Well, another fine trip. It was good to hear from the first timers and relive their experiences/feelings/struggles I have long forgotten.
For me, there were many highlights, like rain, machetes, slug fighting, pumatangs (a cross between a puma and an orangutan), rice & beans, mirror dancing, rain, and the like. Did I mention rain?
Some of my more memorable moments for this trip are a bit obscure.
I had a nice lesson in the art of taxi negotiation. Early in the trip I had to take the bus into town, then take a taxi to the mall to pickup supplies before the rest of the group arrived. The taxi from Cerro Grande (the location of the bus stop) to the mall was 70 Limpera (about $3.50). I picked up a bunch of supplies (as much as I could carry) then asked for a taxi back to Cerro Grande. I asked what it would cost. “10 US dollars.” I knew I was getting ripped off, but I was running late. So I hopped in. The taxi driver didn’t speak much English. I don’t speak much Spanish. After he started driving he started asking me which Cerro Grande I wanted to go to. I said there is only one Cerro Grande and he said there were six. Great. Now I’m not sure where I am going. Turns out there are eight stops in Cerro Grande and I needed to go to Cerro Grande Zona Quatro. Zone 4, or stop 4 in Cerro Grande was only less than a minute away from the first top out of the 20 minute taxi ride. We arrived at Cerro Grande Zona Quatro and the taxi driver said, “30 US dollars.” I said no way and he replied, “Zona Uno is 10 US dollars, zona quarto is 30 US dollars”. I didn’t speak enough Spanish to argue (some of the kids over the years have tricked me into saying some expletives and I was really temped utilizing that experience here, but resisted). Plus he had all my supplies. So I paid it (and even gave him a tip). I just considered it a $30 lesson of life.
A moment where I experience Christ’s presence during the trip was taking the chicken bus into town to get some additional supplies. I don’t know why they call it a chicken bus. I guess it’s because someone may be carrying a chicken, but I have never seen it. It is basically an old school bus. Never the less. I took the bus from NPH into town for supplies. There, waiting for the bus was our very good friend Raffa. Raffa and his brother Jorge are in high school now and live in Tegucigalpa. So I was able to spend time with my good friend Raffa during the 30 minute bus ride into town. Raffa helped be get supplies and then he showed me the home where he, Jorge, and others are living. It was good to see Jorge too. During our visit, a huge storm blew in. Raffa gave me his poncho and took be back to the bus stop to head back to NPH. I stayed nice and dray and Raffa was soaked and cold. I didn’t need the poncho on the bus and I doubt it would be raining at NPH so I tried to give Raffa his poncho back. He told me to keep it and I didn’t want to disrespect his generosity. So I hopped on the bus. The bus was PACKED. Standing room only and even then, those who were standing were packed like sardines. This normally wouldn’t be a problem but I had on this big, very wet poncho. I was getting everybody wet. Those in front of me. Those behind me. Those sitting. I needed to reach up and hold onto the bar when the bus was moving and my wet poncho would hit people in the face and/or drip all over them. I thought for sure they would eventually stop the bus and toss the stupid American out the door. I had put my backpack up on the luggage rack. As we got closer to NPH I was able to sit down in the bus. I reached up for my backpack, my water bottle fell out and hit an elderly lady in her out-stretched arms holding the seat in front of her. She winced in pain. My initial thought was, “you are over-reacting a bit” and thought it was more frustration dealing with my wet poncho. I then saw her arms and they were covered in tumors and I realized the pain was real. My heart sunk. I then looked back at her face expecting to receive the third degree for my stupidity, but instead, she had the biggest smile on her face to let me know everything was OK. Nice.
I am not sure why, but I did find enjoyment throwing six inch slugs at people. I am not sure others enjoyed it as much as I did. I don’t think the slugs enjoyed it either.
A few visits ago I let the kids draw on my bald head with markers and it is now a tradition. A bald head seems like an expansive pallet just dying to express itself don't you think? However, having pointy markers on my head reminded me that earlier in the day I forgot my hat, was in the sun too long, and had a bit of a sunburn. But creativity cannot be stopped! The next thing the kids like to do is wash my head. They will take my hand sanitizer, pour about half a bottle on my heard and message my scalp. Again, normally 4-8 pairs of hands on my head is quite nice, but the alcohol once again reminded by about the sunburn. Needless to say, by the end of the week my head was so clean you could eat off of it. . . . I’d better keep that one to myself. Don’t want to give the kids any more ideas.
My ego appreciated this next moment. We hired a driver, Louis, for some of our transportation needs. Louis is an Evangelical Minister who also provides transportation to mission groups.
A bit of a background. In early June, our friend Friar Juan from San Max Kolbe in Honduras was visiting us in Minnesota. We were riding our bicycles over to Lake Harriet to watch a blues concert. Everyone was riding in a safe straight line, with helmets and shorts … except me. I was still in my work clothes (dress pants/shirt), was zipping in/out, riding with no helmet, riding with no hands, and popping little wheelies. Eight year old Johnnie was impressed and suggested I should show Friar Juan my wheelies. I thought that was such a great idea. So I raced to the head of the group and said, “Hey everybody! Watch this!” I then popped a wheelie and instantly flipped the bike over backwards (don’t know my own strength I suppose). As the front wheel was over my head, the thought did cross my mind, “Oh yeah. I forgot. I am a 43 year old man trying to impress others by popping wheelies.” That and I’m a redneck joke, “If you say, ‘Hey Bubba, watch this!’ followed by a trip to the hospital, you might be a redneck.” Needless to say the results were not all that pleasurable. I re-injured my knee, spraining the ligaments and tearing the meniscus along with some other bumps and bruises. A van was summoned to take me home and a visit to the doctor about a week later. The doctor suggested I should wear my knee brace in Honduras until the doctor could do a more thorough examination after the swelling when down. Now, back to our story with Luis.
Louis noticed my knee brace and we started talking (him in Spanish and me in English). Turns out Louis was a professional soccer player for Honduras for over 10 years. Turns out Louis and I both blew our knee out (ACL) playing soccer, both had reconstructive knee surgery, and both had the same knee scars. We both pulled our pant legs up to compare our scars. My ego appreciated having the same knee scars as a professional soccer player and the fact we both blew out our knee out playing soccer. Louis said he blew his knee out during a game in front of tens of thousands of people. I told Louis I blew my knee out playing soccer in University. Of course, I left out the part where it was the first time I played soccer and it was a game with friends. Somehow, those details didn’t seem important at the time.
The Valasquez Coffee Farm was great. Their main crop is coffee, but they grow a variety of plants (bamboo, sugar cane, orange trees, banana trees, plantain trees, etc.), both that support the coffee and also provides food, medicine, and other needs for their families. They also have cows, chickens, Tilapia ponds, etc. It was like going back in time. Very rustic. Simple. And the people are very genuine, hospitable, hard working, and intelligent. Very enjoyable. I had woke up early the first morning and was outside walking around, saying morning prayers-n-such. I ran into Abilio who runs the farm. We talked (English vs. Spanish again). He eventually brought up a cow to the main house (be careful when you ask for milk in your coffee on a coffee farm – the milk will be very fresh). I successfully milked a cow. I’ve never milked a cow before. It was udderly fantastic (sorry, you are just going to have to deal with comments like that). Now, you would think the cow would appreciate my delicate, soft computer programming hands. No. She was not happy. She was trying to kick me (but her feet were tied), was spitting food at me, and was smacking me in the head with her tail. The only thing I could think about was the proximity of her tail to other bodily events and that the tail could not be all that clean. So I was milking with one hand and blocking the tail with my other hand in a Karate Kid type fashion. I’m not exactly sure how, but someday when I am alone in a cold, dark alley, I am confident my udder milking motion skills will save me.
After milking the cow, I decided to wake Matt and Eric, the two teenage guys I shared a room with. The night before included battles with large cockroaches, spiders, and scorpions (scorpions were routinely found in our rustic cabins). These scorpions can’t kill, but still look pretty intimidating, especially when you see them crawl into your blanket. The discussion also turned to wild pumas in the Honduran mountain jungle. Matt and Eric were a bit nervous on our walk through the dark to our sleeping quarters in the main house with the grandparents of the family, Maximo and Natalia. A softball sized rock tossed into the thick of the jungle made for some interesting reactions. The main house is also very rustic. There is no glass or screens in the windows, just wooden shutters. To wake Matt and Eric up, I started to scratch on the wooden shutters outside their room, then rattle the shutters like a wild animal trying to get in. I started getting more and more aggressive but got no reaction from Matt or Eric. I thought, “they are either dead asleep or they are onto me”. So I got more aggressive with the scratching, rattling, and pounding. Then, to my surprise, the wooden shutters flew open. My astute powers of observation quickly let me know I had the wrong window and was scratching/pounding the wooden shutters to the grandmother Natalia’s room. She didn’t need to speak English. Her expression said it all, “And just what do you think you are doing??!!” I ran away.
It was also good to see our good friend Jenna. Jenna has been with us during all our travels to NPH Honduras and Jenna is starting her long term volunteer year (13 months) of service. She will be working in the Casa Suyapa house (the baby house with over 70 kids ranging from zero to eight years of age). God bless you Jenna! We are with you in prayer and Spirit! You can check out Jenna's blog at: http://www.saludosdehonduras.blogspot.com/
Of course, my favorite part of the trip is visiting with my ahijada (goddaughter) Cinthia, her sister Paola, visiting with all the girls in the Hija de Maria Hogar, and visiting with my ahijada Wendy who is now in high school and living in Tegucigalpa. I could go on for hours. Lets just say Wendy, Cinthia, and all the kids have taught me more about God’s love for each one of us. He is our Father who is passionately in love with us, who wants us, the ones he loves, to be with Him for all eternity. How he sent his only son Jesus Christ to take our sins upon the cross, not to condemn the world but to save the world and reconcile us back to God’s love (paraphrased from John 3:16-17). How God wants to protect us and provide for us. I am amazed that in God’s love for Wendy, Cinthia, Paola, the girls in the Hija de Maria Hogar, and all the NPH kids, that God would ask me, to trust me to be a part of their lives, to share Christ’s love with them. Nice. I am blessed more and more with their friendship and love.
Although this was primarily an emersion trip with mission trip elements, regardless, for me traveling to Honduras is more like visiting family and old friends, being part of their lives and they being part of my life. The NPH family, San Max Kolbe, and now the Velasquez family. I find consolation that, even though we are separated by thousands of miles, nothing separates the body of Christ and we are profoundly together through His sacred word, sacraments, and prayer.
God bless you all!
P.S. More photos can be found at: http://pgrisez.spaces.live.com/ in the 2008_07_Honduras photo album.
Ahijada Cinthia
Head art
Hija de Maria
Ahijada Wendy
Mi amigo Raffa
Mi amigo Jorge
Amigos de San Max Kolbe
