The Heart of Honduras III

Meanwhile, back at the build site, it's time for the walls to begin rising. In contrast to my build in el Salvador, the corners are not interlocked and the rebar doesn't run inside the bricks. Those towers of metal I've been helping to construct are placed at strategic corners around the building and the cement brick walls are built, free-standing, in between. It makes for some nervous moments, because no one wants to be the one who falls or leans into a wall and sees it collapse into the house. This nightmare never comes to pass. And the walls go up remarkably quickly. It's fascinating to see how the bricks are - to use the term loosely - cut. The mason measures approximate length to fit the required space and then takes a hammer to the brick. The rough edge is no issue because cement will be poured into the adjoining spaces and a rough surface is, in fact, preferred.
The mornings are relatively cool, rarely above 80 degrees (I have been in the US too long to remember celcius well) and there are consistent clouds. This does not mean no UV, as some of our members learn. Brendan sports a bizarre burn around his neck that has a v-shape to match the shirt he had on. We all suffer from small complaints. Burns, scratches, Montezuma's revenge. On one afternoon, I decide the stomach gods do not want me to return to work after lunch. Then the weather gods agree and the rain forces everyone to laze at the hotel for the afternoon. When we head out for dinner, a sight from a cartoon. It is raining, with both lighting and thunder animating the sky. Yet in front of our hotel is a worker up a steel ladder, working on the wires - with a tool of sort in one hand and an umbrella in the other. He apparently survived, because there was neither worker nor singe marks when we walked back.
During our time in Santa Rosa, we visited a leather maker, a fair-trade organic coffee grinding plant and a non-profit that turns a large vegetable into loofa products for places like the Body Shoppe. None of us appears to be shopoholics. Murray, the dad from Calgary, manages to do all his souvenir shopping in one stop at the loofa factory and crows about how light they are. Then he discovers how difficult it can be to fit that much loofa into a suitcase.
On the last day of the build, a ceremony on the roadside. We are presented with small wooden hammer plaques and certificates recognizing our contribution. We ensure the masons and their helpers get the Habitat tshirts we've laundered. We eat sandwiches and cake at the side of the road, sharing with the kids who inevitably show up at the work site. They've become welcome interruptions to our workdays, demonstrating their prowess with slingshots and learning how to count in English. They're engaging kids, always smiling, and I find myself wishing there was some way to provide them with the possibilities that exist for kids in Canada.