Where I run too..

La Cumbre San Lucas:





































10.17.07_PEDM_plan estrategia del Municipio

Yesterday was the meeting to discuss the PEDM with local representatives from the aldeas of Cabañas. The reunion was held in the church. Elma and I were there early, to arrange the chairs, set up, place some flowers. The other young lady, Dalila, from la comision de la transparencia was also there early to help setup. She’s very sweet as well. Has a nice face. She works all alone in la comision, and so I told her I would stop by and see if there was anything at all I might be able to help her with. The meeting was very long, and I’m not sure just how productive it was either…it seems the representatives from the patronatos are not much for words, or group work, or digesting new information and processing it in a critical way, which was basically what the facilitators were asking them to do. But the open discussion part fell unexpected upon the part of the patronatos. The meeting itself was part of a process to create a PEDM that was democratic, that included the voice and or opinion of the people, but this meeting seemed empty of all things passionate and opinionated. For some…perhaps I am wrong, er I hope I am, but I can’t be sure. It just seemed to be so superficial, or non-result-producing.
More than half of the men left after lunch. The few women that were there came with their children, and they all stayed till the end. It was hard to know if they came only for the food. (Which seems to be a common crime here among campesinos who go to reunions.) They are not motivated, and in all honesty we have to ask, why should they be? Its not as if there has been great results in their life times, there is a simple life and hard work, slow paced work, because why work faster when it will always be there, and the results are no different whether you do things slowly or with vigor.

During the reunion, I was a quote-un-quote faciladora, but I really felt in no position to instruct the campesinos about anything, esp. about their aldeas and their casarias in their communities. I know much less then they do about their own surrounding. The problem was, I knew much better how to follow instructions and fill out questioners, in other words, how to be a student. Therefore, between the two of our skill sets, there was a chasm that prevented total comprehension or progress.

10. 19.07_CUTS to remember
Today was a good Honduran day. It started off with hot water and sunshine. (It had been a long 3 days without either) Then a bus ride to Sta Rita where we got a jálon to Jaral, where there was a reunion de capacitation in the centro commercial, which is muy muy bonita. The coffee and cakes, almuerzo, and helado where all good, but most of all, the lecture was great! This was due to the passion and intelligence of the speaker, a man from la comisión de la transparencia in Sta. Rosa. He spoke to us about auditing of the ERP funds, in other words, the battle against corruption! It’s true that this is just beginning, the idea of transparencia, the idea of truly effective and honest democracy, and it’s great to be a part of it, despite seeing the long long dry, er rather washed away road ahead!
After the reunion, Elma and I joined Patí for our joint haircuts! I’ve never gotten such a quick cut! The poqueña muchacha just sprayed, combed, and snipped, snipped, without a second thought. I thought about a US haircut for a woman that can cost as much as $200, which would come to about 3,600 Limperas—an amount that would leave me homeless and starved. The lady didn’t do a totally terrible job…I wouldn’t say it was a good job either…but it certainly was corte! Patí got her hair chopped after me, and I have to say, the same quick scissor action took place, and patí didn’t seemed too phased about it…though I can’t say I liked the results of her haircut either… but then again, I did say 3,600 limperas for a gringa cut...



10.24.07__uncomfortable places without luz
I had my first religious experience in Honduras. It was inevitable and honestly, necessary. In a country where the religious influence is deafening (literally if you are speaking of the Evangelical branch) it was foolish of me to try to avoid it no matter what my own religious belief’s are or aren’t. That said, I’m not looking to embrace it at every oportunidad, but I am trying my hardest to not be judgmental. This is hard to do. Mostly, I just bite my tongue (if I could articulate my thoughts in spanish that is…and my thoughts in english I must bite as well.)
I was invited over to mi compañera de trabajo Elma’s house for la cena de tamales. That day we held the 2nd taller (workshop) of the PEDM with the patronatos and various representatives of the community. I have to say that I felt this taller was much more successful than the previous, in that the people seemed to understand a bit better what was going on, even if the majority did not pay much attention to the overall proceso, or rather the entire front end of the presentation that Suyapa from Visión Mundial gave for the second time to almost the same crowd. Even though the number of campesinos this time around had doubled and we all suspected for reasons of food and not for reasons of community investment. After almuerzo, we broke into 4 groups and did a practice worksheet of what the community representatives will have to do in las asembleas comunitarias in the weeks that come. I’m excited because I get to go out into each of the communities and assist in this process! Each group needed to fill out a form including dates and names, and then the groups had to prioritize the needs of the community, and come up with types of projects that their communities might execute to fix the problems. A few observations: besides lack of a decent level of literacy among the group, there was the confusion over certain aspects of critical thinking. Such as: the difference between a problem, a necessity, and a type of project that might offer a solution to the prior-mentioned problems of the communities. There was high comprehension of what problems existed or rather, what the community was missing, what was broken, what was beyond repair…(such as the road outta town)but not such a high level of comprehension for how to resolve such problems. This idea of critical thinking brings me back to my religious experience…sin luz…
At la casa de Elma, after our light cena of tamales y café eaten in oscuridad broken only by the flame of a candle solita and the low glow of the fogon’s fire, people began to filter in for the night’s festivities. Elma informed me that a church group was coming, but I did not really know what that meant, only that there would be cake de tres leche, the only kind of postre I’ve eaten in Honduras, humido y very sweet. When I entered the salon adjacent to la cocina, the band had arrived—two guitars, one base, a violin, and a tambourine. The instruments were larger then some of the players who played them. The song began, upbeat and high pitched and all the gatherers in the room began to clap and sing along to a song of jesus that I surely had never heard before. After a few songs, people began to pray, but I must describe this prayer because I have never experienced anything like it. Near the end of the song, a few strums vibrating every couple of seconds, the candlelight’s flickering, the rain still falling, the people bending to their knees, the night’s cold slowly creeping in, the voices began to rise. They rose in prayers, prayers like cries, cries out to a Señor who was being thanked, being begged for relief, for help, for understanding, for an end to the pain that was dictating the desperate pitch to their cries. After 5 minutes they did not subside, nor after ten, for more than twenty minutes every voice in the room was relentlessly rising and falling, following invisible lines that supposedly rose to open ears in the heavens. The night continued in a rhythmic and repetition fashion of song, prayer, and reflection. The reflection, or rather biblical interpretation is what struck me. After reading a section from the bible the leader of the session would ask someone to interpret that passage he’d read, or perhaps a single palabre from within the passage. What was the significance?—he’d ask. I was shocked to hear peoples’ voices, which I’ve never heard speak before, volunteer boldly their thoughts. These interpretations were insightful, heartfelt, and intelligent. They could read this one book, they could think about it critically, they could speak their minds about it. This one obra was the class they had studied for during their entire lives. I was especially pleased to hear the voices of the women, rich in opinion. Their voices came out clear and loud and without an ounce of pena. I was relieved in one moment, then shaken and frightened the next. When their prayers would start to come out more violent and intense and chaotic all I could do was clench my eyes, my face facing the ground, and tunnel myself into a safe place and hope it would be over soon. When the very final session of prayer came I could not help but feel pain and sorrow and the awe of a subdued freight. I itched to leave once we were all upon our feet again. Part of me felt like a traitor, or intruder upon their personal releases; however, I was glad to have had the opportunity to understand a slight shred better what they needed to live. All the social restrictions of their sexes and their economic classes were shed in this evening, and their own self-expression came from both a dark place in their hearts, and a bright place in their hopes. I’m not sure when I will opt to partake in another such evening, but I will never forget the ceremony I was part of. What is a normal, everyday kind of ritual for my fellow community members of Cabañas, was for me, a somewhat cultish ceremony from an ancient time passed. I left Elma’s house half frozen, the luz still had not returned, and thus I made my way home by the power of the moon.