A quiet realization

I have this friend in my town, who is a boy about my age. Our frienship is actually somewhat secretive, because if the people in our town saw us talking, or walking down the street together, they would begin to say things about us.

I have been blessed to have him as a friend in my town, because not only is it nice to have a male friend who treats me as an actual person instead of a prize to be won, but it has also been very eye-opening being able to get a male perspective on the culture and differences between the theirs and ours. Our conversations usually end up talking about machisma, or the difference between dating customs here and there. He always agrees with me that men shouldn´t have more than one woman, and that the men here are known to be more unfaithful then others around the world.

Usually, these conversations end up fine, or we change the subject without thinking twice about the heaviness of the topic (A white woman and honduran man talking about machisma? It´s a miracle they don´t end in a screaming match every time!) But the other night, we were talking about it, and the subject got a little heated, when I started asking him about the roles of a husband and wife, and how they are different in the states. At this point, he seemed to get offended, and began to say ¨really, there is no difference between the two cultures! They´re all the same!¨ At one point, I told him ¨but you just don´t understand, you´ve never been to the states!¨ He looked at me, offended, and said ¨well, you don´t understand our culture either!¨ And left without saying anything else.

I sat there in silence, wondering what I had done to make him so mad, regretting ever having gotten on the subject. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that I really don´t understand. The things that bother me about the culture here, I will never ever understand fully, because I wasn´t brought up in it, immersed in it, and never told anything different like they were. ¨What right do I have?¨ I thought ¨To come here from a situation so much more privelaged and diverse than theirs, and judge their way of life?¨ I don´t.

This realization hasn´t changed my attitude about machisma or the need for more independent, strong woman. I still believe that the way some women are treated here is horrible, and it needs to change. But it certainly has changed the way in which I go about discussing it with people, and looking at the situation as a whole. It is a delicate situation, and if I want to change people´s attitudes at all, I have to begin with a more respectful attitude. For them, this is the way life is, and there´s nothing any different. I have no right to even look at the men with a critical eye for acting the way they do, or treating the women the way they do until I at least try to understand better the environment in which they grew up. Although I may never understand completely, I hope to come to a better understanding and respect of the differences in culture during my time here. I also owe my friend an apology.

St. Anthony

There is a really crazy cool tradition in my site that happens every so often, sporadically. It is actually a tradition in all of Honduras, Nicaragua and El Salvador.

St. Anthony, apparently an adored saint in Central America, is one of the saints most often prayed to. It is tradition, that when someone prays to St. Anthony, they will promise him an entire day devoted to prayer, where they have a celebration, and pray the rosary from dawn till dusk, and people from all over the area come to pray and to give offerings to St. Anthony. The coolest part of the tradition is that they first have to go to a ¨nearby¨ town whose patron saint (yes, all the towns have patron saints) is St. Anthony. This town is about a 4 hour walk away from my town, and a few men usually go on horseback to the town to take the statue of St. Anthony back to the house where the prayer service is going to be.

When they are about to reach the town, they set off a firecracker (which basically sounds like a gunshot) in order to let the women in the house know they are coming. Then, the women go out to meet the men in the street, and they have a little fiesta in the middle of the street with singing, guitars playing, and dancing. Then, they all go into the house and begin the first rosary. They pray the rosary at least 10 times a day, with a break in between each time they pray, and different people coming in and out all day to pray or bring offerings to the saint.

The last time they had this event, I didn´t hear about it until after they had met in the street, unfortunately. But I did go later in the day to pray the rosary. When I arrived, there were three men in the corner of the room playing their guitars and singing ranchero songs about girls and being drunk. They also looked a little intoxicated themselves. Apparently, by the end of the day, many of the men get a little too happy from the beers they have been drinking all day! In there, were also a couple of women waiting patiently for the next rosary to start. I was excited to see this statue that I had been told about, and that they had gone through so much to get. I began looking around, but all I saw was a tiny little figurine sitting on a table at the front of the room. I asked one of the ladies ¨where is St. Anthony?¨ She pointed to the front of the room at the little figurine ¨there it is.¨ She exclaimed. I was shocked to see that the statue that they had gone through so much to get, and had revered so much was nothing more than a tiny little figurine no bigger than my hand. It was just another little reminder of the humble, steadfast faith that the people have in my town.