Things That Make You Go Hmm...

I awoke last Wednesday morning from a deep sleep and realized that my alarm had not woken me up. It was 5:00 A.M. and my return flight to Honduras was to leave Houston at 6:30 A.M. I frantically got dressed and woke my brother in law who was to drive me to the airport. He and my sister live on the complete opposite side of Houston as the airport. Luckily, as most US cities, Houston has nice highways and at 5:15 in the morning there is not too much traffic. I checked in with American Airlines at ten after six and made my flight. By early afternoon I was back in Honduras. I picked up my truck at the Baxter Institute and headed south to Choluteca, my home. As I drove out of the city I marveled at the enormous difference in two cultures and two countries that are so close to each other, but yet so far away. I was back home, to the seemingly chaos of traffic, where bicycles rule the road and a solid center-line means the same thing as a dotted center line and the roads are full of pot holes that could swallow a small car. Where it is okay to pass someone on a hill or in a curve or on a hill in a curve.

I pondered our differences, us, the Gringos and them, the Hondurans, for the three hour drive to Choluteca. It never ceases to amaze me how blessed I am by just being born north of the Rio Grande. How many more opportunities that I will have that many in Latin America can’t even imagine. Traffic being blocked by a herd of cattle causes me to chuckle; a truck passing me in a blind curve going up a mountain causes me to ask myself, “Do these people just not think?” Then I smile and realize that I am back home. Choluteca had not changed during my three-week stay in the US. The national police still have there temporary post outside of town where it seems that their only purpose is to harass, there are no obvious advancements being made by the construction workers building a new bridge over the river on the edge of town, and a little boy and his crippled brother still sit on the corner of Calle Vicente Williams begging for spare change. I arrive at my house where my landlord has installed a new sink in my bathroom and the heavy rains have run in under a door and stained a straw floor mat, but everything else is the same.

As I mentioned, the heavy rains have arrived. The once brown and black burnt hillsides that surround the large valley that I live in are now lush and green. The campesinos efforts of many back breaking hours burning off the mountainside to plant corn have paid off. Now there are young corn stalks, about twelve inches tall, covering the mountainsides. I go to bed early that night, exhausted from my day of traveling, but not before returning to my nightly ritual of a cup of Ramen Noodle Soup and a glass, one liter bottle of Coca-Cola, it was this diet that helped me, or rather caused me, to loose 20 pounds in my first four months in Honduras. Thursday morning I rise to take a cold shower, one that I had been accustomed to and quite fond of before 3 weeks in the US of hot showers. It was a little tough getting used to the cold water again. The day was spent checking on the status of projects that I had left on autopilot while in the US. I was pleasantly surprised that not too many things had gone wrong while I was gone and the new church building construction that I had left in the hands of a good friend and builder was coming along nicely.

Friday was spent making plans for new projects and finalizing plans for some groups that will be visiting here this summer. One of these projects is the installation of a computer lab at a local elementary school. This project had been on hold while I waited for the city to put electricity in at the school. When I left the school I carried the director’s PA system with me. It had not been working in a while and I felt that it only needed new speaker wires. The director had asked me if I could fix it, I told her I would take it with me and see what I could do. On the way home I stopped by the apartment of the regional Peace Corp director. I stayed there for about an hour and a half. Upon leaving I noticed that my truck was unlocked and the keyhole was a little stiff like something had been stuck in it. Inside I found that my truck had been robbed. The entire PA system, speakers, wires and microphone were gone along with a new pair of prescription sunglasses. This makes number two for being robbed, but for some reason it scared me.

This person had robbed me when I was very close and it was not even dark out yet. And so, life goes on. The director will come out on top, she will now get a new PA system that works when I replace the one that got taken and I will be a little more careful of what I leave locked up in my truck on the street. I will continue to pay $1.75 a gallon for gas. They will continue to pass on hills in curves. I will continue to try to make a difference for these people. The little boy and his brother will continue to beg on the corner. I will continue to love what I do. The people of Choluteca will continue to struggle to survive. I will continue to ask you all to pray for me. And for everything that I have a part in building, establishing, completing, or planning; God will receive the glory.

Until next time.

Jarrod