The mayor has been drunk all week. The doctor hasn’t shown up once. There’s a women up in the mountain that fell and hasn’t stopped convulsing since but her family refuses to take her to get help because they’re too poor and no one of authority is around to help. Also somewhere up in the mountain this week a 7 year girl died from malnutrition. A few weeks ago a women was carried into town macheted into pieces by her bolo husband and this week only there has been at least 4 other cases of domestic violence mostly involving machetes and drunks as well.
“¿Cuando va a salir San Miguelito de los atrasos?” asked Carmen Nora as we stood outside of the municipality building. When is San Miguelito going to leave from the setbacks? We were waiting to crash a town meeting to make one last effort to request municipality support for our project to reduce maternal mortality, after being lied to and ignored. We weren’t asking for money, just support…to help prevent preventable deaths, you wouldn’t think it would be so hard. “C’mon lets get out of here, I hate that mayor”, snapped Carmen Nora. “Well, let’s just see if the meetings going to happen whether he shows up or not.” I’m trying to stay positive and encourage persistency, but I’m feeling rather apathetic as well.
But the meeting was going to happen. I networked to get the students the floor first since they needed to get back to class although I had to deal with a slimy hand on my leg and a few other advances later from the facilitator for this. “La gringita muy linda la más bella en Honduras, me gustaria vistarte en tu casa me esperas esta noche” ewh puke. “Okay Nora, go talk.” She doesn’t know it but Carmen Nora’s my favorite. She is from the most stubborn and ignorant community but she’s serious beyond her years, intelligent, and compassionate. She got up in front of everyone and persisted in her request for support, creatively backing up her requests despite resistance from everyone and negative comments from the ex-mayor who is also a drunk. She defended herself causing the ex-mayor to storm out leaving everyone else trying to hide their smiles. She won over the facilitator for this. “We have to support those youths they´re trying to do something!” he said after she left. “If we can’t support the younger generation and their efforts we´re better off dousing ourselves in gasoline and lighting the match!” No better words could have been said (without pissing off anyone) since self-destruction is the direction this town seems to be heading.
Saturday, May 26, 2007
Tuesday, May 8, 2007
Super bolo Sunday
La Esperanza proudly touts the title “the bolo capital of Honduras” (bolo en ingles: piss-assed drunk man.) As you might imagine, this combined with Honduras recently named the most dangerous country in Latin America, I feel pretty bad-ass. I’ve seen one bola (drunk woman) in my year here, women generally don’t drink. Bolos are also generally poor yet who choose too spend their little money on alcohol, rather than their families. But anyhow, let me take you on a field trip of the mind so you for yourself can understand how La Esperanza has earned such a respectful title.
La Esperanza is the capital of Intibucá and is more or less the only town in the department that is not dry (sell or consumption of alcohol prohibited). Picture yourself on a Sunday morning in this chilly city amidst the buzzing local indigenous culture, out-of-town day trippers, and a few foreign visitors here and there. As always there is a feel of oppression about which exists on a greater level and is something I can't explain or understand. Pickups full of people from the campo are piling into the capital city to pile up on goods before midday when all will shut down. There’s a hunger for something in the air…you feel it first and then you spot them; nicely tucked neon colored shirts, beady darting eyes, salivating…for something. They dash into the side street shops and as swiftly as they entered they exit, bag in hand. Guaro, sweet guaro, precious nectar you are all mine! O Liter of salvation to which I shall devote my weekly earnings... Actually guaro is awful, it’s very strong (but cheap!) grain alcohol which requires numbed oral sensation to swallow and need we mention delivers terrible hangovers.
But now fast forward 1-2 hours: you drift along the now less crowded, almost empty streets of Intibucá’s capital. Be sure to glimpse the ground in front of you ever so often to be sure to step over the passed-out bolo in your path – careful not to trip. Dwell not at any street corner for too long to avoid wear-inspiring bolo banter. And beware of flying bolos being dispatched from the beds of passing pickups. Extra caution for flying bolo excrement. But don’t let it get you down, it’s not all bad, you sometimes get lucky and find yourself witness to most excellent bolo behavior like two bolos making-out or a profound conversation between a bolo and an inanimate object (I saw a trash can once). Yessirree it is definitely Super Bolo Sunday.
La Esperanza is the capital of Intibucá and is more or less the only town in the department that is not dry (sell or consumption of alcohol prohibited). Picture yourself on a Sunday morning in this chilly city amidst the buzzing local indigenous culture, out-of-town day trippers, and a few foreign visitors here and there. As always there is a feel of oppression about which exists on a greater level and is something I can't explain or understand. Pickups full of people from the campo are piling into the capital city to pile up on goods before midday when all will shut down. There’s a hunger for something in the air…you feel it first and then you spot them; nicely tucked neon colored shirts, beady darting eyes, salivating…for something. They dash into the side street shops and as swiftly as they entered they exit, bag in hand. Guaro, sweet guaro, precious nectar you are all mine! O Liter of salvation to which I shall devote my weekly earnings... Actually guaro is awful, it’s very strong (but cheap!) grain alcohol which requires numbed oral sensation to swallow and need we mention delivers terrible hangovers.
But now fast forward 1-2 hours: you drift along the now less crowded, almost empty streets of Intibucá’s capital. Be sure to glimpse the ground in front of you ever so often to be sure to step over the passed-out bolo in your path – careful not to trip. Dwell not at any street corner for too long to avoid wear-inspiring bolo banter. And beware of flying bolos being dispatched from the beds of passing pickups. Extra caution for flying bolo excrement. But don’t let it get you down, it’s not all bad, you sometimes get lucky and find yourself witness to most excellent bolo behavior like two bolos making-out or a profound conversation between a bolo and an inanimate object (I saw a trash can once). Yessirree it is definitely Super Bolo Sunday.
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