Central America (2)
Honduras: On to La Ceiba
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
In the afternoon, we headed for La Ceiba, a four-hour trip east over some very bumpy roads (but all paved). As we headed out of town, we passed a number of horse-drawn carts loaded with bananas and other things. A teenage boy balancing a bundle of sticks on his shoulders trudged along the highway. A bicycle carried a large, old-fashioned, two-handled metal milk can.
Near La Ceiba, Kyle pointed off to the left. "There's a pineapple field," he
said.
A pineapple field? It was just a bunch of low plants. I thought pineapples grew on trees, like coconuts. It's difficult having longstanding assumptions smashed.
Admit it--you thought pineapples grew on trees, too. Didn't you?
* * * * * * * *
We settled into the mission house in La Ceiba, once the residence of missionaries Lamar and Karen Crumbley, and then headed to the home of Roger and Marilyn Reeck for a Carib meal. Roger is translating the Bible into Carib, an Indian dialect. Previously, he spent 18 years translating the Bible into an Indian language in Mexico (interestingly, at the same latitude as La Ceiba, a tidbit which my mind couldn't fully assimilate until I looked at a map).
They had other guests--Jesse, Lester, and Manley, all from an inter-denominational Baptist church in South Carolina which helps support the Reecks. Lester and Manley are professional stone masons, and Jesse is a fulltime evangelist with about 60 mission trips under his belt. They were putting a stone front on a new UB church building which a work crew led by Bob Eberly had erected the month before. We visited the church a couple days later. Gorgeous stonework.
Marilyn brought each of us a plate containing pieces of plantain (a little bit like banana, a little bit like potato) and a whole fish (chew well, because there are mucho bones) covered with a delicious coconut gravy. We had been told that Roger liked the eyeballs. Lance and Brent both courageously ate an eyeball and kept prodding me to follow suit. I finally did, when they weren't looking. It was hard and chewy, like a Jujube, but tasteless; you chew and chew, and finally have to just swallow the thing. I ate it mainly so I could have the pleasure of later grossing out my nieces and nephews, which I did. Such was also my motivation for eating barbecued chicken's feet in Macau the year before.
* * * * * * * *
Alternating red, white, and blue painted stones line the front of the Bethel church. It's a very pretty church, and the largest UB church we would see in Central America.
When we arrived Thursday morning, Archie Cameron was with the pastors in the front of the church teaching the United Brethren Discipline, which had just been translated into Spanish. He wore a white shirt and tie, and spoke in a strong voice. Someone would read a section of the Discipline, and he would explain it.
This was the beginning of Honduras Annual Conference, which would really get underway that night and continue through Sunday night.
* * * * * * * *
It was a lazy Thursday afternoon at the Bethel church and school. Five men and a boy formed a circle and kicked around a soccer ball. The driver for Superintendent Jose Ramirez sat under a tree next to the Landrover carving a boat from a chunk of wood; he would hold it tightly between his legs and dig with his knife, intently focused.
Up on the balcony of a two-story dorm constructed by Pennsylvania Conference, a couple men gazed over the compound. Five men casually strolled through the front gate, back from a walk. A man sat in a red Datsun pickup, the door open, reading over some papers. A group of men lounged on the ground talking, using the shade of the conference headquarters building as relief from the blazing sun.
Back in the soccer circle, the men seemed to be playing keep-away from the
boy. "Aqui! Hermano, aqui!" the boy called out in vain. Here, here! The driver
began sanding the boat; he would hold it up to his line of sight, examine
it closely, and then sand some more.
Lance was invited to play in a pickup soccer game later that afternoon in the school field. He had played on the Huntington College team, but we told him that these Hondurans would run circles around him. Nevertheless, he ventured onto the field (wearing the heavy shoes he'd worn on all of his mission trips). Someone kicked him the ball so he could take a practice shot at the goal; he blasted it way above the goal. Lance turned around with a chagrined look on his face. But his next practice shot was respectable, and when the game began, he held his own nicely.
They played with five on a side and no goalies. At one point, a guy squared off with Lance, the ball between them, and playfully challenged Lance to steal the ball from him. Lance knew what was going to happen, but took the bait anyway. As he lunged for the ball, the guy kicked it between Lance's legs and dribbled on down the field. Everyone got a good laugh at the gringo's expense.
One Voice, a group of six Huntington College students led by music professor
David Wallis, arrived Thursday afternoon. They would perform in each service
through Sunday night, then travel with us to Nicaragua for annual conference
there. And then they would head to Quito, Ecuador, for a work project with
the HCJB missionary radio ministry. That was their January Term "class."
They brought a number of percussion instruments--bongo drums, tambourines, maracas, other things--and sang quite a few songs in Spanish.
* * * * * * * *
During the Thursday night service, I sat between Kyle and Roger Reeck. Later, Kyle would preach and Roger would translate for him. Roger has traveled with Kyle a lot as translator, both in Honduras and Nicaragua.
After a minister finished praying early in the service, Roger leaned over
to me and said, "He prayed, ‘Whatever Kyle says, let come out in the
translation what you want the people to hear.' In other words, add the vitamins."
During the offering, as Kyle reached into his wallet, Roger leaned over
and asked him, "Do you have a five-spot?" Without waiting for a reply, Roger
pulled a five lempira note from Kyle's collection of bills and dropped it
in the offering plate.
"I'll pay you back," Roger smiled.
Kyle looked at me. "He does that every place we go. He's never yet paid
me back."
* * * * * * * *
Next: Part 3
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