A man outside has been shouting "Perrita? Perriiiita?" ("Doggie? Doooooggie?") for several minutes now. I am trying to get something written in the next, eek, half hour before heading off to the mall to interview María Luisa Borjas, the ex-commissioner of the police who was purged for speaking out against internal corruption and the drug cartels. That's the short official story anyway. I have quoted her before in asylum testimony.
I walked to the mall (internet café) at 5. It was getting dark, but not too dark to see sponge bob
and hello kitty.
I took a cab at a little after 6:00 from there to the Universidad Tecnológica de Honduras (UTH), where I was to meet Oscar Estrada at 7:00. As we passed la Kennedy, I started to panic, just the tiniest bit. I scribbled it down:
Newspaper break! Front page of El Heraldo, (owned by Larach, a National Party bigwig) tagline: "The truth in your hands"
Today Daniel (youngest of the nine) accompanied me to got a cell phone at the mall. He's so incredibly smart and cynical for someone so young. He studies journalism at the national university. I was glad to have him as a captive conversation partner, because most of the time he's friendly but monosyllabic. He talked about how it felt futile to strive be a good journalist because all they want you to do here is interview the dying or the relatives of the just-killed.
Although U.S. health insurance corporations may seem a stretch from gang wars in Honduras, they are actually quite intimately related (I promise to explain further in future posts). If you are reading this and in the U.S., please join up to fight the neoliberal war on our health. See:
As noted in the previous p.d., I walked to the Mall Miraflores yesterday. Elena said to take a cab or bus, and that it was very close. I asked if could walk, and she said yes, but gave me a bunch of warnings. She said she walks there sometimes, but people always say to her, Ely, you're going to get yourself assaulted! It was literally a 15-minute walk. Maybe ten. I did notice that there were very few people on the streets. I know I'm coming from Cairo, but even so. This city isn't quite that depopulated. I was glad to walk, because I noticed a lot of things I would otherwise have missed.
I spent all day yesterday writing and uploading, and barely got a page into my maquiladora paper, which technically should write itself. My inactivity didn't stop me from getting enough new information to oblige me to spend a similar amount of time writing today, but I'll try to cut it short. I'll never be able to leave the house (apart from going to the slowest internet café in the world) at this rate.
I woke up to my alarm at 3:45 am on Friday, approximately 2 hours and 15 minutes after going to sleep. Almost immediately I was overcome with gastrointestinal distress the likes of which I haven't experienced since the days following our January Nile cruise, during which time I lost 2 kilos and quite possibly some internal organs. It got me wondering- have I acquired foreign microbes? Is Boston just as toxic to me now as, say, Mexico City or the Nile? And if so, who is responsible? If it's Moctezuma's revenge en el D.F., and the Pharaoh's revenge fi masr, what did I have?
So I dispatched with some of my duties for this morning, like the 74-word event blurb for Bluestockings:
This is an old missionary novel I picked up in a Honduran used bookstore some years back. Pretty unbelievable narrative, which I won't bother with mocking here, too easy. I took this picture before packing all my books to be moved to my office at AUC's new campus, which is currently closed for tours because—rumor has it—the place is overrun with desert rats. Heh. Don't tell 'em I told you.