Protecting Our Home

Jasmine Sea

The car bumps along the dirt road as I look out the window and f ix my gaze on the scenery. Stray dogs and cats scatter along, and I can see their dirty matted f ur with their ribcage sticking out on their sides. I’m reminded of my pets back at home and I compare their sleek and healthy coats with the stray animals that scavenge the road’s trash f or any lef tover f ood. I wonder to myself where the trash on the road ends up and whether the trash has become a part of the community’s identity as a marker f or where they live. I’m in Central America, more specifically in Honduras f or a church-based mission trip. I’m going to visit dif f erent local churches in both the country and the city of San Pedro Sula. The air is thick with smog and dust. As I’m walking uphill to visit a Honduran f amily’s home while wearing shorts, a t-shirt, and a backpack, sweat starts to accumulate down my back, and with every step I make I leave tracks of dirt on my ankles. I look to my right and notice little brown structures that appear to be homes made out of mud and dirt with a thin piece of wood as a door, and what looks like a large tin scrap with holes as a roof to cover people’s heads. I squint my eyes and notice that there are some pieces of trash that got stuck in the mud of the walls of people’s houses. The dirt trail I’m walking on is speckled with litter. Empty Honduran snack packages, old pieces of paper, and rotting f ood make my nose scrunch up at the sour and musty scent. There’s no sign of a trash can f or miles along this road and the only place to dispose trash seems to be on the ground. “Hey, esperame!” screams a little girl as she runs past me along with another girl, f ollowed by some stray chickens. Their little bare f eet run through the trash on the road, barely noticing the trash’s existence. I wince, f eeling on edge that they might step on something sharp and hurt their f eet. “Those are the girls that live in that house” replies our translator. She points to a house at the top of a hill, surrounded by trees and more dirt roads. That was the f amily’s house we were visiting to talk with and get a grasp of their living conditions and daily lives.

The moment bef ore we enter the house, I immediately notice trash laying around just outside of the house. My surprised expression catches the translator, and she looks at me with a smile.

“It’s normal f or trash to be littered everywhere here. It’s a part of people’s lives and unf ortunately they don’t do anything about it because it isn’t something they’re really bothered by.”

I nod and begin to f eel sorrowful to see how the people here don’t understand the dangers of having trash and waste around. It can become so detrimental to people’s health, but I guess they don’t have a choice since they have other things to worry about as they struggle to make ends meet on a daily basis. I enter the house and I’m greeted by the f lies that are aimlessly f lying around. The sunlight creeps through the pin-sized holes of the tin roof and of course, there is no air conditioning. This was the day I realized that I had taken air conditioning f or granted. We learn f rom the f amily that the f ather works every day in a f ield and the mother stays home to work on f amily duties and take care of the children. The translator points out the window of the home to a small, narrow creek and tells us that that is where all the f amilies in this community get their water. They use this water f rom the creek to bathe, cook, and do the laundry. We leave the house and make our way to the creek with the f amily. Before we even arrive, other people f rom the community are there, some doing the laundry, others pouring water into a bucket, and children splashing water while giggling happily. The scene looks like something out of a painting. As I made my way closer to the creek, I took a glimpse of the water and my eyes widened. The water was brown and murky. My mom, who was next to me, exclaimed “THIS is the water they use f or everything?” And I turned around to the translator in agreeance and she laughed and replied “yes, this is their water.” Not only was this water brown, but there was visible trash f loating on the edges of the creek. Wrappers, cans, plastic, you name it, it was all f loating in the same water they use to cook and clean. In disbelief I quickly looked to the f amily we came with, expecting someone to tell me that they were joking, but then proceeded to grab their buckets and f ill them with the murky water. I mutter to myself quietly “how do people live like this….?” Af ter leaving the creek, we went to visit the community’s local church. My legs hurt f rom all the walking and the bottom of my shoes had a f ew pieces of decomposed f ood. As we were walking to the church on the same dirt road, my eyes were f ixated on the ground, in f ear of stepping on something I would instantly regret. We walked through what seemed like a constricted maze, through neighborhood alleys and passing by miniature convenience stores. The narrower the roads were, the more trash there was on the ground. For some reason, there was a lot of animal f eces on this path as well, so I held my breath f or about half of the walk to the church. By the time we had arrived at the church, I was unf azed by the litter that surrounded the outer walls of the church. I was still sick to my stomach f rom all the animal f eces we had walked by. Even though I was exhausted from the walk, I was quickly greeted by so many little children f rom the church. They were all so small and they all had radiating smiles glued on their f aces. I couldn’t help but to wonder how they looked so much

happier than the people I saw back home, despite all the trash and pollution in their unclean environment.

Honduras is known to have high levels of poverty: 66.2 percent of the population lives in poverty, and 45.3 percent in extreme poverty (Katherine Ronderos, 2011). That’s about two-thirds of the population in Honduras who don’t know whether they will have f ood on their plate to f ill their stomachs f or the day. In addition, the levels of poverty and income inequality serve as restrictions f or the Honduran people to improve their lives (Katherine Ronderos, 2011). Honduras is f ar behind in terms of human development compared to other Latin American countries but without any outside help f rom other countries, Hondurans will continue to suf fer in poverty leaving many in sickness and even death.

As I danced with the children along to

“Honduras is known to have high the songs playing f rom the church, levels of poverty: 66.2 percent of the we giggled and smiled as I looked population lives in poverty. ” into their youthf ul, glowing eyes. At that moment, I understood my privilege and how I took the smallest daily necessities f or granted. I clearly saw the tragic economic disparities, not only in Honduras, but in other parts of the world. I’m reminded of the numerous times I’ve heard my teachers, f amily members, and my social media f eeds telling me to “be the change.” At that moment, a new seed was planted, and hope was renewed. I will f ind a way to contribute to the present progress and truly be part of the change. But f or now, I will continue to smile and dance with these beautif ul souls while the trash outside the church blows f ervently with the wind.

References

Ronderos, K. (2011). Poverty reduction, political violence and women's rights in Honduras. Community Development Journal, 46, 3rd ser., 315-326.

Dreamy Dream Dree

Boris Salswach

Stubbornly your eyes became a rock where all my gentle thoughts f low down as a stream; they carry the world just like Superman and when I’m lost in them there is only f ields of lilies that abound with no justice f or the wicked; they f old like a pillow in heaven, and I sleep in them with no f ear of the unknown…  The colors under heaven’s light are my only delight; my inner misf its boiled into a f renzy and are laden by their sheer light… I hear my grandmother whisper of a sun bef ore her time; her smile holds that which your eyes now have come to remind me… No jewelry maker can f abricate the inner beauty of your treasure and no sea can divide the grace by which I f ound your inner radiance… Keep looking toward the sun, because my days are numbered and soon the ones too roam will be the roaring lions  It wasn’t a f igment of my imagination but the whole road to heaven laid there through that window; only the brave pass and surrender the sword… with my hands laid bare at the f ire, I was all but consumed and no elixir could f ree me f rom obedience, under no protocol was my search at my convenience… I would have loved you to the edge, pushed you, pulled you, made you pledge But in your heartbreak, you depart and leaving me holding out my heart… No matter how I justif y, f ool me once and shame on I… And cosmic loneliness cascades Like heavy rain: I must be brave...