Month: July 2019

This week I got to spend 5 days on the road, travelling to different communities locals have difficulty locating on a map. My time was split up between the Department Olancho and the Department Choluteca. After spending time a month in Tegucigalpa I am able to identify the disparity of wealth in rural regions. In Olancho I walked by one-story houses, packed tightly in a row. With no yard, the children play in the dirt street. These houses appear sturdy; however, they are missing many of the “essential” amenities (air conditioning, tile/ceramic or wood floors, wooden doors, windows, refrigerators, and a gas/electric stove to name a few ). While not life-threatening, it could be difficult to get by in 85 degree summer days. Later in the week, I visited some rural regions Choluteca. Having talked to my co-workers, I learned that Choluteca is a poor department with families living off of $4-6 USD a day. The houses here were constructed out of any available building materials. As I drove by, I saw some being built with foraged sticks, adobe, and a sheet metal roof. Without a reliable trash or water system, the families have to take alternative measures to make the space livable. This includes burning their trash, buying 16oz plastic water pouches to drink, and doing whatever they can to stay cool. On the typical humid 95 degrees Summer day, families hang out under tree canopies or any available shade until dusk or dawn to do their work. After being immersed in these communities, I am motivated to do whatever I can to help.

However good my intentions may be, I always feel a slight battle in presenting my willingness to help. When I talk to patients I am either presented with joy or neglect as if I do not exist. This duality has been difficult to navigate as a volunteer with little say over the services at our outreaches. Some of the most common questions include:

“Where are you from?”

“What is your race?”

“Where do you go to school/what do you study?”

When I answer these questions, I transform into a native Spanish speaker. However, once they ask unscripted questions I have difficulty comprehending its meaning. In an attempt to speak more quickly, I started Spanish learning tongue-twisters:

Pablo clavó un clavito.

¿Qué clavito clavó Pablito?

While these are fun, I am feeling my Spanish-immersion training reaching a dead end. In hopes to further improve my fluency I, want to start studying grammar and vocabulary every day.

I hope this will help, as there is one question I always wish I could answer better: “Do you believe in god?”

This question is difficult for me to answer, as I was raised Buddhist, then stopped attending the Temple in the 2nd or 3rd grade. After that, I never regularly attended church or desired to be apart of one. The most difficult part is when I tell them, “I believe in some form of a higher power, but not an orthodox one.” This is shocking as a majority of people here are actively religious and try to convert me on the spot. This led to my questioning of religion’s place in this country.

One of our stops was a Teen Challenge campus, located 30 minutes outside Tegucigalpa. Having never heard of this camp, I was slightly confused when I saw English written on the signs. A quick google search told me everything I needed to know. These establishments help individuals who practice unhealthy behaviours by rehabilitating them with Christianity. We drove up to the long dirt road toward a ranch-like summer camp. It was located 1/2 mile inland from the highway and extremely isolated from its neighbours. Behind the property is a cemetery and to its right is a military training base. Like all neighbourhoods around Tegucigalpa, we drove my an armed guard at the gate. After we got through, I saw a series of buildings connected by an intricate set of concrete paths. The weaves within the paths created beautiful alcoves and table to admire the beautiful countryside. Despite the fact that the campus was built on a hill, everything was built carefully to account for its minuscule changes. In-between the paths were beautiful arrangements of flowers, carefully manicured trees, and signs of carefully selected bible verses. This felt like a beautiful sanctuary for anyone who is trying to improve themselves; however, is it necessary that they use Christianity? Is it fair that individuals who are struggling with drug abuse or self-destructive behaviour get whitelisted from this facility because they are not Christian? While there is a clear division between church and state in the United States, the line is not well defined here.

Furthermore, El Centro de Salud Integral Zoe (Zoe Health Center) is a non-profit organization with a Christian identity. This has been integrated into both the branding and marketing of the clinic. On days of surgery, there is a pastor sharing bible verses, talking to patients, and blessing them before their surgery. Furthermore, the clinic has adopted the logo of Vida Abundante churches (or vice versa). Regardless of who came first, it is apparent that the churches are integral to the outreaches of the clinic. The logistical work is delegated from the administrative team to the outreach team, and then the local church. With the help of the local pastors, we have set up our outreach clinic in both public schools and churches. While I do not think that all of Zoe’s patients attend this congregation, I do believe it has an impact on who attends the clinic. It is possible that those who are not religious or do not belong to Vida Abundante have a difficult time being informed about our pop-up clinic. As a result, they may miss both the opportunity to get their vision checked and/or schedule a vision-restoring surgery. While this challenge is rooted in an insufficient infrastructure/network, I could not imagine a more cost-effective method. I have witnessed the intersection between religion and health care services. While I wish I could say it is negligible, I know it is not true. Due to a lack of health services the professional sphere of healthcare is merging with social organizations to improve access. While I cannot comment on its effectiveness, I do believe this will have a larger impact in the years to come.

Life is good in Tegucigalpa! This marks halfway through my time with the clinic.

See ya next week

In El Chaparro, the school is the only building with electricity. Around 8 in the morning we drive up the rocky dirt road. Once the highway falls out of view, I notice a woman plucking the feathers from a chicken. An experience I had only witnessed through film or imagined. Watching this natural act felt like a breach of their privacy. I had never watched the feathers being plucked, much less a freshly killed chicken on the cutting block. I thought about how distanced I have been from the preparation of our food. This along with countless other observations has led to the reevaluation of my privilege. I am thankful for it all. 4 hours later in the day, we are presented with a plate of chicken, rice and tortillas, I ate my plate clean.

I had never needed to worry about food security, financial hardships, or expensive health care. This type of privilege has allowed me to invest my time and energy into my education, something many people are unable to do in Honduras. While conducting my interviews I ask the question, “What is the highest level of education of the wife or female head of household?” This question has provided me with both insights into the average patient and access to education. An overwhelming majority of participants have reported their highest level as primary or part of primary school (Grades K-6). While I am not sure why they did not continue their studies, I am certain about this geographical disparity. Regardless of education level, people are both resilient and rising. On our outreaches, I am greeted with a handshake and smiles. Although we are from vastly different backgrounds I feel accepted into their community as if I had lived there my whole life.

For the next 3 weeks, I will be spending 1/2 of the week at the Tegucigalpa main clinic and the other half at outreach locations. This week I visited the pueblito El Chaparro in the Olancho Department. The Olancho Department is the largest in Honduras and located 3 hours away by car. While subsiding carsickness, I was trapped by the beautiful scenery. The highway curves in-between 2 large mountain ranges. Its twists and turns take us to city Juticalpa where we spend the night. We wake the next day, leaving for El Chaparo immediately after breakfast. The small town has about 150 members. In 4-6 hours we were able to provide visual acuity tests for 82 patients. For those who qualified, we gave them the appropriate reading or sunglasses. The team consisted of Doctor. Vasquez, Viktor the optometrist and I. I am responsible for distributing the correct glasses prescribed by the optometrist and doctor. As I distributed glasses, I felt intimately connected to my patients. Gifting them glasses that would allow them to read with ease or prevent the development of future pterygiums has changed the way I value my own belongings and access to health services.

In the classroom, it is hard to imagine a village that does not have access to healthcare. While academics and creatives have created windows into this world through interviews and narratives, it cannot compare to personal experience. Working outside my comfort zone was more powerful than any classroom experience. While I have discussed objectives for global health in a worry-free lecture hall, the provision of regular health care feels distant and intangible in areas like El Chaparro. The cost of Health services is staggering and the community members are nowhere near making enough money to pay for it. I hope to further explore the logistics of this question as I spend time in more isolated communities.