Hondouran Adventure

I squinted my eyes as I stared out the window of the airplane. I could almost make out the skyline of Indianapolis through the snow filled sky and clouds as we descended onto the landing strip. Every time I leave home and return I am always reminded of how lucky I am to have a family and home that I am glad to return to. Thirty Six years ago when I flew back from Viet Nam I remember singing and humming “I’m Getting Married in the Morning. Ding Dong the bells are going to chime. I’m Getting married, I’m getting married, so get me to the church on time.” Any one hearing me I am sure was convinced I was on drugs. But this was the only thing I could do to calm myself and keep me from falling on my face in tears.
Returning home from a two week mission trip to Honduras,
The tears I felt this time were different. I was sad about leaving a country I had grown to love and a group of people that I felt very comfortable with and also grew to love. When you travel in groups like this you always say you will keep in touch but the reality is that everyone’s life takes them in different directions. The sadness I felt for Honduras cut deep into my very being. I had quickly grown to respect this country for it’s absolute beauty and grandeur as well as its people. Before this trip my image of Honduras was a land of extreme poverty and sad people living in dire need. Maybe the television advertising ads that show Ethiopian children with their frail bodies and their sad eyes had colored how I perceive all third world countries. The people we visited on the top of the mountains were happy , friendly and full of life. Sure some if not all had health and survival issues. They lacked basic health care and proper drinking water and sometimes electricity. They too suffered from disease and parasites. But the people we came to love were not pathetic and as best you could tell living their lives with what they were given.
When we started our adventure there were twenty people. Each individual was unique in both their personality as well as their gifts. As I close my eyes and study each of their faces in my memory log, they all had a story to tell. What bought them to this particular place in time was their mutual love and respect for mankind.
This medical brigade was sponsored by the Indiana University Department of Family Medicine. Several years ago they established the International Medicine Honduras Project. Working closely with the Honduran government their goal is provide education and research to students and doctors while improving the quality of life for the underserved populations of rural Honduras, especially for the elderly and children. Both of these groups are at particular risk for malnutrition, anemia, and other illnesses associated with extreme poverty.
Another positive for a trip like this is to improve the knowledge and awareness of the Spanish speaking culture and better enable the students and doctors to treat the rapidly growing population of patients from this part of the world.
Out of a population of nearly six million people, a very small percentage can afford or even have access to any kind of health care or medication.
Like many people I told about my trip to Honduras, I questioned my qualifications for such a trip. After all this was a medical brigade and I was just a floral designer. The idea of taking volunteers to entertain the village children that arrived the day of the medical brigade was entirely new and the task was not even specifically designed. All we were told was that we needed activities for from 75 to 100 children each of the five days of the brigade. After consideration, I was confidant that when it came to children I was as qualified and as eager as anyone could possibly be to try and give them what they needed.
Kevin Rose , my pastor and friend, brought even stronger qualifications to the project. His education and background had been focused on teaching and Christian education. The two of us were equally anxious to see Honduras and its people and convey some of the compassion we read about in Sunday School.
We each were allowed a carry on bag and two checked bags. We managed to stuff and poke enough craft supplies and play equipment into our luggage to entertain the approximately 500 children we anticipated seeing. Paper masks and colorful feathers, pinwheels and magic markers, even brown paper bags that could soon become hand puppets were included. We tried to think of individual as well as group activities. I had thrown in a furry raccoon puppet that I had received twenty years ago while recuperating in the hospital from surgery. It had become a symbol to me of the love and caring I shared with my family during that difficult time. Even than it was difficult for me to accept being on the receiving end of this type of care. Up until than I had always been on the giving side of compassion and caring.
I also took three small battery operated bubble machines. I could entertain my grandson, Jackson, with them for hours. I was sure they would be a hit with these children.
I was glad I only had a short time to prepare for this trip. After I had committed to go, I found the difficulty not only of traveling out of the country but of traveling to a country with an almost epidemic of malaria and other diseases. I went to a good friend at the local health department and she assured me that the shots that she gave me would protect me as well as possible. The trip to the post office to get a passport was nearly as painless. I did have to pay almost double to put a rush on my passport delivery. But I never even imagined I would have a need for a passport in my lifetime. One thing I questioned in the requirement for travel was the repatriation insurance. I did not have a clue what that was until I investigated and found it to be insurance that would pay for the return of my body in the event of my death overseas. I had determined that if such a thing happed to me while traveling I wouldn’t need to worry about it anyway.
Jennifer Custer the leader of this venture was fluent in Spanish. She had spent several years in the Peace Core in Honduras working with water systems. She had been traveling back to Honduras for several years taking many such groups as ours. You could tell from day one she was a pro at her job. You could also tell she was determined and dedicated to getting all nineteen of us there and back safely and with as little problems as possible. Her code word for sudden problems or difficulties that seem to always popup on such trips, was “pineapple”. She was hoping for no “pineapples” on this trip but those hopes would soon be dashed. By the end of the trip we referred to her affectionately as “Julie McCoy”. You know Julie from “Love Boat”. I had known Jennifer for many years. I watched her grown up in our church. I probably always thought of her as a friend but it wasn’t until we finished this trip that that friendship was sealed for life. I had to admit to her father who was also on our trip that I was entirely in love with his daughter. Not in a perverted way but in the way I love my children. I told him she was not only beautiful on the outside but her beauty not only went skin deep but more like “soul” deep to her very core. She is just my idea of a “good person”. When we traveled to Trujillo on the Northern Coast , our group was cut down to seven and she began to relax more and radiate her love for this country. Her very being bubbled with excitement and her face glowed even more as she guided us and introduced us to Honduran culture and the people that make that real.
Bob, Jennifer’s dad, had been in my church also for many years. I counted him as friend. He and his wife Sharon had traveled with Jennifer last year on a similar medical brigade. They had taken Bob as the pharmacist to relieve the doctors and students and allow them to have more experience with the patients. He knew enough broken Spanish or as we learned to call it “span glish”, to distribute pills as the doctors prescribed. With little experience I am sure in this field , he seemed to glide seamlessly into this position. The joy he felt was sincere and compassionate. I learned an even stronger respect for his friendship.
For Kevin I almost think this trip and the experiences it would bring, were almost an escape from what had become his reality. After all he was a minister and a teacher . More than that he as a gay minister and a teacher. I can imagine that just being a minister full time and all that people expect from you or that you expect from yourself can be overwhelming and difficult to escape. Likewise being a gay man in today’s society must be exhausting. Always being and trying to live and speak as a positive example of what it means to be gay must sometimes be a burden. The qualifications and requirements for this trip had nothing to do with his ministry or his being gay. He could just be Kevin, a compassionate caring person who enjoys children as much as they enjoy him. No teaching or sermons or any reason that being who he was as a human being would interfere with his task with these Honduran children. I think it was like taking a deep breath and being free to let just be.
Dr. Sevilla and I got acquainted early in our trip. I had met the Doctor on the phone as he gave me directions to his home in a pretrip get together. I had run a map quest to find his address only to end up lost and wondering in Zionsville. When finally arrived I was impressed with his hospitality and his personality. He was a native of Honduras but had lived and worked in the U.S. for over ten years. In all respects he would have been entitled to live out the American dream and become a wealthy doctor and take on all the trappings that this usually implies. His house was nice but not extravagant. He was from the very beginning someone I would want to get to know.
　
　
　
At the airport after converting our dollars to Lemperas, I was assigned to ride with Dr. Sevilla in a brand new truck that had been rented for our transportation. He made it clear from the beginning that he was not particularly comfortable with driving such a nice vehicle.
We sped through the streets of San Pedro Sula, straining our necks to absorb all that we saw. We were surprised to see so many familiar businesses. Kentucky Fried Chicken and Dunkin Donuts, seemed out of place. We stopped at a fast-food chicken place and quickly ordered our first meal. I stuck with chicken that looked familiar in the picture. I passed on the little dish of slaw as I recalled Jennifer advising us to stay away from things with salad dressing.
I had already been warned about the water, which included ice and maybe even ice tea. I stuck with bottled water or cola drinks or beer if it was offered.
When the meal was over we piled back into our rides. The doctor had been concerned when we left the airport that we all stay together and in touch with the walkie talkies that they each had. To Jennifer’s dismay he informed us that vehicles get stopped and robbed on this road on occasion and traveling in the city made him very nervous. As we came back to the road that we had just traveled in on we stopped at an intersection to what seemed to be an endless flow of traffic . Three lanes going one way and three lanes going the other way. No stop lights or traffic cops. To access this road you had to get across the three lanes and stop in the little median and hope to heck traffic slows down enough to pull out into that traffic. In an instant we were sitting in the middle of this highway, T-boned by one of the few cars we saw that day. The vehicle of choice seemed to be the pickup truck. The blessing I think now was that it could have been a large truck or semi and I could have more than a bump on my head.
The Doctor, visibly shaken, checked on the people in the other car and calmly came back and told us we didn’t want to stay around for what seemed a major undertaking. My first thought was not to leave the Doctor alone but we didn’t question his suggestion and began walking back to the restaurant we just had left. When someone finally came back to “rescue” us we learned that upon discovering that the driver of the truck was a “rich American doctor” the process became even more complicated. We also learned that auto insurance was non existent and that Israel, our local guide and Dr. Sevilla’s best friend, would “arrange “ for the truck and car to be repaired by a friend of a friend.
We walked back to the scene of the accident only to find our entire group gathered by the road being entertained by a Mariachi band. Yes you heard me. A Mariachi band in full costume had happened by and offered to play for us while the accident was being handled. My first thought was where are the movie cameras and what part do I play in this movie production. It was totally surreal. We all laughed and sang along as traffic rushed by and gawked at a group of silly gringos.
It wasn’t long until we returned to our trip and arrived at the Honduyate Marina which we were to call home for the next week.
I really had no expectation about our lodging. I knew chances were that it would be decent. I figured traveling with doctors would insure at the least safe and healthy accommodations if not moderately nice. I realized that could have been a thatched hut but didn’t really expect that. I also didn’t expect to be welcomed by such a nice place. Operated by Richard and Lilliana, we found a resort setting on Lago de Yojoa a large lake in central Honduras. Richard retained his thick English accent tempered with years of learning and living in the Honduran culture. Water had recently come up and destroyed much of his shoreline and most of the week was spent by him supervising the repairs.
The most personal contact I would have with Richard was while watching the local labor force move large stones with a backhoe. He explained that it cost him as much as a week’s wages for one man to pay for the fuel for the backhoe. He said men he used did a better job and cost less. In this area the average wage was five dollars per day. Richard said near the northern coast they received five times that. He knew it was a matter of time before the local price of labor escalated. He was glad the economy was improving but he was also trying to push to get as much work done as soon as possible.
I also shared several conversations with Liliana. Mostly we talked about our children. Her son had left years ago to become an actor. He tried breaking into acting in Hollywood but ran out of money and moved to France. He was performing there but has never lost his dream to move to Hollywood. You could tell the way she related to our group of young people that she missed her family.
　
　
he first day , Friday, we arrived at our first village. To get there we turned down an almost unnoticeable road and passed what appeared to be a dumping ground. It was scattered with trash and birds and a few children combing the debris for something they could use.
We arrived at the tiny school house , cleaned and setup the clinic and pharmacy and almost immediately we were greeted by the village children. We opened our game bags and pulled out Frisbees and balls and began to play.
As the crowd grew larger we decided to start a craft project.
The projects we brought were good for any age group and needed little explanation. We had pinwheels to be decorated and assembled. We had masks that would be adorned with feathers and foam stickers and magic markers. It was fun to see each child display their creativity and see how proud they were when the finished.
I pulled out my grandchildren’s bubble makers and remembered they needed batteries. Finding the batteries I had to round up a tiny screw driver to install them. The children loved the bubbles. We were so excited and caught up in the activities of that day, that we had not noticed the bubble machines, the frizzbees and balls were disappearing into the village. never to be seen again. The glow was taken off our first day with the children as the day ended and we realized other things had been taken. We brought candy and some toys to give away but mostly we brought games to use all week in each of the villages. We had planned on leaving some items with the school or the orphanage at the end of our trip. But we were caught off guard when they started taking our equipment.
When I brought out my raccoon puppet the screams and laughter was only tempered with the children pulling and grabbing at the puppet and it’s tail.
I had it in my firm grasp but I wonder if it would have disappeared if allowed.
We learned early on the first day that most of these children and parents were used to groups like ours coming in with gifts and handouts. We had taken games and toys but not to give out but to use all week at each village. I am sure well meaning visitors did not realize how handouts can sometimes diminish pride and sometimes teach that they deserve and should expect other handouts in life.
When looking back I remember being fully aware that a good percentage of the children we played with were to come degree sick and probably had lice or other parasites. ; My normal emotion around children of any kind is to scoop them up if not in my arms at least into my heart. It was totally against my nature to hold back and keep my heart at a distance. I was not always good at doing that. One moment I remember vividly was when I pulled out my raccoon puppet. This puppet was no ordinary puppet at least to me. I had received it when I was very vulnerable in the hospital recovering from surgery about twenty years ago. It had always been a symbol of that time in my life and all the good feelings of family and friendship. I was working my way down the very long line waiting to see the doctors. This seemed to be an exceptionally long line of children today. Suddenly I bent low to the level of small little girl in a red pleated skirt that nearly touched the ground. Our eyes met and I was totally caught off guard. Her eyes were glazed over and I could tell she was very sick. My heart ached in pain as I my eyes were filled with tears and nearly broke down in emotion. Staying detached was definitely not an easy task for me.
　
Kevin and I both were careful not to blame the children. We did wonder if the reason they found it easy to take our equipment was the patterns that had been set by other groups on other trips. Had they been taught to expect free handouts much like what has happened in our country because of the welfare system?
　
Our first day, though exhausting, was a total and complete success. The children enjoyed the day and we enjoyed the children. It made us feel really good to pass the homes as we went back to down the mountain, only to find children still wearing their masks and running with their pinwheels. We could still hear the laughter float down the mountain.
Standing in the back of the truck as we made the journey down the mountain I couldn’t help but notice the side of the road cluttered with trash and debris. I have always been told that you can tell a lot about a person by their trash. I was surprised to see pop tart wrappers, broken toys, and other American style food wrappers. Were other groups making the trip up the mountain to give out pop tarts when they needed safe water and medicine. Most of the villages had electricity, some had water in their homes. But some had no electric and carried their water up and down the hill from a well probably build by the Peace Core years ago. There was no way the water they did have was completely safe and free from the parasites that plagued the children and their parents.
That night after arriving back at the marina we pealed off our sweat soaked cloths and after a long shower got back in the truck and went to a nearby restaurant for supper. This was the first time we had all gathered as a group and had a chance to open up to each other.
When I left home my mom slipped me money and told me to buy some” power bars“. She said stay away from the food. This would be the first true test for me. After a little help from Liz I managed to order what was called on the menu “Gordon Blue”. How could they mess that up? Others were brave and ordered whole fried fish, complete from eyes to tail. I was so very glad I had chosen my meal. It was wonderful and better than most “cordon Blue” I had been accustom to.
For Kevin and I, the evening was highlighted when Scott, one of the Doctors, stood up and presented us with the first award of the week, for the day we spent with the Children and how much they appreciated our being on this trip. In the past it was a real issue as to how to entertain all the village children that always seemed to accumulate on Brigade day. It was great to be affirmed and appreciated especially by this generation of young people.
This somewhat spontaneous award of the first night grew to be the highlight of each evening as a plastic Pepsi bottle was passed from person to person and decorated and redecorated by each recipient. It came to be called Nachito Blanquito. The giving and receiving of this award came to be a vehicle for not only laughter but a certain and long lasting bonding of the entire group.
　
When I awoke the next morning I was well aware that this was Sunday morning and my normal routine of getting up and attending church would be changed . When I stepped out onto my balcony overlooking the Lago de Yojoa lake, I was never more convinced that church was wherever you found the presence of God. Looking trough the early morning mist and listening to the symphony of nature sing glorious hymns of praise, I knew without a doubt I was in God’s presence. Even the rooster that sometimes was annoying to hear in the middle of the night, shouted halleluiah in the midst of a faithful world. The echo of God rang out across the early morning lake mist. `` Even the roar of the semi trucks on the ever present highway outside the hotel compound seemed to add a reminder that we were living amongst a real world with real people living real lives. Often when you escape to a lake or mountain hideout you are isolated from real life. For this day and for most days in Honduras, we were never too far removed from the struggles facing a large population of Hondurans.
I feel so privileged to be in the presence of this group of young doctors and medical students. They give hope in a world so in need of hope. The exude a passion for people in general and the underserved people in specific. Most all of these young people are at a crossroad in their lives, seeking to finally choose
Their specialty. I have no doubt that the time spent here and other similar trips will make them stronger and more compassionate doctors whatever field they choose.
In the afternoon on Sunday we were invited to take a boat ride to the other side of the lake for a picnic and a day of leisure. When the time came we piled into what appeared to be an antique World War Two boat. I was glad to see the roof on the boat because as much as I enjoy the sun I didn’t savor the idea of setting in the open Honduran sun for two hours on this day. As we traveled out onto the lake and looked back at the compound , the mountain range that we were nestled into began to raise. Up it went until the horizon was sculpted into a beautiful breathtaking panorama . In life as in this situation it is important to step away to get a full view your surroundings as well as your life.
Until we traveled across the lake and ventured out , we could not realize or fully appreciate where we were located.
The picnic was complete with sandwiches and beer but more complete with conversation and relaxation. The afternoon was capped off with a hike up the mountain. Jennifer asked one of the locals to be our guide. Seeing that he carried a machete , I questioned, to myself of course, the sanity of taking such a “little”stroll though the woods. I was well aware that we were not in some Indiana forest that might be the home of a raccoon, squirrel or an occasional snake. We found out the machete was required to clear most of the path that we traveled especially when we got further up the mountain and saw the trip was taking longer than anticipated and requested he guide us on a “shortcut” back down. In spite of the treacherous terrain, the presence of unknown plant growth, the sometimes muddy path , we all made it back to the bottom with only a few minor cuts and scraps and skin irritations. Like any activity that requires endurance and perseverance, this simple little “walk in the park” brought the group closer and helped in the bonding process that had already begun.
　
　
　
　
Upon returning to the compound, showering off the mud and sweat, we prepared to take a step back from the realities of Honduras and into an evening of watching the SuperBowl together. The “techies” in the group had
rigged Richards projection television to show the telecast of the super bowl on the wall . Of course in this area it was telecast in Spanish. Now I know a touch down is a touch down in any language, but I was glad to hear that they also rigged the sound to come trough a computer and a karaoke machine so that we could actually watch the Spanish telecast but hear the play by play in English. Now I am not a real avid football fan. But since the Colts were playing even I was interested. All the time we watched though I was always aware how far removed we were from what we call our “real world” and how close we were to the “real world” that the Honduran people lived daily. There was and intense contrast to the money spent on a single football game and the fight for survival of a people whose only fault in life was to be born into a land that lacks basic health and environmental facilities that are accessible to all. If the money from one such event as the super bowl were to be spent wisely in a country such as this, we could I am sure, rewrite the statistics of a land so overcome with sickness, parasites and a lack of the bear essentials needed for survival.
Monday came and we climbed back into the truck to travel up the mountain to an isolated village. When you speak of mountain top experiences this was to become that kind of experience both literally and figuratively. As we stood in the back of the pickup we grasp the rail on the sides and we swayed to and fro back and forth and around as we traveled up the dirt , seeming almost impassable trail. In the states I am sure this would not be categorized as a road.
Even the truck pulled and struggled to get its cargo up the mountain. As we moved up the mountain I was sure that any minute we would be touching a cloud. The view was beyond breathtaking. When Joyce and Jeremy came home from Colorado a few years ago, they tried to explain what they felt like standing on top of a mountain there. On this day I think I finally realized how they must have felt. My biggest disappointment was that I knew I could never really share this particular view or the feelings it manifested in my soul. You can capture moments with a camera and even pictures from the top of the mountain. But you can never recapture what it feels like during these brief moments in life. .
When we arrived we quickly set up our craft area and looked for a good location for games. Most of the schools that we visited had little or no playing areas. The ground surrounding most of the schools was rough, unleveled and grown up with grasses . We drug out a few wooden school desks and began demonstrating our craft projects. It seemed communication was never an issue. It was so rewarding to see all ages eager to create something with their own hands. It wasn’t long until children were running around with colorful whirly gigs or feather covered masks .
Before I came to Honduras, I made an almost worthless attempt to learn some Spanish words. I thought it would be a good gesture on my part. The few words I did memorize and attempt to speak almost always came out of my mouth in what I felt was almost a mockery of their language. Even the children in their simple honesty were prone to chuckles as I made faulty attempts to butcher their language.
　
　
In spite of this I still had ;little problem communicating with the children. I soon discovered that a laugh and the words of joy and even a cry are the same in any language. Children small as newborn and as old as probably sixteen or seventeen came to us not knowing what to expect. As we began to demonstrate the craft projects we had brought over , we in return did not know what to expect from them.
　
　
I had brought a white plastic side from one of our tents to use to collect handprints and signatures of the Honduran children. Each day I would bring it out before we went home and had them draw their hands and sign it. I am not sure what will become of such a large banner but I am sure it will be a vivid reminder of all the lives we touched and all the lives that touched us during our visit to this country. For me personally looking at this banner will always remind me of the children that are reaching out to all of us from many countries of the world. In the Bible when it speaks of raising our hands to God, it is just this simple jester that seems to reach up to God and out to us.
The day was complete when we brought out the rainbow parachute and the beach ball. Of all the activities we brought this worked best to bring all the kids of all the different ages together in one event. When all the children raised the parachute as it filled with air, it brought laughter and joy to everyone. There we many different activities to be used with this parachute each seeming more appreciated than the other. As the day came to a close we were able to include the medical brigade team in playing this game. I am sure after spending the entire day attending to the village patients, it was a welcome time to be with these children.
I was well aware that there were some children that did not enter into the games. I took great effort to insure all the children that felt good enough to play and that wanted to, were included. Later in the day I spotted a small girl that was waiting out front to see the doctors. She seemed shy but friendly and
did not join the others in playing. It was obvious that she was not feeling up to par. I grabbed a beach ball and the two of us continued to toss the ball back and forth. She too began to laugh and for a few moments was able to enjoy playing. In that moment I was taken back to my childhood when I often played alone or felt isolated when it came to group activities. Because we spent such a short time with these children, the usual human dynamics were not visible on the surface. But it seems human nature being what it is, in any group of children you will discover the bully, the leader, the joiner and those that are on the outside and never seem to join in. I don’t believe this to be an American trait but observed in any society or culture.
　
Before we left the village Jennifer took us up the street a bit further to see the village water supply that had been constructed by the peace core. One of Jennifer’s missions while in Honduras with the Peace Core was to help villages construct water systems. She said the biggest problem most villages have after these are built was funding repairs and improvements that would inevitably come with time and wear. Most villages had no tax structure or source of income for these kinds of repair.
　
　
The views going back down the mountain, as we said good by to the children and made our way back to the compound, were equally awesome. Seeing the difficulty we had in getting up and down the narrow winding path, it made me question why people would isolate themselves in these remote villages. Whatever the reason the truth is their life could hardly be anything but tough. The same style housing lot relocated to the U.S. would more than likely be chosen by the very wealthy to build an elaborate house looking down on the world. I wonder if what Jesus said about the poor and meek inheriting the world was referring to this time and place and this people.
　
Our final day in the mountains was much like the rest. Seeing the children enjoy the crafts we brought to them and enjoy the time of laughter and play we provided, continued to remind we why we were there. By this day my energy level was leveling off and it took more effort to keep up with the children. But no less joy was felt.
　
　
I did today manage to take a break and venture out beyond the confines of the school yard. I walked down the path they called a street to find homes and buildings similar to any we had seen so far. This particular village had electricity. Most of the houses had their front door open and few window coverings to protect from insects. I bravely approached one house only to be welcomed into their living room and offered a seat. Again language was not an issue as being friendly and welcoming is the same in any language.
I was a bit astounded to realize as I set with this young man in his early twenties, that we were watching music videos on his television. This particular home had three Televisions setting on their shelf. I asked why three and his response was that two didn’t actually work. When Beyonce came on to gyrate and sing a familiar song, I covered this fellows little brother’s eyes mostly in a joking manner. We all laughed but like I said some things are the same in any language. Before I left I peeked into the back of the house to find two woman cooking or washing dishes. Pretty primitive by our standards but in comparison to some we had seen so far, a pretty decent home.
Our final day was spent going to a school to give physicals to children preparing to begin their school year. We were there during their “summer vacation”. This day we were able to draft some of the team to help us and when all the children started filing into the school house we were glad they did. This day we had more space and manpower and were able to bring out all the craft projects and set up stations and work areas. I started one craft and soon was able to start another and another. Before long the building we were in was a buzz with activity. This day was over before we knew it and we piled back into the pickup.
Early in the week the burning question for me was what will become of these people ;when we leave. The treatments they received, the small plastic baggie of pills seemed so much like a pretty band aide on a larger wound. What happened when we left? The hope I saw while were there was in the form of four walls and a concrete slab that with money and manpower, mostly volunteer, will someday become a large clinic that will serve this area and provide a home for visiting doctors and students. When finished it will not only house a clinic, it will provide a garden and a store to earn income for the clinic and at the same time provide work for senior citizens. The equipment to put in the clinic is setting a warehouse in Indianapolis waiting for the building to be completed and of course the ship to transport it. Money, time and of course volunteers will make this happen.
It was not until I got home that I learned much about the other team on our medical brigade. The public health intervention group that also traveled with us included a public health doctor and several public health students. During the week they put their focus on one community where previous medical brigades had found a higher than normal incidence of asthma, chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, emphysema and other pulmonary problems. Because the community is smoke free, they preformed indoor air quality assessments of the homes and gave lung capacity tests to the village . It is believed that the method of cooking, using open-flame wood burning inside the homes, mostly with no chimneys or ventilation, is the cause of these illnesses.
I also recently found out about the Lorena Stove Project. A stove very similar to the ones traditionally used is called a Lorena stove which has a vent pipe to carry the smoke out of the house. In addition, the stoves burn wood more efficiently therefore, decreasing the demand for wood and decreasing the need for cutting down trees. Thus this goes beyond being a health issue project that can do good in Honduras. It is also a solid support of the global effort to cut down on global warming and preserve our environment. Supporting this project is also something that makes helping others in our world an attainable goal. It is too easy to become overwhelmed by so much need in our world and end up not doing anything at all. This is an inexpensive and relevant project.
I am usually asked now that I am home, if this trip changed me? I would be lieing if I told you it my life had not been changed by this experience. But lately it seems my life is in constant change. Moving to a new home, witnessing the birth of my grandchildren, my life is on the constant move. Witnessing first hand the Honduran people and their plight in this world of ours not only touched my heart it touched my soul.
But were do we go from here? My prayer for myself is that in someway the network of friends that I made with Dr. Seville, Dr Renshaw and the young people who we traveled with, and the even closer friendship I forged with Jennifer and Bob and the common bond I will always share with Kevin, will somehow lead to a permanent connection with not only this country but a world in need of love and compassion. I pray that in someway what this band of sojourners began will lead to a brighter and healthier future for at least Honduras and it’s people.