American have 'the clock', Hondurans have the time
I missed the sign at the immigration desk when we arrived at Tegucigalpa. I am sure that it read: Check your type A personalities here, you may have them back when you leave Honduras.'
One basic tenet in Honduran society is that the person is always more important than the event. In the US, a 30 minute trip to the hardware store for a gallon of paint means parking close as possible to the front door, running in, perhaps asking a clerk for a particular color formula, waiting as patiently as an american can, and then leaving just as soon as the bill is paid and the paint is loaded into the vehicle. In Honduras, the same scenario might include a 15-20 minute drive on the Honduran version of a public NASCAR roadway (including farm animal obstacles). You park somewhere near the city square and greet the locals as you stroll through the market place passing a couple of hardware stores closed for no apparent reason. The owners of the open store give the americans a quizzical look and break the ice with a typical Honduran welcome, of 'hello and how are you?'
From there, the conversation leads to your needs to paint a particular space (in our case, a school library). There is conversation about the school, the students, the books, the need for literacy, the importance of having a clean place to study, and maybe a brief history of the store owner's experiences in school. Slowly, the conversation turns to how much paint is needed and what colors are available. There is a brief debate between the school teacher/translator and the store owner over whether or not the cream color or the off-white would be best...they agree on the cream. We notice that the store has flourescent bulbs and know that only 2 of the current 16 bulbs in the library actually produce light. Again, there is some conversation about the students, the library, and the importance of good reading light. We then ask for 16 tubes and the store owner graciously adds in a couple extra with his appreciation of the business and for what is happening at the library. We pay a little less than the prices actually marked on the packages. We send someone to pull the van up to the door. A store assistant moves our paint and the box of flourescent tubes to the edge of the street where he waits for the van to arrive. When the van arrives, everything is carefully loaded, the shoppers hop in and exchange an 'adios' and 'Dios le bendiga' (God bless you) before heading back to the racetrack.
Some (ameicans) might argue that we lost more than an hour of work due to the 'extra' activity surrounding the simple process of purchasing paint. For the Hondurans, the financial transaction will be forgotten soon. The memory, however, of meeting new friends and being part of the improvement of a school and its children will last for a long time...and no doubt will be a source of joy.
As for the sign at the airport, I think it should read: Check your type A personality here, permanently...you are better off without