An adventure to the mountains….

The village can't be seen from the road behind the screen of trees. The dirt road is riddled with mud puddles, mangos, and who knows what else and shoots straight up—it is not friendly to vehicles. But once you wind your way up a ways, you are welcomed to Pozo Azul by the friendly woman in the pulperia (the typical small store with miscellaneous). From this point, there are various paths amidst the bamboos, coffee trees, palms, mangoes, guynaba, and papaya trees that lead to various little households.

We made our way to Rosa's house. Rosa has a 25 year old son who cannot speak or walk. The local pastor had visited and realized that her son, Francisco, was rolling around on a dirt floor. They helped build a "cradle" for him…but the pastor had a dream of giving Francisco a padded floor. This is what we were here for—to give Francisco a padded floor. The men were hard at work laying the cement floor, while I and other women visited with Rosa.

I got a unique glance into the life of a Honduran in the village. She did not have electricity; she cooked over a griddle suspended by blocks over a wood fire. They did have running water in the pelea, a place where they do the laundry and acts as a sink as well. The house is nestled under the jungle trees, with a moat of beaten dirt. Her house is not atypical.

Each morning she makes tortillas for the day. They soak the maiz, which is more akin to a white hominy, overnight and then wash it very well. They take it to the village mill, a small electrical grinding machine and grind it. It is sufficiently wet enough to form balls of maiz dough. These are flattened in between two pieces of wood and then cooked briefly until golden brown on the comal (or the suspended griddle). At 9, she mashes some red beans, lathers them on a side of the tortilla—a food called the traditional baleada. She brings these down to the kindgergarten each morning.

We left about lunch time—but she only eats twice a day anyway. We did play with the kindgergarten a lot. I had the privilege of listening to the teacher. She was explaining that many kids in Pozo Azul don't come to school because their parents don't care, or need them to work to help the family, or can't afford the simple crayons, notebook, and pencil to attend.