[Note: This was originally posted Wednesday, June 25, and accidentally deleted.]
It is Wednesday, and the clinic closes at noon so that we can begin to pack up for the journey home. There is no time to write a full blog entry, but I want to take a few minutes to post photos of some of the colleagues we've worked with, friends we've made, and people we've served in here in Honduras.
I am limited in the number of photos I have time to upload, and it was difficult choosing. I missed many people whose faces should be here, and I apologize. But whether your photograph is here or not, be assured that we will all remember you and continue to think of you for years to come.
http://picasaweb.google.com/abrubacca/HonduranFaces2
Enjoy.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Home
This (Tuesday) is my third day home, and gradually I am reacclimating to the pre-Honduras routines of my life. I arrived home Saturday at about 11:30 pm (after being awake since 4:30 am) and although my wife, Sheri, and I stayed up and talked until long past sunrise, we were both too excited to sleep for more than a couple hours on Sunday before resuming the conversation. In telling stories about my experiences in Honduras, I was surprised myself by the many things that had happened and how deeply they affected me. So it has been an exhausting few days, and only now am I finding the energy to write a new blog entry.
For the twenty-some of us returning to the USA Saturday morning, the airport-of-entry was Houston. We spilled out of the plane, excited to be on familiar soil, looking forward to the connecting flights that would take us the rest of the way home. We scattered in all directions into the huge airport, looking for shopping, food and any other distractions to help our almost six-hour layover pass quickly.
I ended up in a small diner, with an overstuffed sandwich and huge mound of french fries in front of me. I was glad to be once again in a familiar world, where, for the first time in two weeks, I could understand every word, sight, sound and smell, read every sign, decode every gesture. Yet the longer I sat there, the more things began to seem unfamiliar. Everything seemed too big, bright, clean and shiny. The spaces were almost oppressively crowded and noisy. The people too neat and hurried.
Behind the diner's counter, three young servers in pink candy-striped uniforms chatted loudly about lip gloss and the party they were going to that evening. Almost unnoticed, a small Latino woman in dishwasher's whites moved among them, bringing trays of clean glasses and tableware from the kitchen, stacking fresh napkins, mopping spills on the floor. She kept her eyes down, concentrating on her job, avoiding eye contact with anyone. The servers ignored her.
I was not in Honduras any more.
Final Statistics
The story of the CURE 2008 mission to Honduras cannot be told in numbers, but numbers can at least give everyone an idea of the mission's scope and achievements. And so here, thanks to Dr. Steve Proctor, are the final statistics for the mission's clinic perations:
Oral Surgery
Adults 526
Children 293
Tooth Extractions 2239
Restorative Dental
Adults 199
Children 284
Teeth restored 873
Surfaces restored:
Amalgam 821
Composite 1212
Dental Hygiene
Cleanings &
Fluoride Treaments 172
Medical
Adults 1381
Children 1200
Physical Therapy 261
Eye Care 362
Piprazine Treatments
Adults 1383
Children 1152
Vitamins (30-day supplies)
Adults 1303
Children 1216
Prescriptions
General 7578
Dental 888
Laboratory Tests 286
Health & Christian Education Classes
Adults & Children 3100
Decisons for the Lord 200
And as some gauge of what I spent my time doing:
Photographs taken 2887
Not the Last Word
This is my last blog entry, but it is not the end of the blog. I hope other members of the mission team will contribute their own stories to it by adding comments to this post. To get the ball rolling, here is a story I received from Steve Proctor when he sent me the statistics. I hope it moves everyone as much as it did me:
Even though this was our third trip, I am always affected emotionally by our time in Honduras. The old ones are the ones that really seem to tug at my heartstrings. They have been beaten down by poverty and hard work for their whole lives, but still manage to retain a quiet dignity. The men are very formal -- proud in spite of a life of backbreaking work in the fields -- and seem to be energized when you look them in the eye and extend a handshake. The old women are grateful to have someone touch them reassuringly on the shoulder or extend any simple act of kindness. It seems to surprise them that we would personally reach out to them with a concern that reaffirms their worth. It should be no surprise -- everyone wants to feel valued. I am humbled by these simple, decent people. It is easy to look at them and see the face of Christ.
Of course there are also the children -- innocent and beautiful, facing nearly insurmountable odds in life. They are so precious, playful, but with a sadness that is just below the surface. They are often very timid, and must be encouraged to do something as simple as pick out a toothbrush. I often wonder if they will live long enough to be one of the old ones who will bear the marks of the wear and tear of a hard Honduran life of poverty.
I often think about the woman we saw in the dental clinic on Friday. She only weighed about 80 lbs. She looked to be about 50, but was obviously much younger. She had three children under the age of 10 and was very frail. When Herman told her that after six extractions she should rest as much as possible, she watered up and said "How can I do that? I have three children and my husband is disabled in a wheelchair. There is no one else to work and take care of the children."
She and the kids were all hungry and had had nothing to eat all day. So we gave them some food we had behind the desk and some Limperas to buy food. It was one of those situations that brings me to tears every time I think about it. She was living her life hanging by a thread.
Thanks, Steve. And thank you, everyone, who made the CURE Honduras 2008 mission such a tremendous success.
For the twenty-some of us returning to the USA Saturday morning, the airport-of-entry was Houston. We spilled out of the plane, excited to be on familiar soil, looking forward to the connecting flights that would take us the rest of the way home. We scattered in all directions into the huge airport, looking for shopping, food and any other distractions to help our almost six-hour layover pass quickly.
I ended up in a small diner, with an overstuffed sandwich and huge mound of french fries in front of me. I was glad to be once again in a familiar world, where, for the first time in two weeks, I could understand every word, sight, sound and smell, read every sign, decode every gesture. Yet the longer I sat there, the more things began to seem unfamiliar. Everything seemed too big, bright, clean and shiny. The spaces were almost oppressively crowded and noisy. The people too neat and hurried.
Behind the diner's counter, three young servers in pink candy-striped uniforms chatted loudly about lip gloss and the party they were going to that evening. Almost unnoticed, a small Latino woman in dishwasher's whites moved among them, bringing trays of clean glasses and tableware from the kitchen, stacking fresh napkins, mopping spills on the floor. She kept her eyes down, concentrating on her job, avoiding eye contact with anyone. The servers ignored her.
I was not in Honduras any more.
Final Statistics
The story of the CURE 2008 mission to Honduras cannot be told in numbers, but numbers can at least give everyone an idea of the mission's scope and achievements. And so here, thanks to Dr. Steve Proctor, are the final statistics for the mission's clinic perations:
Oral Surgery
Adults 526
Children 293
Tooth Extractions 2239
Restorative Dental
Adults 199
Children 284
Teeth restored 873
Surfaces restored:
Amalgam 821
Composite 1212
Dental Hygiene
Cleanings &
Fluoride Treaments 172
Medical
Adults 1381
Children 1200
Physical Therapy 261
Eye Care 362
Piprazine Treatments
Adults 1383
Children 1152
Vitamins (30-day supplies)
Adults 1303
Children 1216
Prescriptions
General 7578
Dental 888
Laboratory Tests 286
Health & Christian Education Classes
Adults & Children 3100
Decisons for the Lord 200
And as some gauge of what I spent my time doing:
Photographs taken 2887
Not the Last Word
This is my last blog entry, but it is not the end of the blog. I hope other members of the mission team will contribute their own stories to it by adding comments to this post. To get the ball rolling, here is a story I received from Steve Proctor when he sent me the statistics. I hope it moves everyone as much as it did me:
Even though this was our third trip, I am always affected emotionally by our time in Honduras. The old ones are the ones that really seem to tug at my heartstrings. They have been beaten down by poverty and hard work for their whole lives, but still manage to retain a quiet dignity. The men are very formal -- proud in spite of a life of backbreaking work in the fields -- and seem to be energized when you look them in the eye and extend a handshake. The old women are grateful to have someone touch them reassuringly on the shoulder or extend any simple act of kindness. It seems to surprise them that we would personally reach out to them with a concern that reaffirms their worth. It should be no surprise -- everyone wants to feel valued. I am humbled by these simple, decent people. It is easy to look at them and see the face of Christ.
Of course there are also the children -- innocent and beautiful, facing nearly insurmountable odds in life. They are so precious, playful, but with a sadness that is just below the surface. They are often very timid, and must be encouraged to do something as simple as pick out a toothbrush. I often wonder if they will live long enough to be one of the old ones who will bear the marks of the wear and tear of a hard Honduran life of poverty.
I often think about the woman we saw in the dental clinic on Friday. She only weighed about 80 lbs. She looked to be about 50, but was obviously much younger. She had three children under the age of 10 and was very frail. When Herman told her that after six extractions she should rest as much as possible, she watered up and said "How can I do that? I have three children and my husband is disabled in a wheelchair. There is no one else to work and take care of the children."
She and the kids were all hungry and had had nothing to eat all day. So we gave them some food we had behind the desk and some Limperas to buy food. It was one of those situations that brings me to tears every time I think about it. She was living her life hanging by a thread.
Thanks, Steve. And thank you, everyone, who made the CURE Honduras 2008 mission such a tremendous success.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Goodbye, San Marcos. Hello, El Progreso.
This morning was a time of "lasts"-- last accordion reveille, last breakfast together, last exchanges with the Honduran friends we have made. By 8:30 we were on the bus and rumbling out of town, waving to people as we passed. The school grounds that had been our clinic for eleven days were filled with children already starting their first day back to school.
We were leaving half an hour earlier than originally planned, because we were expecting delays along the way. Public transportation workers are striking today throughout the country. There are protests at points along all the major highways. The protesters-- mostly bus drivers whose secondhand yellow school buses are the backbone of the country's public transport system-- have parked their buses along the shoulders and targeted any bus that is on the road. And because we were traveling aboard just such a secondhand (circa 1975) yellow school bus, we expected to be stopped.
And we were.
Daniel Castro rode ahead of us in a pickup truck and Tomas Rodriquez and our bus driver phoned ahead to friends along the highway to check on the situation and alert them that we were on the way. The idea was to let the protesters know that our bus was not "public transportation" but a chartered busload of North American mission workers.
Still, at three checkpoints protesters thronged around us. We quickly shut all the bus windows as one protester leaped onto the back of the bus while others surrounded us, pounding on the sides of the vehicle. No threats were made, and there was no real violence, but there were several tense minutes before Daniel and police with batons managed to explain the situation and get the protesters to agree to allow us to pass.
At the second checkpoint, the protesters clearly were expecting us. While they crowded around the bus, they allowed us to pass, slowly, and waved and gestured to us as we did. It was apparent, though, that there had been a threat of trouble there earlier, because police there were standing by in full riot gear.
The third stop, late in the day, was the least threatening, but it was clear that the all-day protest was still in full swing.
Amid all this excitement, we went about our scheduled activities. First, there was a two-hour stop for shopping at the Guamilita Market in San Pedro Sula, then a visit to the CURE International Hospital now under construction on the outskirts of the city. Then, finally, we made it to our final stop-- the town of El Progreso and the Hotel Casa Blanca. Warm showers. Flushing toilets. AIR CONDITIONING!!!
The bus has just pulled up out front of the hotel to take us to our closing banquet. So I have to run. A great meal with everyone will be a wonderful way to end an exciting day.
We were leaving half an hour earlier than originally planned, because we were expecting delays along the way. Public transportation workers are striking today throughout the country. There are protests at points along all the major highways. The protesters-- mostly bus drivers whose secondhand yellow school buses are the backbone of the country's public transport system-- have parked their buses along the shoulders and targeted any bus that is on the road. And because we were traveling aboard just such a secondhand (circa 1975) yellow school bus, we expected to be stopped.
And we were.
Daniel Castro rode ahead of us in a pickup truck and Tomas Rodriquez and our bus driver phoned ahead to friends along the highway to check on the situation and alert them that we were on the way. The idea was to let the protesters know that our bus was not "public transportation" but a chartered busload of North American mission workers.
Still, at three checkpoints protesters thronged around us. We quickly shut all the bus windows as one protester leaped onto the back of the bus while others surrounded us, pounding on the sides of the vehicle. No threats were made, and there was no real violence, but there were several tense minutes before Daniel and police with batons managed to explain the situation and get the protesters to agree to allow us to pass.
At the second checkpoint, the protesters clearly were expecting us. While they crowded around the bus, they allowed us to pass, slowly, and waved and gestured to us as we did. It was apparent, though, that there had been a threat of trouble there earlier, because police there were standing by in full riot gear.
The third stop, late in the day, was the least threatening, but it was clear that the all-day protest was still in full swing.
Amid all this excitement, we went about our scheduled activities. First, there was a two-hour stop for shopping at the Guamilita Market in San Pedro Sula, then a visit to the CURE International Hospital now under construction on the outskirts of the city. Then, finally, we made it to our final stop-- the town of El Progreso and the Hotel Casa Blanca. Warm showers. Flushing toilets. AIR CONDITIONING!!!
The bus has just pulled up out front of the hotel to take us to our closing banquet. So I have to run. A great meal with everyone will be a wonderful way to end an exciting day.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Dental Health in Honduras
It is Tuesday, the last full day of clinic operations, and there are more than 180 people waiting for dental triage. The line runs the full length of the school building housing the dental clinic, then doubles back on itself. A few minutes ago, Dr. Lee Flinner, co-leader of the dental team, surveyed the line and reluctantly gave the word that we're already past capacity and no one else can be admitted for dental care today. It is only 9:20 am.
The dental and oral surgery clinic is the biggest and busiest on this mission, and for good reason. It is rare to meet anyone over thirty whose warm smile doesn't have at least one or two gaps, and I've watched more than a dozen men and women over fifty have the last of their teeth pulled -- as many as fifteen at a sitting -- because of tooth decay and gum disease. The surgeons are even extracting rotted baby teeth from five and six year olds.
Causes of the Crisis
There are specific reasons behind this region's oral health crisis. There is no fluoride in the water in and around San Marcos (tap water is completely untreated). The closest professional dental care is two hours away, in San Pedro Sula, and is simply beyond the means of the people who live here. Standards of oral hygiene are practically nonexistent, due to lack of both basic hygiene tools, such as toothpaste and toothbrushes, and proper instruction about how to care for teeth and gums, even when toothbrushes and toothpaste is limited.
Then there's the diet factor. Here, as in the United States and elsewhere, children and teens have developed the junk food and sugary drink habit. Even those waiting to have teeth extracted sit sipping sodas and frozen fruit drinks or sucking on lollipops. And without fluoridation or toothpaste, the results are devastating.
The Mission's Oral Care Work
Although the team performs hundreds of extractions a day (407 last Friday alone), any tooth that can be saved and restored is, and the hygienists work steadily to clean teeth that have not seen a toothbrush for years, or perhaps ever, and apply fluoride treatments to provide at least a measure of protection.
You can see before and after photos of a pretty typical composite restoration and a hygiene treatment, as well as non-graphic illustrations of an extensive oral surgery, at http://picasaweb.google.com/abrubacca/OralHealthCarePhotos.
Building a Long-term Solution
The old adage about teaching someone to fish instead of simply handing them a fish sandwich holds here. CURE International understands that the oral health crisis in Honduras can be stemmed only through aggressive education programs. For years, local CURE worker Rodrigo "Coto" Castillo has conducted oral health education classes in schools and communities throughout the area. This year, 24-year-old Cynthia Rápalo, a local high school social studies teacher, has joined this important effort. With instructional materials provided by CURE and mentoring from Koto, Cynthia will start by providing basic oral health education to her 317 students and then expand her efforts to a wider audience.
Thank you, Coto and Cynthia.
The dental and oral surgery clinic is the biggest and busiest on this mission, and for good reason. It is rare to meet anyone over thirty whose warm smile doesn't have at least one or two gaps, and I've watched more than a dozen men and women over fifty have the last of their teeth pulled -- as many as fifteen at a sitting -- because of tooth decay and gum disease. The surgeons are even extracting rotted baby teeth from five and six year olds.
Causes of the Crisis
There are specific reasons behind this region's oral health crisis. There is no fluoride in the water in and around San Marcos (tap water is completely untreated). The closest professional dental care is two hours away, in San Pedro Sula, and is simply beyond the means of the people who live here. Standards of oral hygiene are practically nonexistent, due to lack of both basic hygiene tools, such as toothpaste and toothbrushes, and proper instruction about how to care for teeth and gums, even when toothbrushes and toothpaste is limited.
Then there's the diet factor. Here, as in the United States and elsewhere, children and teens have developed the junk food and sugary drink habit. Even those waiting to have teeth extracted sit sipping sodas and frozen fruit drinks or sucking on lollipops. And without fluoridation or toothpaste, the results are devastating.
The Mission's Oral Care Work
Although the team performs hundreds of extractions a day (407 last Friday alone), any tooth that can be saved and restored is, and the hygienists work steadily to clean teeth that have not seen a toothbrush for years, or perhaps ever, and apply fluoride treatments to provide at least a measure of protection.
You can see before and after photos of a pretty typical composite restoration and a hygiene treatment, as well as non-graphic illustrations of an extensive oral surgery, at http://picasaweb.google.com/abrubacca/OralHealthCarePhotos.
Building a Long-term Solution
The old adage about teaching someone to fish instead of simply handing them a fish sandwich holds here. CURE International understands that the oral health crisis in Honduras can be stemmed only through aggressive education programs. For years, local CURE worker Rodrigo "Coto" Castillo has conducted oral health education classes in schools and communities throughout the area. This year, 24-year-old Cynthia Rápalo, a local high school social studies teacher, has joined this important effort. With instructional materials provided by CURE and mentoring from Koto, Cynthia will start by providing basic oral health education to her 317 students and then expand her efforts to a wider audience.
Thank you, Coto and Cynthia.
Monday, June 23, 2008
A New Week & Three Stories
Yesterday was the mission team's day off. Twenty-one of us traveled in two small vans to the Mayan ruins at Copán, two hours away. It was an amazing experience that gave us all an appreciation of the remarkable achievements and ancient roots of the people we're serving. The rest of the team were treated to a relaxing afternoon on a coffee plantation in the hills, where, while they napped, played cards and checkers, and enjoyed the spectacular view from the thickly flowered hillside, their hosts grilled a freshly killed deer and tilapia (a delicious fish) netted from the hatchery pond right there on the premises.
Today, it is back to work. As I write this, Klaus is strolling by playing his accordion. Jack is about to make his daily round with a bag of small chocolate bars (he brought 22 pounds of them to share). People have been appearing for the past half hour or so, groggily headed to the toilets and washing area. The power is off, so there is no coffee. No one is sure what the power outage means as far as breakfast.
There is some trepidation this morning. Over the weekend, nineteen mission members returned home. That means a lot of adjusted work assignments and everyone shifting into a higher gear. There are no complaints, only concern that we will not be able to treat as many people as we'd like. And everyone is determined to do whatever's needed. This attitude of acceptance and adjustment is routine here. "It is what it is" is a phrase you hear a lot.
I promised stories about the work we're doing. Here are three. Photos illustrating the stories can be found at http://picasaweb.google.com/abrubacca/ThreeStories.
Mending a Broken Heart
Last Tuesday, a mother brought her children to the clinic for care. Among them was a pale, thin nine-year-old girl. Brad Hoch, the team's Medical Director, examined her and detected a heart murmur. There was little doubt in his mind that she requires surgery to repair the damaged heart tissue. For the mother, this was grim news. She cannot afford even basic health care for herself and her children, let alone the astronomical cost of cardiac surgery. But for such desperate cases, CURE has ways of finding solutions.
Brad immediately spoke with Ruth Castro, the tireless Executive Director of CURE International Honduras. Over the years, Ruth has established a wide network of medical resources for just such a situation. She referred the mother and daughter to a cardiac surgeon in San Pedro Sula, who will conduct a though examination, arrange for all necessary tests, and perform the surgery, free of charge. She is also confident that among CURE International's donors she will find one or a group that will pay for the hospital costs associated with the surgery.
You can imagine the mother's and daughter's reactions to this news. Disbelief. Hope. Joy. For the mother, many prayers answered. For the daughter, the prospect of a future. For me, standing by, watching and taking photos, the unexpected opportunity to see a life being saved.
* * *
New Wheels from an Old Friend
But Jack's ingenuity met the challenge, and he managed to make temporary repairs. More important, he developed a deep affection for Denis and promised the boy and his mother that if they returned to the clinic in 2008, he would have a new wheelchair for them.
True to his word, over the following months Jack and his wife, Judy, searched for a suitable chair at an affordable price -- not an easy task. But with persistence, they found one. Wogan's Drug Store in Littlestown, Pennsylvania, which also contributed medical supplies to this year's mission, sold the Eckrotes a chair at a remarkable price. It was shipped to Honduras in January in the container of equipment and materials for this year's mission, and Jack assembled it last weekend, anticipating Denis's visit. He was not disappointed.
Senora Dubón came to the clinic on Tuesday, carrying Denis in her arms. When Jack presented them with the new chair, the mother acted stoically, as so many here do, but Denis could not contain himself. The joy on his face was infectious, and he reached out, grabbing and shaking the hands of everyone around him.
[NOTE: As I was writing this, Tasha told me that the old red wheelchair is sitting outside the Dubón home. It seems that the family is afraid to take their new prized possession outdoors, and so Denis uses the new wheelchair indoors and the old one outside -- a situation that we are all quite sure will not last long, if Denis has anything to say about it.]
* * *
Today, it is back to work. As I write this, Klaus is strolling by playing his accordion. Jack is about to make his daily round with a bag of small chocolate bars (he brought 22 pounds of them to share). People have been appearing for the past half hour or so, groggily headed to the toilets and washing area. The power is off, so there is no coffee. No one is sure what the power outage means as far as breakfast.
There is some trepidation this morning. Over the weekend, nineteen mission members returned home. That means a lot of adjusted work assignments and everyone shifting into a higher gear. There are no complaints, only concern that we will not be able to treat as many people as we'd like. And everyone is determined to do whatever's needed. This attitude of acceptance and adjustment is routine here. "It is what it is" is a phrase you hear a lot.
I promised stories about the work we're doing. Here are three. Photos illustrating the stories can be found at http://picasaweb.google.com/abrubacca/ThreeStories.
Mending a Broken Heart
Last Tuesday, a mother brought her children to the clinic for care. Among them was a pale, thin nine-year-old girl. Brad Hoch, the team's Medical Director, examined her and detected a heart murmur. There was little doubt in his mind that she requires surgery to repair the damaged heart tissue. For the mother, this was grim news. She cannot afford even basic health care for herself and her children, let alone the astronomical cost of cardiac surgery. But for such desperate cases, CURE has ways of finding solutions.
Brad immediately spoke with Ruth Castro, the tireless Executive Director of CURE International Honduras. Over the years, Ruth has established a wide network of medical resources for just such a situation. She referred the mother and daughter to a cardiac surgeon in San Pedro Sula, who will conduct a though examination, arrange for all necessary tests, and perform the surgery, free of charge. She is also confident that among CURE International's donors she will find one or a group that will pay for the hospital costs associated with the surgery.
You can imagine the mother's and daughter's reactions to this news. Disbelief. Hope. Joy. For the mother, many prayers answered. For the daughter, the prospect of a future. For me, standing by, watching and taking photos, the unexpected opportunity to see a life being saved.
* * *
New Wheels from an Old Friend
This is CURE International's second year in San Marcos. Last year, a Senora Dubón appeared at the clinic with her son, Denis, in a rickety red wheelchair. Denis was about eight years old and suffering from multiple sclerosis. While examining the boy, the medical team noted the pitiable condition of the wheelchair and sent for Jack Eckrote, one of the team's maintenance specialists.
Jack describes the chair as "a wreck." "The back was reclined, and they wanted us to raise it so the boy could sit up," he says, "but we were afraid to touch it, it was in such bad shape. The frame was rusted and had cracks in it, and in places it was held together with wire and tape. We thought that if we tried to fix it we'd break it, and then the boy would have nothing."
But Jack's ingenuity met the challenge, and he managed to make temporary repairs. More important, he developed a deep affection for Denis and promised the boy and his mother that if they returned to the clinic in 2008, he would have a new wheelchair for them.
True to his word, over the following months Jack and his wife, Judy, searched for a suitable chair at an affordable price -- not an easy task. But with persistence, they found one. Wogan's Drug Store in Littlestown, Pennsylvania, which also contributed medical supplies to this year's mission, sold the Eckrotes a chair at a remarkable price. It was shipped to Honduras in January in the container of equipment and materials for this year's mission, and Jack assembled it last weekend, anticipating Denis's visit. He was not disappointed.
Senora Dubón came to the clinic on Tuesday, carrying Denis in her arms. When Jack presented them with the new chair, the mother acted stoically, as so many here do, but Denis could not contain himself. The joy on his face was infectious, and he reached out, grabbing and shaking the hands of everyone around him.
Physical therapist Tasha McElravy adjusted the adult-sized chair (which Denis can grow into) and gave his mother instructions on using and caring for it. Then mother and child left, leaving behind the memories a wonderful moment.
[NOTE: As I was writing this, Tasha told me that the old red wheelchair is sitting outside the Dubón home. It seems that the family is afraid to take their new prized possession outdoors, and so Denis uses the new wheelchair indoors and the old one outside -- a situation that we are all quite sure will not last long, if Denis has anything to say about it.]
* * *
Translating Success
Last June, CURE translator Nila Martinez-Sutter assisted the medical team with a special case. A young woman, Dunia Julisa Dubón, had been trying for months to have another child, but a gynecological infection was preventing it. She had seen a local physician and received antibiotics, but the infection kept returning.
Last June, CURE translator Nila Martinez-Sutter assisted the medical team with a special case. A young woman, Dunia Julisa Dubón, had been trying for months to have another child, but a gynecological infection was preventing it. She had seen a local physician and received antibiotics, but the infection kept returning.
A CURE physician prescribed the appropriate antibiotic regimen, Nila made sure that the patient clearly understood the physician's instructions, and the infection disappeared. Last Tuesday, Senora Dubón returned to thank everyone and show off her new daughter, Yorleni Abigail Salis, born May 30, 2008.
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Photo Album of the Mission Team
A photo album of some of the images of the mission team is now online. You can view it at http://picasaweb.google.com/abrubacca/ThePeopleOfThe2008HonduranMission. Enjoy!
Friday, June 20, 2008
About Blog Entries and Photos
Many people have asked questions about this blog and the photos in the slide shows I am posting. Here is some information:
- The blog will be online for a long time, and everyone is free to copy and print anything I post.
- If you want to enlarge the images in the slide show so you can see them better, double-click on any one of the slides. A new window should open with a much larger view
- You are free to download and print any of the photos I post. However, they are low resolution versions of the originals I've taken. (The Internet connection here can be almost painfully slow.) I have informed CURE International that I will be providing the organization with a master DVD of the best of the photos from this trip. CURE has full permission to duplicate the DVD, so I recommend that (after a few weeks) you contact CURE to find out how to get a copy.
- If you have other questions, feel free to contact me at robert@robertwriting.com. after the mission ends, since I can receive but not send emails here in Honduras.
The First Four Days
Friday, June 20
If you've been following this blog, relax. You haven't missed any entries for Tuesday, Wednesday or Thursday. There is so much going on and so much to photograph, and the preparation and posting of blog entries seems to take so long here, that I have fallen too far behind in my writing to ever catch up. So I'm changing tack. Instead of recounting each day's activities, over the next day or so I will begin focusing on interesting medical and personal stories. There are literally dozens, and I think they will illustrate how profoundly CURE International's work here is affecting lives.
But that's for later.
Today is Friday. This evening and tomorrow, nineteen members of our team are leaving for home. They and their skills will be missed. And I thought this would be a good time to post the statistics for the first four days (thanks to Paulette Fittshur, who collects and tallies the numbers for us after working in the pharmacy all day).
Here are the stats on the services the mission has provided as of about 6:30 pm last night, when the clinic closed.
Oral surgeries 1,017
Dental restorations 457
amalgam preps 442
compositions 625
Dental cleanings 69
Medical examinations and treatments
Adults 763
Children 666
Physical therapy examinations
and treatments 152
Laboratory tests 184
Eye care services 186
Prescriptions 4,214
Piperazine doses (treatment for intestinal parasites)
Adult 718
Child 738
Vitamins packs (30-day)
Adult 874
Child 963
People given health and
Christian instruction 1,604
Decisions for the Lord 146
A solid four days of work.
Also today, I want to post a slide show of as many of the North American members of the mission as possible. A lot will depend on the speed of the Internet connection (it varies from day to day). And I'm sure I'll miss some members -- for which I apologize ahead of time. But I know that people back home will enjoy seeing that their loved ones are happy, healthy, busy and thinking of them.
If you've been following this blog, relax. You haven't missed any entries for Tuesday, Wednesday or Thursday. There is so much going on and so much to photograph, and the preparation and posting of blog entries seems to take so long here, that I have fallen too far behind in my writing to ever catch up. So I'm changing tack. Instead of recounting each day's activities, over the next day or so I will begin focusing on interesting medical and personal stories. There are literally dozens, and I think they will illustrate how profoundly CURE International's work here is affecting lives.
But that's for later.
Today is Friday. This evening and tomorrow, nineteen members of our team are leaving for home. They and their skills will be missed. And I thought this would be a good time to post the statistics for the first four days (thanks to Paulette Fittshur, who collects and tallies the numbers for us after working in the pharmacy all day).
Here are the stats on the services the mission has provided as of about 6:30 pm last night, when the clinic closed.
Oral surgeries 1,017
Dental restorations 457
amalgam preps 442
compositions 625
Dental cleanings 69
Medical examinations and treatments
Adults 763
Children 666
Physical therapy examinations
and treatments 152
Laboratory tests 184
Eye care services 186
Prescriptions 4,214
Piperazine doses (treatment for intestinal parasites)
Adult 718
Child 738
Vitamins packs (30-day)
Adult 874
Child 963
People given health and
Christian instruction 1,604
Decisions for the Lord 146
A solid four days of work.
Also today, I want to post a slide show of as many of the North American members of the mission as possible. A lot will depend on the speed of the Internet connection (it varies from day to day). And I'm sure I'll miss some members -- for which I apologize ahead of time. But I know that people back home will enjoy seeing that their loved ones are happy, healthy, busy and thinking of them.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Open for Business
Monday, June 16
"Este es el día!" we sang at devotions this morning, Ruth Castro's voice leading us with her characteristic enthusiasm. "This is the Day!" And it is.
When we arrive at the elementary-school-turned-clinic, scores of town residents are lined up outside the gate. A few dozen -- the earliest arrivals -- are already on the clinic grounds, queued under the trees, awaiting us. We are open for business.
The maintenance team makes space for me in their storeroom/workroom, which is the school principal's office. I open my backpack, take out my camera, attach the flash unit, check all the battery levels. I'm ready to go. I start my rounds under the canopy outside the dentistry building, where people are lined up for prescreening, weighing, blood pressure testing, parasite medicine, vitamins, and referrals to the appropriate clinic. I visit Tomás's health and Christian education class. I stop by the pharmacy and the physical therapy clinic. Not much is happening yet in the lab or the pediatrics and adult medicine clinics, so I go to where I know there's already a crowd -- dentistry.
I came to Honduras prepared to photograph tooth extractions, abscess lancings, eye infections, parasitic infestations, and interesting faces. What I am unprepared for is the emotional wallop.
Many of the hackneyed phrases one hears about the people CURE International serves in this region are generally true. They are a beautiful people, the children especially. The faces of the elderly are etched with a character one sees rarely in the States, character built upon endurance, acceptance and faith. Their lives are unrelentingly hard. Most know only physical labor all their lives, well into their sixties and even longer, and never escape a poverty that makes most of the poorest North Americans seem solidly middle class. Some cannot afford even the token fee (about the equivalent of a US dollar) that CURE asks but, of course, does not insist on.
Despite all this, these people glow with a deep pride that is very moving. They want the help that CURE offers -- they know that they and their families need it -- and they are genuinely grateful. Yet they are not begging. If they could pay with money, they would. But they have only their smiles and their words of thanks, and so they pay that way, generously.
But the wallop comes from elsewhere.
I am moving from dental chair to dental chair, photographing hygiene treatments, restorations, tooth extractions, and taking candid portraits of the doctors and their assistants, when a bloodcurdling shriek brings everything and everyone to a momentary halt. A young boy, maybe six or seven years old, is in an oral surgery chair at the end of the line. Four people are trying to hold him still as a surgeon works to extract two rotted teeth. The child is terrified, able to scream and scream, it seems, without taking a breath between. He struggles against the adult hands. His mother stands near, helpless and scared yet trying to be stoic, tears streaming down her cheeks.
It is a scene of pure fear, and suddenly tears are welling up in me, and I have to flee the room. I take refuge in the dental triage room next door, where Bill Waring and teenager Leah Knowlton are at work, assessing each patient's problems and specifying treatments. They ask me if I am okay, and I tell them what I'm feeling. Bill smiles. He's seen it before among newcomers, the sudden, overwhelming emotional impact of it all. He knows the feeling himself.
I take a few minutes to regain my composure, then return to the dental clinic. The young boy is still in the chair. His ordeal is over, but his lips, puffed out around the gauze in his mouth, are still quivering. His mother is comforting him.
I don't know what prompts me, but I suddenly ask them in my freshly minted Spanish if I may take their photo. They stare at me blankly, not sure what to answer. I take the photo anyway and quickly show them the results on the digital camera's viewer. It seems to take them a moment to realize that they are seeing themselves. The boy's face calms. The mother smiles faintly. And in that moment I realize that the one thing I can contribute to these people is to distract them for a moment or two from their pain and fear.
The simple fact is that many of them have never seen a dentist or physician or surgeon before. The equipment, the steel instruments, the noise, the masked foreigners in their scrubs, with headlamps on their foreheads and syringes in their hands, most of whom speak little or no Spanish, must certainly be very strange to them. I can only imagine the courage and faith it takes for them to come here and put their trust in us.
Several times during this first day, I feel that same welling up inside, but each time it is a little less, and by day's end I can hear shrieks and see tears without much flinching. More important, as I wander around from clinic to clinic and among the crowds waiting outside, I watch for flickers of fear and apprehension. When I see one I stop, smile, and raise my camera. "Me gustaria sacar su photo," I say. "?Puedo?"
It is all I can do.
"Este es el día!" we sang at devotions this morning, Ruth Castro's voice leading us with her characteristic enthusiasm. "This is the Day!" And it is.
When we arrive at the elementary-school-turned-clinic, scores of town residents are lined up outside the gate. A few dozen -- the earliest arrivals -- are already on the clinic grounds, queued under the trees, awaiting us. We are open for business.
The maintenance team makes space for me in their storeroom/workroom, which is the school principal's office. I open my backpack, take out my camera, attach the flash unit, check all the battery levels. I'm ready to go. I start my rounds under the canopy outside the dentistry building, where people are lined up for prescreening, weighing, blood pressure testing, parasite medicine, vitamins, and referrals to the appropriate clinic. I visit Tomás's health and Christian education class. I stop by the pharmacy and the physical therapy clinic. Not much is happening yet in the lab or the pediatrics and adult medicine clinics, so I go to where I know there's already a crowd -- dentistry.
I came to Honduras prepared to photograph tooth extractions, abscess lancings, eye infections, parasitic infestations, and interesting faces. What I am unprepared for is the emotional wallop.
Many of the hackneyed phrases one hears about the people CURE International serves in this region are generally true. They are a beautiful people, the children especially. The faces of the elderly are etched with a character one sees rarely in the States, character built upon endurance, acceptance and faith. Their lives are unrelentingly hard. Most know only physical labor all their lives, well into their sixties and even longer, and never escape a poverty that makes most of the poorest North Americans seem solidly middle class. Some cannot afford even the token fee (about the equivalent of a US dollar) that CURE asks but, of course, does not insist on.
Despite all this, these people glow with a deep pride that is very moving. They want the help that CURE offers -- they know that they and their families need it -- and they are genuinely grateful. Yet they are not begging. If they could pay with money, they would. But they have only their smiles and their words of thanks, and so they pay that way, generously.
But the wallop comes from elsewhere.
I am moving from dental chair to dental chair, photographing hygiene treatments, restorations, tooth extractions, and taking candid portraits of the doctors and their assistants, when a bloodcurdling shriek brings everything and everyone to a momentary halt. A young boy, maybe six or seven years old, is in an oral surgery chair at the end of the line. Four people are trying to hold him still as a surgeon works to extract two rotted teeth. The child is terrified, able to scream and scream, it seems, without taking a breath between. He struggles against the adult hands. His mother stands near, helpless and scared yet trying to be stoic, tears streaming down her cheeks.
It is a scene of pure fear, and suddenly tears are welling up in me, and I have to flee the room. I take refuge in the dental triage room next door, where Bill Waring and teenager Leah Knowlton are at work, assessing each patient's problems and specifying treatments. They ask me if I am okay, and I tell them what I'm feeling. Bill smiles. He's seen it before among newcomers, the sudden, overwhelming emotional impact of it all. He knows the feeling himself.
I take a few minutes to regain my composure, then return to the dental clinic. The young boy is still in the chair. His ordeal is over, but his lips, puffed out around the gauze in his mouth, are still quivering. His mother is comforting him.
I don't know what prompts me, but I suddenly ask them in my freshly minted Spanish if I may take their photo. They stare at me blankly, not sure what to answer. I take the photo anyway and quickly show them the results on the digital camera's viewer. It seems to take them a moment to realize that they are seeing themselves. The boy's face calms. The mother smiles faintly. And in that moment I realize that the one thing I can contribute to these people is to distract them for a moment or two from their pain and fear.
The simple fact is that many of them have never seen a dentist or physician or surgeon before. The equipment, the steel instruments, the noise, the masked foreigners in their scrubs, with headlamps on their foreheads and syringes in their hands, most of whom speak little or no Spanish, must certainly be very strange to them. I can only imagine the courage and faith it takes for them to come here and put their trust in us.
Several times during this first day, I feel that same welling up inside, but each time it is a little less, and by day's end I can hear shrieks and see tears without much flinching. More important, as I wander around from clinic to clinic and among the crowds waiting outside, I watch for flickers of fear and apprehension. When I see one I stop, smile, and raise my camera. "Me gustaria sacar su photo," I say. "?Puedo?"
It is all I can do.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
A Note to Sheri
Tuesday Evening
My wife, Sheri, has not heard from me for three days. Verizon Wireless guaranteed me that I my phone would work (for $1.51 a minute) in Honduras. It doesn't. Neither does the phone of any other Verizon customer on the mission. For the first two days, there was no spare time to drop by the local Internet café and send her an email. Today, I got the opportunity when I posted blog entries, but found that, although I can receive email from my server, for some reason I cannot send any. I decided that I would ask the owner of the café to use the café's email address, but I was without a translator and could not describe what I wanted to do.
I finally ended up using the café's cell phone, only to reach Sheri's voice mail (it was well after 10 pm EDST).
So this blog entry is to tell my wife that I am safe and healthy and having the experience of a lifetime. And I cannot wait to tell her all about it.
I love you.
Robert
My wife, Sheri, has not heard from me for three days. Verizon Wireless guaranteed me that I my phone would work (for $1.51 a minute) in Honduras. It doesn't. Neither does the phone of any other Verizon customer on the mission. For the first two days, there was no spare time to drop by the local Internet café and send her an email. Today, I got the opportunity when I posted blog entries, but found that, although I can receive email from my server, for some reason I cannot send any. I decided that I would ask the owner of the café to use the café's email address, but I was without a translator and could not describe what I wanted to do.
I finally ended up using the café's cell phone, only to reach Sheri's voice mail (it was well after 10 pm EDST).
So this blog entry is to tell my wife that I am safe and healthy and having the experience of a lifetime. And I cannot wait to tell her all about it.
I love you.
Robert
A Clinic Rises
Sunday, June 15
I didn't believe people when they told me that the mission team's wake-up alarm is Klaus playing "Morning is Broken" on his accordion. But it's true. And on this first morning, before he realizes that he hasn't reset his watch to Honduras time, Klaus begins his 2008 debut -- at 5:00 am instead of the expected 6:00. Everyone takes it in good humor, though, and most manage to go back to sleep until, at 6 on the dot, Klaus reappears and the gives the day its official start.
Soon the runners and joggers in the group go off on their morning jaunt, and when they return the day takes a sobering turn. On their run, they've encounters a man with a badly lacerated face and told him to come immediately to the school where we are staying. The problem is, all of the team's medical supplies are lying unpacked at the elementary school a kilometer away. Still, when the man shows up at the gate, people are standing by with purified water, clean towels, and an antiseptic from someone's personal first aid kit. Medical Director Brad Hoch and oral and maxillofacial surgeon Mike Matzkin examine him, and Lydia Walker, a nursing student who at home works in a Hanover, Pennsylvania, emergency room, cleans and treats the wounds. He is told to come to the clinic the next day for more thorough care.
Then it's morning devotions in the school's beautiful outdoor assembly area, followed by some essential announcements:
I didn't believe people when they told me that the mission team's wake-up alarm is Klaus playing "Morning is Broken" on his accordion. But it's true. And on this first morning, before he realizes that he hasn't reset his watch to Honduras time, Klaus begins his 2008 debut -- at 5:00 am instead of the expected 6:00. Everyone takes it in good humor, though, and most manage to go back to sleep until, at 6 on the dot, Klaus reappears and the gives the day its official start.
Soon the runners and joggers in the group go off on their morning jaunt, and when they return the day takes a sobering turn. On their run, they've encounters a man with a badly lacerated face and told him to come immediately to the school where we are staying. The problem is, all of the team's medical supplies are lying unpacked at the elementary school a kilometer away. Still, when the man shows up at the gate, people are standing by with purified water, clean towels, and an antiseptic from someone's personal first aid kit. Medical Director Brad Hoch and oral and maxillofacial surgeon Mike Matzkin examine him, and Lydia Walker, a nursing student who at home works in a Hanover, Pennsylvania, emergency room, cleans and treats the wounds. He is told to come to the clinic the next day for more thorough care.
Then it's morning devotions in the school's beautiful outdoor assembly area, followed by some essential announcements:
- Under no circumstances drink unpurified water or let it get into your nose or mouth when you shower. The consequences are described in unvarnished detail.
- Do not drop toilet paper into the toilets, because it will clog the plumbing. Place it in the covered waste basket.
- To conserve, use minimum water when showering. Wet yourself. Turn off the water. Soap up. Turn on the water to rinse. If the water in the showers fails (which is does), buckets of water are available.
- If there is insufficient water to flush the toilet, retrieve a bucket of water to do the job.
- Eat nothing that is uncooked unless you peel it or it comes from the mission's kitchen ...
By the end of the announcements, there is no doubt that we are in a very foreign environment.
The task of the day is setting up the clinics, and all hands are recruited. I am assigned to the Maintenance Crew, assisting Jack Eckrote, Dick Lee, and Klaus in setting up the generators, dentistry suction system, room cooling fans, and electrical lines, as well as making necessary repairs to medical and dental equipment.
After breakfast, the entire mission treks from our high school home down the unpaved rock-and-dust road that leads through town to the elementary school. The town residents watch our parade pass by. We smile and greet them, most of us using one of the few Spanish phrases we know, "Hola!" or "Buenas dias." They watch us with curiosity. Many smile shyly. The children whisper to each other, laugh and wave.
It is difficult to explain how big a task we face this first day. Back home, we think nothing of it when a new medical or dental or physical therapy clinic opens nearby, or a new pharmacy or medical laboratory or health education center. But here, where there is no running water, no reliable electricity, no paved roads, and where construction and maintenance supplies are often many miles and several hours away, setting up a clinic can be a monumental challenge taking weeks. And here we are, about to set up five clinics -- dentistry, oral surgery, adult medicine, pediatrics, and physical therapy -- plus a pharmacy and laboratory, in a single day.
I am too busy with my duties (primarily helping to set up the suction system for the dental and oral surgery clinics, which is an ingenious invention based on a cleverly converted milking machine) to take photos. So I set my camera on a tripod to automatically take photos in the largest clinic area -- dentistry and oral surgery -- one every three minutes. The result is a time-lapse view of a minor miracle, the conversion of the staging area for all the mission's tools, supplies, and equipment into a functional 16-chair clinic, complete with a 3-autoclave sterilization area. (Note: I am still struggling to get slide shows to load onto the CURE International blog. Please stand by.)
The sun climbs through the day. The heat builds. Everyone is in continual motion. It is like working in a beehive. We are encouraged to pace ourselves and to drink water by the liter to fend off a constantly looming enemy: dehydration. Slowly but surely, everything takes shape, and by a long day's end the school's classrooms have been transformed with curtained examination areas, pharmacy shelves, administration stations, and essential medical and dental equipment.
It is well past 6 pm when the last of the weary mission team straggles back to our living quarters for cold, sparse showers and a welcome meal of rice, beans, vegetables, chicken and wonderfully spiced beef.
But the day is not over. The people of the town have prepared evening entertainment for us. We congregate in the high school's assembly area. A group of local parents and children join us. The program begins with the Honduran national anthem. It is clear from the heartfelt intensity of the local people as they sing that they deeply love their country. It stirs us all. Then, to our surprise, the first strains of the Star Spangled Banner pour from the huge audio speaker on the stage. We cannot help but sing with equal intensity. It is a wonderfully emotional moment, and I am swept by a sudden longing for home.
The mayor of San Marcos welcomes us and thanks us warmly for coming to the town to help the people of the area. He promises that our problems with water and electricity will be fixed satisfactorily. Then the students of the town take to the stage. Eight adorable elementary school girls, costumed as butterflies, dance with a joy that makes us laugh and applaud loudly. Next is a play with an environmental theme, complete with a mountain prop, elaborate costumes, and amazing performances by the two leads, a boy and a girl who could not be more than seven or eight years old. They have scores of lines each, and it is all in Spanish, so I cannot understand more than a handful of words, but there is no doubt how much they are enjoying themselves or how sincerely they feel about what they are saying.
Next, it is the high schoolers' turn. Six beautifully costumed couples in traditional folk costumes perform a series of intricate, lively dances. Their dancing matches the very best that I've seen at any folk music event in the States. Then, it is time for comedy. There are two acts, and the comedy is the physical kind that you don't need to know the language to understand. I'm not sure who enjoyed it more, us or the local children and adults.
It is a wonderful way to end a long day. But as I leave the assembly area and head for bed, all I can think of is a good night's sleep. Tomorrow will be a big day.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Home Away from Home
The buses rumble through the iron gates of the school around 4 pm, and immediately everyone gets to the task of arranging the sleeping quarters.
The visiting CURE team is lodged at the San Marco High School. Three long, low, single-story buildings serve as our dormitories. Each building is divided into six or seven identical classrooms, lined up end to end. The construction is simple -- concrete block walls form the shell, concrete walls separate the classrooms. The windows are large. There is no glass, only reinforced steel bars, wire mesh, and horizontal wooden louvers to close against the rain. The floors are tiled, the walls decorated with colorful original paintings by the students.
I was advised at the airport to approach Dr. Bill Waring about reserving a place in the room he occupies. He has the reputation of accumulating a cadre of relatively quiet sleepers -- exactly what a writer needs. Bill instantly agreed to let me move in, even though it meant creating one of the most crowded dorms (nine beds). And the very first night, it is clear that the advice I'd gotten was good.
We arrange the beds in two rows, along the concrete walls. Over each row we string two lengths of clothesline for suspending our individual mosquito nets and a fifth line down the center aisle, for hanging wet towels and clothes. A table is found for our daily 5-gallon jug of drinking water, and between each bed we squeeze a school chair -- the kind with an attached desk surface -- to serve as a night stand. Then it is out to the truck to unload suitcases and backpacks and arrange our living spaces.
All this takes less than two hours, and with good reason. To the surprise of all of us new to Honduras (and accustomed to daylight savings time), the sun sets here at about 6:30, and darkness falls soon after 7 pm. With no functional electric lights in our classroom/dorm rooms, everything that isn't accomplished by daylight has to be finished by flashlight or left for the next day.
There is just enough time after the move-in for a brief devotional meeting and an official welcoming from our co-Host, Ruth Castro, Executive Director of CURE International Honduras (who had met us and run interference for us at the airport), and Reverend Dan Hans, who co-directs the program with Dan Castro, Ruth's husband. Then it is on to supper and our introduction to the kind of simple fare that will be our staple for the duration: rice, beans, cooked vegetables, and fruit.
Despite everyone's long day, people sit for hours afterward in the school courtyard and outside the dormitories, chatting, laughing, and reuniting with old friends. But I'd hardly slept on the plane flights, and once my stomach is full, my exhaustion gets the best of me.
I opt for a shower -- an interesting operation when water is in critically short supply (more on this another day) -- and then, for the first time in my life, I crawl into bed under a mosquito net. I read by flashlight for a few minutes, but soon turn out the light. It is then that I realize the netting is too low. It brushes my nose and forehead if I nove. But I am too tired to care. It will wait until morning.
The visiting CURE team is lodged at the San Marco High School. Three long, low, single-story buildings serve as our dormitories. Each building is divided into six or seven identical classrooms, lined up end to end. The construction is simple -- concrete block walls form the shell, concrete walls separate the classrooms. The windows are large. There is no glass, only reinforced steel bars, wire mesh, and horizontal wooden louvers to close against the rain. The floors are tiled, the walls decorated with colorful original paintings by the students.
I was advised at the airport to approach Dr. Bill Waring about reserving a place in the room he occupies. He has the reputation of accumulating a cadre of relatively quiet sleepers -- exactly what a writer needs. Bill instantly agreed to let me move in, even though it meant creating one of the most crowded dorms (nine beds). And the very first night, it is clear that the advice I'd gotten was good.
We arrange the beds in two rows, along the concrete walls. Over each row we string two lengths of clothesline for suspending our individual mosquito nets and a fifth line down the center aisle, for hanging wet towels and clothes. A table is found for our daily 5-gallon jug of drinking water, and between each bed we squeeze a school chair -- the kind with an attached desk surface -- to serve as a night stand. Then it is out to the truck to unload suitcases and backpacks and arrange our living spaces.
All this takes less than two hours, and with good reason. To the surprise of all of us new to Honduras (and accustomed to daylight savings time), the sun sets here at about 6:30, and darkness falls soon after 7 pm. With no functional electric lights in our classroom/dorm rooms, everything that isn't accomplished by daylight has to be finished by flashlight or left for the next day.
There is just enough time after the move-in for a brief devotional meeting and an official welcoming from our co-Host, Ruth Castro, Executive Director of CURE International Honduras (who had met us and run interference for us at the airport), and Reverend Dan Hans, who co-directs the program with Dan Castro, Ruth's husband. Then it is on to supper and our introduction to the kind of simple fare that will be our staple for the duration: rice, beans, cooked vegetables, and fruit.
Despite everyone's long day, people sit for hours afterward in the school courtyard and outside the dormitories, chatting, laughing, and reuniting with old friends. But I'd hardly slept on the plane flights, and once my stomach is full, my exhaustion gets the best of me.
I opt for a shower -- an interesting operation when water is in critically short supply (more on this another day) -- and then, for the first time in my life, I crawl into bed under a mosquito net. I read by flashlight for a few minutes, but soon turn out the light. It is then that I realize the netting is too low. It brushes my nose and forehead if I nove. But I am too tired to care. It will wait until morning.
Getting Here - Saturday, June 14, 2008
3:45 am. The line at the Continental Airlines counter is already dozens deep. Blue CURE International t-shirts pepper the crowd, personal luggage in tow, and a huge block of luggage tagged with bright green CURE International medical tags sits off to the side. Everyone is groggy but excited.
The one almost universal apprehension is whether our bags with personal items will come in under the 50-pound weight limit. It's tough to pack everything you need for two weeks into a 50-pound package. And no matter what your bathroom scale tells you, it's the airline's scale that counts. Mine comes in at 49. Ada McManus's is almost three pounds heavy, but the Continental Airlines rep is compassionate. He smiles and warns her not to pack so heavily on the way home.
The flight to Houston is full. My carry-on bag, crammed with photographic equipment, a laptop computer, and a day's worth of personal items (in case my checked bag gets lost in transit) is too fat to fit in the overhead. Lee Flinner comes to my rescue and lets me transfer toiletries, mosquito netting, and a change of clothes into his bag.
En route to Houston, after a hearty breakfast of Honey Nut Cheerios, milk and bananas, most of the team drifts off to sleep. I can't sleep, but I'm compensated with 1) views at 35,000 feet of the most glorious cloud formations I've ever seen from the air (sorry, no photos) and 2) the opportunity to get an interesting photo of the CURE Honduras team, heads flopped back or to the side, mouths open, snoring en masse. (Yes, photo attached -- maybe -- framed poster available.)
During our roughly fifty-minute layover in Houston, I notice that ours is not the only mission in the airport. At least three other mission groups, each headed to Central America and each sporting distinctive t-shirts, crowd the eateries and airport shops with us. I wonder if this has been going on around me for a long time and I've just never noticed before. A little personal experience can be eye opening.
Our flight from Houston is delayed more than an hour, most of which we spend parked on the runway at the end of a line of other aircraft waiting to take off. It is perhaps a hint that we should all start slowing down, letting go of expectations, and going with the flow -- all necessary skills where we're headed.
My first glimpse of Honduras from the air is of a muddy brown river snaking through plantations, villages and small patches of thick forest. Klaus Bergmann is in the window seat beside me. A photographer himself, he leans back to let me take a few photos, pointing out features that he's learned from many trips here are typical features.
It turns out that our experience on the Houston tarmac was a good exercise in patience. The San Pedro Sula airport is chaos in slow motion. An airliner accident at another Honduran airport a few weeks ago has led cautious authorities to route that airport's traffic here, so the crowd of arriving passengers is twice as heavy as normal. Which means that immigration processing takes twice as long. And in the small customs area, moving the mission's huge block of personal and medical luggage through the solitary x-ray machine and then through a manual inspection (slowed by a novice customs inspector) is like moving a logjam down a river of cold molasses.
Finally, though, everyone and everything is cleared, and the luggage is loaded on a truck by CURE's Honduran team.
Then we wait. We wait for team members arriving from other parts of the USA, wait for a portion of luggage that did not make it onto our flight from Houston, and wait for the two old school buses that will take us to San Marco, about two hours away. At the San Pedro Sula airport, there are really only two activities to occupy you while you wait. 1) exchange your U.S. dollars for Honduran l'empiras (18.5 to the dollar), using the services of one of the roving money exchangers who wander around with wads of l'empiras and small calculators to demonstrate that their conversion calculations are accurate, and 2) start spending your newfound wealth at the airport Wendy's.
A few burgers and frosties later, we're aboard the buses and heading to our new home for the next week or two. There's plenty of time to meet new mission companions. I talk for most of an hour to Jessica Matzkin. She's accompanying her parents, both in their early seventies and longtime CURE missionaries. Her father, Michael, is a prominent oral surgeon; her mother, Sara, is listed on the roster as a General Helper but is a lot more. Jessica, herself a veteran of missions and travels all over the world, has left her two-year-old and seven-month-old children ay home in the care of her supportive husband, a CNBC journalist. She is here, she says, to look after her folks, but she also admits that, for her, Central America is the richest spiritual region in the world. She talks of returning here to rebalance herself and be reminded of what's important. "It's really hard to be selfish here," she says.
I also meet Herman von Oy, a translator and former Peace Corps volunteer, who knows Honduras and its people well. He tells me about the extraordinary conversion and invaluable work of Tomás Ramirez, a largely uneducated local man who has become a leading community healthcare advocate and instructor. Herman also understands that a photographer, in addition to doing his assignment, is looking for dramatic local images, and he promises to arrange for me a local tour in one of the town's obsequious 3-wheeled taxis.
Before I know it, we're turning off the paved highway and turning down the dirt road into San Marco. We are home.
The one almost universal apprehension is whether our bags with personal items will come in under the 50-pound weight limit. It's tough to pack everything you need for two weeks into a 50-pound package. And no matter what your bathroom scale tells you, it's the airline's scale that counts. Mine comes in at 49. Ada McManus's is almost three pounds heavy, but the Continental Airlines rep is compassionate. He smiles and warns her not to pack so heavily on the way home.
The flight to Houston is full. My carry-on bag, crammed with photographic equipment, a laptop computer, and a day's worth of personal items (in case my checked bag gets lost in transit) is too fat to fit in the overhead. Lee Flinner comes to my rescue and lets me transfer toiletries, mosquito netting, and a change of clothes into his bag.
En route to Houston, after a hearty breakfast of Honey Nut Cheerios, milk and bananas, most of the team drifts off to sleep. I can't sleep, but I'm compensated with 1) views at 35,000 feet of the most glorious cloud formations I've ever seen from the air (sorry, no photos) and 2) the opportunity to get an interesting photo of the CURE Honduras team, heads flopped back or to the side, mouths open, snoring en masse. (Yes, photo attached -- maybe -- framed poster available.)
During our roughly fifty-minute layover in Houston, I notice that ours is not the only mission in the airport. At least three other mission groups, each headed to Central America and each sporting distinctive t-shirts, crowd the eateries and airport shops with us. I wonder if this has been going on around me for a long time and I've just never noticed before. A little personal experience can be eye opening.
Our flight from Houston is delayed more than an hour, most of which we spend parked on the runway at the end of a line of other aircraft waiting to take off. It is perhaps a hint that we should all start slowing down, letting go of expectations, and going with the flow -- all necessary skills where we're headed.
My first glimpse of Honduras from the air is of a muddy brown river snaking through plantations, villages and small patches of thick forest. Klaus Bergmann is in the window seat beside me. A photographer himself, he leans back to let me take a few photos, pointing out features that he's learned from many trips here are typical features.
It turns out that our experience on the Houston tarmac was a good exercise in patience. The San Pedro Sula airport is chaos in slow motion. An airliner accident at another Honduran airport a few weeks ago has led cautious authorities to route that airport's traffic here, so the crowd of arriving passengers is twice as heavy as normal. Which means that immigration processing takes twice as long. And in the small customs area, moving the mission's huge block of personal and medical luggage through the solitary x-ray machine and then through a manual inspection (slowed by a novice customs inspector) is like moving a logjam down a river of cold molasses.
Finally, though, everyone and everything is cleared, and the luggage is loaded on a truck by CURE's Honduran team.
Then we wait. We wait for team members arriving from other parts of the USA, wait for a portion of luggage that did not make it onto our flight from Houston, and wait for the two old school buses that will take us to San Marco, about two hours away. At the San Pedro Sula airport, there are really only two activities to occupy you while you wait. 1) exchange your U.S. dollars for Honduran l'empiras (18.5 to the dollar), using the services of one of the roving money exchangers who wander around with wads of l'empiras and small calculators to demonstrate that their conversion calculations are accurate, and 2) start spending your newfound wealth at the airport Wendy's.
A few burgers and frosties later, we're aboard the buses and heading to our new home for the next week or two. There's plenty of time to meet new mission companions. I talk for most of an hour to Jessica Matzkin. She's accompanying her parents, both in their early seventies and longtime CURE missionaries. Her father, Michael, is a prominent oral surgeon; her mother, Sara, is listed on the roster as a General Helper but is a lot more. Jessica, herself a veteran of missions and travels all over the world, has left her two-year-old and seven-month-old children ay home in the care of her supportive husband, a CNBC journalist. She is here, she says, to look after her folks, but she also admits that, for her, Central America is the richest spiritual region in the world. She talks of returning here to rebalance herself and be reminded of what's important. "It's really hard to be selfish here," she says.
I also meet Herman von Oy, a translator and former Peace Corps volunteer, who knows Honduras and its people well. He tells me about the extraordinary conversion and invaluable work of Tomás Ramirez, a largely uneducated local man who has become a leading community healthcare advocate and instructor. Herman also understands that a photographer, in addition to doing his assignment, is looking for dramatic local images, and he promises to arrange for me a local tour in one of the town's obsequious 3-wheeled taxis.
Before I know it, we're turning off the paved highway and turning down the dirt road into San Marco. We are home.
Where's the Blog?
This blog has been silent for three days, and the word from those down here who are AT&T customers (the only ones with cell phone service) is that folks back in the States are wondering What's going on?
So here are the major headlines as of Monday morning:
1. Everyone arrived safely
2. Everyone's luggage and all the medical and dental supplies and equipment arrived safely
3. The weather is hot and muggy, but not miserable; no rain so far
4. The mosquitoes aren't nearly what I feared; most of us are still without a single mosquito bite (although some say mosquitoes can bite here without you're knowing it and without even causing an itchy blister)
5. There's ample water to drink; and much of the time we have enough water to flush toilets and wash off the sweat and grime
6. For the past 24 hours everyone has been devoted to one task: getting the clinic set up and ready for this morning. Being part of an effort that, in a single day, converts a small mountain of loaded suitcases, cartons and packing crates into a modern working clinic is something never to be forgotten.
One last note before the details of the past couple of days. Even as I write this (5:00 am Monday), no one is exactly sure the nature of the service at the local Internet Café. Yesterday morning the rumor was that it was dial-up only. That would mean no uploading photographs to the blog site. Yesterday afternoon, the rumor changed to "service is not blazing fast but may be adequate to transmit photos."
So with luck, you'll be able to see as well as read about what we're all doing here in San Marcos. If not, please understand. And understand, too, that news from us may lag a couple days behind the calendar, because everyone here is busy -- busier even than at home – and this is, after all, Honduras.
Now onto the daily journals of a CURE newcomer...
So here are the major headlines as of Monday morning:
1. Everyone arrived safely
2. Everyone's luggage and all the medical and dental supplies and equipment arrived safely
3. The weather is hot and muggy, but not miserable; no rain so far
4. The mosquitoes aren't nearly what I feared; most of us are still without a single mosquito bite (although some say mosquitoes can bite here without you're knowing it and without even causing an itchy blister)
5. There's ample water to drink; and much of the time we have enough water to flush toilets and wash off the sweat and grime
6. For the past 24 hours everyone has been devoted to one task: getting the clinic set up and ready for this morning. Being part of an effort that, in a single day, converts a small mountain of loaded suitcases, cartons and packing crates into a modern working clinic is something never to be forgotten.
One last note before the details of the past couple of days. Even as I write this (5:00 am Monday), no one is exactly sure the nature of the service at the local Internet Café. Yesterday morning the rumor was that it was dial-up only. That would mean no uploading photographs to the blog site. Yesterday afternoon, the rumor changed to "service is not blazing fast but may be adequate to transmit photos."
So with luck, you'll be able to see as well as read about what we're all doing here in San Marcos. If not, please understand. And understand, too, that news from us may lag a couple days behind the calendar, because everyone here is busy -- busier even than at home – and this is, after all, Honduras.
Now onto the daily journals of a CURE newcomer...
Thursday, June 12, 2008
The Packing Party
I arrived at Gettysburg Presbyterian Church forty-five minutes early and found I was not the first to arrive. Sitting in the church's gymnasium, among tables covered with medical supplies, was a wiry, bearded man in an orange polo shirt. He introduced himself as Jack Eckrote. Jack is one of three mechanical wizards who install and maintain the on site medical equipment, power generators, and other machinery that the mission relies on. He's been accompanying teams to Honduras for fourteen years.
He's also an expert at packing medical supplies. He sized up the suitcase I had brought along, calculating what items it could hold and still weigh in under the 50-pound limit. Then he moved from table to table, bringing me tubes, bottles, and boxes by the dozens. Within twenty minutes, the suitcase was full. I lifted it. It felt too heavy to me. "Weigh it," he said smiling and pointing to a bathroom scale on the floor. I did. Forty-seven pounds. He handed me a small stack of the brightly colored cloth bags that will be used to assemble take-home medical and dental kits for the women and children in San Marco. "That should do it," he said.
While I'd been packing, the other team members had been trickling in. What struck me was their camaraderie. Many of these people are on their fourth, tenth, twelfth, even seventeenth mission. They've known and traveled with each other for years and are genuinely excited to be doing it again. They laughed and chatted as they worked. Oral Surgeon Dr. Thomas Soliday, who is unable to go on his twelfth Honduras mission because of a skiing accident, came on crutches to wish his friends well, give sage advice to a group of University of Maryland dental students who are coming to Honduras (see photo), and help his wife, Bonita (a dental assistant), pack her suitcases. In fact, CURE International is a family affair for many on the mission. Spouses come together. Teenagers accompany their parents. One family--the Warings--have four family members aboard.
Despite the many old friendships and family ties, everyone took the time to welcome newbies like me. My family's longtime dental hygienist, Ada McManus, who for years has been inviting me to join the mission, took me under her wing and introduced me around. Everyone seemed genuinely glad I was coming along.
It wasn't long past 8 pm when the last suitcase was zipped, sealed, labeled and added to the pile. Many lingered to continue their conversations, but I had a 75-minute drive ahead of me. Ada and her husband, Peter, accompanied me out into the parking lot. Peter is going to drive us both to Baltimore-Washington International airport Saturday morning.
"What time should I be at your house?" I asked.
"Three a.m.," Ada said. "That okay?"
"Sure," I said. I plan to sleep on the plane.
He's also an expert at packing medical supplies. He sized up the suitcase I had brought along, calculating what items it could hold and still weigh in under the 50-pound limit. Then he moved from table to table, bringing me tubes, bottles, and boxes by the dozens. Within twenty minutes, the suitcase was full. I lifted it. It felt too heavy to me. "Weigh it," he said smiling and pointing to a bathroom scale on the floor. I did. Forty-seven pounds. He handed me a small stack of the brightly colored cloth bags that will be used to assemble take-home medical and dental kits for the women and children in San Marco. "That should do it," he said.
While I'd been packing, the other team members had been trickling in. What struck me was their camaraderie. Many of these people are on their fourth, tenth, twelfth, even seventeenth mission. They've known and traveled with each other for years and are genuinely excited to be doing it again. They laughed and chatted as they worked. Oral Surgeon Dr. Thomas Soliday, who is unable to go on his twelfth Honduras mission because of a skiing accident, came on crutches to wish his friends well, give sage advice to a group of University of Maryland dental students who are coming to Honduras (see photo), and help his wife, Bonita (a dental assistant), pack her suitcases. In fact, CURE International is a family affair for many on the mission. Spouses come together. Teenagers accompany their parents. One family--the Warings--have four family members aboard.
Despite the many old friendships and family ties, everyone took the time to welcome newbies like me. My family's longtime dental hygienist, Ada McManus, who for years has been inviting me to join the mission, took me under her wing and introduced me around. Everyone seemed genuinely glad I was coming along.
It wasn't long past 8 pm when the last suitcase was zipped, sealed, labeled and added to the pile. Many lingered to continue their conversations, but I had a 75-minute drive ahead of me. Ada and her husband, Peter, accompanied me out into the parking lot. Peter is going to drive us both to Baltimore-Washington International airport Saturday morning.
"What time should I be at your house?" I asked.
"Three a.m.," Ada said. "That okay?"
"Sure," I said. I plan to sleep on the plane.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Countdown to Honduras
We're three days away from boarding our flight to Honduras, and I'm sitting here at home in Gaithersburg, Maryland, imagining that the other 63 members of the team are, like me, scrambling to complete last-minute preparations. This evening we're assembling at the Gettysburg Presbyterian Church in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania for a "packing party"--cramming suitcases with thousands of items from bandages and prescription medicines to medical instruments and toothbrushes. These are the supplies that will enable the mission to do its work.
On the team roster are pediatricians, dentists, surgeons, physicians, pharmacists, EMTs, nurses, dental hygienists and assistants, physical therapists, maintenance specialists, and a long list of dental students, teenagers and general helpers. All volunteers. All paying their own ways to give people they have never met -- mostly women and children -- desperately needed help.
There's also me. I'm a writer and photographer, and I'm along to document the mission's work and give everyone back here at home a window into this remarkable event and the organization behind it. I hope you'll check back here often and follow our progress over the next two-and-a-half weeks.
On the team roster are pediatricians, dentists, surgeons, physicians, pharmacists, EMTs, nurses, dental hygienists and assistants, physical therapists, maintenance specialists, and a long list of dental students, teenagers and general helpers. All volunteers. All paying their own ways to give people they have never met -- mostly women and children -- desperately needed help.
There's also me. I'm a writer and photographer, and I'm along to document the mission's work and give everyone back here at home a window into this remarkable event and the organization behind it. I hope you'll check back here often and follow our progress over the next two-and-a-half weeks.
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