled to San Pedro Sula about a month ago, we were driving through Tegucigalpa when traffic came to a slow. As we passed by the obstruction, we saw a bicycle strewn across the road, a car, and a body lying on the road. He was bleeding from his stomach and the police were standing beside his body. We were driving in the heart of rush hour traffic and nothing was being done to cover this man’s body. Gasps from our car were quickly followed by the heavy silence of minds in prayer.
Such a sight was shocking for us—a group of four twenty some things, but for Honduran children, this is not out of the normal. They are used to death in a strangely comfortable way. In the first couple of months we were here in Talanga, a man was killed—someone tried to cut his head off and failed leaving a couple of arteries still attaching his head to his neck. Gruesome and bloody yes I know. But who did we get this news from? We were told about the murder from two little girls (8 and 9) who sell us banana pancakes most afternoons. It had happened in their neighborhood and they had seen the body with the head.
And so that is death in Honduras—grisly and horrible—but then there is also a very different side that came out on Day of the Dead. Whole families go to the cemetery to decorate grave stones with beautiful flower arrangements and bring crowns to place on the grave stones. They bring food and drinks to enjoy the day and it is a joyous celebration of the lives of those who have died. It is a beautiful day and the markets fill with flower vendors. Children bring games to the cemeteries and help their parents with decorating.
Two very different sides of death.
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