Saturday morning and I was at the City Hall by 8.00 a.m. ready to go look at a piece of property for sale. Five of us piled into a double cab pick up and headed off. The trip was 24 kilometres but took us 45 minutes. The road wasn’t too bad and, despite a long bout of rainy weather, was in good shape. The gravel section is, evidently, worked on once a year by the district. It is the only route to a village on the far side of a large lake that has been created by a dam used for hydro-electric production.
We were a fair bit higher than Santa Cruz and the hills and valleys looked much like a greener version of the B.C. interior. Hills were covered with thickly scattered pine trees and each fold was lush with a great abundance of trees. By the time we could see the lake, the population had dwindled to just the odd house every kilometre or so.
The lake is gorgeous and the land we were looking at had a number of lovely viewpoints. One section of the land is almost touching the lake but we didn’t have time to hike all the way there. As it was, we hiked up and down and around looking at nooks and crannies, springs, streams, small valleys, tree covered hillsides and odd little pathways. It really was a spectacular place. It is hard to believe how quickly the population drops off away from the major arteries.
En route to the property we passed a checkpoint manned by armed soldiers. Evidently they are posted to prevent illegal harvesting of trees. That is nice to see. I wasn’t sure about all the numbers but it seems that if you harvest a tree you must plant ten replacements. I hope that is true. It bodes well for the future.
One of the men we were with knew a great deal about the land and what would grow and so forth. He gladly pointed out the different species of trees and some of their characteristics. In one of the lower sections there was wild Honduran cilantro growing. Another spot featured liquorice.
The altitude ensured a relatively cool atmosphere, despite the sunshine. Nevertheless, we were well warmed up by the end of three hours hiking. A small spring helped cool us down as we headed back to the truck.
Coming out of the property we came across another vehicle that was trying to carry fence posts up to a corner of their pasture. It had gotten well and truly stuck. After fifteen minutes, unloading the posts and well splattered jeans, the truck was out of the mud and we were back on our way.
We arrived back in Santa Cruz at close to one o’clock. That was when the sixth grade graduation I was to attend was scheduled to begin. Well, I hurried home, had a shower (the water was running thankfully) changed clothes and headed back to the town square to catch a rapidito to the village turn off. Well, the election is scheduled for today and already police and army had moved in to ensure stability (???) and so the collectivos had disappeared. I didn’t have enough Spanish to inquire where they might have gone. Fortunately, I spotted a van that had the names of villages beyond my destination and garnered a seat. There were obviously others in the same predicament as the rapidito was soon filled to African capacity.
After reaching the turn off, I walked the half mile to the hall where the graduation was to take place. I passed by a few houses and saw them decorated with balloons for their graduate. In one house I saw one of the graduates in her lovely, semi-formal blue dress still getting ready. So, even though I was 45 minutes late, I was still early. Good stuff.
At the hall, I met an American couple who have been living in the village for the last three years. We renewed acquaintance and then moved in to be seated. I found a seat but, very shortly, I was asked to move to the front of the auditorium and take a seat at the head table with the couple. Foreign dignitaries and all that. Sigh. I’ve been through that before so wasn’t too taken aback.
The 14 graduates were all dressed in light blue shirts or formal/semi-formal dresses. Obviously, a very big event in their lives. Considering that many children in Honduras do not finish Grade 6, it really is an important occasion. For the majority, there is no school for them to go to for further education. Hopefully, our project will be able to change that in a small way.
The ceremony began with the singing of the National Anthem. My theory is that, the smaller the country, the longer the anthem. Two younger girls from the school had been recruited to hold the flag so that it was fully spread out. It was a long two hours for them.
Speeches, of course, were given. When it came time to hand out the framed diplomas, each of us “dignitaries” was given one diploma. The students were called one by one and, as their name was called, they went to the back of the auditorium and were then escorted back to the front by one or two witnesses. As they went down the line of dignitaries to receive a hug or handshake, their witnesses signed the school registry to affirm that they had received their diploma. Then, the person with their diploma presented it to them and stood while pictures were taken. The student then was given a small present bag by their witness and, occasionally, by other members of the audience.
Part way through this part of the ceremony, we at the front were served with a glass of banana flavoured soda and several crackers with a dollop of jam. It is hot and thirsty work being a dignitary. For the greater part of the proceedings, I had been unofficially adopted by a small Huck Finn type. He meandered back and forth from my lap to go visit a couple of other wayfarer type onlookers and then back again a number of times. Of course, he was confident that his visits should entitle him to a share of the refreshments. One of the other people dissuaded him of that perception so I was saved from wondering what was appropriate.
Staying for the whole ceremony is not a cultural necessity. By the time the last graduate received their diploma, about half of the audience had headed outside and were on their way to various homes for food and refreshment. The applause was definitely much less enthusiastic by that time as well.
My hostess, Julia, directed me to the home of her daughter where the celebration for her grandson (son? – Spanish and whatnot making for a bit of confusion on that score) was taking place. Money had been sent by her children in the States to ensure an acceptable celebration. The home was a partly finished building with unplastered walls and gravel floors in half of it. But, tables and chairs were spread out and balloons and decorations made the place festive. We had potato salad, fried chicken and rice with vegetables followed by cake. Lovely.
As it turned twilight, I climbed the hill back to the main road and waited for a collective back to Santa Cruz.
Bryan
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