Hola: An Adoption Adventure

That night, as I finished my dinner, I noticed with trepidation that another storm was brewing.  I hoped that I could make it back to the apartment before it broke.  But it wasn’t to be the case this time.  It descended upon the city as I was paying the bill.  This time there was to be no taxi driver with tarp to keep us dry – we were about to be drenched.  I walked back through El Peñón to the door closest to my apartment building.  From there it was a little over a block.  Maybe I could stay close to the buildings and keep dry under the awnings.  My hopes were dashed when I stepped into sheets of rain; Hannah squirming inside the carrier in response to the crashing thunder and lightning. Running wasn’t wise because the rubber soles of my sneakers were too slippery for any attempt at quickening the pace without falling headlong onto my baby.  I walked, in the black of the storm, hugging the wall of El Peñón until I tripped and nearly landed on Hannah.  I backed up, looked down, and in a searing flash of lightning I saw that I had tripped over a man.  He lay huddled at my feet with only torn pants covering his lower body.  His chest and feet were bare and his breathing was labored.  ‘Is he drunk?’ I wondered. But then, as lightning again illuminated the street, I saw that there were others huddled under the awnings.  All these people were lying curled in fetal position and none was fully clothed. I stepped out into the full force of the rain and, after a few tentative steps, I slipped.  The next lightning flash showed that I had stepped into human feces.  I walked the rest of the way home carefully, through the lashing wind and thunder of the night.  The trip had been only one city block, but what an educational block it had been. I had been in Honduras, now exactly a week. I had been promised five more.

I ran for the bus. Quickly glancing up at the sign I noticed it was the right number so I climbed aboard and handed the driver the correct change in centavos.  I asked him (in Spanish) to call out the supermarket when we got there.  He nodded and I proceeded toward the rear of the vehicle.  It was crowded and people were standing all along the aisle. Somewhat unexpectedly a man stood up to give me his seat. I accepted, gratefully.  Hannah in her carrier made tight spaces most uncomfortable, to say nothing of how hazardous this ride could have been for her. Once settled into the seat, I began looking out of the window. From the height afforded by the bus, I could see into many of the homes we passed. Within, sometimes I saw a rickety kitchen table and chairs, sometimes a bare mattress and bed-frame; often I could make out the dirt floors.  Slowly, the neighborhood was changing.  We were moving from clean streets to streets littered with orange rinds, banana peels, papers, feces, and other refuse. I became apprehensive – certainly the supermarket couldn’t be here.  People in various forms of dress and undress appeared onto the scene… some men wore only long pants or shorts.  Many people walked barefoot through the garbage.  I was feeling very nervous by this time and just a little nauseous. Suddenly the bus driver called out my stop! God, it couldn’t be – not here. I was afraid to get off the bus.  I began my exit, scanning the street, in utter panic, looking for a quick way out – and there it was; I spotted a taxi. I got off the bus and raced for it.  Panting, I climbed in and said: “La Vista, por favor.”