LAUDATO SI
When I saw Erlinda, the still center in the swirling caos at the overflowing house of Jovany, who had just been murdered the night before at a “fiesta” (that Chemo also attended!), the fatal blow a machete chop to the neck, Erlinda holding Daisy, Jovany’s wife, a full nine-months pregnant due any day, any hour! Erlinda rocking Daisy, fanning her, briskly (she’d already fainted twice), giving her a cup of water, while crowds of mourners, some screaming like banshees, others pushing and shoving to see the patched-up corpse in the rough casket, with busy women already in the tiny kitchen making pans of coffee, and uncomprehending kids still playing in the dusty street of Paraiso, that’s when I decided to swallow my pride and put out the call that I had been delaying for months, and so I posted:
I had forgotten to mention her crocheting, a constant handiwork, including her hat in the photo!
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Some generous money started coming in, and I know there were prayers and wishes, too, that I could “see” in my mind’s eye. Erlinda, of course, is beside herself, to think she still has such faithful friends in the USA!
Other celebrations include the birthdays of two of Erlinda’s grandchildren, her daughter Maricela’s sons Juan Jose, 18, and Miguel Angel, 11, sharing a gorgeous cake designed by Carlota, both names entwined.
A spontaneous celebration began with a cry—when just about midnight Fermin’s daughter Esly, 19, and I were sitting across the dinner table from each other with our computers fired up. I was on FACEBOOK, and I assumed she was, too, since she posts a lot. Suddenly, she yelped and burst into tears. “Oh! Oh! Oh!” Actually scared me! “Mommy! Mommy! Come here! Please, please, please, Mommy!” Maria, her mother, and Fermin had gone to bed two hours before, but she kept calling. I asked what’s going on; she couldn’t even talk! I thought someone died, maybe her new and wonderful boyfriend was hurt—or was telling her to get lost. Finally, she jumped up from the table and rushed to her parents’ bedroom door and started knocking. I had to look; I turned her computer around and…what is this? Ah! It’s the National University website, telling Esly Caballero Marroquin that she had successfully passed the Entrance Exam! Then I had to cry! She had been, as it were, “hacking” into the webpage to get the results the very first moment they were available at midnight. Just think, in all ways a typical teen, but far more polished and self-aware and accomplished than most, her biggest wish was not for a bunch of money or anything material, but simply the opportunity to continue her education, after already having two intermediate degrees since high school. Maria, nor Fermin, ever did get all the way up; they did all their hugging and more crying in private. But I got my own chance to hug her and congratulate her. She closed up the computer: “I gotta go to bed.” I doubted she could sleep, as excited as she was, and I do imagine she was in her room on her cell phone, messaging friends with the good news. The next day, I went looking for a little present. I found a fancy ball-point pen at the “Unicentro” store, got it wrapped, with a card. And asked her to pose for a picture.
Then there was Nangui’s birthday. I wanted to celebrate, but I didn’t want to meddle. He’s probably the most popular person in El Progreso, so we just had a pizza party for lunch at his mom’s house, because he’d be “busy” in the evening! But we combined the event with his little nephew Yimi (“Jimmy”), who was turning 5, and neighbor Adelmo, who was turning 21.
We returned to Progreso just a week later for “Opening Night” of the new soccer season, a much anticipated match-up between Honduras-Progreso (HNP) and Real Espana of San Pedro Sula, nicknamed “La Maquina” (“the machine”). When I saw that 18 of 19 staff writers for the national sports paper “Diez” predicted a victory for Real Espana, I KNEW Honduras-Progreso would win! The game was in San Pedro, at Olympic Stadium, newly painted and refurbished for the national team’s run to the 2016 World Cup in Russia, pretty intimidating, you might say. A more direct harassment was the confiscation at the gate of any HNP fan jerseys, including Chemo’s that we had just bought for 200 Lempiras (10 bucks). Luckily, a few guys with our group had an extra shirt, so Chemo didn’t have to go in naked!
There was a small crowd, but the “Mega-Lokos” cheering section of Real Espana was out in force. They expected a quick and easy victory, but just seven minutes into the game, their star player deflected an HNP kick into his own goal! Took the air out of the stadium. Now, I sensed the deflation, but I didn’t realize till a day later that it was an own-goal. That’s how much attention I was paying! (My excuse to Chemo, who thought I was the dumbest fan on the planet, is, we were sitting about half a kilometer from the field, I couldn’t even see who was who.) As the game was about to end with a 2-1 win for Honduras-Progreso, the Mega-Lokos started a bonfire. “They’re burning our shirts!” Actually, it’s probably better that none of us self-identified as HNP fans as we left the stadium; there could have been real trouble, the Real Espana fans were so mad. The word I kept hearing was “Mierda!” So we got back on the team bus as quietly and quickly as possible and got the heck outta there. Back in Progreso, we celebrated with baleadas at Nangui’s wife street-corner stand.
This CASA is a little late, because I was hoping to report on Daisy’s baby, but she is still un-delivered at this point. Due dates are very approximate in Honduras, but of course we are worried that her husband Jovany’s murder is threatening more damage yet to the family…. So please keep her and her child in your heart. And if anyone can bring this to a healthy birth, it will be Erlinda, so thanks again for loving her, too.
In fact, may I say, “Bless you”? whether from God or your own goodness. I’m taking a cue from Pope Francis’ so-called “green” encyclical “Laudato Si” (“Praise be!”). The long first chapter is all climate-change science, no mention of God at all, but gently focused on irreducible human dignity, especially of the poor. Then, almost apologizing for “the convictions of believers,” he expresses the hope that “science and religion can enter into an intense dialogue fruitful to both,” based on mutual respect. Thus begins the gorgeous second chapter, “The Gospel of Creation.” Not unlike the Alcoholics Anonymous chapters on one’s “Superior Power,” so compelling a testimony, both inspired by what one might call the “science” of experience.
Love, Miguel
