This morning we did Sunday school at the Azacualpa Children’s Home, which also transports a busload of hungry children in on a regular basis. Considering the state of most Honduran orphanages, this one is exceptional. It is run by a local couple that takes great care of the children. Most of the kids are not actually orphans, but rather, their parents cannot take care of them for the time being and they are not old enough to work. Almost the second we finished preparing our supplies the bus arrived and kids came filing out for what seemed like forever. My personal favorite was Alex. Everything we did went smoothly, despite the fact that we forgot the puppets. We all quickly learned “Jesus Loves Me” in Spanish (“Cristo Me Ama”) and felt very accomplished. The crafts (multicolored crosses w/ a heart that said “Cristo Me Ama”) turned out even better than expected and the stuffed animals were received with utmost excitement and appreciation. We said our bittersweet goodbyes and left to shop in La Flecha.
We went to a store owned by two women that was filled with “authentic” merchandise that was fit for a tourist. I’m still kind of curious about why there is a tourist attraction in the middle of rural Santa Barbara, but I liked it being there. We then went to Cafe Ray’s for enchiladas, which I wasn’t really all that fond of. However, the tamalitos were exceptional. On the way home, around 1 in the afternoon, we walked over some hanging bridges and saw a drunk man staggering through the streets.
We ate dinner at Maria’s house. Maria is the true founder of Cristo Salva. She bought the land and shared her idea with Mr. Ray, and Cristo Salva was born. She invited us into her beautiful home and provided us with a feast. While we were eating I was carrying on a conversation, as usual, but everyone suddenly stopped talking, except me, who continued in my conversation. Sebastian, who had sworn to be my protector on this trip (or constant buzzkill), started kicking me under the table, but I wasn’t sure why. He slipped a butter knife off his plate and into his lap. All of a sudden I hear a man right behind me, close enough that I could feel his breath, demanding food. It was the drunk man from earlier this afternoon who had wandered onto Maria’s patio. After a while of petitioning we brought him a plate he then decided that he only wanted tamales, which we didn’t have. Needless to say, he was not very pleased. He finally decided he was satisfied with his tamale-less plate of food and went on his way. I still don’t know what Sebas thought he was going to do to that man with a butter knife.
We then went to the Las Varas church for our final evening together. We came home and began packing up. I wish I was going home tomorrow too.