ESTA ES SU CASA--DECEMBER 2014
THE FORGIVING TREE
Ferguson dominates the news here as much as there, and everywhere. A cable channel in San Pedro Sula showed events live, including President Obama’s speech, reported by their correspondent in Ferguson itself. It’s even worse, in Spanish. My own “plan”--hardly original with me--is forgiveness. It’s the only thing that actually changes reality. I suppose faith makes it more plausible, but I don’t even think believing in God is relevant when you’re bridging the gap that artist Bob Staake, married to a best friend of my sister Barb, portrayed on the cover of THE NEW YORKER.
Honduras made its own international news, disgracing itself with the murder of Maria Jose Alvarado, our contestant for the Miss World competition in London this week. A beautiful young woman from the humblest of origins, she celebrated at a party with her sister Sofia, whose boyfriend killed them both when he saw his “girl” dancing with another man. His defense is as ugly as his crime: “She’s my lover, not my wife; I’ve got a wife, and a son; that’s what we do here.” Turns out he’s deeply connected with drug trafficking, and it’s not his first “hit.” Apparently his higher-ups reassured him, so now he’s denying everything, even though police say he’s the one who showed them where the bodies were buried, in a shallow grave by the river. “Miss Honduras Mundo” had told us that her theme for London would be the good things about Honduras, its natural beauty, its lovely people, its welcoming heart. Forgive? No one said it was easy!
So now it’s up to me, I guess, to be the bearer of good news.
Maybe a low bridge under water and blocked by a huge trunk of tree doesn’t sound like good news, but willing and timely cooperation to open the way is worth celebrating. By the time my bus to Yoro got to the bridge, one strong man was already hacking away at the thing with an ax. The rest of us started piling the biggest rocks we could carry, to reinforce the access, washed away by the flood. I assumed it was hopeless, but the folks here have more experience with the impossible, and it worked!
My soccer team, Honduras-Progreso (HNP), made it to the playoffs in their first year in the national League. I went to to Progreso for their final game of the regular season, a rowdy contest with red and yellow cards flying, but the crowd was most thrilled by Jorge ‘Nangui’ Cardona’s first goal of the season. It’s not just my own bias, since I’ve known his family since 1977; he’s everyone’s favorite! Absolutely fearless, he’s in the middle of every play, and big scorers like Angel Tejeda, who leads the league with 12 goals, credit Nangui with their success. Nangui never “flops”; knock him down, he’s up before you’ve run away. But when a sharp elbow to the face cut him below his right eye, I thought he was done. Nope--they put a patch on it and he finished the game, a 3-3 tie, after which he got 5 stitches!
The doctor told Nangui couldn’t play for at least a week. ‘Squeeze me? He was there in their first playoff game, in Tocoa, 4 days later, untouchable. But HNP lost that “away” game in heavy rain, 1-0. And even though they won the “home” game in Progreso the following Saturday, coming from behind again and again with a flurry of goals, 4-3, it wasn’t enough, in the arcane measurements of soccer, to qualify for the quarter-finals. Well, there’s always next...month. The new season will be starting before you know it, with two championships per calendar year.
It’s time for a number of end-of-the-year activities. For example, graduations. Milena, daughter of Maricela and Juan Blas, graduated from her computer course, an innovative combination of technical skills and group activities. The students do Windows...and sharing! It’s a program I would love Chemo to do next year.
Elvis and Dora’s daughter Dorita graduated from 9th grade, with a brand-new version of the plaque that commemorates the event, now featuring the student’s name! Also, their son Elvis, Jr., (“Tito”) graduated with a degree in Arts & Letters from the bachillerato in Victoria. His picture looks like he’s coming from Harvard!
But I was the photographer of record for the little kindergarten class of La Laguna, a tiny mountain village a three-hour hike away. Five boys and girls and their teacher, they couldn’t afford a “professional.” They all arrived with their mom or dad, nervously fingering some cash. “What will you charge?” Oh, please! “Nada!” The “set” included the group photo and an individual photo, each student with the teacher.
There were baptisms in Las Vegas and First Communion in Paraiso, both with Padre Chepito, who is so gracious with the children. I only wish we could make a bigger deal of it, you know, a “reception following” kind of thing. Just no money for such luxuries.
A soccer tournament in Las Vegas brought teams from all around the area. When Nahum scored the first goal in the home team’s tense game with Pueblo Nuevo, one drunk fan rushed onto the field with his machete, seeking to even the score. The Pueblo Nuevo team quickly surrounded him before he could do any violence, and led him off the field. A forfeit was discussed, but eventually the game was played to its conclusion, 1-0. Even rivals can agree on something.
November 2, “All Souls Day,” is just a sweet tradition to remember our dear departed. Folks arrive at our cemetery, some as early as dawn, to decorate the graves with flowers, plants, pine needles, maybe a new cross or marker. Right at the entrance is a bump of ground for our “angelitos,” persons who died in infancy.
The newest grave is Dona Elba Barahona, 83 years old. And you know what? I’ve known her almost half her life! Back in the day, her husband Vicente owned the only car in town, and he’d make a run to Victoria every morning at 6:00 a.m. for whoever needed to go. A little crowd would gather at his house, watching and praying the engine would turn over when he’d crank it up. Of course, if it had rained during the night, the river would rise and you couldn’t get through--maybe tomorrow. Vicente died a couple years ago, but Elba held on. What a dear! A whole family of teachers and professionals, not to mention all the grandkids, including one, Ariel Dubon, who is a male model for fancy clothing stores in Tegucigalpa. And the great-grandkids, how lucky they were to know and love her.
For a few days there, it looked as if Manuel would be the next to go. He was in worse condition than ever, all but abandoned, it seems, by his family, who appropriated for themselves the “bonus” the government gave to the handicapped a couple months ago, leaving him unfed, unkempt, stinking in his own urine-soaked pants. We run a routine whenever he comes: soup, soda, and rolls. I send off some available kid to the nearest store, while I start heating the water, and give Manuel his pill to curtail the seizures.
When we found him curled up in the street at 5:00 one morning as rain started to fall, we hustled him to the porch of the as-yet-unoccupied house next door. He revived a little with the soup-soda-rolls, and I was on the verge right then and there of going to Victoria to tell the police to come and make his family take responsibility. But then, a miracle--maybe, keep your fingers crossed--his father Renan, most often the drunkest of the drunk, showed up, sat with him for a while, and eventually led him home.
A couple days later I saw Manuel clean and dressed and alert, “shopping” at a little store for juice and cookies. “Wait for your change,” said Mirna, the owner.
A few months ago, my dear friend Paige asked me to join a group she had formed to write daily scripture commentaries to assist preachers and pastors who might be looking for ideas. It’s called “Daily Bread.” The catch: no more than 145 words. If you read these CASAs, you know that is practically impossible for me! But I’m doing it and I’m loving it. I also post them on FACEBOOK. Attached is a sample. (Sorry, it’s kinda “religious”!)
Wishing you all the best for the holidays, may there be peace in our hearts and in our world. Your love has certainly made our lives here more beautiful.
Love, Miguel
