| Honduras
Newsletter Seventeen February 2, 2006 Dear Friends, Happy New Year from Honduras! It’s Wednesday morning and I want to write to you before I leave for one of my weekly trips to the Cañada. I’ve received various correspondence, from so many of you in the last month or so—letters, Christmas cards, W2 forms, new books, snapshots, birthday cards—and I have to tell you, it is nothing but sunshine to hear from you. I do cartwheels through the office hallway whenever I receive a note from one of you angles. Though I’ve been a bit out of touch for the last month or two, quite a bit has happened in the ICLH. Last December, I took a trip up to the north coast with some of the youth from Tegucigalpa. They had told me that the highway was bad heading up to la Ceiba, but I had not anticipated anything like what we encountered. Huge pieces of the road had been washed away leaving unannounced 10 foot holes and cliffs in the road. Major bridges were missing and we crossed make-shift bridges made of cement blocks and toothpicks. We passed abandoned homes filled with four feet of mud, and frighteningly enormous rivers. Hours later, we arrived at Eva’s house where much of the congregation was gathered organizing rice, beans, flour, and clothes. Hurricane season hit hard in Honduras last year. Thousands of Hondurans died in New Orleans in Hurricane Katrina, and thousands more died in the tropical storms and hurricane tails that whipped the Northern coast. Marcos had sent us the names and living conditions of 83 families in Chacalapa, one of the church’s mission points. The community sits near one of the many rivers that empties about 10 miles later into the Caribbean Sea. The banks of the river, poorly maintained, look more like beaches than banks. In Chacalapa, many of the homes are made of mud and tree poles and are obviously very vulnerable in the face of natural disasters. The river destroyed many homes and took away the belongings, crops, and food of many families. In an attempt to find shelter, many of the families relocated to the community school, located on higher ground. Food quickly ran out, the trees were stripped of fruit, and people huddled together waiting for the rain to end. Illness began to spread: fungal infections, hepatitis, and dengue fever. Days later, help finally entered bringing food, medications, and some clothing to those most affected by the flooding. Most of the families are employed by the enormous orange groves in the surrounding area. Although the people have lived on the land for generations, the orange groves are in the hands of several national and international enterprises and the average wage is about L.40 daily or roughly $2. Ten dollars a week doesn’t stretch far for the large families in Chacalapa. There was hope that perhaps the government would assist in disaster relief, but, as Honduras was in a time of national elections, the poor and voiceless were sadly forgotten. We visited families, held worship, and prayed in homes. In the face of children sick with hepatitis, young pregnant women that had lost their homes, and exhausting despair, the prayers cried out for justice, relief, and aid. Back in the main church offices, the staff worked on an emergency project together with ACT (Action Churches Together) to build sixty new homes in two of the communities most affected by the storms. The homes, with cinderblock walls and cement floors will be stronger in the future against the rains and winds. Now, at the end of January, the construction project is well underway and many families have new homes complete with a wall inside and a front step! Undoubtedly, the sisters in the Cañada will ask about their Honduran brothers and sisters on the north coast. We’ll sit together in one of the small, dark, dirt huts around a candle on the floor and they’ll ask, “Lindsay, what do you know about the church in the north? Do you have news?” “A little news,” I’ll say. And then I’ll mention the indigenous community where we have begun to work, the homes built, the youth we helped treat for hepatitis. “We have to pray,” they’ll immediately say. Probably Lillian or Maria will say it. Softly we’ll come together around the candle, swatting at the flies, mesmerized by the rays of sun beaming in though the thatch, and we’ll pray. Thanks for your prayers. With hope, Lindsay |