Thoughts on Honduras

My last trip to Honduras according to my passport stamps was in 2003. And as anticipated, things have changed. San Pedro Sula is far more developed and inundated with American restaurants and shops.

Some random thoughts on Honduras:

No one wears shorts. It is hot there, very hot. We're talking 95 degree days, and the standard dress is blue jeans. That goes for men, women, and children. Some more traditional women wear skirts, but for the most part, Hondurans wear pants.

There is a bank in every block, and there is always a line outside the door ten people deep. Surprising for a country of such extreme poverty, but they like to put what money they have in the bank.

The number one job for men is an armed security guard. Every business has an armed security guard. Grocery stores, ice cream parlors, travel agencies, you name it and there is an armed guard, ready to wave the metal detector wand over you as you enter. I wonder how often they are pushed to use their "skills."

Any housekeeping staff must always looks busy. These women were always mopping and sweeping, over and over and over, in the exact same spot! Literally, the woman at the airport mopped from one end of the floor to the other and then went right back to the beginning and did it again, and then again!

Hondurans always drink with a straw. I am not sure why, but think there may be the notion that since they reuse the glass bottles, they'd rather not put their lips to them. But they use straws in glasses too.

Now these are just a few of the trivial things I noticed that I will notice again on my next trip. I am not sure why these things strike me.

Unfortunately I didn't take as many photos reflecting Daddy's past as I had hoped. He wanted it that way really, because the streets he used to walk and fields where he'd play are long gone, and what's there now does not reflect his memories.

I do enjoy listening to him talk about his memories as we walk the boulevard he would walk to go visit his cousin.

He spent a summer in the upstairs of this building one year, but the surroundings look quite different now.



Daddy is also very different in Honduras. He likes speaking Spanish and seems to interact far more there than he ever does at home. He's already told me that it will be Spanish only when we adopt a child.

I couldn't have done any of what was done the last week without my Daddy. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Faith

The last day in Honduras involved a visit to the cathedral. We sat and watched as people kneeled to pray and offer gifts of money and flowers.

There was a constant flow of people, most just passing through, praying only for a few moments. Hispanics, especially in Cental America, are devout Catholics. They attend mass and have tradional Catholic ideals.

I'm Catholic and believe in God. I feel comfortable in church, yet as I watched the men and women come through and offer prayer, it dawned on me that I need to change my views of prayer and God.

Since the storm, I often pray for something...for our house to be ok, the next treatment to work, for the adoption process to go smoothly. Really, the list is endless. I even got my grandmother to go to church and light a candle and say a prayer that the IUI would be successful.

I didn't even think this to be anything like when I was a little girl praying for an A on a test or Santa bringing the perfect toy. These are *big* things I'm asking God to consider. But asking, no matter the outcome, didn't make me feel any better.



What I really need to pray for is to find my strength, the strength to accept life and its consequences with grace.

The Oasis

Today we met Señora Zonia Pinto at her office in order to travel to an orphanage on the outskirts of San Pedro. She phoned earlier and prefaced the trip with caution. She explained we would travel through small villages without “typical” amenities and the roads were unpaved. Naturally, this made Daddy a bit uneasy.

Each morning the newspaper features graphic photos of men and women murdered. Front page stories always revolve around crime. Not too long ago, three cars forced a bus off the road, and the bus passengers were robbed of all belongs, including the clothes on their backs. Although horrific, these passengers’ lives were spared. This case is just one of many, most of which end with bullets to the heads of innocent victims.

Despite this, I took her warning lightly, partly because I still have a naive attitude of a youngish traveler and have seen my share of Honduran villages, but mainly because I felt she was saying it really for our sake as Americans so we wouldn’t be wide eyed viewing the conditions in which people live.

When in Teguz she had a similar disclaimer before taking us to Don Pepe’s for plato typico. I told her I wanted beans, crema, rice, avocado, and I knew she’d come through. She did feel compelled to “warn” us of the condition of the restaurant, as it is in no way American. And sure enough, Don Pepe did not cater to tourists. It was Honduran in each regard, and exactly what I was hoping to find while in Tegucigalpa. I was quite content there, but she wouldn’t even let me use the toilets in Don Pepe.

So I figured this was a similar warning. If she really had concerns about safety, she wouldn’t be driving us there.

The 25 minute drive took us along dirt roads, past horse drawn work carts, and neighborhoods constructed entirely of corrugated tin and cardboard, before arriving at S.O.S. Honduras.

Daddy had thought for the past few days from conversations that we were going to a place called “Oasis”. Although he was wrong about the name, S.O.S. is an absolute oasis for the children who live there as well as the families it services through its community outreach program.

Although it lies near the neighborhoods of extreme poverty where families live in one room, without running water, and use a portion of the river bank just yards from their homes as a dump, SOS Honduras is pristine. Its grounds are filled with neatly trimmed ficus trees surrounded by carefully manicured lawn. The directors greeted us and explained the mission of SOS and the lives of those that live here.




The children at SOS are not considered to be orphans because they have not legally been declared so by the courts; therefore they consider them to be in foster care. That also means that the children are not eligible for adoption, unless specific agreements are reached directly with the child’s parents. Five to eight children live in one of 14 homes with what the director referred to as a “god parent.” These women acting as god parents are all Honduran and typically were unable to earn a livable wage before moving to SOS. They are not paid, but are provided with room and board.

The director proudly showed us the facility, taking us to several homes on the grounds. Each had a few bedrooms, a kitchen, bath, and a small living area. They were modestly furnished and impeccably clean. Each of the little beds was made, and some had the eldest child preparing dinner in the kitchen.

Most impressive were the children. They watched us as we walked from building to building. Most were in the middle of chores. It was obvious that each child, no matter the age, had a responsibility to the house and grounds. Groups of children, some as young as four, worked together to rake leaves and trim bushes. And this was not play. They were really working.

Daddy had to get in on the yard work and helped pick up leaves. As a tiny boy with a rake twice his size got sight of that, his stare faded and he got down to raking to take advantage of someone else being there to pick up all those leaves. Daddy’s work didn’t stop there. He also got involved with sanding the rail on the building. What a task for such a young boy, but each worked with a sense of responsibility and ownership.




SOS is worldwide organization, which operates strictly on private donations. I cannot begin to describe how impressed I am with the care provided for the children. I never want to feel pity for others, but if I were to expect to feel that anywhere it would be in an orphanage. I did not feel pity for these children. I felt compelled to somehow assist SOS in their mission to provide stable care and a means to independent living for these children.

But, I am here with the purpose of finding a child to join our family, to be ours. Although it was doubtful that any of their residents would be ours the director has regular interactions with women who would like to give up their children. Señora Pinto will now make contact with these women through SOS. Hopefully in time, it will become evident who is meant to be ours.

But in the meantime, I think I will have to find a way to support SOS Honduras. Honduras is filled with “missionaries” who provide aid, and although they provide much needed assistance, I am weary of such organizations, because their assistance is tied to a desire to spread their religious agenda, rather than just kindness and compassion to their fellow man. SOS is not affiliated with any religious organization. It provides jobs only to local people, and provides education, childcare, and medical services to children living in their facilities as well as in the community.

Being here strengthened my commitment to adopt a child, regardless of my ability to bare children. My desire to work for social justice has been reawakened. I am no longer here just for us. This is about more than just Charlie and me.

Plato Tipico

Plato Tipico y Coca-Cola light in glass bottle: $3.00

Perfecto.

To Teguz and Back

Another early morning with the alarm set for 4:20 am. We were off to Tegucigalpa, again, but this time we opted for the bus as the weather still looked as though it would prevent any flights.



The bus station has two "gates", both clearly labeled, in attempt to approach some sort of organized system.



Before boarding the bus, many precautions are taken. Each passenger is photographed as bandits have begun to take bus trips as a means to prey on citizens. There is also a search of all bags, a wave of the metal detector wand, and a pretty thorough pat down.



Daddy got a break on his luxury, express bus fare since he is over 60. That 25% discount comes in handy. The $12 fare got us a seat on a large air conditioned bus that made no stops. So in a mere 4.5 hours, we arrived in Tegucigalpa without incident.

The main focus of the trip was to visit IHNFA, The Honduran Institute of the Childhood and the Family. I liken them to the Office of Children's Services in the U.S. Their role in Honduras is still not entirely clear to me, and many have the opinion that they are corrupt. IHNFA would be able to place a child in the care of a family and then certify the adoption. They also must approve any private adoption.

Despite the many abandoned children in Honduras, the IHNFA representative informed me that they would only be willing to place a child over the age of 2 and in need of medical attention in my care. If offered a child and I declined, I would not be permitted to request another child. That's it.

I am not certain as to why things work like this, but my understanding is that IHNFA has unrealistic, unattainable standards to officially declare a child an orphan eligible for adoption. The system undeniably does not benefit the children, but I cannot figure out how those in a position of power benefit from the system. Something must be lost in the translation, because all Hondurans we've spoken to about IHNFA have th opinion that the system stands as a means of benefiting those in power.

Dead end with IHNFA.

I am feeling quite disappointed and frustrated. Why is this quest to become parents so much work. Why can't this one thing be easy, and natural, the way it is for other families.

Daddy notices my "game face" and my attempt to maintain composure. Lunch will make me feel better.

We do enjoy a yummy lunch at Don Pepe (photo to come) and then make our way to pick up some paperwork from an attorney who will also be working on our adoption.

After a short meeting we head back to catch the bus back to San Pedro Sula.

9 hours on the bus and dead end meetings make for quite a stressful, tiring day.

I have to be positive and patient.

When I feel overwhelmed with life Daddy has taught me to think about how I will regard this moment, this day, in six months, a year, five years. So that's the context I need to put today into.

Traveling with My Daddy

Traveling with Daddy is great! He, being in the over 60 crowd, likes comfort and I benefit from that!

My favorite thing is he sends laundry out each day.



Nothing like coming home with no dirty clothes!

Daddy is also very cautious on the street, nearly holding his little girl's hand. He walks on the outside of the sidewalk, prompts me when time to cross the street, and gives me his take on the activity along the road.

Daddy's comfort, however, impedes us from dining on Honduran cuisine as the locals have it. No longer having an iron clad stomach makes him weary of eating in tiny local eateries. We stick to more upscale joints, many with English translations on the menu. Good food, but I would like to order some beans and sit with those who are involved in their regular daily routine in Honduras. So does he, but his age has made him cautious. I wonder what traveling will be like when I have experienced more of life.

Hans Olav esen Pineda

With our flight being cancelled, Daddy decided it was a good time to take care of his registro nacional de las personas. Every Honduran has a national identification card. His has been in process since his last visit 4 months ago.

We jumped into a cab, and off we went.



Since he was just there to pick up the finished identification card, he didn't need to have any copies of paperwork. When he applied for the new card he found himself walking through the mechanic shop and standing in line to make copies.

The no frills operation sees quite a bit of business right outside of the National Registration Office.



The absence of a line here was a good sign... lines inside should be short. And they were. Last visit Daddy had to take advantage of the "special cases" line, that is those that are disabled, pregnant, or over 60. With the life expectancy at 69, those over 60 deserve a break!

And sure enough, things inside were rather tame. A few men huddled around the teller were checking on their affairs. It's not very organized with many tellers working out of the same window, papers being passed back and forth, and people talking over one another, but it works.



And his card was there. He's Honduran alright.

And so it begins

This morning we began our day with a breakfast in the hotel.

Beans. Crema. Fruit. Yum! I love the fresh melons, papaya, mango, and pineapple. It always tastes so much sweeter and fresher here.

After breakfast we made our way to the center of the city and wandered around a bit as Daddy reminisced. (Post to come with photos and accounts of his memories.) We also had a short visit with Ernesto, our cousin, before walking to meet Señora Pinto, our attorney.

We had a short meeting with her and made plans for an early morning flight to Tegucigalpa. I had a peculiar nervousness handing over all of our documents to her. That was a great deal of work in that envelope, and made this process the most official yet. On top of those feelings was just the general feeling of anxiety from conducting life changing business in a foreign country.

It's difficult to understand what I am feeling without understanding what it is to be here and be so American. To travel in Central American you must put aside American notions of happiness, success, and fulfillment to truly appreciate the people and culture and what the experience of traveling has to offer. Many Hondurans live in poverty, work for very little, and are content to live out there years in that situation. As an American I have to put aside my expectations for success, as they do not apply to much of the Honduran population. Generally speaking, Hondurans do not pursue education and do not acquire material possessions. There is, of course, a small part of the population that attends school, acquires advanced degrees, and works for monetary benefit beyond the necessities of day to day life. However, the simplicity of life filters into every Honduran.

Things are different. Life is different. Period. I expect it, and that is one of the lessons of life that I have learned only through traveling. And here I find myself having to apply these lessons to a rather momentous event in my life, adopting a child.

Señora Pinto's office exemplifies the cultural difference I am trying to grasp.



She is a well educated woman, practices law in the center of Honduras' biggest city, and her office is typical of any Honduran business woman or man.



The ground floor of her building even has a cistern and the building’s occupants utilize the water.

So here I am, in her humble office, putting the next step of our decision into her hands. And I am nervous. I am scared. Vulnerable. And in another country.

Amazingly I manage to remain composed throughout our meeting. I am a cry baby. No secret there.

It isn't until Daddy and I sit in the lobby of the Sula Hotel that the water works begins. As does Daddy's. It's emotional. It's stressful.

I am frustrated about being unable to convey the moment and the feelings. Perhaps after some time away from the experience I will able to put words to my feelings.

So tomorrow, Teguz.

Room With a View

San Pedro Sula's weather is just like home...hot, humid, and rainy. Today's rain provided us with a view from room 321.

Honduras, Cental America

7.1 million: Population
1.2 million: Unemployed
$3,000: Per capita income
1.8%: Adults with HIV
69: Life expectancy



43,278: Area in square miles (slightly larger than Tennessee)
81%: Mountainous territory
76%: Literacy Rate
13,603 km: Total Roadways
2,775 km: Paved Roadways



504: Calling code
1.282 million: Cell phones
3,973: Internet hosts
97%: Roman Catholic

Introducing Cuñada Lesly

On Sunday, Lesly will join our family. She is marrying Christian, and we hope she is soon able to join us in the United States.

Congratulations, Lesly and Christian.

San Pedro Sula

The day began with an early morning flight from Louis Armstrong International Airport. With the flight departing to Houston at 7:15 am, arriving at the airport by 5:45 am seemed more than reasonable. The sun was barely out and the airport was packed. The lines at the ticket counter were long, but line to get through security backed up into the check in area. I hope this means business and flights are picking up in our city.

We made it to the gate just in time to board, and the traveling was uneventful.

It has been 3 or so years since I have been here, and flipped through pictures in my mind of Central American landscapes, I couldn't place the scene outside of the airport in San Pedro. Despite this, walking into the main area of the airport, it seemed very familiar, although still much the same as any other airport I've been to in Central America.

Driving into the city I am always impressed by the same two things...Honduran flora and litter. Bougainvillea and hibiscus are everywhere and are in constant bloom. The poor rocky soil along the road doesn't hinder their flowering. The shades of reds, pinks, oranges contrast the litter which scatters the roadways. We passed a small "subdivision" with the body of a rusted car, abandoned right at the corner of the main road. Children were lying on the hood with coke bottles and newspapers tumbling past, but the backdrop was a bougainvillea the size of a tree in full fuchsia bloom.

Daddy and I are staying at the Hilton. It's what you'd expect from a Hilton, right down to it being filled with gringos, but with a few reminders that you're in Honduras: a handful of Honduran television stations, bottled water to make your coffee with, and beans and crema on the room service menu.

My crisis for the day developed shortly after arrival: I forgot my computer charger in New Orleans! I had to check my email. My darling doesn't call me InterGirl for nothing! Daddy wouldn't have me obsessing over my cord, so we found Radio Shack in the mall, and got me back up and running.

I found it very curious that there are not one, but two rather large malls near the hotel which are filled with some rather upscale stores. And I found it even more curious that the mall was packed. American restaurants such as Applebee's, T.G.I.Friday's, Wendy's, Popeye's are established here and doesn't come as much of a surprise. However, with the per capita income being so low, I was surprised to see so many shops with high prices in this mall. I suppose there is money being spent in Honduras, although most of it is held by a small percent of the population.

We then made our way to the heart of every Central American town: the square. With the Cathedral on one end and City Hall on the other, the square is a place always filled with activity whether it is just a few men hanging around or children playing as they walk home from school. Tonight the square was filled with young men wearing soccer jerseys (maybe there was a game?), old men discussing life, and a small band complete with couples dancing. The cathedral had a full house for mass.

As the sun set completely behind the mountains, it was time to seek out some Honduran dinner fare, but first it was a stop to see if we could tell Lesly, Christian's fiancee, hello. Luckily, Lesly was able to leave her job at The Gran Hotel Sula and join us.

After an evening out we have returned to the Hilton for a night of sound sleep. I say that, but I am filled with nervousness and anxiety about what the rest of the week will hold.

The past few months we have been "safely" working towards adoption. The home study and collecting the numerous documents needed were the first steps and they were rather painless, despite being time consuming. Today we have entered into a phase of the process in which we are vulnerable. But I know that you don't get anywhere in life without putting yourself out there and taking a risk. So here we go...