I lased up my tenni’s and brushed my teeth. I had no idea what was in store for the day. The rumors were that the ex-president was planning an entry into Honduras, which according to my friend meant protests and manifestations from “Mel” supporters. I should interject here, I don’t really know what is going on-I’m not sure anyone does. But to her credit, my friend has done an impressive amount of research, not to mention her boyfriend who works for one of the major newspapers here. They understand there is corruption in the government. They even give credit to their president’s early years, but they say something changed along the way. And with the recent attempts to apparently change the constitution (allowing him to remain as President) their main fear, and not without cause, is the Chavez influence from Venezuela.
Being inconspicuous is not easy when you are the only gringo in sight, armed solely with a camera, which swung across my back like a monkey with every step I took. I walked with my friend from her business to the “hot” area (where the manifestations generally began or ended). The ousted president was threatening a return. The current government was threatening armed action-if necessary to prevent it. And in the city, it all seemed so normal. Granted I had nothing to compare this day in downtown San Pedro Sula to, but as far as I could tell, there was no tension was mounting. People sat, strolled, sold goods in the square. Men asked me if I needed to change money, most paid no attention. Nothing like the nation in turmoil I had imagined.
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I'm off to see the world. Usually I live in Flagstaff, but now I am on a boat with an old friend. We will be doing good deeds a…
I hit the ground instantly. The force of impact nearly knocked me out. Stunned, I tried to gather and prepare myself for more. I didn’t know how or why, the only thing I was sure of was that I was under attack.
I found myself in a hammock, swinging back and forth between exhaustion and the inability to sleep.
These kids are different. They don’t look different. They don’t act different. They don’t even feel different…but they are. They know they are, which might be the greatest challenge these children ever face. They’re all HIV positive.
The roads are made of stone. Honduran men stroll casually through the streets. Shielded from the searing sun, their machetes swing step by step, in and out of the circle of shade offered by their cowboy hats.
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