Our teacher's lounge at SJBS

The above is a picture of our teacher's lounge, which does not resemble most in United States' schools that have extra funds to toss into rejuvenating niceties such as water coolers and cooking magazines. There is one table to be shared by a dozen teachers, no coffee maker or refrigerator, and no comfortable chairs. But the floors are perpetually buffed to a high gloss and the walls are speckled with the smashed innards of countless annoying insects.

A typical house in Cofradia

These pictures portray a typical concrete dwelling in our town. The house is unfinished and may remain so forever, and there are no screens on the windows or doors. Furnishings are spartan and the decor is drab and threadbare, befitting a family with very limited income. The couches never look too comfortable, the television probably works great, the kitchen is always cramped, and the bedroom features a lumpy mattress that guarantees a mediocre sleeping experience.

SJBS students using old-school audio tools

La Glorieta in its glory!

I am not sure why the school cafeteria was called "La Glorieta," because there was certainly nothing glorious about it. In return for providing the construction materials, Pepsi (the real owner of Honduras) demanded that the structure be painted in its signature blue and white colors, ironically also the colors of the Honduran flag. The Pepsi logo also had to be emblazoned in as many places as possible. Inside the kitchen, our excellent cook, Dona Nuvia, and her able assistant worked long and hard to feed the school's 170 kids and fourteen staff, dishing up Honduran staples like pollo frito with tajadas, frijoles con arroz, chop suey, and the ubiquitous baleada. It was always like 120 degrees inside the kitchen, but Nuvia and her chica did not seem to be the least bit fazed by the searing heat. Lunch was always pandemonium as teachers struggled to get the kids from all grades to form actual lines and wait their turn to get served (it is a Honduran custom to cut ahead in line whenever possible). There were only a few tables in front of the glorieta and these would become filthy and fly-infested after about ten minutes into the lunch period. All in all, we would not have made it without our Pepsi cafeteria-Nuvia's nourishment kept teachers and this administrator going for the rest of the school day.

Besame Mucho

I always felt like the above photo, taken at a bird park near Copan, captures the universal essence of true love, across species. Just look at the sweet way that the male macaw is nuzzling the face of his mate, seeming to whisper sweet somethings into her expectant ear...

Inside the Mercado Negro of Honduras

One of the most striking differences between the commercial life of Honduras compared with El Norte is the preponderance of black market goods for sale in every large city and tiny village. Anything can be found, from pirated dvd's of the latest movies in the cinema, to second-rate knockoffs of leading wristwatch and clothing brands, to less licit items such as hard drugs and firearms, to everything in between. The black market here comprises a vast, thriving, and quite open economic underbelly, which is at least as competitive and profitable as the officially sanctioned, above-board economy. In a nation where the average per capita income is $1600 U.S. per year, the vast majority of citizens do not have a glut of disposable income to spend on items necessary for survival or luxury goods. In this trying context, ubiquitous and easy access to the black market makes sense. It is in fact essential to the well being of the populace over the long term.

No doubt, the corrupt central government and its weak regulatory apparatus condone the existence of the black market because it means joe pauper can get a taste of the better life for much less. In the absence of subsidized food items, universal health care, and affordable housing, every citizen must fend for his or her self, and there would no doubt be much greater social instability and political unrest in Honduras were the black market to be shut down or disrupted in any way. Moreover, millions of people can instantly become sidewalk entrepeneurs once they get their hands on anything that remotely has consumer appeal, and these same folks can get discounted material goods for sustenance or pleasure, even if the quality is often substandard and the actual origins of the items suspect.

What the folk is up with culture here?

A serious question one must ponder in Cofradia is: where are the folk aspects of Honduran culture that surely must exist on some level? Outside of going to intolerably loud and lengthy masses at one of the numerous evangelical churches scattered around town, or, if one is Catholic, having a more solemn religious experience at the lone, imposing church that followers of the papal bull call home, what does the average citizen do with the little bit of free time that exists? There are no movie theaters, bowling alleys, shopping malls, or even a municipal swimming pool. There are no gymnasiums or YMCA-like palaces of unfettered recreation. There is no library, no shuffleboard or tennis courts, and no track to run laps on.

There are soccer fields spread liberally around town, and an actual stadium with stone slabs for bleachers where bigger futbol matches are played to large crowds. Other than walking (which most Cofradianos would do out of necessity rather than choice), soccer seems to be the only physical activity that the locals wholeheartedly engage in.

What about the arts? In our eight months in Cofradia, I never saw any musical performances scheduled, no bands playing in any venue outside of churches, no art exhibitions or theatrical shows. Guillermo Anderson, the well-known Honduran folk singer, did do a free show at our school for the kids once, but as that was not open to the general community, should it even count?

Is Cofradia a place where people only entertain themselves with television, soccer, or going to church? What is Honduran folk culture exactly? In even the smallest towns in Mexico, nomadic norteno bands would do shows to packed community centers. I never expected the Honduran equivalent of Los Tigres del Norte to do a gig in Cofradia, but if there are any national musical acts besides rural conjunto ensembles and reggaeton troupes, I never saw or heard hide or hair of them. Is the pulse of life so deadened by oppressive material circumstances, and the crushing weight of evangelical tyranny, that it would be considered improper to actually go out and dance and have a really good time?

Cofradia is a place where people live to work unsatisfying jobs, and my sense is that the nation as a whole, having exterminated most of its indigenous peoples long ago, is stuck in a cultural dead zone between U.S. imperialism and a vague notion of mestizo identity that is rooted in a tendency towards self-negation. Mestizo Hondurans that I met, time and again, could not tell me what made them stick out from their mixed Spanish-Indian counterparts in neighboring nations. Their emphasis was not on being Honduran in any unique sense. To be sure, there are native food folkways like baleadas, sopa de mondongo, and tajadas. But musical forms and television and movie themes were either borrowed unchanged from neighboring countries or adapted only slightly to fit the Honduran context. The last thing I expected in Honduras was to find so many people who genuinely wanted to replicate other people's cultural forms without questioning whether they might have something different and unique to contribute themselves. If there was a vibrant movement for cultural autonomy and empowerment on any sizable scale, I must have missed it.