There have been a great number of things to adjust to here in Honduras. The heat and humidity, how people bring their children over for a play date one or two hours late, how music is played at rock concert levels in the grocery stores are just a few that come to mind. But the most difficult adjustment has been living in close proximity to poverty. 

According to reliable sources, there is a great deal of poverty even in the US. While true, it’s hard for most people to see evidence of it, much less feel it. At Sadie’s and Hannah’s school in Little Rock, many, if not most, of the children were provided with free breakfasts and lunches.  One would like to assume that they ate a reasonable dinner at home. Even if their parents were poor, you could take comfort in all the “Help Wanted” signs at fast food restaurants. Minimum wage is not a living wage, but even an entry level job offers the hope, slight that it might be, of advancement out of poverty. (That could interpreted as a weak rationalization, but it will have to do for now.) 

La Ceiba offers “in your face” poverty. We live in the most affluent neighborhood and two blocks from our house is a shanty town of wooden shacks. We rarely have occasion to drive in that direction and by staying on paved roads we bypass it and other shanty areas. We do see them when we drive out of town, but set on hillsides next to banana trees they almost look exotic rather than impoverished. (Unlike the developed countries, the poor in developing countries typically live in the hills and the wealthy live in the flat lands near the city centers.)

Honduras is the second poorest country in the Western hemisphere next to Haiti. The average number of years children spend in school is 4.8 and the UN ranks 66% of the population as “extreme poor”. I often wonder if Maura, who cleans and cooks for us, falls into that category. She works from 8 – 2 at her first job then from 2 – 6 at our home. Though illiterate, because of her strong work ethic and intelligence she is in the top income tier for domestic workers: $227 a month. The going wage for a domestic worker who works the standard 6 hour shift 6 days a week is $77 per month. As relatively well compensated as Maura is she has an unemployed husband, and six children depending on her one salary.

While I respect Maura and appreciate the services she provides, I’m closer to the domestic worker at the office. Yolani is a single mother of four and makes $138 per month. Over time my command of Spanish subtleties, and my courage, will increase to where I can ask her what her life is like, what keeps her awake at night, what her hopes and dreams for her children are, what gives her joy. If you were to meet Yolani you’d be impressed with keen sense of humor and bubbly personality. You’d never know that for her family eating meat is a rare and special occasion, or that her home is nothing more than a shack. I haven’t been to her house and honestly I don’t want to see it. Poverty in the abstract is one thing, but when it’s someone you know and care for it quickly gets uncomfortable.

Recently Sadie asked why there is an armed guard at the ice cream store we frequent. I lied and told her that was a good question, but I didn’t know the answer. She has enough to deal with without the added burden of knowing that poverty breeds desperation and crime. Each night there appear to be different guards, but they all have the same look of despair, and resentment, as they watch people spend more on ice cream than they earn their entire shift. How long would you go into the store and wonder each time why you happen to be so blessed to be buying ice cream and not the stiff that guards it for pennies an hour?

One small comfort in all this is knowing that with our work Ellen and I are fighting the good fight and are part of the solution. I’m going out into the field more to meet with our clients and each experience has proven to be uplifting. Yesterday I met two clients of ours that are good friends and jointly own and operate a “pulperia”. There isn’t a good translation in English because “shop” or “store” convey something much larger than a window in someone’s house from which are sold a dozen commodities like rice, sugar, matches. These two women are in their ninth month of business and it is flourishing. In addition to increasing their inventory they have already earned enough to purchase a couple of small pigs.

Both as a human being and as the Director for Development for the Adelante Foundation of Honduras (www.AdelanteFoundation.org), I’d encourage anyone who reads this go to our website to make a donation so we can help more and more poor women. Give till it hurts. You’ll feel super rich and wildly fortunate because you just helped someone you will probably never know and still can buy ice cream anytime you want to.  If that is beyond what you are comfortable doing, then please consider taking a small but powerful action. Stop thinking about poverty as a condition or state of being. Think of it in terms of its real name: Injustice.