Life lessons learned in Honduras

BY MEREDITH BAKER

Thursday, July 30, 2009 4:25 PM EDT

“Oye Amor, es una tortura perderte.” Twenty-two little Honduran voices sang these lines back to me from Shakira’s song “La Tortura” this past month during my time at the Hogar de Amor home for abused children. In English, the line translates “oh love, it is a torture to lose you.”

One month ago I was listening to this song on my iPod, on a plane to Honduras, unsure of what was to come next, fresh off the podium of high school graduation.

Now the words have taken on a new meaning: it is a torture to leave those children and that experience in Honduras behind, with the 22 little voices still echoing in my ears as I make the difficult transition back to reality.

I went into my volunteer experience in Honduras with unrealistic expectations. I was going to transform the lives of these children, whom I had never met, and they would never be the same.

I was immensely humbled when I arrived at the Hogar de Amor, part of the Helping Honduras Kids Organization, and began to adopt the natural rhythm of the day-to-day routines of the children. The children (ranging from ages 5-14) get up every day at 5 a.m. and get in line, oldest to youngest, to use the showers.

They then do their morning cleaning, eat breakfast together and head off to the school building in the gated orphanage grounds to begin a day of learning at 7 a.m. sharp. Most volunteers teach students grades kindergarten to fifth, and by noon, classes are done and lunch is served. After lunch, the kids have a time for chores, then the rest of the afternoon and night is theirs.

Since my time at the Hogar de Amor was short, I wanted to take advantage of all the extra time I had with the children. Many of the kids were bright and curious, and wanted to learn English. We started an afternoon English class and in a week’s time, they all could introduce themselves in English and sing the chorus of Taylor Swift’s song “Love Story.”

I ended each day in utter exhaustion, having drained my energy on 22 never-tiring children. It was a good kind of exhaustion though, because for the first time in a long time, I was too busy focusing on the problems and needs of others, that I didn’t have time to dwell on my (small in comparison) own problems. For the first time in a long time, I was feeling content.

Teaching second grade was no easy task. I had a curriculum to follow but I exhausted half of my energy on getting the kids to stop fighting and focus before I could even begin to teach.

When I was not playing with the kids or teaching, I was getting to know the other volunteers. They came from all parts of the world and everyone had an interesting story behind their reason to come to Honduras. We picked up on each other’s “cultural quirks” and exchanged stories of Europe, Australia and the U.S.

It was nice to have others with whom I could observe the Honduran culture and share some of the same memories and experiences. Since we had the weekends off, and everything in Honduras is much cheaper than it is back home, we were able to visit islands off the coast of Honduras and recharge before another week of teaching hard and playing harder at the orphanage.

When it was finally time to say goodbye (I had to cut my trip a little short due to the political unrest in the country), I did not think I would cry, did not think it would hit me until later. I walked into the schoolhouse, where everyone was sitting obediently at their desks, to give one last “abrazo” (hug) to the kids.

It wasn’t until I was saying goodbye to Lourdes, a five-year-old who I called “my monkey” because she would climb to the top of the orange trees in the backyard that I started tearing up.

“Pon yo en su mochila. Trae tu mono a los Estados Unidos.” (“Put me in your backpack. Take your monkey to the United States”) Lourdes commanded in her tiny voice as she proceeded to unzip my backpack to try to fit in.

Going to Honduras taught me to be independent when getting around; commanding and patient when teaching a class and enforcing rules; understanding when dealing with kids who have had a difficult past; frugal when bargaining with hostel owners and fruit vendors; sincere when making new friends and sharing new experiences; and appreciative for the family I have in Houston that allowed me the trust and financial means to take the trip in the first place.

By the time I arrived in Houston, I was already homesick for Honduras. I couldn’t see that we were in an “economic crisis” when people in Honduras seemed perfectly content to get by with so much less.

The month I spent in Honduras was the best trip I have taken and was the best thing I could do before going to college, as I now have a new sense of self and independence. While I already miss the kids terribly, I hope to return and plan to start a support chapter of their organization at my college, so I can continue to help.

While I hope the kids remember me and I hope I had a meaningful impact on their lives, truth be told, they did more for me than I did for them.

Due to the political instability in Honduras and the recession in the United States, the Helping Honduras Kids Organization is in need of money to continue caring for and educating the children. If you want to learn more on how you can get involved with the Hogar de Amor or the Helping Honduras Kids, visit www.helpinghonduraskids.org.