At the student newspaper over here at Belmont, we just finished the online package about the Honduras Trip.

Besides kind of putting everything in one place, the new things added were a link to paul's teaser video, 12 photos from Chansin and a new article set by Chansin and I:

"Below are accounts of Chansin and Nathan as they enter the same home in Honduras for the first time. Chansin writes of the team’s first visit to the house. Nathan writes of the group’s second visit, when they return with a large mattress to complement the family’s broken cot:"

(Scroll Down past the visuals to get to the article part)

Posted by Nathan at 03:03 AM | Permalink | TrackBacks (1)

Flash Viewer 7 Required
for player below:

In just a few hours, the first Belmont Vision of the Spring 2006 semester will hit the campus. I haven't seen it yet but I understand that Chansin and Nate have written articles and published pictures from their Honduran experiences early this month. The Belmont Vision Online will also carry additional photos and a reference to video projects...sooooo, the 3 minute clip on this post is a sneak preview of our day at Clemintina's soup kitchen and one of the painting days at the nearby school.

The rough edits on this clip are compliments of Windows Movie Maker (not my favorite editing software but it is packaged with Windows XP and it works on my handy laptop)...and the background music is a free download by Tariq Harb playing a Handel Minuet on classical guitar. There is more video coming. This is just a sample from the raw video files that have been digitized thusfar. Enjoy.

Posted by Paul Chenoweth at 11:35 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Music of the Big Band era surrounded my childhood. One of those old standards, Among My Souvenirs, has been stuck in my head for the last day or so, following the discovery of a handwriiten note from an orphan that I met named Areliah. We did not talk very long...I simply don't command enough Spanish to carry on a long conversation. She was quite curious as to what I was doing and I took a few minutes to let her record several seconds of video. After I played back the tape for her on the camera's small LCD screen she asked if I had a paper and pen. She sat next to me and penned the following note (in Spanish), and then handed my notebook back with a warm hug.

To Paul from Areliah,
Hello, how are you? I hope that when you go away that you will remember much about me. You are the first American friend that I have known in my life. May God bless you and be with you the rest of your life.
(signed)Areliah

It is probably a good thing that I did not know what she wrote at the time, I may have attempted to smuggle my small friend home in my luggage. Of all the things that I brought back from Honduras, Areliah's simple note has to be my favorite. It speaks volumes about the people we met and compels me to remember the importance of the little things we do.

And for those who are not familiar with Among My Souvenirs, the last verse goes like this:
"...And, as the teardrops start,
I find a broken heart
Among my souvenirs"

Now, where's the Kleenex when I need it.

Posted by Paul Chenoweth at 01:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

After reading Chansin's One Bed for Too Many Children post, Bill Hobbs asked the question: "What would it cost to build one decent house there?" At the core of the answer is a basic challenge of defining what 'decent' means to the people of Cane, La Paz Honduras...it would certainly be a startling answer for most Americans. From what we witnessed, decent means an open framed roof that doesn't leak too much, solid adobe walls, a sweepable floor, electricity for lighting, electricity for a couple of wall outlets, enough land for an outdoor toilet, and a water source (but not for consumption) within a hundred yards or so (preferably a well on the property). This is the way that many of the poor live, and to them it is 'decent'...a dramatic step up from living on the street or in a makeshift shelter along a stream, a hillside susceptible to mudslides, or a city dump. A step up from 'decent', is perhaps 'respectable'. Respectable housing would include reinforced, quake-resistant block walls, indoor plumbing with septic system, adequate electric in every room, a functioning kitchen, widows with operable glass sashes, scrubable tile floors, and a paintable, flat surfaced ceiling.

Who can build a respectable house?
With plans in-hand from Zully Marcia, a volunteer architect from Tegucigalpa, we asked about employing village workers to construct the community center project that the KidSake Foundation proposes. The response to that question revealed other challenges to self-sufficiency in the village: there are very few skilled workers from the village to build the building like it should be built. Construction workers would be brought in from a larger community, perhaps Comayagua or Tegucigalpa. For an avid do-it-yourselfer to hear this was painful, but a quick glance around the village at building, electrical, and plumbing practices makes the statement more believable. I will resist proposing specific solutions to this challenge, but I believe that a solution that leads toward self-sufficiency and better construction is essential. Bringing in outside labor for every skilled task seems to propagate the cycle of welfare-like dependency.

Where do building materials come from?
We witnessed entrepreneurial people in small villages digging in clay from their yards and packing wooden forms to make adobe block. It was not uncommon to find someone selling sun-dried adobe block on the side of the road or near the market. At the prison in Macala, inmates were mixing concrete to manufacture what appeared to be 6" hollow core block using a mixer and hand made forms. Raw materials and basic skills seem to be in place, albeit less organized and consistent than one might expect. Out of the city, there are no Home Depot's or Lowe's where one-stop shopping for all-things-residential is possible. Loosely translated, a traditional American timeline for construction would require modification to allow for the logistics and (often) fabrication of basic components (i.e. block, tile, and timber)...but there appears to be a workforce capable of these tasks. I would contend that they can do much more with adequate training and small-scale manufacturing equipment.

OK, bottom line. How much for a decent respectable house and who can afford it?
Let's start with a small plot of land. It should be enough for the house, a garden, an out-building, and a perimeter fence (or wall). Land cost: approximately $2,000 USD. A respectable home of 1,000 sq. ft. would cost approximately $5,000 USD by the estimation of an area school leader. Assuming that these figures are reasonably accurate, $7,000 USD builds a 'respectable' home. For the Honduran farm-worker family with a mom and a dad earning a combined 800 Lempira per month ($42.43 USD) the $7,000 price tag (132,300 Lempira) for a respectable home is out of reach. Habitat for Humanity already has affiliates in other areas of Honduras...again, resisting that as the best solution, I would consider it a point for discussion.

How Many Homes are Needed?
I am not certain that we have adequate research figures to know the real needs in Cane for housing. My guess is that 100 homes would make a significant difference in the lives of the desparately poor (if local resources and labor are mobilized).. .if my math serves me correctly, that's about $700,000 USD and housing for aound 500 Hondurans. On the other hand, one medium earthquake would level many (if not all) adobe structures and would set construction needs to the catastrophic level of the destruction of hurricane Mitch in 1998...meaning that there are perhaps as many as 500 to 700 homes that need to be upgraded from decent to respectable.

Posted by Paul Chenoweth at 08:58 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

The three-day weekend provided me my first good opportunity to organize digital stills into something that makes sense. Today, I posted 47 images to Flickr and added the Flickr Badge that you may view in the right-hand column of the page.

Matt has contact sheets from his black and white film, a set of 35mm color slides, and a handful of prints from his color print film...probably enough for a good show.

Posted by Paul Chenoweth at 02:03 PM | Permalink

If I could only show you 40 of the 1,379 pictures I took on the trip, I would show you these:

My Top 40 Honduras Pictures

Posted by Nathan at 12:50 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I’ve been told I would never be the same again. That’s what foreign mission trips do to you, they say.

“I’ve been changed” ... “I look at life differently.” People say these things when they come back home.

But how? In what way are they different? I don’t hear that answer quite as often.

Before I left for Honduras, I was worried I’d have nothing to say. I asked God to move in my heart so I could come back a more mature disciple of Christ.

Now it’s time for me to evaluate. How have I changed, and what has been accomplished?

WHAT I HAVE LEARNED AND HOW I HAVE GROWN:

* I have grown in the area of generosity. I plan to give of my own money and work to raise funds to help Cane and Clementina. Since this past summer I’ve planned on donating monthly to Compassion International, but I kept putting it off. Now I feel compelled to give the money I would have sent to the other organization to The KidSAKE Foundation instead so the soup kitchen can feed more kids. Now I look at each dime as a meal for a child in the soup kitchen, and I am more careful about what I buy. I realize how little it takes to fill a need.

* My desire to learn Spanish has been renewed. Communication wasn’t too difficult while I was there because I know Spanish basics and an interpreter was always nearby, but if I ever go back there or to another Latin American country, and if I really want to connect with the people and get to know them, then I must know their language. The children easily dismissed our talking problems; they just wanted to play. But if I want to really share God’s Good News with them from my own lips, I need to learn Spanish well. I’m not sure how I will do it, but I know I will try.

* The fact that God’s timing is perfect is further etched in my mind. I wanted to do mission work last summer, but God said no. If I had already gone on a mission, then I doubt I would have gone on another trip to Honduras over this Christmas break. Things would have turned out so much differently.

* I found a living example of what true self-sacrifice and compassion is. Jenny Rogers is an amazing woman that I’ve come to love. I hope to take after her example of servanthood because she takes after Christ.

* This trip was confirmation in my heart that God’s will for my life (to serve Him through writing) is the only thing that will satisfy me. I was able to get a taste of it this week. I more specifically want to write about foreign missionaries and document how God is moving in other countries, but this trip was a wonderful first step in reporting while on the mission field. I know I have much learning and improving to do, and I’m excited about these next years as God develops my writing skills.

* Ultimately, God showed me where He wants me to invest some of my time, prayers, and money. I believe in the work of Jenny and The KidSAKE Foundation, and I want to partner with her in helping Cane build the new soup kitchen. I believe God will use many people to see the village rise out of poverty and become self-reliant.

WHAT WAS ACCOMPLISHED THIS WEEK (from what I saw):

* Clementina now has the money to start her nonprofit foundation.

* The plans have been set and people on both ends understand what steps need to be taken to build the new soup kitchen.

* Cane’s elementary school has a freshly painted library, new lights, and hundreds of new books.

* The children had the joy of taking pictures from their own disposable camera.

* The soup kitchen has better electricity.

* Photographs and video footage have been collected to create promotional videos to raise money for Cane.

* A blog of personal thoughts and articles has been created to explain the need of Cane, the purpose of The KidSAKE Foundation, and to document the trip.

* Needs have been assessed – from the school, the soup kitchen, the villagers, and several nearby orphanages.

* Toys, medicine, and other items have been left for the villagers.

* Item such as purses and bracelets have been collected for The KidSAKE Foundation to sell to raise money for Cane.

* Contacts and phone numbers have been exchanged to help with future mission trips.

* The future involvement of team members has been solidified.

Posted by Chansin at 12:44 AM | Permalink | Comments (5)

What a beautiful, fierce kiss my cheek received! It was a kiss that said, “I don’t want you to leave. Please don’t forget me.” The six-year-old girl waved with all her might as our van pulled out of the orphanage. I didn’t want to say goodbye.

During our last afternoon in Honduras, we visited five orphanages. There wasn’t much time to spend at each one, but the children welcomed us and opened up to us within minutes.

I could tell they longed for attention. I didn’t even have to seek them out. At one particular orphanage, as soon as I stepped inside the gates, little Maria in a ruffled purple blouse grabbed my hand. We were instant friends.

Three others quickly joined us. I had four little girls pulling me throughout the orphanage – one on each pinky and thumb. They gave me the grand tour of each room and introduced me to their friends. That orphanage was all they had, and they wanted to share it with me.

Out of all the children I met this week, I think those little girls cared the least that we couldn’t say much to each other. Laughter is the same in English and Spanish, and that was all we needed to understand.

I pushed the girls on the swings. We played their version of ring-around-the-rosy. They showed off their monkey tricks in the tree. They pointed out the pictures on the walls and introduced me to the older orphan girls who served the food. We practiced our skipping and showed each other dance moves. They posed for pictures and climbed on my back. And then it was time to go.

Even though the orphans don’t have a family, financially most of them are better off than the poor children in Cane. They receive clothes and don’t worry about food. But how they long for attention! How easy it is to be welcomed into their hearts! How earnestly they asked me to come back!

Posted by Chansin at 12:41 AM | Permalink

All made it back to the US last night (some of our luggage opted for the extended stay in Miami...arghhh!). I believe it is safe to say that we can call the Honduras Mission a success. There are many, many options for projects and service in the region where we worked, and determining future involvement will be a challenge over the next several weeks and months.

Thanks again to all of you who prayed, added comments to the blog, and supported this team financially and otherwise. Thank You. Thank You. Thank You!

The MTSU faculty on the team were a joy to work with (and they are already scheduled for two more trips to the area). Jenny Rogers, the executive director of the KidSake Foundation, has a passion for the mission and ministry in Cane, Honduras that is contagious. As for the Chansin, Nate, and Matt...Belmont has every reason to be proud of the manner in which they represented their institution and their faith...to say that it was amazing to see them in action does no justice to the great things these young people did.

There will be some follow-up stories comming now that we have more accessible/reliable Internet access. Those of you who signed up for email notifications will receive an alert when more pictures, stories, and videos are uploaded.

We are weary. We are blessed. We are greatful. We are Home!

Posted by Paul Chenoweth at 08:56 AM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (1)

We have cleared our first hurdle to make it back to the US. After an early morning breakfast, a meeting or two, and packing the van, we headed down the highway for the two hour trip to Tegucigalpa. I have an official 'Driving Rules of Honduras' t-shirt to honor the event and the week of driving like a Honduran (something that I am certain that therapy will take care of).

Anyway, all of us made it through Houndras immigration and are resting at the American Airlines gate awaiting our departing flight. If we have access in Miami, we'll drop you a note...if not, we'll see you in Nashville (or Dallas).

Adios!

Posted by Paul Chenoweth at 01:23 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

When I was younger, I made plans to save the world. Why don’t the rich people just give a percent of their money to the poor throughout the world, I’d ask a friend at school.

He replied with lofty words and political jargon.

I nodded slowly, pretending he made sense. I hated the fact that life was not simple. I was drawn to my friend’s knowledge.

What I didn’t realize was that I was one of those rich people in the world. I should have asked myself: Why don’t you give a percent of your wealth to the poor, Nate?

I like to know how things work, but life is not something I can master. Tic-Tac-Toe on the other hand I have mastered. Mathematically, if you play me, you will never win with my knowledge, but we will tie if you have mastered the game as well.

Yes, I am that good. I have it all figured out.

Well, Tic-Tac-Toe that is.

The problem is my God-suit doesn’t fit so well. The suit tends to make my mind wander in a terrible race. To know all feels… unnatural for me.

I wonder, I wonder, I wonder:

“God, why do you allow poverty and suffering?”
“How can I love you without seeing you?”
“How can I love others when I struggle to love myself?”

Why why why and a bottle of whine is my favorite dish.

Here’s the deal. Some things may become clearer, but I am no less of a man for not having answers.

God is more qualified than me to know all, so maybe I shouldn’t beat myself up for not performing tasks in God’s job description in the first place.

“Guard your steps when you go to the house of God. Go near to listen rather than to offer the sacrifice of fools, who do not know they do wrong. (2) Do not be quick with your mouth, / do not be hasty in your heart / to utter anything before God. / God is in heaven / and you are on earth, / So let your words be few.”

-Ecclesiastes 5:1-2

“Much dreaming and many words are meaningless. Therefore stand in awe of God.”

-Ecclesiastes 5:7

Posted by Chansin at 09:05 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

The letters weren’t even written to her, but they changed her life forever.

Jenny Rogers, a single mother of three, read letters from her best friend’s brother. Chief Jones was in the Air Force and based in Honduras. He wrote home about the Honduran people and his experiences.

Jones’s stories made their way into Jenny’s hands. They were stories of desperate Hondurans accosting the airmen as they threw their trash and spoiled food in the dump... Stories of villages in the mountains where the poor Hondurans generously shared the little they had with the visiting airmen... Stories of shoeless children who waited for visitors at the airport to carry luggage and raise 10 cents to buy food.

“They were letters that would make you cry, and you would feel such compassion for the people,” Jenny said.

Four months after reading the first letter, she traveled to Honduras herself to see how she could help.

“The first time I came, I only brought a videographer,” Jenny said. “It was an investigative trip. We heard all the stories, and we were moved, so we came to see what we could do.”

It was Thanksgiving weekend in 1999. Chief Jones had an itinerary for Jenny and her videographer. The sergeant planned on taking them to several of the orphanages and mountain villages.

First, though, he told of a lady named Clementina who ran a soup kitchen in a nearby village. Jenny was interested in finding her, so they drove to Cane. Chief Jones didn’t know Clementina, but in the past someone from the Air Force had been involved in helping her. Because military men transfer so often, Clementina lost her support.

“There are plenty of needs everywhere, but all the orphanages and villages I visited later in the week were hooked up with some organization, branch of the military, or form of help,” Jenny said.

Clementina had nobody. She was all by herself feeding 85 kids a day, twice a day.

The day Jenny met Clementina, the petite, old woman said, “I was praying the military would come back in my life so that I could get help. You are the angles God has sent to me.”

The 69-year-old woman had been serving the kids in the soup kitchen for 27 years. She had retired from teaching and opened a soup kitchen when she realized the children couldn’t concentrate in school because they were so hungry.

“We decided right away to help,” Jenny said. “She didn’t have anybody.”

This is a many-layered project, Jenny said. The main problem for the poor families is hunger. It pulls kids out of school so they can work to buy food. But that halts their education, which forces them to remain in a level of poverty.

Just over a month after her first trip to Honduras, Jenny filed papers to create a nonprofit organization called The KidSAKE Foundation. She knew it would be easier to get grants and aid if people could make tax-deductible donations.

“I just keep putting my hand out because I don’t have any money to do it myself,” Jenny said. “I had to rely on a donation to pay the $500 to become a nonprofit.”

Throughout the first year, she did whatever she could to send money to Clementina for the soup kitchen. Because of her foundation’s involvement, the Air Force picked up Clementina as a project again. They’ve stayed connected. Jenny sends a cashier’s check to her contact at the base when she can. For five years, during their off-duty, volunteer hours, airmen at the base have helped. They pick up Clementina, take her shopping at the market and deliver the food to the soup kitchen for her.

“Now we’re supposed to send $400 for the 90 kids each month, but I haven’t been able to keep that up,” Jenny said. “They’ve had to turn away half of the children. I don’t send it on a regular basis because I don’t have regular supporters.”

She needs people that are committed to donating every month so that the soup kitchen can continue, Jenny said.

Ten cents a meal, or $1 a week would sponsor a child.

Jenny is going to continue to work on raising money so the children can eat each month, but she and Clementina have another project on the horizon. They have drawn out plans to build a community center that would include a new soup kitchen with modern appliances, a medical clinic, an educational resource center, dorm rooms for visiting missionary or volunteers and a meeting room as a place for training.

“We don’t want to just build a building, but we want to help the community build itself so that it can be self-reliant and have a brighter future,” Jenny said.

She believes they have an opportunity in this village to set up a model. Partnerships with Universities and donors can help a community become independent and rise up from the dregs of poverty.

The past five years have been a struggle, and the hardest part is yet to come, but apart from her family, Jenny says. But, there’s nothing she’s done in her entire life that has been as rewarding as being able to work in this village and join with other people to give hope to the children and to the mothers.

“It’s on my heart all the time,” Jenny said. “Everyday I think of Clementina—ever since my first trip here. I knew my life would change because I am softhearted. I didn’t know it would change this much.

“I know that Honduras will always be a part of my life ... for the rest of my life.”

Posted by Chansin at 08:57 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Two days ago I wrote about a family of six that had only one broken bed. It was more of a cot than a bed. Their house was utterly bare. The 11-year-old sister, Dania, took care of the younger siblings all day while their mother worked in the fields. The little girl had no more than a first grade education.

We left their house promising ourselves to do something about it. Beds are expensive, we were at the edge of our budget and we didn’t even know where to find a bed for sale. But we wanted to give those children a place to rest their heads. The cold, dirty floor and crowded, broken bed were not sufficient.

Hermes, our translator, told us there was a recent shipment of new beds from the United States to his mission organization in Comayagua, a nearby town. He is the principal of the school at the mission and has control of its distribution storage unit.

After a phone call, he informed us all the beds had already been given away.

“But we have other things in the warehouse, and you can pick anything,” Hermes said.

We were on our way to Comayagua anyway, so we stopped at the mission. We walked through the warehouse looking for something to give that family.

“Look! There’s one bed left!”

It was a king sized bed. Hermes immediately offered it to Jenny for the family.

“Those are the things that keep me going because I know God is watching,” Jenny told me later in the evening.

We were excited to drive toward the family’s home last night with a huge mattress strapped to the back of a pickup truck. I couldn’t wait to see Dania’s face when the bed was placed in her home.

The mother and her two youngest were the only ones in the house when we arrived. Some of the children were in the mountains with their grandmother and a few of the children were in the park, the petite mother said. We were disappointed to not see Dania and the children, but we happily set the new bed in the woman’s rented house.

We had woken the baby when we entered the house, but he stopped crying and quickly as fell asleep as he was placed on the new mattress and box springs.

“I didn’t think in my whole life I would get a bed,” the mother said.

It only makes me wonder how many more families in Cane are in dire need of beds? How many more children lay dirty and cold at night? How many mothers need to be educated and taught how to make a better living so their children can go to school? How many lives can we help change?

Posted by Chansin at 08:56 AM | Permalink | TrackBacks (1)

I have shot over a thousand pictures in Honduras with my digital camera. Each night I upload my memory cards to my computer and scroll through the shots.

There are always one or two pictures that stick out each night.

At the public school in the small town of Cane, close to the Honduran capital of Tegucigalpa, a shot came to me.

I was sitting low on the ground in the middle yard of the school. I aimed the camera upward toward a row of girls. They had been crowding around me interested in this American and his shiny piece of technology.

After a bit, a shot flashed through my mind. I positioned myself so the sun was just behind the tallest girl. She carried a baby. The girls became backlit with an angelic glow.

They stood towering toward the sky, staggered and strong. Their gaze, caught in that click, seemed to have a piercing power.

I saw the taller girl yesterday, but actually she was quite short. I had remembered that click.

I will have these shots when I return to America, but I keep wondering if I am taking too many pictures home with me instead of taking enough lasting relationships.

I don’t want to know people so I can put their picture on my wall. I want to know them,

So sometimes my camera disgusts me.

Posted by Nathan at 10:41 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

There are numerous poverty-stricken families in Cane, Honduras. In a particular family of seven, only one of the little ones goes to school. He is seven years old. In a year or two he will have to drop out of school and begin working.

For them, childhood is over, Jenny Rogers, executive director of The KidSAKE Foundation said. They hope to be fed and to be warm and to get a pair of shoes if they’re lucky.

“They play, but they bear a burden that shouldn’t be the burden of a 7-year-old child,” Jenny said. “These children don’t have time to wonder and to imagine. They are hungry.”

Clementina, a 74-year-old woman who lives on a teacher’s pension in this third world country, runs a soup kitchen in her village for the poor children up to age 10. She used to feed 90 children two meals a day, but now she can’t afford it.

“Clementina is only feeding one meal a day to the 45 absolute poorest children, blending breakfast and lunch to spread it out,” Jenny said. “She’s feeding half as many kids half as much food.”

Even though she has reduced the amount of food she gives out, she is in debt to the market 200,000 lempiras. That’s about $1,100.

“Without Clementina, I don’t know what I would do,” one of the soup kitchen mothers said. “When I need milk for my babies, somehow she gets me milk. When I’m desperate, I go to Clementina and she helps me.”

Jenny believes Clementina perseveres because she holds on to the hope that somehow the children’s lives will be better than the mothers’ lives. She sees a beacon of hope.

For the past five years, Jenny has been that beacon of hope. She met Clementina, decided to create a nonprofit organization called KidSAKE, and has worked to help the Honduran woman with the soup kitchen ever since. She thinks about Clementina every day.

“I’m nobody,” Jenny said. “I am a single mother of three. So many times I have thought, ‘I wish I could quit’ because I’m so tired.

“But how do you quit on Clementina? When you’ve been here and you know there’s something you can do, you can’t quit.”

At the same time, she struggles to support her own family. She works full time, goes to school at MTSU full time, is a mother full time, and gathers as much money and support as she can to help Clementina and the village of Cane.

“I don’t think I could live with myself if I quit on Clementina and the children, but I can’t do this myself,” Jenny said.

She relies on the goodwill of others 100 percent of the time. Her own children are on the free lunch plan at school, so she can’t simply donate thousands of dollars from her own pocket. She tells the story of Cane to others to muster donations.

“Too often people think the little they do won’t make a difference ... so they do nothing,” Jenny said. “They are wrong. It takes 100 pennies to make a dollar. Think of all the times you pass by a penny because you’re too lazy to pick it up.”

Four hundred dollars a month would feed all 90 kids twice a day on the weekdays. That’s 10 cents a meal.

If many people share the load, it’s not a heavy load, Jenny said.

“Most of the people I know go to a fast food restaurant at least once a month,” Jenny said. “If you were willing to sacrifice that one time and put that money in a jar and at the end of the month donate it, you could feed a child for an entire month. That’s one value meal at McDonalds. Then, if 90 people gave up that value meal, we could feed all 90 kids.”

For now, only 45 of those children will eat a little food each day. And Clementina will remain in debt. Jenny prays she can somehow help Clementina and help the children.

Posted by Chansin at 10:33 AM | Permalink | Comments (5)

The six children had nothing, and all I could give them were candy canes. I felt stupid for giving them candy when I could see their poverty and see they needed so much more.

Earlier in the day, I had met all the children of the soup kitchen, and I knew they were poor. It looked like their clothes had never been washed. Half of them didn’t wear shoes. Their skin was covered in dirt splotches. The girls’ hair was in a tangled mess, and leaves were stuck in some of them.

I could see their skinny bodies and the way they stuffed the sandwiches in their mouths. None of them complained about the taste. For many of them, the soup kitchen provided their only food each day.`

It didn’t quite sink in, though, how poorly the children lived until I entered one of their houses. The six brothers and sisters and their mother possessed only one small cot for a bed. That bed was broken. There was nowhere else to sleep. All the children had was the empty, dirt floor in which to curl up.

I have never seen a house so bare. In the larger room, the unsteady bed lay in one corner, a heap of branches in the other and a mound of dirty clothes were placed on a little ledge by the bed. A baby’s (toddle walker) sat alone. The other room had about 10 bowls. That was it.

The only running water the house would ever get was when it rained and water came through the holes in the roof.

The house wasn’t even their own. They were renting it. In the home we had visited before this one, the mother had said she constantly worried about paying the 500 lempira, or about $26, for each month’s rent.

That’s so much money that sometimes we think we’re going to have to leave the house, she had said.

Jenny has seen lean-tos made out of sticks along the road. The lucky people, if you can call them that, salvage cardboard or tarps and weigh their shelter down with rocks.

The oldest sister in this house, at 11 years old, held her one-year-old baby brother in a motherly fashion. Another three-year-old brother stood at her side. She hadn’t gone to school since the first grade because she had to take care of her younger siblings. Their mother spent each day at work.

That morning I had passed out little hair bands to many of the girls at the soup kitchen. I noticed she had them in her hair already. She had no other personal possessions that I could see.

I had also given the soup kitchen boys little rubber snakes to play with. The girl’s brothers still held the toys in their hands.

“All seven of you share that one bed?” Jenny asked the girl through an interpreter.

No, she said. Some of us sleep on the floor.

When the reality sunk in, Jenny began to cry. She had to turn her back to the children and eventually walk out of the room. The side of the house held her up as she finished crying.

She has a daughter the same age as the little girl.

Jenny walked back to the group and immediately asked the interpreter how much it would cost to buy a bed for the family. Her foundation had no money left, but she was willing to reach deeper into her own pocket to scrape up enough money to give the children a place to rest their heads.

We must give them something, she said. Anything would be better than what they have now.

To ease the pain of their hearts, Jenny and her team promised themselves to see what they could do about giving a bed to that family. Many houses needed beds, but the thought was too overwhelming. They had to take it one family at a time.

As I placed candy canes in their hands and saw their faces light up, I felt ashamed for not giving them more. At home, I have so much. Candy would not take care of their needs. Candy would not fill their stomachs. Candy didn’t give them a place to sleep. But it was all I left them.

I buttoned my jacket and waved goodbye to the kids. It was going to be a cold night, I could tell. I prayed their two blankets could help keep them warm.

Posted by Chansin at 10:31 AM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (1)

Every member of our team has a camera. Not every member of our team has a degree in photography or the professional equipment to go with it...but one person has both. Matt Chenoweth's assignment on this trip is to capture the people, the places, and the mission efforts of the rest of the team. There are print production and presentation needs for the KidSake Foundation that will benefit from high quality film. Matt would be the first to tell you that he is much more comfortable with traditional film than he is with a file from a digital camera. The bad news for readers of Reporting from Honduras is that none of the images that Matt shot this week will appear electronically until he returns to the US for a marathon session of film processing and digitizing.

Looking through the digital pictures on my laptop today, I realized that my files rarely have a shot of Matt... you might think that a dad might pay more attention to his son on a mission trip, however, Matt has worked to be intentionally inconspicuous. Candid moments happen. Capturing those real, un-posed moments means that the subject of the picture may be unaware that someone has a camera focused in their direction and is composing, cropping, adjusting for light, and triggering a shutter.

Having one person dedicated to photography is a luxury for most mission trips and Matt's flexibility to jump in where needed in other areas has been an asset. Ask Matt about his up-close-and-personal spider experiences while painting near the library ceiling...or about improvising some Honduran electrical work...or hiking, alone across town where teams were working in separate places to help coordinate communications.

From previous mission trip experiences, I recall that there is always one team member who tends to be less visible in the activity pictures. That doesn't mean that what they did lacked importance or they are not contributing to the team efforts. Our stealth photographer, Matt, has worked dilligently to quietly accomplish his assigned tasks and has managed to engage where needed to support the overall goals of the team.

Yes. I am proud of Matt...and I am anxious to see the fruits of his labor.

Posted by Paul Chenoweth at 09:56 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

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

Posted by Paul Chenoweth at 08:51 AM | Permalink | TrackBacks (1)

He lived in a box of a home in a Honduran mountain village. He slept in a room partitioned by wood and plastic just like his brothers and sisters.

His father farmed beans and corn. His mother was the only teacher in the roadless village of Plazuelas. It took over two hours to hike up the mountain from the nearest bus stop.

He grew up around ten families scattered half a mile between each other.
It was uncommon to make it to sixth grade in his village, Hermes Machado said.

His mother did, and so did Machado.

“Education can change someone’s life like it did me,” Machado said, who is currently 27 and the principal of a bilingual elementary school.

I have always been a busy guy, he said.

For me, I didn’t just want to marry young and farm corn and beans, he said. I like to think outside the box.

On the weekends he works toward his master’s degree in education. He also enjoys working as a translator with different groups, he said.

This week, he is working with Belmont University and Middle Tennessee University in the town of Cane, Honduras. As an English speaker, he doesn’t miss a beat.

He jokes in a bus full of Americans: You have horny cows in America right?

A women laughs and check to see if he is joking. Machado has mastered the art of poking fun, which puts the group at ease. He understands culture past the village of his youth and past the borders of his country.

On a three-month fundraising trip to America, he saw the urban lights of New York City. He rode the rides at Disney World, saw the St. Louis Arch and saw the Statue of Liberty.

People wanted me to see everything, he said.

Machado tells stories of his adventures like a standup comedian, picking up on cultural nuances.

I couldn’t just call people to hangout, he said. I had to call and plan it out like a week in advance.

He told a story about being dragged to shop the day after Thanksgiving.

Women laid out advertisements on the floor, mapping out deals the night before, he said. They woke me up at 3 a.m. In the packed store, a woman with a shopping cart was behind me. The woman asked…

Machado snarls his face as he gets into character.

“Are you going to move so I can get by?”

His education goes beyond the classroom.

In the mornings, he takes a taxi to work for 15 lempiras, for less than a dollar.

He arrives at the school he oversees after a 5-minute ride in a white and blue-striped taxi.

The backdrop is a steep line of mountains cutting into the sky. Their distance creates a blue mist, and clouds visit to dabble at the peaks.

Machado has visited these mountains with friends to get away. There are waterfalls, old trees, and fruit, he said. He enjoys walking through protected forests when he has spare time, he said.

The road leading to the school is parallel to the line of mountains. Enlaces is a private Christian school with just shy of a hundred students. English and Spanish is taught in the classrooms. Through the years, Enlaces has grown. Today, it is primarily a youth center, church and humanitarian distribution center.

After school each day, students can attend the youth center at Enlaces.

Every hour we share the gospel in some way for five minutes, Machado said. Machado became a Christian after talking with missionaries from Ohio when he was 19.

“They shared mainly by how they lived,” Machado said.

They answered my questions when I asked, he said. Now I like to give back by translating for other groups.

“Enlaces” means connection or bridge in English, Machado said.

During Hurricane Mitch in the late ‘90s, Enlaces served as a shelter for 400 to 500 people, he said.

Five to seven semi trucks of supplies still arrive at Enlaces each year. Clothes, food and medicine are sent to area hospitals, orphanages and organizations.

You open the back of the truck and the supplies are literally bulging out, Machado said.

Machado was hired to set up the school two years ago. In his early 20s, Machado had already helped set up a school with an American and two Britains.

Enlaces doesn’t meet on Mondays.

There was some opposition to this innovation, but I thought it was better, Machado said. I am often doing homework for my graduate studies on my day off.

Students at his school pay around $50 a month to attend, but 16 students are offered full scholarships, he said.

Education seems to run in the family. Machado’s 17-year-old brother, Pedro, wants to be a lawyer, Pedro said. He graduates this month from high school, and he is by Machado’s side this week as an interpreter.

When Machado’s mother was just a child, she woke at 3 a.m. everyday. She sold tortillas in the market to support her grandmother. Then she returned to her village before noon to attend school till 5 p.m.

She did her homework after school and then prepared tortillas for the next day, boiling and grinding the corn.

My mother continued to attend school when others dropped out because she knew it was better than selling tortillas, Machado said.

After she completed 6th grade, she became a teacher and married Machado’s father when she was 15. Machado was the third child of six in this family.

When Machado was 15, his mother searched for a job so her children could get an education past elementary school. They moved to the town of Comayagua, Machado said.

One day Machado wants to hike that two hours to his birth village of Plazuelas.

He has been too busy, he said. The village has probably grown a lot. Most of the youth in his village didn’t make it to 6th grade and they probably have raised new families now, he said.

Posted by Nathan at 04:51 PM | Permalink

We thought we had little in common.

The Honduran children sat close to me on the school grounds as they waited for other children to arrive. In 45 minutes we would begin Jenny’s research project. They were excited about the opportunity to take pictures from their own, new cameras, but they were quiet as they waited.

I didn’t know what to say to them, and they didn’t know what to say to me. At least, we didn’t know how to say it to each other. The language barrier was quite frustrating.

Balloons solved our problem. Out of my backpack I pulled balloons and passed one to each child. I quickly realized the kids were no different than my little friends in the United States.

“Rosado!” one little boy said in an exasperated tone when I handed him a pink balloon to blow up.

Silly me. No 10-year-old boy, not even a Honduran boy, likes girly colors. I gave him a green one instead.

The wind began to snatch away our freshly blow balloons, so the teacher showed us into an empty schoolroom. The ruckus grew louder as more children joined in our balloon game. In a mess of jumping bodies, we batted four balloons in the air.

The boys were playing too roughly for the girls, so I joined them on the side, and we daintily passed our own balloon back and forth.

The biggest laughs came when balloons were swept into the barred window and loudly popped on a sharp edge. We didn’t mind when a balloon had popped. There were more to play with, and the surprise of each “Pop!” gave us all giggling fits.

A balloon is handy when playing Hot Potato. The other thing we had, a large empty room, was useful for playing “Duck, Duck, Goose” ... or “Pato, Pato, Ganzo.”

The 25 children listened carefully as I, through my interpreter, explained the rules for each game. They were smart kids. Helpful, too. If one of them was confused, another child helped me explain how to play.

They didn’t cheat. When one of the boys accidentally ran through the circle instead of around the circle to chase his opponent in Duck, Duck, Goose, the Honduran children all laughed and sent him back to his place.

I didn’t think we would ever tire of laughing at whoever was stuck with the balloon at the end of each Hot Potato round. As the children were eliminated from the game one-by-one, the little girl or boy stuck with the balloon laughed, too, and sat in the middle of the circle with no complaints.

For a while we sat and discussed our favorite colors. One of the boys proudly knew the names of the colors in English. They also told me which of them went to school in that current building and which went to the private school.

As I began to run out of ideas for games and sentences I knew in Spanish, we were called into another room to begin learning about cameras for Jenny’s project. Photography skills weren’t the only thing we learned about, though.

We found out we had more in common than what it first appeared. We all know how to smile, play games and enjoy each other’s company. And we know what is required for a good time: balloons!

Posted by Chansin at 04:15 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

By Nathan Baker and Chansin Bird

Through thin metal bars prisoners can see their work on display. Woven bags, hammocks and bracelets sway in the Honduran wind to entice customers.

Some items have little marks of tape displaying a price and a prisoner’s name. Working with their hands is a means to support their families and their livelihood, and it passes the time.

“Even though we are here, our families are still outside,” Leyonidas Garcia Carillo said in Spanish. “Somehow we have to support our families too.”

Carillo wears a bright yellow shirt and Nike hat.

Upon entering a fenced-in yard, a shopper can buy a hand woven purse for 50 lempiras, which is under $3.

A privileged prisoner greets shoppers with a notepad. He records what each prisoner sells.

We buy all our own materials. The money is split between whoever helped on each project, Garcia said.

For example, three prisoners might work together to make a hammock. The process, if each of them spends four to five hours a day working, takes six days. One person prepares the material. Somebody else might do the actual weaving of the thread, Garcia said.

It took Garcia six months to learn his craft, he said. The knowledge is passed down as people come and leave.

“I don’t even remember who was here that taught me to do this,” Garcia said.

He has been in the prison for 13 years. In three more, he will be released.

“We all make mistakes and that’s why we’re here,” Garcia said.

He holds his hammock through the bars. The hammock was $15.88.

Posted by Chansin at 04:14 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Yesterday was one of those mission adventure days when the schedule flies out the window just as soon as the ink dries on the paper. It was a day of finishing up the service project for the school library, for launching a photography project with the MTSU team, for working through lunch, and for a generally hectic race to return to our lodging before the dining facilities closed. Every one is doing well and each member of the team is working hard. The number of influential contacts in the area continues to grow and the list of projects and mission opportunies seems to increase exponentially with every turn in the road. Thanks to one and all for your prayer support!

Obviously, our schedule yesterday prevented us from getting Internet access...remember, there is one Internet access point in the entire town of Cane. Today, the owner decided to rewire the four computers hooked up with the satellite and unforunately, that means that we are down to one coputer for now. Chansin and Nate have stories ready to load in, so I am outa´here!

Posted by Paul Chenoweth at 04:01 PM | Permalink

Prayer requests –

·Many of us in the group have been feeling ill. Please pray for our health. Especially pray for Jenny´s health. As our leader, she has the most taxing job and it is essential for her to feel well.
·We are painting the school´s library. It has turned out to be a big job. Please pray that we finish in good time tomorrow and that we do a satisfactory job.
·Tomorrow we begin Jenny´s research project with the children. Please pray that the kids understand what to do, get excited about it, and take photographs that are meaningful and give us a better idea of their lives.

Posted by Chansin at 05:22 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

In Honduras I drank Coke from a straw inserted into a tied off bag. I have bought a half liter of water for a dime and half a penny, or 2 lempiras. The water was in a bag.

I didn’t know the proper way to drink this bag of water. Matt and I discovered the bags at a hardware store in Comayagua.

We learned you tear the corner and consume.

One of our translators, Pedro Macado asked Don’t you have those in America?

Nope.

There are so many differences between North and Central America, but today I was struck by the similarities.

Our group went to a school in Cane to paint the walls. A group of kids waited at the door to help. At first they seemed angelic, images on a TV. A smile of a young girl still haunts me—the purity in her eyes.

Later, as work ensued, I started seeing them more as kids—not kids from Honduras.

They would act up when their supervisors were away, playing sword fight with their brooms.

Honduras kids? No.

Kids.

Just kids.

Posted by Nathan at 05:17 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

The 10-year-old Honduran boy smiled shyly as the Americans admired his artwork. Anytime villagers or visitors walked into his family’s carniceria, or meat shop, they could view three of his canvas-stretched paintings on the wall. Two were of colorful Honduran village scenes with people and animals walking along the streets. The last one was of a fruit bowl.

“I’ve never seen a 10 year old paint so well before,” one of the Americans said.

Juan Carlos Salinas Bustillo has enjoyed drawing for as long as he can remember. Last year, when he was 9, he enrolled in an art school in Cane, his village. An interpreter helped him tell his story to the Americans.

“Usually my mom sends me to the store to buy things,” Juan Carlos said. “One day I passed through the art school.”

Around 100 children go to this art school.

“I was curious,” he said. “I saw the kids painting. I asked the teacher if I could do the same thing. I wanted to come to the school and start painting because I liked it.”

His parents said yes when he got home and asked if he could go to the school. Every weekday morning from 8 to 9 for the past year he has attended the art school. He will enter the 6th grade soon.

At their asking, the Americans found out Juan Carlos was willing to sell his paintings. Two of the Honduran boy’s paintings will soon hang in American homes. He sold them for 300 lempiras each, about $16.

Juan Carlos’s mother was happy the Americans decided not to buy one of them because it was his first painting and had sentimental value to her.

One of the main things he learned this year was to project the image of people walking and taking their animals to feed.

“I like to copy other pictures,” he said. “I look at other pictures and then start drawing and adding things.”

For example, in his painting of the fruit bowl, he looked he copied another picture. However, he would have had too much trouble drawing the Bible beside the fruit bowl so he drew a candle instead.

“I also like to draw pets, people and landscapes,” Juan Carlos said.

His passion is the arts more than sports. He sings in his church choir and more recently has begun to learn to play the guitar from his uncle. Juan Carlos also likes to make altars, which is a Catholic tradition.

“I like to paint,” he said, “because this is a way I can express my feelings.”

Posted by Chansin at 04:45 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

I have never been so comfortable around prisoners before.

Perhaps the bars that separated us put me at ease, or perhaps I’ve just never been around many prisoners in my life to know how they make me feel. I do know that the Honduran men in the jail we visited yesterday seemed like normal, easygoing guys.

I don’t think I have ever met such artistic prisoners before either.

Our group went to the town of Marcala. We wanted to meet the men at the prison there, find out their stories, and buy some of their products. They weave purses, hammocks, and necklaces. And their work is quite pretty. I bought two purses for myself.

The prisoners had committed crimes ranging from stealing a chicken to murder. But we didn’t want to focus on their mistakes. We were interested in their handiwork and their stories about life in prison.

They spend several hours every day weaving the threads together to make items to sale. Their purses hang on racks outside the prison building but inside the prison fence. They are eager to sell so they can have money to buy soap and other personal items. Many of them have families they are struggling to support. And some of the money must go toward buying more materials for their next artistic project.

Nate or I hope write a more in-depth article about the prisoners later.

Posted by Chansin at 04:33 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

File this under the "Oh, I forgot to warn you" category: Early moring milking in Cane, Honduras is a process that includes a 30+ minute hike across a rocky plane...without any light other than the sunrise peeking from behind a mountain range. Monday's award for moving way beyond the 'journalistic comfort zone' goes to Chansin who discovered that what dairy farmers do on the business end of a milk cow isn't as easy as farmers make it look. The answer to 'why were we up at 5:00AM to capture milking pictures?', is a story that is ends around dusk with a block of cheese. Part of today's adventure was filling in the story gaps between the pasture and the cheese press.

Through the day today, I have watched Chansin, Nate, and Matt go about the business of interviewing, discussing story ideas, composing on laptops, and shooting all kinds of pictures. They are off to a terrific start to telling the stories of the people of this region. I'm pretty sure that it is safe to say that our impressions have changed as we have all met new people and observed what life is like in the village. On the heals of our hostess, Clemintina Martinez, we have been welcomed into homes by complete strangers and treated like family at meal times...it is amazing.

We will be on the road Tuesday, headed for the mountains in northern Honduras to visit a prison...our travel schedule may eat into any time that we have to find an internet connection, so we may not be able to post stories until tomorrow. Until then, thanks for visiting...Reporting from Honduras.

Posted by Paul Chenoweth at 09:34 AM | Permalink | Comments (4) | TrackBacks (1)

What a party!

The village of Cane was crawling with people. Yellow, school-bus like, busses dropped off teenagers from surrounding towns. Mounds of speakers blared upbeat Spanish tunes. Two mechanical spinning rides gave children a thrill. Boys walked around selling necklaces that flashed blue and red lights.

Every New Years Day the people of Cane hold a huge festival. It actually reminded me of fairs similar to ones in the United States.

French fries, or “papas fritas”, were a popular food, just like they are at home. While we were walking past the food stands, Pedro, one of our two interpreters, stumped me with a question.

“Why do you call them French fries?”

Hmmmm ... did they originate in France? I didn’t think so.

I couldn’t answer his question, but I did notice the way they made the salty treat was different than I had ever seen. Two teenagers sat in the back of the booth peeling actual potatoes. The potatoes were then stuck through a hand-pressed cutter that made them long and thin before they were thrown into the frying pan.

As I was moseying around the papas fritas stand, an older, creepy looking guy who very well might have been intoxicated approached me. He started speaking to me in Spanish, and I was caught slightly off guard. He reached out his hand, and trying to be polite, I shook it. Before I knew it, he leaned in close and kissed me on the cheek ... a little too close to the mouth. Augh!

I thought it might be custom for people to greet each other with a kiss, so I tried not to freak out too much. I did, however, quickly walk away, but I didn’t want to seem rude if it was supposed to be a natural thing. Pedro asked me later, though, why I had let that man kiss me. I hadn’t realized I let the man kiss me ... I didn’t even know what was going on! I suppose if that’s the most uncomfortable thing that happens to me on this trip then I’m doing pretty well.

Posted by Chansin at 09:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Roosters rule the night in Cane, Honduras.

By two a.m., the birds from all across the village were calling to each other.

And it didn’t stop. Bird after bird crowed to each other in succession. One was right outside our window.

Needless to say, it wasn’t as difficult as I thought it would be to wake up at 4:30 a.m. to go milk a cow.

That’s right. For the first time in my life, I milked a cow. Senor Martinez and his 9-year-old helper, (Ramiro) wake up every morning before the sun rises to hike to the pasture and milk Martinez’s # cows. This milk is then delivered to another family member to be made into cheese.

For many in this community of 3,500 people, the lifestyle is somewhat primitive. The house our group is staying in, for example, has no running water inside. There’s no air conditioning, sunlight filters through the roof, and most inconvenient of all, there is no bathroom. Or, should I say, esta es no bano. For your sake, I won’t go into details.

But this house is nice compared to some others I’ve passed along the dirt roads. According to national statistics, 49 percent of Cane’s 3,500 people are in poverty level. The rest of the community is in the level of surviving people.

Despite the poverty, Cane’s residents seem content. I’ve been here less than 24 hours and haven’t had adequate time to get a good feel for the community’s attitude, but I don’t sense despair. Life seems slow and peaceful.

Watching some neighbors drive mule-driven buggys and others drive trucks down the narrow roads is not strange to them. Children carry fresh cow milk jugs on their backs while other children stride down the road with Coca-Cola bottles in hand.

This land is different than my own, but I’m beginning to love it. The roosters, though, I will never love.

Posted by Chansin at 08:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

The pilot of the 757 has autopilot disengaged over these Honduras hills. He dips into a firm spiral above Tegucigalpa on New Year’s Day, 2006, then lands. A group from Belmont University and Middle Tennessee State University step off the plane. Their first few steps are down stairs, made mobile by a bright blue truck shinning from the heat.

“We are flexible and ready for adventure,” Jenny Rogers says just outside the airport to 27-year-old translator, Hermes Machado. Jenny knows Hermes from her trip last May. He wears frameless glasses and black and yellow Puma sneakers. His Razor phone is clipped to the right pocket of his jeans.

Before leaving the Honduras capital, the 8-member group stops to meet with future members of Jenny’s sister organization, The Clementina Martinez Foundation. The plan is to build a new building to be used as a soup kitchen, medical clinic and resource center in Cane, Honduras.

Jette Halladay, who teaches theatre at MTSU, jumps in and echos Jenny’s thoughts regarding the physical details of the structure. Fellow professors Kimberly Dummons and Maggie Fontanasi-Sieme also sit in the petite yet polished den.

“We want what you want,” Jette says. Her hand movements complement her words. She inflects her voice: We want the building to reflect the people of Cane, Jette says.

Paul Chenoweth heads the group of three journalism and art students from Belmont. He videotapes the meeting. He calmly rests the camera on his lap for a stable shot and keeps the side display flipped in to conserve battery.

Paul captures the moment when Jenny hands Clementina Martinez a check for over $2,500 to legitimize her non-profit.

When cameras click and flash, Clementina smiles at the person, not the camera.

Jenny met Clementina during her first trip to Honduras, in 2000. A member of the Air Force base at Soto Cano told Jenny about a woman who ran a soup kitchen. Clementina has facilitated this kitchen for over 30 years now.

When youth greet her, they often have to bend down to kiss her on the cheek, since she stands at 5 feet and 7 inches. She is somewhat of a political figure in her small town and known by many. She even ran for mayor.

Among other things, the primary project of this trip is to finalize the plans for a new home for “Clementina’s Kitchen,” which currently serves almost 100 youth two meals a day.

Back in the states, Jenny has not always been able to focus on the people of Cane. As a single mother of three, she lost her job and at one point had to pull back from her international involvement.

“The only thing I did—I didn’t quit,” Jenny says.

Posted by Nathan at 07:30 AM | Permalink

After speaking with Jenny Rogers, The KidSAKE Foundation executive director, the following are some of the goals of this trip and the future of The KidSAKE Foundation, as I understand it:

Objectives for this trip:

* Help set up the Clementina Martinez Foundation
- Clementina runs the children’s soup kitchen
- We’ve already donated the required 50,000 lempira (about $2,650) to begin an official foundation.

* Encourage literacy
- We brought books from the U.S. and have funds to take the headmaster to buy some here.
- We will paint the library at school.
- We will assess the needs of the school for future projects.

* Find out if there’s a map of the village. If not, we will create one.

* Begin work on a cookbook that compiles 15-20 recipes and stories of the Cane women who make the food.
- We’ve already gotten the materials for the cheese-making process and another recipe.
- Once it’s complete (after a year), it will be sold to raise funds, awareness, and preserve the culture.

* Work on research project
- Rogers, in an effort to encourage art and understand the Cane children better, is working on a research project that involves twenty Cane children receiving disposable cameras to take pictures of their community through their own eyes.

* Gather video footage, photographs, and articles of the people.
- These will be used to help market The KidSAKE Foundation for generating more interest and financial support.

* Visit UNILH, a non-profit Lenca Indian organization
- Try to arrange for them to make a performance later in the week

* Visit the prison in Marcala
- Buy some of their hand-woven baskets
- Get the stories behind the prisoners

* Visit orphanage

* Create a web page/blog
- You’re reading it!

Future goals of The KidSAKE Foundation:

* Ultimate goal: Help build a structure for Clementina’s foundation
- The plans have been drawn. It will contain a new soup kitchen with more modern appliances, a medical clinic, educational resource center, commercial kitchen, dorm rooms for visiting missionary or volunteers, and a meeting room as a place to train people.

* Encourage the arts and exchange ideas and art forms between the countries

* Find a “sister school” for Cane in the United States that will support and encourage them.

* Hold a high school-sponsored Honduran arts festival in Tennessee to raise funds for the new building.

* In future years hold an annual Gala event.

Posted by Chansin at 07:00 AM | Permalink

The full eight member teams and all the luggage arrived safely in Tegucigalpa. Somehow, that doesn't seem newsworthy but it is at least worthy of one large, collective, sigh of relief. We have been blessed with beautiful weather, a patient translator, people who seem to want to feed us at every turn, and reliable transportation. It would be easy to become overwhelmed with the crowds and unfamiliar surroundings, but all are handling things well. Nate and Chansin have taken notes all day and will post stories as soon as we have a little breathing room in the schedule.

If our trip ended today, the people of Cane, Honduras would call it a success. Pictured on the left is the check presentation from the KidSake foundation's director, Jenny Rogers, to the Clemintina Martinez Foundation. The 50,000 Lempira (roughly $2,500) is one of the last hurdles to establishing an international non-profit organization that will continue the work that Clemintina has sustained over the last 30 years. For Clemintina, this is a dream come true.

Posted by Paul Chenoweth at 10:49 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)