The Thrill of White Water
If you were expecting a post about rafting, or for that matter, anything related to water sports, apologies. Shortly after our last post we headed out for a week to construct latrines with a group of volunteers from the United States, most of whom hailed from a church group in the Seattle area. They were definitely a fun group to be with for the week we spent together, and we hope that we were both fun and functional for them, as work partners and in our primary role as translators. For any of you who are map-readers, find the town of Minas de Oro (Gold Mines) in the middle of Honduras, and then head northwest. Contingent upon how detailed a map you’re using, you may or may not see the small community of Agua Blanca. Agua Blanca means White Water in English, but in this case refers to the one time color of the community´s water as opposed to rafts, adrenaline sports, etc. For those of you who aren’t map-readers, find the country of Honduras, located in the middle of Central America, and focus on an arbitrary point in the middle of the country – that should do the trick.
Agua Blanca, a small, picturesque community in the central highlands of the country was our home for a week, during which our group collaborated with community members to construct 36 latrines for the homes that most needed them. For a majority of us this was to be our first foray into latrine construction, and suffice it to say that the week began slowly as our group and the local volunteers and beneficiaries of the project took time to successfully begin their collaboration. In large part due to the language barrier it was difficult for the two groups to quickly and spontaneously communicate with each other, despite Emily and my best efforts as translators. Regardless, the two groups made headway together bit by bit, using a combination of translation, newly acquired Spanish and English vocab, and good old fashioned gestures – after all, it’s not too tough to mimic the motion of hammering – and by the end of our second day of work, even the most fit and strongest of the group were showing a few signs of fatigue. As I expect most who read this can understand, it’s tough to maneuver shovels full of sand and cement, swing hammers, saw rebar and wood, and all beneath a sun than can definitively, albeit temporarily, change one’s complexion in a matter of only a couple hours.
When mixing cement, make a volcano, fill it
with water, cave in the sides, repeat
For those of you who are unfamiliar with the process of constructing a latrine, we’ll give you a brief description. The families that were to receive latrines were required to have their holes dug before we arrived. The holes needed to be at least 8 feet deep and were roughly 3 feet in diameter, all of which were dug by hand, some of which in particularly rocky terrain. The first step for us was to tapar, or cover, the hole with cement. In order to do so, we placed boards over the hole, placed formwork around the boards, and filled the formwork with rocks and rebar. Two small holes were left in the formwork. The first hole was intended to allow a tube to be connected between the outhouse and the collection hole. Another smaller hole was left in one of the centermost boards to leave space for the tube that we would vertically insert into the hole to serve as an air vent for the collection hole, helping to vent the methane and thereby prevent any accidental bomb construction. Then the cement was mixed by hand – an intricate process needing both finesse and brute strength – and poured into the formwork, covering the rebar and stones.
Formwork, equipped with rebar, and soon, stones
The following day, the outhouses were put up. While some volunteers were tapando the holes, others were putting together the metal siding of the outhouses. Once finished, the outhouses were transported to individual homes, where we were in charge of getting them set up. The most difficult part of this process was attempting to get the outhouses level, a challenge that was complicated by the fact that many of the outhouses themselves were not level (which can be attributed to some minor damages they suffered during the transportation process, as opposed to poor construction). Once an outhouse was finally level, concrete was poured into wooden formwork, identical to that described in the previous paragraph, that surrounded the outhouse, thereby creating a foundation for it. Finally, a third and much smaller form was placed on the newly poured foundation of the outhouse, filled with rocks and rebar, equipped with a "throne" and subsequently filled with cement. Finally, a large PVC tube was connected between the toilet bowl and the hole that was previously left in the concrete slab which sits atop the collection hole. These latrines are gravity fed, and therefore, after use, one can simply pour water into the bowl itself and the toilet will “flush” downhill to the hole.
The final product, in all of its splendor
In addition to constructing latrines, an interesting and challenging process that arguably was as much fun as it was work, the time we spent in Agua Blanca was culturally quite memorable. For Emily and I, as volunteers who regularly split our time between urban and rural environments, many of our experiences in Agua Blanca were new, but not surprisingly new as was the case for many volunteers from our group. For instance, seeing some of the depraved living conditions that are so common throughout Honduras no longer elicits a strong response from us, even though we’re here as committed and empathetic volunteers; “Asi es, es la vida,” as one learns to say.
Although we’re accustomed to seeing certain forms of depravity and hardship, even we were taken off guard by a few circumstances, such as the following. A large cow was somehow separated from its herd and, with caballero and a pack of street dogs in toe, it wove its way through the streets, visibly confused and frightened. Needless to say, the group of 15 or so dogs wasn’t some sort of excessively large super herding crew; rather, it was a pack of rather vicious street dogs that was quickly learning to follow it’s ancestral instincts (
The Call of the Wild, anyone). Although the dogs didn’t kill the cow, nor, in truth, did they really come close, they did manage to severely lacerate the cow’s ears, and had the caballero not been there to scare the dogs away, the cow may have succumb to an Animal Planet worthy hunt.
The lengthy scene that followed, on the order of a couple hours, consisted in the caballeros, three in total by now, employing various means of abusing and frightening the cow so as to wake it from its nearly catatonic fear induced state owing to the dog attack. As strange as it may sound, we deliberately chose not to intervene and suggest a more humanitarian approach to moving the cow – simply said, it was not our place. You will be happy to know, however, that the caballeros eventually found their own less violent solution to the problem by bringing down the entire herd to where they’d tied up the cow and then leading the herd back to the corral, giving the frightened cow that precious sensation of strength in numbers.
In the same breath as highlighting one of the all too common incidents of animal cruelty we’ve seen in Honduras, if we claim to be discussing Honduran culture with regard to our time in Agua Blanca, we must also acknowledge how well we were fed, housed and otherwise received by the community. The group was always greeted kindly by community members, from the youngest schoolchildren to the elders. On a few seperate occassions we were also treated to beautiful impromptu musical performances by singing children and guitar and accordion playing adults. The backdrop to all of the other wonderful forms of hospitality was our food. Every day, three times a day, we sat perched in our standard fare plastic chairs, in dirty clothing, overlooking a breathtaking view and eating like the queens and kings of latrines that we were. We were happy in one another’s company, sharing a new experience and living in the parallel worlds of giving and receiving, worlds that to Emily and I seem distinct yet irrevocably connected in our everyday lives as volunteers.
La Buena Vista - The Beautiful View
