Central America (1)
Honduras: San Pedro Sula
Follow these articles in order to get the chronological tour of Central America. San Pedro Sula | La Ceiba | Sambo Creek | Around La Ceiba | A Wake | The Dump | Nicaragua
Steve Dennie
January 1997
The Burger King in La Ceiba is as nice as any Burger King in the States. The uniformed workers, the clean and shiny stainless steel equipment, the familiar menu, the little playground out front--practically identical. Nevertheless, I was a bit disconcerted the first time I walked in and saw a security guard sitting at one of the tables with a shotgun across his knee.
That's something you don't see in the States.
Security is a big business in Honduras. We first noticed it in San Pedro Sula, the country's second largest city, which we flew into on January 7. Every restaurant, every business, and definitely every bank seemed to have a fellow out front cradling a shotgun or automatic rifle. When we returned to our hotel that first Tuesday night after a prayer meeting service, we passed two uniformed men, each carrying a short-handled shotgun, patrolling the sidewalk.
Which seemed a bit strange, since I never felt threatened during our ten days in Central America. I knew thievery was a problem in Honduras, but an M-16 outside a grocery store felt like overkill. As if a gang of bandits might shoot their way down the street at any time, Old West style.
Maybe, in part, it was simply a way to provide jobs. The unemployment rate in Honduras stands terribly high. In the city square outside our hotel in San Pedro Sula, scores of men sat around, idle.
In the same square you could find a few money changers, fists clutching a large wad of bills, eager to change your dollars into lempiras (they started at 11.7 lempiras to the dollar, but Kyle McQuillen bartered them up to 12.5; a few days later, Roger Carey of Michigan told us he managed 13.1). Some people sold wares, and a few hustlers tried to hire on as our guide. But mostly, the square was just filled with men, young and old, with nothing to do. I watched a young street preacher, microphone in hand, gather a pretty good sized audience there one afternoon.
It's a poor country, like too many countries in Central and South America. And yet, as a rookie visitor, I was pleasantly surprised to find much more infrastructure than I expected to find. For instance, lots of paved roads--often bumpy, pothole-infested, but paved roads nonetheless. Dependable electricity (the same current as in the States; plug in your hairdryer, and it works just fine). Stores everywhere that took Visa and MasterCard. Abundant public transportation (often yellow schoolbuses which I suspected were cast-offs from North American school systems).
The roads were filled with vehicles--not worn-out cars and trucks, but pretty nice vehicles (many of them, we were told, purchased as used cars in the States and brought to Honduras). Very few were American brands. One night before a service in La Ceiba, I walked around the parking lot and found only one American vehicle--a Ford van. All the rest were Toyotas, Nissans, Isuzus, Hondas, and other Far-Eastern makes (though I realize some could have been made in the USA). I wondered why U. S. car-makers had ceded the whole Honduran market to the Japanese.
It was hot, of course, delightfully so. We kept hearing about temperatures of 20 and 30 below back in Indiana. When I called home to Pam, I made sure to gloat about how I was suffering in the sun for Jesus and the United Brethren church.
* * * * * * * *
Three of us flew down together in January 1997, the same video crew that went to Macau the
previous January. Lance Clark, the broadcasting instructor at Huntington
University, waited all the way to Cincinnati before getting rid of his long
pants and traveling the rest of the way in shorts. Brent Kuster, a star student
and somewhat of a technical whiz (pretty handy in a Third World situation),
was again playing the role of "Grasshopper," as Lance frequently called him
(for you Kung Fu fans). Earn a Degree and See the World at Huntington College.
Missions Director Kyle McQuillen met us at the airport in San Pedro Sula. Having already schmoozed with the head of airport security, he was able to get us through customs with nary a bag being opened.
That didn't help us 20 minutes later when a policeman waved our rented van over, took Kyle's driver's license, and fined us 200 lempiras for a gray-area traffic violation which would have been blinked at in the States. There was no arguing.
Kyle, whose command of Spanish is pretty impressive, asked for a receipt. No, the cop said. No receipt. That told us how close the money would come to the city coffers. But until Kyle paid up, he wouldn't get his license back. So he paid.
* * * * * * * *
The Tuesday night Bible study and prayer meeting was going strong at Centro Evangelico Emaus when we arrived. As we pulled down the narrow alley, homes on each side, we heard enthusiastic singing. Pastor Benulda Saens was waiting for us.
Benulda started Emaus church in 1985 with four people meeting in her home. Her husband, Moises, took over as pastor in 1992 after leaving his work with a Christian development organization in Tegucigalpa. They worked together for two years. Then Benulda was asked to pastor another church in the area.
Moises has structured the church around small groups. There are seven groups
meeting in homes, and they hope to start a half-dozen more this year. In
addition, 20 people are undergoing leadership training. "Most of our people," Moises explained, "don't
like to go to a church building, but if we have the groups in homes, they
will go there. They accept the Lord in the groups and then come over to the
church."
A songleader and several other women, kind of like a worship team, were on the platform, microphones in hand, flanked by huge, four-foot speakers. As I had previously seen with our Hispanic churches in Los Angeles, they like their music loud. The talented man at the keyboard moved seamlessly from song to song. Several people in the congregation shook tambourines. Benulda stood in the back, singing and clapping and shifting from foot to foot with the music.
Kyle gave some greetings as Benulda translated (she speaks superb English).
Then they resumed singing. Benulda rattled a tambourine for a while, walked
toward the front, handed it to someone else, then stepped outside to where
I stood making some notes. She pressed her palms against the side of her
head and said with a smile, "My head really hurts," referring to the loud
music.
The people were dressed casually. All of the women wore dresses, but that's because it's a no-no for women to wear slacks to church in Honduras. Even on the street, it was unusual to see women wearing slacks (or men or women wearing shorts, for that matter).
They paused in the singing for a testimony time. A lady came forward, stood in front of the pulpit, and spoke for a few minutes. When she finished, everyone clapped approvingly. Kyle told me they were giving thanks for a 94-year-old lady who had undergone an operation the day before and was recovering nicely.
Finally, everyone sat down while a fellow took the pulpit and began a lesson on Matthew. At that point, we all climbed into the van with Benulda and Moises. They thought we could catch part of a service at another UB church in town.
As it turned out, Centro Evangelico Hermosa was dark. It was 8:30. Maybe there hadn't been a service that night after all. Another church across the street was just letting out. Oh well, Benulda would bring us back in the morning.
A little girl twirled sparklers in the street as we left.
* * * * * * * *
Centro Evangelico Hermosa sits on a corner, with the parsonage attached to the back and a large walled courtyard on one side, broken glass set into the top of the wall.
The pastor's wife was with two young sons, who were in the courtyard shooting marbles with a third boy. They would place marbles within a circle drawn in the dirt, then crouch down low to the ground, aiming, before flicking a thumb and sending a marble into the circle.
I entered the small sanctuary through a side door. There were seven rows of short benches, six ceiling fans, and fluorescent lights. The back two benches were moved against the main door, bracing it shut.
Inside the courtyard stood a large mango tree. Benulda helped start the church 27 years ago under that mango tree. It was the first UB church in San Pedro Sula. Now there are five.
It was a pleasant neighborhood, well shaded by numerous trees. All of the homes had exterior gates and bars on the windows. On the opposite corner, a Coke truck stopped at a little mart and the driver, wearing a back brace, unloaded crates of soda. A little boy wearing shorts and dressy slip-ons, maybe twelve years old, walked by with a little girl--his sister?--perched atop his shoulders.
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Next: Part 2
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