Today we worked on a conservation grant from one of the local beer companies. I am also trying to do an analysis on the half-built water system. Everything takes money, but in my experience public utilities are most often secured through debt or municipal bonds. The big question is whether the local people would be willing to pay a nominal fee for something they have gotten for free for decades? We looked at the cost to finish the project, the logistics of installation, and whether the remainder of the money could be financed and paid back through user fees. The next step is to determine whether the locals “value” the idea and how much they will or can pay for that service.
What was interesting is when I asked one of the older ladies how she would like water brought to her home rather than carrying a 5 gallon bucket on her head, she said, “It is one of our traditions.” I can now see the challenge of development while attempting to preserve the local indigenous cultures and traditions at the same time.
While I was riding in the canoe, one of the local boys asked me if things were better in the United States. I had to stop and think about that before I answered. Better? Life is easier, but I am not sure that it is better. Are white collar workers more happy and healthy than blue collar workers? I simply responded, “Life is much different there, not necessarily better.”
When I got here my first impression was that things are really not that bad. Have I become so calloused as to think that no power, no water, and sleeping on dirt floors is not that bad? As I made my way here, I had to spend some time in larger cities such as Cieba and San Pedro Sula. I saw things there that turned my stomach. Here, there are not children living in the streets, digging though trash trying to find food. Families do not turn dumpsters on their side for shelter. There are no abandoned children in orphanages, and nobody is dying of preventable diseases.
I did a paper in college regarding development and democracy in third world countries. One thing I remember vividly is that there is not magic wand, no ONE thing that can cure everything and make life better. Poverty, tragedy, obstacles, or challenges are accepted life experiences here. This could be the disintegration of the family, government corruption, lack of education, lack of a belief, lack of hope, or some type of chemical dependence. Fighting the battle can be like “whack a mole”, a variety of issues popping up all around you. I guess it is easy to shrug your shoulders and say, “What can I do?”
Everyone here has the dream of coming to America. This past summer I employed 16 Mexican men to work at our golf course and parks. They came to live the dream. They left their families and worked for about $12 per hour. After Uncle Sam took his share, their paychecks were needed to pay housing and transportation. I am not sure it was much of a dream. I don’t think the answer is “Come to America”. Hell, we have poverty here as well.
I hate to sound like some bleeding heart poverty cheerleader, but I really think that everyone can do something. It became obvious that I was not very good at hauling water, grinding rice, or really anything labor intensive; but I can find money and hopefully channel some in this direction.
What was interesting is when I asked one of the older ladies how she would like water brought to her home rather than carrying a 5 gallon bucket on her head, she said, “It is one of our traditions.” I can now see the challenge of development while attempting to preserve the local indigenous cultures and traditions at the same time.
While I was riding in the canoe, one of the local boys asked me if things were better in the United States. I had to stop and think about that before I answered. Better? Life is easier, but I am not sure that it is better. Are white collar workers more happy and healthy than blue collar workers? I simply responded, “Life is much different there, not necessarily better.”
When I got here my first impression was that things are really not that bad. Have I become so calloused as to think that no power, no water, and sleeping on dirt floors is not that bad? As I made my way here, I had to spend some time in larger cities such as Cieba and San Pedro Sula. I saw things there that turned my stomach. Here, there are not children living in the streets, digging though trash trying to find food. Families do not turn dumpsters on their side for shelter. There are no abandoned children in orphanages, and nobody is dying of preventable diseases.
I did a paper in college regarding development and democracy in third world countries. One thing I remember vividly is that there is not magic wand, no ONE thing that can cure everything and make life better. Poverty, tragedy, obstacles, or challenges are accepted life experiences here. This could be the disintegration of the family, government corruption, lack of education, lack of a belief, lack of hope, or some type of chemical dependence. Fighting the battle can be like “whack a mole”, a variety of issues popping up all around you. I guess it is easy to shrug your shoulders and say, “What can I do?”
Everyone here has the dream of coming to America. This past summer I employed 16 Mexican men to work at our golf course and parks. They came to live the dream. They left their families and worked for about $12 per hour. After Uncle Sam took his share, their paychecks were needed to pay housing and transportation. I am not sure it was much of a dream. I don’t think the answer is “Come to America”. Hell, we have poverty here as well.
I hate to sound like some bleeding heart poverty cheerleader, but I really think that everyone can do something. It became obvious that I was not very good at hauling water, grinding rice, or really anything labor intensive; but I can find money and hopefully channel some in this direction.
It is raining here again. Rain can start and stop like someone turning on and off a faucet.
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