By Damon Grant, '04
Funding: Dickey Center
As junior year began, I didn't know much about what I wanted from my off term, but I knew that I wanted an adventure. I did not want to move back home; I did not want to get a desk job. The D-plan had just handed me two months to do anything I wanted, and I was absolutely determined to take advantage of that. The possibilities were as endless as they were daunting. I sat down and tried to sketch out criteria, coming up with two: I wanted to go to a warm place, and I wanted to improve my Spanish-speaking skills. With only these two bullet points on paper, I searched the Internet and simultaneously applied for a grant through the Dickey Center.
Three months later I was on a plane to San Pedro Sula, Honduras, to live in a place I had never seen and work for a man I had never met. I knew a little about the community I would be living in, mainly that the population was living in "misery," a demographic well below North American poverty standards. However, I don't think that anything could have fully prepared me for what I saw in my first hour in Honduras.
Through Internet research, I found out about a Maryknoll Catholic priest - Father Tom - who had been working in this very poor community in Honduras for five years. After a few emails, we determined that another Dartmouth student and I would live in his community for eight weeks and help out in whatever way we could.
Father Tom picked us up from the airport in a beat- up red truck with a huge jagged crack running down the windshield and mud splattered over every inch of the outside. It had been raining for the past few weeks and the dirt roads had deteriorated into ridges and bumps of mud. Because of the road's poor conditions, we drove very slowly, allowing me to take in the surrounding sugar cane fields. As we left the "country" and entered the more urban area of Chamelecón, the scenery changed drastically. The streets were narrow, and the tiny houses were built without space in between. None of the streets were paved and the ditches running along the sides were littered with debris.
The community of Chamelecón had gained an infamous reputation as a tough neighborhood. It was an area afflicted with the problems of any low income inner city area in the U.S.: gang violence, teen pregnancy, hunger, and AIDS, among others. Add the kind of extreme poverty that affects much of Central America to that scenario, and the hopelessness of the situation multiplies.
Father Tom was trying to infuse the community with hope and a sense of purpose. His roles ranged from being head of a large parish to acting as a paternal figure to the two teenage boys that lived with him. The project that enveloped the overwhelming majority of the funds, time, and manpower was the housing project. Father Tom adamantly believed that owning their own homes was an essential part of building pride in the people of the community. A team of male workers, twelve to forty years old, worked to build houses for parishioners throughout the neighborhood. They also added onto and improved existing structures. They built walls to afford privacy in close quarters; they added a new classroom to a school; and they improved a family's septic tank, among other projects. These houses were simple one or two room structures, but they were sturdy, safe and clean, three qualities that were extremely rare in Chamelecón.
Our daily activities were varied. Some days we worked inside on the Father's computers, organizing the parish finances. Some days we organized and distributed school supplies to local children. Some days we worked at the local clinic where they de-tattooed gang members who were trying to leave street life. Some days we were outside, helping with the building project by mixing cement, clearing, or helping transport cinderblocks on a horse-drawn cart. We went into the city frequently to run errands-we had to buy all the food for the workers and get supplies for the projects.
On Sundays, we held "classes," during which we took out the art supplies we had brought and invited neighborhood kids to draw or make necklaces. These few hours were always hectic with every kid (and there were sometimes forty or fifty) wanting our attention and approval. We taught English in two different schools three nights a week. Some of the first and second grade level students were in their twenties and thirties.
Every day was an adventure and a challenge. Just living in a community so different from anything I had experienced was hard. It was hard to be harassed everyday walking down the street because I was a girl, because I was white, or because I wore shorts that day. It was hard to see usually boisterous and playful kids going hungry. It was hard to learn that the woman down the street with three children couldn't read or write. It was hard to find out that the student in my English class with the big goofy smile was in a lethal street gang. I was constantly searching for the simplest ways to alleviate the pain that I saw around me. When we made a meal, we invited everyone in. And when that woman went to her first day of first grade, we babysat for her kids. And, I was just as strict with that boy in my class as I was before, because in my classroom, it didn't matter what kind of marero (gang member) he was in the street.
There were many times when I would look around and wonder: "How did I get here?" How did an Ivy League gringa from New York City end up in Chamelecón, Honduras? Although I had been seeking an adventure, I surprised myself with just how far I had gone. I also surprised myself with how quickly I learned to enjoy rice and beans for three meals a day, how easy it was to live without looking in a mirror, and how natural it became to connect with people whose life experiences had nothing in common with my own.
Thus far, I can easily say that going to Honduras is the most significant experience of my time at Dartmouth and perhaps even of my life. I think back on all those evenings filled with pick-up soccer games, the afternoons spent playing with groups of children, and the mornings waking up in one of the most beautiful natural surroundings I have ever seen. It would have been easy to commend my adventurous spirit for spending my off-term in Honduras. Just showing up everyday meant a lot to people whose expectations were so rarely met. But to the people of that community, I wasn't a crusader out to save the world; I was their friend, playmate, confidante, co-worker, and teacher. And so it is them who I thank for making the most of my two months. By opening the door to adventure, I allowed these amazing experiences and people to enter and forever change my life.
