Discovering Comayagua

August 14, 2009

Today has been the most interesting day so far. My morning was quite normal with the workout, breakfast, internet café etc, but I received a notice yesterday that one of the packages I sent with school supplies a few months ago has arrived. The post office closed by the time the school gave me the notice so I went today to pick it up. One of the girls I will be working with at the school, whose name I have forgotten, brought me there. I discovered so much more about Comayagua than what is just on the main street where I walk to get to the bank, store, school, and whatever. After I obtained my package and took it home, I grabbed my camera and went to where she had taken me. I first went to a beautiful Cathedral. This Cathedral is home to the oldest clock in all of the Americas. The inside is very extravagant and well preserved. The art is so beautiful, it almost made me cry. Then again, I cry about everything. I have always loved the faces in the Catholic paintings and art of Jesus Christ. His face is so mournful and solemn and sad. They really portray the suffering servant side of Jesus. Honduras, of course, is a very Catholic community so this church means a lot to them. There is currently a drive to raise money for renovations. I slipped a few bills in there even though I’m not Catholic, but I really like the art and extravagance. I just feel humbled, yet uplifted when I am in someplace that beautiful.

Another striking, yet morbid place just a few blocks away is the second oldest church built in the Americas and right outside is a town square where they used to hang people such as thieves, but mostly the indigenous Indians. This is just a folk tale to some of the younger people, but some older locals told me it was true. There a giant pillar to commemorate these events for some reason. I walked through a different street to get back to the Cathedral and discovered a guitar shop. The guitars were around 1,000 to 2,000 lemps. I wanted to get one because they are beautiful, but I did not want to make a hasty decision so I told the man I would be back.

While walking the square in front of the Cathedral, I noticed a man who looked like he could be American. He noticed me staring so he said “Hello!”

“Are you American?” I asked.

“Couldn’t you tell?”

He was right. Americans can spot other Americans from a mile away. His name is Calvin and he is teaching English with computers at a school named San Juan. He is not a missionary. He does this for money and easy living outside of the hustle and bustle we call society. Calvin is from Los Angeles and has been living in Honduras for two years and was talking to some students in the park. Carlos, who says the F-word like Tilk says indeed, is a student of Calvin’s. Carlos used to live in Boston and went to school there for two years before he got deported. He hates Spaniards, loves women with a little fat, and likes his mango with salt, Tabasco, and teriyaki sauce. It seems a lot of the indigenous people hate Spaniards. Carlos told me a story of a man from very rich and noble birth from Spain that was killed in Comayagua a few weeks ago. Supposedly he was married to a Honduran woman, but wanted a divorce. The Spaniard did not want to leave anything to his wife after the divorce so he put all of his property and assets in his name. A family member or someone of that sort to the wife shot and killed the Spaniard. The locals, according to Carlos, hid the killer and would not give up any info because they were glad a Spaniard died.

Another girl that was with them has a name that is pronounced Bellskey, but I have to idea how to spell that. I sat with them in the shade for a long time. They invited me to a night club, but I explained to them I am a missionary and engaging in said behavior would result in trouble for myself, La Sierra, and the church. They changed the subject and we talked about how all of the women, except for one or two we noticed, have what has been coined as “taco belly.” The people eat stacks of tortillas for every meal. They also eat a lot of dairy so most of them have “taco belly” despite how much they walk and ride bikes. One thing that is impressive about the Honduran people that Calvin pointed out, is how colored their hair stays in old age. After bringing this up, I did notice that women and men obviously, in their sixties or seventies, had naturally jet black hair with little to no grey hairs. Regardless of how fat, skinny, grey, or black they might be, the people seem to be very fun and loving. As I was walking around taking pictures of people, one lady wanted to see hers. Without letting go of the camera, I showed her and she laughed very much. They told me to take a picture of an old man beside them. He looked drunk and dead. They thought it would be funny so I did. They told me to show him. The man, obviously not sober for a while, looked up and was confused to see himself in a small square. They laughed it off in good fun then the man went back to sleep. Most people say “Hola” or “Buenas” as I walk down the street just as they do to each other except for the occasional nasty man who says “Psst I love you”. I am starting to feel a little more comfortable here.

I finally decided to wander home and had a nice surprise waiting for me there. Melissa, a missionary from England, finally came! She is Jamaican-English, very nice, and willing to share the groceries. I made some dinner as she un-packed. We had vegetable soup. For dessert, we had locally grown bananas with peanut butter. I do not know when the other missionaries come, but at least I have someone else. I am glad she is nice.