sobriety

I didn't enter Honduras tossing flowers out the airplane window.

Yet it seemed like everyone I talked to before leaving was very concerned for my safety. While I appreciated their concern, I couldn't help but be annoyed that they thought I was so naive. Did I strike people as gullible? Reckless? Green? Why was everyone-- from my El Salvadorian neighbor to my Nicaraguan banker-- telling me to bring pepper spray and to not. trust. anyone. ??

Duh. Didn't they know-- I lived in France! I traveled across Europe! I was a big girl! It wasn't like I didn't know what I was getting into. Sure, I remembered the stories from last summer about the Zetas and decapitated heads left for Mexican police to discover. But that was in Mexico. This was Honduras!


Here are some things I did not know about what I was getting myself into:


Honduras is the "Murder Capital of the World"-- 82 homicides per every 100,000 inhabitants. 

The Peace Corps pulled out of Honduras this year after fifty years of operation in the country because of escalating violence. And I live in the thick of things, literally. 

Catacamas is the largest city in Olancho, the "wild west" of Honduras. When we travel and tell other Hondurans we live in Catacamas, they react in horror. I'm not exaggerating. 

So statistics are one thing. But how about this:

The first week she was here, Candra was walking in the street when someone pulled out a gun and shot dead a man right in front of her in broad daylight. Candra was horrified. People around her kept walking as if nothing happened. 

Last weekend, eight young men were shot and killed while playing soccer. Eight. Teenagers. Killed. Just up the street from my school. 


Yesterday, one of my 7th grade students threw something out the window and it hit someone. Embarrassing, right? More than embarrassing. The guy whipped out his gun and aimed it at the bus. The bus driver sped away as fast as he could and I guess the guy never fired a shot (or at least it missed) but still... I can't even believe it. My student. My pesky, bratty student. 


None of these incidents cause our fellow teachers/ students to bat an eyelash. This is reality to them. Everyday reality. 

It has become my reality, too. I never want to accept it. I never want to become desensitized. And I certainly don't want to die. But life isn't really in my hands, and it sure isn't mine to hold on to.