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.