I think Chelsea put it well when she told me that I should appreciate my time in Honduras because soon I will be wishing I were traveling somewhere exotic. I made a valiant attempt during my final week, but I’m not sure how well I did. I started out the week alternating between small panic attacks and bouts of homesickness. It’s debatable whether or not I’m typically high strung, but nothing sets me on edge like the possibility of deeply disappointing others. I’m not sure that came out right… let me give an example.
This week, I fretted that I would not have enough toothbrushes and toothpaste for children whose teeth are rotting out. I had already told the communities the dates that I would come back with toothbrushes, toothpaste, and fluoride. They were counting on me. When I arrived in their community without enough toothbrushes they were going to look up at me with their big brown eyes as a single tear dripped down their smudged cheek, pleading with me to save them from a life time of edentulousness. In reality, I did run out of toothbrushes, but no one cried, and the fluoride varnish (which, for the record, has nothing to do with my survey) will probably do much more to prevent cavities than toothbrushes, as half the kids that own toothbrushes here told me they forgot to use them on survey day. At the conclusion of this week, I can say that the biannual fluoride program, which may or may not continue without my presence, is off and running.
My other panic inducing issue is how to dispose of FB. The short version of the drama is that Gloria and I decided that it would be best to sell it through the guy I bought it from. The guy who sold me the bike knowing it couldn’t be in my name because I don’t have an RTN or license number. They guy who let me drive around without a “Permiso para andar sin placas” (a permit to drive without license plates) for a month until la policia stopped Baltazar. The story, as Baltazar told it, was that they police threatened to take the bike, but he dropped the name of his uncle, the policeman, and told them about the work we were doing in the communities, so they let him off with a 500 Lempira fine ($25). The guy who told me that someone would pay 32,000 Lempira for the bike. Then he told me 15,000 (It cost 50,000 a month and a half ago), and when I protested it went back up to 32,000.
So why sell it through this obviously shady character? Simply put: it still doesn’t have license plates, isn’t in my name, and isn’t worth as much in Tegu. After a series of daily phone calls, it appears that someone wants to buy it, but they won’t have the money until the Thursday after I leave. I went to the shop to talk to him and looked at his face as he was telling me about this potential buyer. I sincerely doubt that the guy is going to show up on Thursday with the money. This man is full of shit. He had that look in his eyes. In any case, I will be in the US, and at this point I am just happy that I never have to see FB again. Hopefully someone buys it eventually. Lesson learned.
Before the saga of FB comes to a close, I will relate our last hurrah. I was out in the communities for 7 days straight without going back to La Esperanza this week. On Sunday morning, Baltazar and I went out to the last community, his hometown. I’ll admit that I may have squandered the opportunity to do about 20 more surveys, but I already have about 500, and I was concerned about how the already muddy roads would treat us once the coming storm let loose. We got back on the bike around 11 to head back to Las Mercedes. As we took off I noticed that the gas tank only had one tick mark. Nooooooo. We usually refilled every 5 days, so I guess it made sense. Baltazar assured me that we could make the trip. I secretly wondered if part of his confidence stemmed from not wanting to go back to La Esperanza without the permit to drive without plates, but I really, really, really, just wanted to go back to the clinic and pack, so I went with it.
I have mentioned before that the communities are in a mountainous region. The road between communities rolls up and down these mountains. Logically, half of the time you are going down the mountain. At the top of a hill, Baltazar cut the engine and FB coasted several miles. I was impressed to find that FB, the oversized bicycle, actually moved along about as fast as usual without gasoline. Why had we not been doing this the whole time? We could have used half the gasoline. I tucked this trick away in my memory - surely it will come in handy some day when I'm a doctor working in a developing country. We made it back to Las Mercedes with the last tick mark on the gage intact, and I found that I really didn’t care what happened to the bike after that. I would, of course, feel slightly sorry for Baltazar if he ran out of gas, but he’s used to getting along without the motorcycle. For all I cared he could leave the bike on the side of the road and catch a ride with the next papas truck.
At the end of the week, teeth were varnished, surveys were completed, and I will soon be restored to my blissful life of independence as a satisfied owner of a Honda Civic.
my one hideous picture of the unhappy couple. Fitting.
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