I’ve been neglecting my blog lately as both my work life and my home life have gotten busier. I recently took a trip to Roatan, one of the Bay Islands off the Caribbean coast of Honduras, where I met up with Lauren, one of my good friends from my Guatemala days. Lauren is from Australia, and I hadn’t seen her in almost 4 years, so it was a wonderful coincidence that her family just happened to decide to vacation there this year. Roatan is like another world within Honduras with its crystal clear aquamarine water, white sand beaches and, something that I didn’t realize how much I appreciate until now, safe streets. I could happily wander the streets of the island without wondering if someone was going to rob me at gunpoint or hit me with their car. Right off the coast one can find healthy vibrant coral teaming with sea life. I spent hours snorkeling and playing in the ocean, and catching up with Lauren (with a few too many rum and pineapple drinks – the West End where we were staying is quite the party spot).
I enjoyed my trip to paradise immensely and headed right back to work midweek.
I’ve been conducting focus groups with youth from different areas of Tegucigalpa to find out what the real story is about unemployment in the city. On Friday I went out to one of the areas where I was introduced to the reality of life for many Tegucigalpians. The “colonia” I visited is part of Tegucigalpa that technically should receive the same funding as the rest of the municipality. It lies on the hills to the west overlooking the city and the view is the best thing it has going for it. The roads are unpaved; there is no police presence, no health centers and no running water. Gangs and drugs have made sure that this colonia suffers from violence and insecurity.
I and the driver of the van belonging to CDH (Centro de Desarrollo Humano, the NGO I work for) started driving up the hills to get to the neighbourhood and promptly got stuck in the mud as it had rained the night before. I quickly offered to jump out and help push, but the driver told me that it was too dangerous for me to get out of the vehicle and so we sat there for a few minutes before some young men came along to help push us out. I felt very helpless and a little afraid as I could see that the driver was nervous, and had told me repeatedly how much he disliked going to this area. After getting stuck a second time I called the local youth who had helped me organize the focus group to accompany me to the Community Hall where we were to have the session as the van could go no further. We walked the rest of the way through the mud to the hall which was a simple concrete building with no facilities or glass in the windows. Of the 15 people who attended the focus group not a single one had a job. The situation seems dismal and the mindset of the people matched it. There’s little hope that things will change and people have resorted to doing what they can to scrape by by selling tortillas, making homemade jewelry or finding day labour. Two of the women there were attending university, a sacrifice in itself as going to and from the university from the colonia costs about half of what you would make daily on a minimum wage job, plus the cost of books and the fact that there is no way to work while attending University because part time jobs don’t exist in Tegucigalpa. Many people are of the opinion that that it’s not worth it to go to university because even after getting a diploma there is no guarantee of getting a job. Many people from this neighborhood have faced discrimination from the companies they apply to work for, who, upon finding out what neighborhood they live in, refuse to hire them for security reasons. Recently, three families from this area were forced to leave their homes due to threats from the local gangs. The chances of someone who grows up in this neighborhood being able to leave or better their situation are slim. One of the young women, who was very beautiful, told me she was about to leave for Panama to try her luck there. Her brother had already gone before and was lining up work for her.
On the drive back into the main part of the city I reflected upon the unfairness of life in that no one can choose where they are born. Having been born in Canada was like being given a gift upon birth, to be able to have opportunities, choices, safety and to not have to think about where my next meal was coming from. I grew up poor by most people’s terms but I never once had to fear for my life or fear that there wasn’t going to be food on the table at the next meal. A part of me feels guilty for being born lucky. I know this is a little ridiculous, I shouldn’t feel guilty just for having been born where I was, but I do think that with the opportunities that I’ve been granted in this life and the abilities I have, I should do as much as I can to create goodness and balance in life and I think this is what drives me to do the work that I do.
