Green Valley Primary
San Marcos, Ocotepeque
Honduras, Central America
San Marcos is all I have known of Honduras. Upon first impression, one might describe San Marcos as a heap of ruble covered by a pile of trash. The Buildings are crumbling cement covered with several coats of heinous colored paint. Nearly all the businesses have "TIGO" written across the building. This indicates a location where you can buy minutes for your cell phone. I find it odd that in a place where there is not consistent running water or electricity, everyone has a Razor flip phone and a satellite dish. The Streets are lined with plastic bottles, Styrofoam, and processed food wrappers. There are no public trash cans to be seen, and parents instruct their children to throw garbage out the window of the bus. This does not appear to bother anyone here. Trash management consists of raking the garbage into piles and burning them in the street. The evening air smells of burning chemicals. One might call this a shit hole. I would if it were not my home for the next year. I am still searching for a new frame.
There are no street signs in San Marcos, or numbered addresses. When I ask for directions I receive an answer such as "further ahead, somewhere past the tree with the knot in it." For this reason, I have spent a good deal of time wandering the streets after dark looking for my house. The narrow dirt streets are overrun by stray dogs, livestock, and 3-wheeled, red mototaxis that resemble golf carts. The drivers amuse themselves by pretending they are going to hit me, or by driving slowly beside me as I walk, or by yelling how they wish to "gift me a child," among other equally unappealing offers. Nobody slows down or stops for neither pedestrians nor other cars. Rather, they announce their presence by continually laying on the horn--There's a pedestrian. HONK! an intersection. HONK! a biker. HONK! Oncoming traffic. HONK! a cow. HONK! a small child. HONK! This is just one of many things here that seem completely illogical to me...such as the electrical outlet in my shower.I have found that living here vaguely resembles camping, only infinitely less peaceful. I never know when I will have electricity or running water. There have been numerous occasions when I have been left standing naked in the shower after discovering that the water was not functioning that day. I defeated re-robe and go out to the pila with a bucket. I often find mosquito larvae swimming in the water as I carry the bucket back to the shower and proceed to pour it over my head. Needless to say I never feel clean.
My house is invaded--no, cohabitated--by myriad insects. Cockroaches scurry across the floor on a regular basis, but the ants are my most apparent company. There are two kinds competing for my hospitality--the tiny black ones and fat red ones. They march in by the thousands every night at dinner time. They crawl up my hands and arms and down my shirt as I wash the dishes, but at least mine don't bite. In the states I was quite insistent on ridding the house of ants. Here I see no point in fighting them; here we share.
The nights here are never quiet. Every night the stray dogs and the roosters have a howl-off. The dogs will all start barking and then the roosters will respond. They then attempt to drown each other out. They do this at random hours throughout the night. The sound of a hoard of roosters trying to out-crow the innumerable stray dogs is one of the most horrendous sounds I have ever known. What is much more pleasant is the chirping coming from the corners of my room. This, to my surprise, is the sound of the geckos I find stuck to the walls. The Honduran say this is the sound of the gecko "tirando besos" (throwing kisses).
I admit I am often frustrated. I frequently feel like a small child again, or a Neanderthal. I find myself relearning how to do simple everyday tasks. At home, I knew the best way to shower. Here, my methods evolve as I discover things like it is difficult to lift the largest bucket over my head, so showering with multiple little buckets in conjunction with the one that holds the most water is best. Or how I have learned that, during the day when there is no water and I need to flush the toilet, it works best to stand on top of the seat when dumping the bucket so the water has more force. It is funny to watch yourself evolve in a new habitat--frustrating, but interesting.
Among the most frustrating things about Honduras is how beautiful it is. The geography of the country will stop you in your tracks. Dramatic, vibrantly colored mountains rise out of the valley where San Marcos lies. The land is covered with bright orange flowers and tropical fruit trees. Every time I leave town in the west I halted by a new view. But the beauty of the country is easily forgotten inside the city; a dumping ground labeled "tigo." I forget that I am in a tropical paradise as trash floats by house after the rain comes. I look around San Marcos and I want to scream, "STOP THROWING YOUR TRASH ON THE GROUND!!!" It is tragic that we are such parasites. This is not specific to Honduras. The people of my country have been equally poor stewards of their land. However, the trash was never in my backyard, reminding me of my parasitic nature. Perhaps it will not be a sad day when the earth shakes us off like a bad case of fleas, and places like Honduras can exist in true form.
