Tuesday, June 21, 2005
Only a wall divides us
Last night, I was truly glad we are here in Honduras. I had left the apartment at nine to get some money to the guards to buy me a paper. (otherwise I would have to get up at 4:30.) I tried to speak with them. We communicated a little, mostly about the incoming storm o lluvia torenta. It wasn't raining but lightning was lighting up the valley of San Pedro Sula. My new word yesterday was Lamparago or lightning.
A paper costs 6 limpera. That's about 30 cents. I handed over the money. Our conversation was quick as my spanish is so limited. I walked back to La Cancha or the large tin covered, open aired playing space at the back of the compound. Normally this is an area of a lot of commotion during the day as it is the main space for running, basketball, futbol, or the traditional dances they put on for groups. Last night at nine it was quiet. I took a moment to watch the lightning fill the air.
The compound litterally sits next to one of the worst areas of poverty. It is a walled in compound with barbed wire. Like many places in Honduras armed gaurds protect it 24 hours a day.Beyond the wall is an area that many of the girls have come out of. It is a squatter area where it is difficult to get water, electricity, and safety. Most of the huts are built of wood, fencing, and tin. There are thin roads that snake there way through but none are paved. So the residents are faced with flooding when in rains and dust when it is hot. No one is guarding this area.
What hit me last night is that there was a baby crying on the other side of the wall. He or she was wailing and I could do nothing about it. Here I was, a citizen of the United States:a recipient of an economy that employs the majority of its citizens; a recipient of continual health care that has kept me free from serious illness; a recipient not only of free education through the 12th grade but able to attend four years of College and now two years of post graduate work; a recipient of a stable (if not abundant) diet, clean water, transportation, electricity, and air conditioning.
Yet even in the compound, even if we discounted all of the above, that wall seperated two worlds. In the compound I was secure. Because it is safe the residents can play, run, laugh, and learn. In the compound there is electricity and even internet access. In the compound there is the regular delivery of fresh bottled water. In the compound are two kitchens that serve three meals a day. There is a school. Even if I was not an American, on this side the chances of success rise dramatically.
I could do nothing for the child who may or may not receive any of the above. I prayed and found myself incredibly saddened. It was hard not to wonder why I recieved all those things and this child may not. Due to the circumstances the odds are that the child will not.
Only a wall divides us.
A paper costs 6 limpera. That's about 30 cents. I handed over the money. Our conversation was quick as my spanish is so limited. I walked back to La Cancha or the large tin covered, open aired playing space at the back of the compound. Normally this is an area of a lot of commotion during the day as it is the main space for running, basketball, futbol, or the traditional dances they put on for groups. Last night at nine it was quiet. I took a moment to watch the lightning fill the air.
The compound litterally sits next to one of the worst areas of poverty. It is a walled in compound with barbed wire. Like many places in Honduras armed gaurds protect it 24 hours a day.Beyond the wall is an area that many of the girls have come out of. It is a squatter area where it is difficult to get water, electricity, and safety. Most of the huts are built of wood, fencing, and tin. There are thin roads that snake there way through but none are paved. So the residents are faced with flooding when in rains and dust when it is hot. No one is guarding this area.
What hit me last night is that there was a baby crying on the other side of the wall. He or she was wailing and I could do nothing about it. Here I was, a citizen of the United States:a recipient of an economy that employs the majority of its citizens; a recipient of continual health care that has kept me free from serious illness; a recipient not only of free education through the 12th grade but able to attend four years of College and now two years of post graduate work; a recipient of a stable (if not abundant) diet, clean water, transportation, electricity, and air conditioning.
Yet even in the compound, even if we discounted all of the above, that wall seperated two worlds. In the compound I was secure. Because it is safe the residents can play, run, laugh, and learn. In the compound there is electricity and even internet access. In the compound there is the regular delivery of fresh bottled water. In the compound are two kitchens that serve three meals a day. There is a school. Even if I was not an American, on this side the chances of success rise dramatically.
I could do nothing for the child who may or may not receive any of the above. I prayed and found myself incredibly saddened. It was hard not to wonder why I recieved all those things and this child may not. Due to the circumstances the odds are that the child will not.
Only a wall divides us.
