Las Cucarachas y Los Niños

La Cucaracha, La Cucaracha… ya no puede caminar…

And it’s true. Because I killed him last night. I’ve officially been in Honduras for a week now and through the ridiculous humidity and heat, through the monstrous mosquito bites, the hand washing laundry, and yes, the cucarachas… I’m having a marvelous time.

The mission I’m working for primarily works with dis y abled children and their families. The other day we piled into the back of a pick up truck to go visit each family and see how they were doing. I have a new-found love of riding in the back of pick ups: preferably, with eight to fourteen other people.

Each family we went to had a unique story. Each one had a one-room mud hut. Each had a disabled child that they were trying to care for. The three boys pictured here became my instant friends: especially the little fat one. Their older brother is 15 years old and severly disabled: he can barely walk and cannot talk and looks like he is about 8 years old. He crawled into my lap at some point and I held him like a child. A super sweet family.

This mission tries to care for the whole family of the disabled child and so we brought rice and beans for them to eat and the nurse in our group took a look at their sister’s severely infected foot. The whole thing was so painful and swollen she was limping. I played with the little fat kid. I love him.

What struck me as fascinating, was that the people here don’t seem miserable. They seem happy. They laugh and smile and proudly invite us into their filthy homes where chickens lay eggs on the dirt floor. They give us gifts. They have nothing and still they give. They are kinder and sweeter and gentler than any of us.

I feel like these visits have helped me more than I could ever help them.

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