The place I am staying at is a three generation strong camp of the Zelaya clan. My hosts name is Brenda, her 80-year-old father has lived in El Chimbo most of his life. He and his recently deceased wife have had 12 children.
Each one of those children has roughly 2-3 children of their own, roughly 2 dogs and 1 cat and one spouse. I have asked around and the final count of heads on the compound comes to 27 humans, 11 dogs, 6 cats and 3 roosters (each with a very distinct sound) and the number of chickens fluctuates too wildly to keep track.It is jovial. The front house facing the road consists of two shops. One is Sonia the seamstress and the other store is Brenda's tined where she sells trophies, school supplies and delicious home-made popsicles in plastic cups. Connected to each house and shop is another house. They must have popped up as the family multiplied and as money became available. Each house has a wash basin for clothes and the trash that escaped the fire surrounds the entire encampment.
About 3 minutes ago the window fell out of the third story and caused a commotion. Each family came out to witness what just went down. The building is pure utilitarian with no bells and whistles and nothing to mask the elements of the home. The drapes are held up with pvc pipe, there are gaps in house and the sink is essentially the shower. It looks better compared to the other houses which seem to be made of a brick foundation on top of scrap wood with tin roof. Everyone seems genuinely happy. Papa cooks up a huge batch of black beans every week, the neighbor comes to clean up every couple of days. The kids sing and play hide and seek with little to no supervision and never seem to get bored or hurt beyond repair. Every morning someone blasts latino punta music to start the day. The roosters start crowing around 430 am and don't stop until about 9.
The youngest child of the 80 year old patriarch is 23 which means he was staying busy until the ripe old age of 57. He walks around the camp with a battery powered radio that he keeps beside himself religiously. He wears a tattered old white cowboy hat and has two tiny front teeth that have withstood the test of time. Brenda yells a lot and if you didn't know her you might think she was serious, but she she yells out of love. I have taught the clan how to play rummy and speed. The last speed game ended in a banana peel fight that included a few limes and lasted about 20 minutes. The kids get bored sometimes so they grab a stick and chase a chicken, or see what unique operations can be done with a wheelbarrow.
Everyone is in poverty by the US standards but everybody seems to hold a capacity for joy unlike anything I have ever seen.
Brenda has just interrupted my writing to blame her stomach pain on my coffee being made too strong. I argue as best as I can in my broken spanish. She has taught me new bad words, most of which she uses while watching her husbands football game on Sunday afternoons. She is strong too, I barely managed to beat her at arm wrestling.
I could go on with details but suffice to say that these people have close to everything they need and nothing that they don't. Except perhaps the dog that has pissed in my bed twice. That damned black mutt has done it very purposeful too, I go to the bathroom and when I come back he is coming out leaving a grand puddle of stinky dog piss dripping off the blankets. Tomorrow they will throw a grand bash to see me off back to the U.S. I had expected that I would only stay here with Brenda for a week and then head into the dangerous city of San Pedro Sulla. It occurred to me that if I am to chase hell and trouble and forego a nice beach vacation then I had better have a joyful scene to come home to when I am tired at the end of the day. This family has provided me more then I could have asked. Another stunning testament to the beautiful and humble people of Honduras.
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