I did not see the bus coming. When crash imploded from the left side of the car, glass came flying across my vision. The shards were moving in slow motion but my mind raced in instinct- cover my face. When the accident was over, I was terrified to look and see what had happened to the other two passengers: two Catholic priests, one from Mexico and the other from Uganda. My vision was sharp- it seemed to outline everything in front of me in harsh black. I saw the hard terror and shock in the eyes of the priests-but they were not injured. Looking over the shoulders of the driver, I stared through the ragged wreckage of broken windows in to the looming face of a sinister charter bus that had just t-boned us. What I saw clearly was everything that should have killed the three of us in seconds, but somehow had not. We had been joking the entire ride about the Mexican priests’ “abuelo (grandfather)” driving style, and how I had not worn a seatbelt in over five months.
As I opened the truck door, I knew I was stepping out into Honduras. That meant settling the accident would involve blaming, bickering, staring from passers-by. It would not involve the law, insurance or rationality. If we had been injured, we were at least an hour away from a hospital. Passengers from the bus clung to the doorway, peeked out of the windows and eventually poured from the bus to get involved in gossiping and blaming. Honduras never faltering from the machisimo culture, I actually even got hit on within minutes of getting hit by a bus.
Somehow the fighting ended as quickly as it started. I am guessing this is because the bus driver’s anger quickly subsided when he saw that that he had hit two Catholic priests dressed in full on black, white-collar garb. When I got a ride up to the volunteer house and walked in to tell my tale to my friends, I started crying. I couldn’t stop thinking about how we should have been seriously hurt, perhaps even killed. It did not really make sense- I just knew we were SO indescribably lucky.
June was a VERY busy month of visitors: a week- long visit from Fr. Luta, a young Ugandan priest who came to visit from my family’s parish in Spokane; a day-long trip from Sarah, one of my very best friends/high school sister (and her two soccer buddies), and a two-week stay from a lovely parasite. It was SO awesome to have a change of pace..almost every single day.
Honduras was quite the experience for Father Luta and for the kids who jubilantly welcomed this anomaly of a priest: young, African, fun, and an Olympic-like soccer player. For him, “developing world” is not new- dirt roads, stores that subsist only off of selling Coca Cola and phone minutes, inherent poverty, HIV/AIDS. Kids not only flocked to, but truly listened to every single word that he spoke, including the teenage girls that I work with (oh yes, he also is a visitor that speaks fluent Spanish). Father Luta was both shy and a rock star. One night I went to “rescue” him from the home of 12-14 year old boys after an afternoon of playing futbol. I found him wearing his soccer clothes, laughing so hard with the kids, teaching the boys how to say a prayer in his native Ugandan tongue before dinner, and then captivating the entire home with stories, videos and photos from his homeland. The next night, I brought him to the lovely home of “Hermanas de Jesus”, where he not only charmed “my” girls with the same cultural exchange, but also truly wowed them with an intimate story about how HIV/AIDS has affected women in his own family. It was the first time I had seen them listen, swallow a story and even change (if at least momentarily) from an adult reminding them of their incredible opportunities as girls in Honduras: education, healthcare, smart personal decisions, etc. 
In Padre Luta’s “priest garb”, people reached out to him in an entirely new, hopeful, and trusting way that I had not known before in many Hondurans. A day spent in his presence, was refreshing and inspiring- he did not come to NPH to “preach” or even do “work”. He came to spend time, to reach out, to serve and to share his story-and the people loved him for it. One morning, DeeDee (the community outreach volunteer who helps run the “Comedor Infantil”) brought Father Luta to the impoverished, dangerous part of Talanga that she works in to provide food, medical care and support. We hitched a ride with the Social Work office who was visiting a family in the same neighborhood, one that had reached out for help. Somehow, Father Luta got invited on the Social Work visit and spent the morning with the grandparents who struggled with health, finances, and caring for their mentally challenged daughter’s children: two 3-month old premature, undernourished twins, and their 4 year old sister. Father Luta heard their story, saw how they lived, and then witnessed the often “catch-22” opportunity and difficulty that is bringing a child to NPH: sadness in separating them from their lives and families, overlapped with hope in providing them with health, education and stability. A few hours later, we were bringing the three children back to the Ranch where they have since become a part of the “family”.
When he finally left NPH after an exhausting but awesome week, the community was genuinely sad to say goodbye, as was Father Luta. The kids already can’t wait for him to come back…
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| Sarah on the swing in our volunteer house |
Sarah’s visit was more of whirlwind. One day I got an email and it said-“ I want to come see you TOMORROW”. She had been doing a water filtration brigade in another rural part of Honduras. Most days I look forward to chocolate, running or a nice rum with volunteers. Oh man- I don’t know if anything is greater than seeing a best friend’s face randomly appear in the back of a hitchhiked truck- especially miss Sarah Dean. In her day on the Ranch, I gave her the typical tour, brought her and her friends to play cards with the girls in my hogar, laughed at their reactions to the teenage girls, ate plantains with them, looked at all their pictures from the water project, and got SUPER jealous of the 2 week backpacking trip they had ahead of them, including beach time. Not to lie, my heart started pumping in fear at the idea of these brave gals traipsing across Honduras with only “hola” in their vocab list: my hyper-active/obscenely morbid imagination played out their deaths at least three times over (thank you Emergency Room mother). I gave them typical, completely unclear directions from the Ranch and around Tegucigalpa so they could continue on their cross-Honduran voyage: “turn right by the fruit cart”, “when you see men who look like pimps”, “to the left of the row of women selling tortillas”. Within two hours, I had the first phone call I feared: they got lost, they bought the wrong bus tickets, and they needed me to make a hotel reservation. Somehow, Sarah’s luck always comes through-the rest of the trip was quite an adventure..I wish I could have GONE!!!!
JULY..a month of transition/culture shock on my end
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| Dancing! |
My dreams of burgers and beer were finally realized-I got to hug my Nana, tube with my sisters, eat my Dad’s bbq, have huckleberry drinks with my Mom, see Sarah (again), go to Emily’s wedding and even get Bryan to DANCE! Going home felt like I had never been away, or even like I had not even done anything different in the last half year. I showed everyone pictures, but Honduras seemed so far away. I tried not to reflect too deeply while I was home- my goal was to maximize each day with my family. Feeling safe, breathing fresh Priest Lake air, not feeling the pressure of cultural norms (mainly dress), and relishing in the personal freedom: it was like jumping off a cliff in to a lake, watching fireworks, dancing barefoot at a wedding, sleeping in, screaming on a tube with sisters, and the rush of remembering being alive and adventuring-because that’s what I did. 
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| Nana I miss you EVERY DAY |
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| Congrats EMILY and Chad!! |
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| I dream about huckleberry pie |
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| I love him |
Leaving home and then coming back were both individually hard things to do. It was not any easier to leave the second time- I always think about what I am missing out on, who I could be spending time with, what I should be there for- especially when it comes to my younger sisters and my older grandparents. The time-old question: should I really be off working with other people when the people who matter most are the ones I leave behind?
This reflection really made my first days back in Honduras harder to return to “normal life”. But it also made me see how many special relationships I had grown at the Ranch. It made me indescribably happy to throw three boxes of girl-scout cookies on the kitchen table in the volunteer house. I think some may have been harmed in the 2-minute clawing to take down those precious Tagalongs and Samoas-we now more resemble vultures than people. I loved running back in to hogar to the teenage girls I admittedly missed, and having them run to me with hugs and questions about home. I think seeing that I “came back” for them gave me about 100 extra trust points.
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| Hermanas de Jesus: ooooh how I missed them |
There are the moments when all the experiences, the reflections, the goals and the people collide-they make sense. One volunteer who has lived abroad several times, reminded me how it’s a good trait to develop while away-you learn to truly appreciate who you have back home and WHY, and you can bring it to your daily life no matter where you are. My girls were captivated by an hour long slide show of my trip home: they thought my sister Katharine is actually crazy, they love Olivia’s glasses, they can’t believe how beautiful my mom is or how young my Nana is, and they were as excited about Bryan in his suit as they are for magazines with Justin Bieber. I had so many stories of “good ol America” to share with the volunteers, that it made some of them homesick. Also exciting, there were new volunteers to meet (who arrived while I was gone), and old volunteers to say goodbye too (I already miss them).
This switch over is a reminder to not worry about where I am-this year really is transitional, fleeting, and opportunistic. But everyday there are loved ones around me, I see people inspire others, I see new opportunities given to children, I see people seeking adventure, I may even escape harm in a car accident…and every day I can make the most of that.
I apologize for the LONG LONG delay..I hope to post another blog next week. I already have so much to share. As always, I love getting emails, LETTERS, and even visits!
Best wishes, love, and hugs,
Hailey
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| Kath's ridiculous dog, Lily |
