I now know for sure that Honduras is the road less traveled that Frost described so well.
Every indication—from the time we boarded our flight in Miami and during our entire stay—has it that this Central American country is the road not taken. It’s not a vacation hotspot (yet!) and doesn’t convey the sexy image like other tropical countries. Her stable government keeps her in the shadow of her neighbors who have, unfortunately, not shared the same peace in recent history.
For the Central American family of nations, Honduras is, essentially, the quiet, modest and overlooked sister—I would dare to even say the middle child in need of attention.
And attention she’s slowly getting. Nearly every faith in the Christian spectrum has a presence in Honduras. Flights from the United States to Tegucigalpa, the capital, are packed with fervent missionaries in search of service and souls for Christ. For one week, I was one of them.
Together with one other adult, I was privileged to lead four youth on a faith journey to Honduras. I was surprised when we boarded our plane in Miami to find dozens of other youth of many different faiths who were dedicating their spring break to serve in Honduras. Mission trips are big business in Honduras—while I was there, I learned most of the people who visit the country are missionaries performing service.
It’s badly needed too. Honduras has struggled with development and poverty, but was devastated by Hurricane Mitch in the 90s. In fact, the government has stated the powerful hurricane set the country’s progress back at least 50 years. For someone who’s career has been in emergency management and disaster response, chills ran through my spine when I heard that. I know firsthand the difficulties some Floridians have had in recovering from our hurricanes in 2004, but I can’t even begin to imagine 50 years of long term recovery!
From the moment we walked out of the airport in Teguc to the time we were dropped back off, the staff and volunteers with the mission took really great care of us. For five days, our home was the Casa de Santa Teresa de Lisieux, the volunteer center located in El Conejo in Comayagua.
From the outside, the Casa appeared to be an unimpressive block building in the middle of an open field. Inside, though, was a cozy retreat with a lush garden courtyard with native hammocks hung along the edge where we could relax and enjoy the cool mountain breezes. The Casa featured dorm rooms with two or three bunk beds and a shared bath between two rooms. It doesn’t have air conditioning, but who needed it? The rooms were well ventilated and had a ceiling fan.
The comedor was the center of activity, where we ate all our meals and socialize. It was right next to the kitchen, which housed the most necessary staple for any youth minister—coffee! The chapel, with the presence of the Blessed Sacrament, was the center for morning and evening prayers, while noon prayers were reserved for the cross in the courtyard.
We had community prayers every day, before meals. Someone would ring the bell five minutes before prayers were to start in the chapel. Everyone in the Casa would gather and the long-term volunteers would lead us. What I will remember most about this chapel was how beautiful it always was when we recited prayers in the evening. With its windows facing the west, it was magnificent to see the rich hues of purple, orange, and yellow from the mountains during sunset.
Our meals, for the most part, were simple, yet very good. It was typically Honduran—we ate lots of rice and tortillas. We also had red beans, chicken, sausage, and beef at least once. Oh, and we ate eggs… LOTS of eggs! We also had great local fruit, like pineapples and bananas. On Sundays, the cook has the day off, so I ended up helping the long term volunteers prepare dinner. No matter what country I go to, I always find myself into the kitchen. That doesn’t matter—I loved it! Our final night, the Casa director, Jerome, made spaghetti and a very rich pasta sauce with meatballs and a local sausage called Olancho. I was asked to help in the kitchen again, and this time I baked two cakes which I suddenly had to improvise with different ingredients. I came up with what I’m calling “Café y Leche Torta del Conejo” Find the recipe in my upcoming cookbook!
A typical morning at the Casa began with a great steaming cup of Honduran coffee. I am now spoiled by great coffee that when I came back to the States, I could barely drink my cup from Starbucks. After grabbing my cup, I’d join the few early birds who sat outside the compound to watch the sunrise. I’m not a morning person at all, but I admit it was always the perfect way to start the day.
Someone would ring the bell at 6:55 and by 7:00 a.m. we had all gathered in the chapel for morning prayers. It didn’t matter if you were still in pajamas or had changed; the most important thing was that you weren’t in shorts. (The ask that you not wear shorts in the chapel as the Blessed Sacrament is present. Since many people wear shorts during the work activities, our noon prayers were always in the courtyard.) We would recite psalms, canticles, and hear gospel readings. Afterwards, we had breakfast in the comedor.
By 8:30, we would leave the Casa for our morning work activity. During most of our stay, our work activity was building a trench near the soccer field for the girls’ school at Guadalupe. The purpose of the trench was to lay the foundation for a new wall that would be built to protect the girls’ school. Previously, barbed wire was there, which posed a danger especially when a soccer ball would roll into it from the field and a child tried to retrieve it. The wall also provided better security for the girls who boarded at the school.
Digging this ditch was a lot harder than you can imagine. It had to be done entirely by hand, since there is no access to machinery. The earth was hard from a lack of rain and full of rock and thick clay. We had to swing pick axes to break up the earth and shovels to scoop it out. Occasionally, we came upon a stubborn rock that we had pull out.
By our last day, we had completed digging the ditch and lined it with large, clean rocks as filler for the concrete. We mixed concrete the hard way—on the soccer field with shovels. Since water was some distance away, we had to fill large garbage cans and bring it over. It was hard work, but I found it invigorating!
Some in the group went off to paint the computer lab in the school. As you can imagine, the computers are not the most up-to-date nor top-of-the-line. Their computers were the one I remember having back in grade school—the large monsters.
Another group helped with children who had sponsors back in the states. The children wrote their sponsors and the volunteers would translate from Spanish into English.
The morning work activity would stop by 11:30 a.m. and we’d head back to the Casa. At noon, we prayed the Angelus in the courtyard and then have lunch. After our meal, we enjoyed a little siesta to write in our journals, socialize, nap in the hammocks, or washed our clothes by hand at the pila.
During the afternoon, we spent time visiting sites or in a structured activity for the children. Most everyone would agree that spending time with the children was the most rewarding! When they would see us come down from the Casa, they would run to us and literally jump into our arms. They love to be swung around (vuelto!) or carried on our shoulders. We would bring coloring books and crayons, Spanish books to read aloud, or just have fun on the playground. The most fun was playing soccer. These kids were quick on their feet and formidable challengers, in spite of the fact they played in flip-flops or barefooted.
By 5:00 p.m., we would head back to the Casa in time for evening prayers by 5:30 p.m. and followed with dinner.
When my group first arrived, we were met by a group of University of Arkansas students. Their deacon invited us to participate in their evening reflections at 7:00, which I jumped at the opportunity. It would be one less structured thing for me to plan, plus it would give us a way to grow in community with them. They provided praise and worship music and group discussions and knew exactly what to plan. The students and their adult chaperones were so kind to us during our stay. Their group have made mission trips to Honduras for 10 years, so they were the experts in what to do. They were a tremendous help for us newbies.
After reflection, the night was free time to socialize and play card games. For St. Patrick’s Day, one of the Arkansas students did an exhibition on Irish dance and gave lessons too. Our final night, we had adoration in the chapel.
The only day that wasn’t a work day was Sunday. It was a day of rest and we ventured into Comayagua for mass and some free time. We went into the city by bus, and of course we stood out (well, except me!) Public transportation in Honduras is exclusively by bus. Funny thing… Honduras appears to be the final destination for old school buses from the States. You can see highways lined with so many cheddar wagons!
Comayagua is the ancient capital of Honduras and has a strong Spanish colonial look. We went to mass in at the Cathedral. The bishop celebrated mass, and we knew we were in trouble when an altar boy brought out a chair just before the homily in front of the altar. The bishop sat down and talked for a long, long, long time.
While we were in town, we ventured around the different markets and the supermarket to pick up a few things. I love to bargain down a price, and I had several opportunities to do so. Our Good Shepherd group stuck close—and I accidentally led them into the carneceria, the butcher shop area of the wet market. They freaked out at the site of all this butchered meat with flies all over and the foul smell. I could only laugh on the inside… it was just like I was in the Philippines all over again.
Actually, I enjoyed seeing the similarities to the Philippines. The architecture, the church, the food, and sometimes even the people looked the same. I blended in well! Our van driver and some of the kids would often ask me, "¿Está latino o chino?"
For lunch in Comayagua, we ate at a restaurant next to the Cathedral… it was great! For refrescos (soft drinks), appetizers, and a main entrée, we paid only 120 lempiras per person, (roughly $7 USD), so it was truly a bargain. I had a fruity berry drink, an appetizer of a quesadilla, salad, and stuffed chicken in a tortilla, plus a main entree of seasoned beef steak with rice and potatoes.
On the morning we left, I made sure I got up really early, grabbed a large mugful of that sweet Honduran coffee, and watched the sunrise over the mountains one last time. As I watched, I was recalling a question that was asked during a reflection a few nights before:
“How does this trip make you appreciate our lives more?”
There are many things I do appreciate of my life in the States. I love the freedom we enjoy, the opportunities available for us, and the simple conveniences we have on hand.
I also realize that we have complicated our lives more and more.
I’ve seen children in Honduras smiling and running around barefoot, playing with the most simple things, like rolling a tire with their hands down a hill or playing soccer with an old ball. Their eyes beam with excitement when you pull out a coloring book and crayons. They are genuinely happy in spite of poverty.
People gather around and talk to one another—on the street, on the bus, and by the little pulperias (corner stores).
They truly live together in community. I was truly humbled to see that.
In the United States, we have become our own island unto ourselves. We put on our iPods or talk on our cell phones to avoid interacting with other people. We’re sometimes afraid to say hello to others, but while I was in Honduras, I made it a point to wave or smile to anyone, just so I didn’t appear to be an obnoxious gringo.
I’m guilty of falling back into my old isolated routine…. as soon as I was back in the United States, I was paying more attention to my Blackberry than the group who was eating dinner with me.
This was an amazing adventure that reminded me so much of the value not only of life… but of living. I came back to the States an incomplete man, as I truly left part of my heart in Honduras.
