 HONDURAS JOURNALS
Photography by Steve Wallstrom
Journals by James Mallory
Honduras is described as the poorest country in Central America though what little they have is distributed more equally than the surrounding nations. Compared to Guatemala, where a large portion of the population still retain their pure Mayan blood, Honduras is also much more racially uniform. 90% of the people here fall under the broad category of Meztizos or mixed Spanish/ Indian blood. In stark contrast to this majority, the Garifunas who trace their ancestry from African immigrants of the slave trade, sprinkle the Northern Coast.
Arriving in the coastal town of Tela, the culture of Honduras does a complete 180 from the rest of Latin America. The quiet and timid curiosity common among the indigenous people is replaced with a confident and brash African personality. A traveler is more likely to hear a 'wassup bro' than an 'hola'. Am I in Compton or Honduras? With backwards bandanas, tilted ball caps and gangster rap throbbing from the cars the similarities are striking. Loud and boisterous, even the humor has a different feel. I wonder how much of their culture results from American influence through TV and movies.
As two white guys puttering through the sandy streets in a very black town, the intimidation factor definitely inches up a few notches. At least in Mexico I've got a chance of blending in with brown eyes and dark hair. Around here all hope of concealment is lost as our pale faces contrast glaringly against the deep black surrounding us.
There is also a noticeable difference in the countenance of the random bystander. While most Latinos, and even more so the indigenous people, carry a relatively curious and mellow expression, the Garifuna look is much tougher. The average blank expression here says quite effectively "I have no fear of you and will not back down if provoked." Fortunately we've never tested this and found them friendly, helpful and ready with a smile if the situation calls for it.
 
Haiti provided a similar feel, though much stronger as the purely African culture lacked a Latino middle ground in the color scheme. Three years ago, foolishly stranded between the Haitian and Dominican border I understood the word 'minority' for the first time. Surrounded by an mob of angry Haitians demanding our passports and money, true fear began to seep through the cracks in our confidence. Figuring that my 6'4", 240lb friend would provide the necessary intimidation we traveled the country in naive confidence. Until we realized all to late this size advantage figured little into their considerations.
This situation relates back to more ill conceived recommendations from stateside acquaintances, such as "are you gonna carry a gun?" Lets say we were packing some heat, what then, we start blasting away at the locals and find ourselves in a Haitian prison for the next decade? Also, pulling a gun out as an idle threat would be just that, idle. Because they know you're going to hesitate to use the weapon while their decision making process would be decidedly shorter.
 The logical but unfortunate conclusion leaves the traveler quite powerless to forcefully defend yourself. Conversely, if we had given him our passports, God only knows the nightmare that would have ensued. Armed with such convictions we recruited the help of some traveling Dominicans who took pity on our situation. Speaking to us in Spanish, which we understood but the Haitians did not, they told us to hop on their motorcycles at the critical moment.
Appeasing the crowd with an unsigned travelers check we hoped on the bikes and made our break. With the disgruntled crowd left standing in the middle of the road we flew off towards the border. Never again will you find me attempting to cross a 'closed' border. Never the less, at least once in their lives everyone should experience the thrill of tasting minority life.
-JM
Semana Santa
Holy week in Latin America bears little resemblance to our stateside holidays. And the only aspect coming close to 'holy' is a few processions in the bigger cities. For the rest, Semana Santa is the biggest vacation of the year and is characterized by drinking, loud music and a fair share of violence. Last time I was in Central America around 250 people were killed in El Salvador during that single week. As can be imagined drunk drivers and anxious thieves make traveling a sporting affair so we chose to lie low on the island of Utila for a while.
-JM
 
The island of Utila
With the bikes safely stored in La Ceiba we disembarked for the Bay Islands for a week or so of volunteering and diving. The short respite from our motorcycles will provide pleasant contrast to the last 3 months. 8,000 miles so far, 1/3 finished according to our t-shirts. Though with two grammatical errors, (my utmost apologies) the shirts can hardly be trusted.
Before visiting a medical clinic, school, mission... in the Bay Islands we decided to take advantage of some of the worlds cheepest diving. Here Jim is picured laying on the dock after a morning dive in Utila. We highly recomend the Bay Islands College of Diving. photo by SW
Scuba diving in Utila is one of those rare instances when you absolutely must do something simply because it is such a screaming deal. $12 per dive with gear included firmly enthrones the island as the worlds cheapest diving location. Grounded in such logic we felt obliged to indulge in the only place we could afford such a luxury.
While the underwater sport holds little appeal for exercise and adrenaline, it does provide a glimpse into a spectacular world. Slipping through colors sharing no equal in the terrestrial regions, I laugh at the absurdity that this is all some fluke. If told to sit down and paint the most bizarre world possible, I couldn't match the creativity flowing from 30' stretch of reef. Fortunately the designer responsible for this splendor is of a slightly higher realm.
photo by SW
Small and relatively flat, life in Utila offers little outside the aquatic industry. Though what it lacks in diversity is more than offset by its location in the second largest coral reef system in the world. Well preserved and breathtaking, the island attracts a long list of foreigners found soaking in the 81 degree water. All would seem blissful and carefree until we lay down for our first night of fitful sleep.
Perhaps it was the unfortunate timing of Semana Santa, or Utila's history of late night parties, either way sleep was a merely an idea for much of the night. Throbbing music till 6 am and a thick battalion of sand flies left a strong conviction that the days of ghetto hotels were over. The prickly sensation of bug bites every 60 seconds is enough to drive the most resolute bargain hunter begging for the simple conveniences of insect screens and rotating fans. Upon sunrise, we painfully noted the 30 or so tiny biting flies infesting our tent. Never again.
Although this may look like a nice little hotel to spend time in, it's not. Another Latin American investment project gone bankrupt, this hotel (5 stories with a beautiful view of the Caribe) was infested with sand flies. These little pests that you can't see along with the bassed out music blaring till 6am inspired us to look elsewhere for a place to sleep.
Walking the island for hours in search of a vacant hotel we finally stumble upon a legitimate offer. Steve and I were fully prepared to forfeit our dives and head to the mainland to escape a repeat of last nights misery. Each person has situations that will drive them to ponder the very benefit of living, and for me it this. Hot humid weather and pestering bugs. If anything has been accomplished by traveling the north coast it is the affirmation that you will never find me residing in such a climate beyond a week or two. Perhaps time will wear away such convictions but for now, it is all I can fathom.
If you want to experience the full depth of Latin culture, plan your travels during Semana Santa. Every aspect is amplified times 10 as they blow off steam in a raucous combination of deafening music, plenty of booze and all night parties. For the first couple months of immersion in this culture such tendencies are looked upon with amusement and laughter. But shortly there after feelings slip towards annoyance and outright anger as the patience wears thin.
Loudness, for the average Latino, is paramount. From the triple digit decibels screaming from stereos, one would assume the very merits of their manhood rested solely on this volume. The courteously of sleep is also tossed aside as the music rolls on through the darkest hours of night. Who may be affected by such noise rarely if ever permeates the consciousness. It just doesn't register that perhaps not everyone loves Ricky Martin.
This undue fascination with eardrum punishing music also carries over into the inner city. Nearly every large town we've ridden through graced us with music trucks. Outfitted with concert style speakers on the roof, they prowl the streets blaring horrid Latin accordion music. Who pays them or for that matter even encourages such actions lies beyond my understanding. Earplugs, though effective against music, unfortunately offer little insulation from the ever-present macho culture.
When it comes to women the macho culture spares no expense in their quest to assert their domination. Every semi-attractive women is whistled at, thrown crude comments and treated in ways that would draw an instant lawsuit in the states. Just stand in a store or busy street and watch the men mentally undress every female that walks the street. The cultural quirk also influences men in positions of power and disgracing their macho facade will quickly complicate things. 2 1/2 months of this culminated in a minor clash at a local restaurant last night.
A Honduran, vacationing on Utila with several of his friends was taking macho culture to levels reserved for the elite. Screaming his demands to the waitress his shrill arrogance slowly wore me down. Finally, a bit surprising myself, I spun around and told him to shut up. Of course he couldn't let a gringo disrespect him in front of his friends, thus in a stream of Spanish and English he voiced his opinion. After staring down this joker and giving a little side to side shake of the head his friend spoke up. "You're a long way from home hombre" he subtly mentioned in perfect English. Yes, but you're a long way from God, and someday that is gonna be a problem, I though to myself.
Near the Mosquito Coast lies a hospital providing the much needed care the locals need. Many doctors from the US and other countries spend weeks down here performing all types of medical assistance. These guys from Balfate are working on building a home to house future visiting doctors.Needless to say after more threats from the macho gallery and an invitation to ´rumble´ I wisely kept my mouth shut. Stewing in helpless anger I slowly crossed off all other options from my list after contemplating the inevitable outcomes.
In the comfort of your hometown, one would simply invert your drink above his head and go from there. Down south the options are drastically limited. We've seen enough 9mm stuffed into jeans to respect the possibility with anyone. I am quite aware that vengeance is the Lord's, but what is the benefit if I can't witness the punishment. None the less, as long as I'm in their country humility will be the preferred technique for dealing with such people.
-JM
 
Back To The Mainland
Several days of scuba diving left us tired and ready to hop back on the motorcycles. As is our style, we made a contact with a friend of a friend and ended up 50 miles east at a missionary hospital. Loma de Luz, operated by Corner Stone Community Church is quite an impressive facility. Half a dozen doctors and many nurses bring their capabilities beyond simple a simple clinic to include surgical operations.
Volunteer opportunities abound as always, from construction to medical and everything in between. Though the clinic itself was finished recently, staff houses and innumerable small projects always leave room for the aid of someone willing to pick up a hammer. A pleasant reprieve from the riding, we lended a hand at a new house under construction. By no means a rare occurrence in Latin America, we spent the entire day correcting the mistakes of local efforts. It is the thought that counts I thought as we surveyed the wildly bowed concrete beams.
Walking through the gleaming white hallways, it is encouraging to watch the almost completely native staff work side by side with the American doctors. From peering through a microscope at a malaria sample to leading the morning bible study, the local involvement is impressive. Beyond the benefits of providing solid employment, the atmosphere encourages of sense of appreciation and ownership among the Hondurans.
Loma de Luz is highly dependant on local staff and hopes to one day have a fully Honduran staff.
Loma de Luz can also provide a change of pace for American students in med school looking for a slightly different learning environment. During our brief stay we met three students in their final semester earning credit while volunteering at the clinic. Machete fights and malaria would definitely offer a medical experience not possible within the borders of America. Though such travels can also extract a price as was testified by several missionaries we've met lately.
Several weeks ago, near Panajachel, Guatemala a group of young missionaries were attacked by truck full of armed thieves. With Uzis and handguns drawn the Guatemalans motioned for the van to pull over. Fearing the fate of the women in his van, the American driver swerved in an attempt to run the truck off the highway. Failing, the bandits responded with gunfire, killing the driver and taking over the van.
Fortunately the thieves wanted only money and no further tragedies occurred. It is tough to describe a story such as this without feeling like you're glorifying such atrocities. Especially when the people explaining the story to us are the parents of the survivors. But this happened on the exact road we drove across only a few days before. These unpredictable dangers missionaries face is another reason to thank them for such courage. The bullet proof vests and machine guns carried by the police are a bit more understandable in light of such events.
-JM
Invasions
Currently there is a unique form of land acquisition in Honduras, described simply as 'invasions'. Basically just an aggressive form of squatting, a group of locals decides they want more land, grabs their machetes and occupies the area. This is done in complete disregard for legal owners of owners, who in many cases do not have the means to defend themselves. Undermanned and even less inspired, the military and police provide little help.
For the moment, the land surrounding the hospital has been spared, though a stones throw away from our Easter sunrise service an invasion was in full swing. Beyond the obvious annoyance of locals losing their land, the technique also has a dampening effect on foreign investment. Especially when you consider that the second time the stolen property is sold it becomes a legal transaction. With land hovering at $8,000 an acre, you will not find the locals purchasing land through the proper channels anytime soon.
-JM
Back to the Islands
After stalling for a few days on the mainland to coincide our trip with visiting friends from the states, we stored the bikes once again and floated over to Roatan. Though much of the white sand beach island is ringed with world class dive resorts, a small community sits on the isolated eastern tip. Separated both physically and demographically, Helene holds few similarities to the relative wealth of Roatan.
It is here among the small community of 700 or so that Alternative Missions began their involvement 7 years ago. Much has changed since my father and I first visited with a construction team during the initial stages of the project. Sleeping on the floors and bucket showers have given way to purified water, pleasant accommodations and satellite internet. With humble origins, the location has grown into a medical / dental clinic, school, community center and missionary training center.
Helene is a great place for an initial plunge into the world of international volunteering. With English speaking locals, a laid back atmosphere and coral reef a short swim away, it is difficult to imagine a finer location. Perhaps there is a reason this was my forth visit to the village. Though there are some cultural differences that take some adjusting.
Walking along the red dirt trails, visiting with the natives, it takes a conscious effort to slow down to the lethargic pace of life. Imagine going out to the local Safeway and chatting with a complete stranger for an hour in the parking lot. To Helenians it would be completely natural if not expected. The real difficulty for the traveler lies in not blanketing the community in a judgment of laziness. For the most part, there is simply not much else to keep you occupied. Though, looking at the obvious poverty, poor education and ever present trash though, you can’t help but feel a sense of urgency.
Surrounded by the sea, in a near perfect climate the island has survived nearly self contained for centuries. Perhaps it is the abundance of fish close at hand or simply a cultural quirk, but an overriding sense of complacency is felt. An American background couldn’t provide a stronger juxtaposition, your mind instantly whirls, thinking of some economic scheme that could provide a monetary inflow to the area. The people must do something constructive with their time you chirp.
Changing such ideals is more than a overnight venture and ironically many overworked gringos relish the sedate mentality they experience here. A happy medium would be ideal I suppose. Isolated and close to the ocean many job opportunities revolve around the fishing industry. Though well paying, the industry is not known for its exemplary safety record. Especially during lobster season when many of the young men dive with antiquated and dangerous equipment. Suffering from the bends is not uncommon with paralysation occurring in the worst cases. Descending to depths of over 100 feet without a pressure gauge, they simply wait until the oxygen flow starts to run thin and bolt for the surface. Not exactly a PADI approved technique.
-JM |
