ESTA ES SU CASA--FEBRUARY 2015

ESTA ES SU CASA--FEBRUARY 2015

JE SUIS NANGUI

I felt a twinge of deja vu as we walked past Ramon Rosa park in El Progreso after Nangui’s team Honduras-Progreso beat Marathon 3-1. “That’s where it all began, all those years ago.” And then it hit me, I’m with the same family that began it! Wow! Thirty-seven years collapsed into a single moment. 

You see, my first time in Honduras, in 1977, I was getting my shoes shined twice a day by the ‘lustrabotas’ in the park, just to practice my Spanish. Julio, about 10 years old, seemed to be the leader of the little squad. Through him, I met his family, including his sister Santa, who eventually grew up to become the mother of Jorge, nicknamed Nangui, now at 28 years old the star of the Honduras-Progreso soccer team, taking the league by storm in their first year of professional play. 

I guess sort of the way J.K. Rowling says all 7 installments of “Harry Potter” hit her all at once, the whole history flashed before my eyes in an instant, including Julio’s violent death in the streets of El Progreso in 1989, just when his future looked brightest. Overcome, I grasped Santa’s hand. She looked at me, like, What the heck is the matter with you! “I was just thinking.” Then we proceeded to the corner where Nangui’s wife Marta has a stand, about 15 of us family and friends, for baleadas, to celebrate the victory that solidified Honduras-Progreso’s first-place status. 

This was our second game in a week. We went to San Pedro Sula the previous Saturday for the first game of the new season, facing a strong team named “Vida.” 

The evening in San Pedro was not promising. The old stadium looked more like a latrine than a sports facility. A rainy day had left the unkempt field so muddy that after a while you could barely tell which team was which. Huddled in the mist and cold, we were a mere handful of fans, basically just the 40 or so that could fit on a bus from Progreso provided by the team. 

But the team came from behind for a thrilling 3-2 victory. Calling a play, even our head coach Wilmer Cruz slipped in the mud, and was helped up by a Vida player, a nice gesture. And among the small crowd was the most important observer of all, Jorge Pinto, the new head coach of the ‘seleccion,’ the Honduras national team that hopes to compete in the next World Cup, Russia 2018. Sort of like Whitey Herzog, from what I can tell, he likes players that really hustle! So naturally his attention was drawn to Nangui, who, according to La Prensa, is “un escurridizo para los defensores,” because he speeds through defenders like a buzz saw! Pinto came to their next game, too, the one we attended in El Progreso, where the overflow crowd of almost 2000 had to impress him too. The next day, Nangui was on Pinto’s list of about 30 players to try out for the ‘seleccion.’ And after three days of drills, Nangui made the team!

I can’t assume you are a big fan of international soccer, but you might get a chance to see Nangui in action when the ‘seleccion’ plays in the United States in the coming months. I’ll let you know the details as soon as I hear. 

What more can I say? Sorry for gushing like this, but it’s just so phenomenal. From dirt poor to world class. Nangui grew up in a house the very definition of a SHACK. His mom Santa and dad Jorge both swear like sailors, but somehow Nangui remains soft-spoken and a gentleman, engaging the media like a pro. After a game, when he’s gone full-tilt and thrown himself around like rag doll, he cleans up and joins us at his wife Marta’s stand for baleadas. I was about to say, “win or lose,” but Honduras-Progreso has never lost at home! Then he might come back to the house for awhile, while I snap a few pictures. My favorite image of him is, later, just walking down the street into the dark, alone, to re-join Marta to help pack up her stand for the night. 

In a special moment, Honduras-Progreso visited Hogar Suyapa, a beautiful children’s home/orphanage that directed me back in 2007 to a very special person, Judge Wendy Padilla, to arrange my adoption of Chemo. You know what, why don’t you just go ahead and “Like” the team!

https://www.facebook.com/Club.Deportivo.Honduras.De.El.Progreso

In between Nangui’s games, Chemo and I “vacationed” in Morazan for a week with Fermin and Maria and the kids. We try to do this every January, before school starts again in February. Fermin showed me the new light he had just installed in the front room, a fat fluorescent globe replacing a tiny neon tube that had lasted since they moved into the house 20 years ago! It looked somehow...strange. Indeed, the next morning, when we flipped it on, it short-circuited! Fermin spent the whole  day in the crawlspace between the ceiling and the roof sorting things out. I was scared to death he’d electrocute himself, so I started praying a very quiet rosary. Maria, more practical, went to get some help from the local utility, ENEE. Two guys showed up--with tools!--and climbed the nearest pole and cut and twisted and connected wires till power was restored. Fermin emerged covered with 20 years of dirt, dust, and grime from head to foot, smeared with sweat. When I lifted my camera, he said, “No, Miguel! No pictures! We don’t want to remember this!” 

But we did have some experiences worth remembering, including Eduard’s 21st birthday. We splurged at the Supermercado Marquez to get all the fixin’s for a big barbecue, including three kinds of meat: chorizo, chicken, and strips of beef. Maria, with help from her sister Arlin and sister-in-law Concha, made a big batch of chimol (a delicious relish) and other side dishes; and we got everyone’s favorite party cake, “tres leches.” I asked Eduard if he was inviting any friends. “Just one,” he smiled. His girlfriend, Evelin! I had to pay for everything, not because I HAD to, but because I wanted to, for all their goodness to me and Chemo. 

And Chemo and I “had” to go to Tegucigalpa for Mema’s birthday! We took her and Elio to Mirawa for lunch, the best Chinese in the city, along with their son Elio, Jr., and two grandsons. I love seeing Mema’s smile! No one is more grateful for even the smallest gift. The “official” birthday party in the evening started with Mass at the little church by their house, where Padre Ovidio, a lifelong friend, was also overcome with gratitude for Mema’s wonderful life. Then the feast, and the dancing, and the singing. 

Birthdays are so precious, not least because not everybody gets one. Yessica, the girlfriend of Chemo’s younger brother Markitos, lost their baby in a miscarriage, about 3 months gestation. Markitos was not home with her when it happened; he was visiting his and Chemo’s mother Rufina, at the other end of the country in Santa Barbara. But Yessica’s mother was there to help her through the experience. Markitos arrived the next day, and Chemo and I the day after that. Cautiously, I invited them to Pizza Hut, as usual; and it seemed to help restore some hope and some smiles. And with a million and a half “pilgrims” expected to visit the Basilica very close to Yessica and Markitos’ barrio in Tegucigalpa for the biggest feast of the year, Our Lady of Suyapa, they should be able to get some needed income when Yessica’s mother sets up a food booth and Markitos runs odd jobs. 

We almost thought maybe Beto of La Catorce, the blind young man we love and enjoy, would not make it to his next birthday when we heard he was hit by a motorcycle. It was dark (not a good time to be on the road, but Beto explains he was doing a favor for a friend); the motorcycle was “off,” so Beto couldn’t hear it (this I don’t get); and the “driver” was a TEACHER in the La Catorce school and he was DRUNK! (OK, THAT explains it). Fortunately, Beto got only a cut on his forehead (4 stitches) and other scrapes and bruises but nothing too serious. Can you imagine! 

Well, I can imagine YOU have things to do, so let me sign off right now!

But not without thanking you again for your lovingkindness,

Miguel

ESTA ES SU CASA--JANUARY 2015

ESTA ES SU CASA--JANUARY 2015

A THRILL OF HOPE

If you’re pressed for time, skip this and read Mac McAuliffe’s blog. He’s offering a series of sketches from his visit here last October. I wish I could do it half as well!

http://macmca55.wordpress.com

NOTE: COMING TO YOU ‘LIVE’ FROM THE KIWI PASTELERIA IN YORO! 

Internet in Las Vegas is practically dead. Most of the time, I can’t read your e-mails, I can’t do FACEBOOK, I can’t see the score of a game. But, while looking for birthday cakes (see details below!), I found a little bakery in Yoro (2 hours by bus) that has Free Wireless! That’s where I am right now!!

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Christmas day is usually pretty quiet around here. All the festivities--the tamales, the soccer finals, the big Mass, as well as the binge drinking--happen on Christmas Eve. 

But this Christmas was even more still than usual, as we mourned the passing of Richard Cruz, 75. Frail, yes, but no one expected such a rapid descent in a single day, including his son Dennis, who had just arrived with his wife and their two little girls from San Pedro Sula a couple days before. And yet the timing was perfect, if one can say such a thing, 

So early Christmas morning, I went over to the house, at the farthest end of town, where the road disappears into the woods, prepared to spend the day. Richard’s wife Melania was steady as she greeted friends and neighbors. Dennis was on the phone rounding up volunteers to “open” the grave. Four other brothers were already on their way from San Pedro, due to arrive about noon. Lola, the only daughter, was organizing a group of women serving coffee and rolls. Cristina Castro led the praying of a Rosary with her own special commentary on its “mysteries.” She reminded everyone that Richard had been a tailor; as a former teacher, she had seen his fine work in hundreds of her students’ uniforms (this included Pablito and Chepito when I got them into school years ago); he charged so little, anyone could afford him. 

Then Richard’s father arrived! Chaguito, 108 years old, the same Chaguito who buried another elderly son back in February. Now as then, Chaguito cried more than anyone, shaking all over. They brought him in and got the most comfortable chair for him, lined with pillows, where he sat for at least three hours. Imagine! For a father, your son is always your baby, no matter how old he is. 

I get all sentimental, I know, but it seemed somehow lovely that, as the angels called the shepherds to find the Baby Jesus in Bethlehem, so Richard, a man so humble he would apologize even for taking your measurements, was called to the same Christmas scene in heaven. 

There are other events, of course, that don’t need a twist of irony to redeem them. 

Birthday parties, for example!

Mariana Teresa (“Marite”) turned 4 on December 2; she always gets a cake and party, we make sure of that! since her mother Maricela named her for my sister Mary Anne. Chemo’s little cousin Daguito likewise celebrated number 4, on December 22, with his first cake ever. Usually, the family has already gone off to pick coffee in El Transito, where in fact Daguito was born. Also enjoying her first cake, Daguito’s grandmother Natalia. About time! She turned 65 on December 1. She’s Chemo’s grandmother, too, and I call her “mommy” every morning when I ask for a blessing, so I don’t know what took me so long! And Ery turned 27 on December 30; with Down Syndrome, it’s a real milestone. His best gift was the arrival of his sister Angelita from Mexico, where she has been preparing for several years now for a legal entry into the United States--as a Mexican citizen! 

One birthday passed without a cake, Chemo’s late father Juan de la Cruz, born December 1, 1944. He died years before Chemo came into my life, so the only picture we have of him is his national I.D. card, issued when he was 18; the photo is the exact image of his other son Markitos, who is 18 now himself. In a quick visit to Tegucigalpa to renew my own Honduran I.D., we “celebrated” Markitos’ girlfriend Yessica’s pregnancy, with an August due date. Oh boy! I am just so grateful that Chemo still mostly loves soccer and music! And clothes. I had Ostin, the tailor who had tried to interest Chemo in the profession, make Chemo a nice pair of pants for Christmas. And do you know, he did not even charge me! Such a lovely present! I tried to return the favor at least a little with a nice picture of him holding his new baby boy. 

Daguito’s family finally packed up and headed to El Transito December 27. The other half of Chemo’s family, Alba and Santos and their kids, had already gone off December 13. The whole town of Las Vegas is depleted in these days, though for Christmas at least an equal number of folks come back for the holidays. 

Including Padre Manuel from El Salvador. I really thought we’d never see him again when he left in August, entrusting the parish to Padre Chepito, our very first “native-born” priest from our own mountains. Manuel was genuinely thrilled you could see, to be celebrating Christmas “Midnight” Mass (6:00 p.m), and we were excited to see him. You know, there’s sort of an undercurrent of criticism making the rounds, that Padre Chepito is just not measuring up, specifically his preaching. One person said, “Chepito me duerme” (“Chepito puts me to sleep.”). Cristina Castro, who is a fiery preacher herself when she gets going, even when she’s talking about something as simple as the Rosary, said much the same thing: “I like some fire in a sermon; Chepito is like water.” I don’t know what to say. I love Chepito’s humble, sincere, deliberate “style,” if that’s what we’re calling it. 

The whole purpose of the “foreign” missionaries--from Missouri, California, Spain, Canada, or even El Salvador like Padre Manuel--was to build up the “local” church to take care of itself. Now we don’t like the “new wine”? As Jesus himself experienced, Chepito is a “prophet without honor” in his own home town. I usually feel like crying tears of thankfulness just to see this man, against all odds, finding his vocation as a priest in a backward land where I can’t even get Chemo through seventh grade after three tries, in a country where a child dies by violence every 24 hours. He’s our own Cure d’Ars. Who cares what he says! It’s a miracle that he’s here at all! Pope Francis warned in his “Joy of the Gospel” not to look for “star power” in a preacher; just let Jesus come through. 

So Padre Chepito did more First Communions, baptisms, weddings, to round out 2014, the blessed work of a pastor. 

And then, you know what, on New Year’s Eve, Padre Chepito seemed to come into his own. The church was full to overflowing, and even the drunks who had wandered in were attentive. The music was exquisite, our little choir bolstered by Elvis and Dora’s daughters Lily and Neysey, on break from the university. Chepito’s preaching was the same as always, but somehow tonight it touched a chord; so when he invited another young man, Obed, who will be entering the major seminary in February, to come up and say a few words, Chepito’s own love of his vocation came flowing out. At that point, Cristina Castro came forward and asked for the mike, to praise Chepito! “God must love us very much to have given us this priest!” She had called him “water”; now she was baptizing him! And the whole church burst into applause.

I feel the same way. God must love me--and Chemo and all of us here--very much to have given us your friendship and love. And any donations to the “Birthday Project” would be icing on the cake! 

Love, Miguel