DAY 7-In the van - FridayIt’s not 6 a.m. yet. I’m on the upstairs veranda with a large cup of coffee and my computer on battery power. I’m packed and ready to go. I awoke at 5:30, ready to take another shower and—guess what?—No water! Good thing I bathed last night. With no tap water, in this case, I used bottled water to brush my teeth but made sure I saved some for the trip ahead. Soon, we’ll be heading out, north toward the border of Guatemala, to
Copán, where the Mayan ruins are.
At the risk of sounding melodramatic or giving you the wrong impression, I will share a ghost-like dream that came to me last night or perhaps early this morning before I awoke. I wanted to tell my roommate but was too embarrassed.
I was in one of the villages—I don’t know which—but a little girl came up to me, put her arms around me tightly and kissed me. It was, well, it was a deep, long, almost passionate kiss on the cheek. But that’s all it was, just a kiss. I awoke with a strange feeling and somewhat shaken and puzzled—it seemed so real, her love so genuine, her kiss so sweet. Did God send this? Was her kiss a “thank you” in the form of a dream? I’ll keep this memory to myself but I’ll never forget that kiss. I still wonder, though, who was that little girl in my dreams?
STEVE’S SURVIVAL TIP #5: Emergency food and water stash
I’ve found it’s always good to have a bit of food—peanut butter crackers and beef jerky work good for me—and a bottled drink with you at all times. Have these items with you in your carry-on luggage on the airplane, too. You never know when you may be stuck on the tarmac for hours or has been my case many times, confined somewhere and unable to find a place to eat. Also keep your toothbrush with you. In desperation I once brushed my teeth under a bridge in Cuernavaca, Mexico, and used it later to comb my hair in a restaurant bathroom, believe it or not. Hey, don’t panic. I sterilized it later! Remember, the point is to “survive”—be innovative, flexible and alert. Being “suave” or even modest may have to take a backseat sometimes, depending on your will to survive. Oh, and always carry a small flashlight with you. And if you have room, a little bottle of hand sanitizer won’t hurt either.
With our bags loaded, keys turned in and tips left for the maids, we assemble in front of our rooms on the ground level once again. Devotions are presented by the husband of the couple from my church who lost their son. His wife sits at his side. This is their second trip to Honduras since the tragedy. He begins by reading Psalm 30:11: You turned my wailing into dancing; you removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy, that my heart may sing to you and not be silent. O Lord my God, I will give you thanks forever.
“When I got the call that morning, there were moans and groans that were unfamiliar to me,” the husband said, “but over the years those moans became more familiar—sort of like friends—I felt like I was wearing sackcloth but gradually the Lord removed it. We thought we were close to the Lord—but not like now. We sang and danced—but not like now. Now, God has completely clothed us with joy. Don’t be silent over the joy you have seen through suffering: show it; teach it, live it—that joy.” Our group listens somberly with downcast eyes, though few, I suspect, can really relate to what he’s talking about. I can’t.
He refers us to the scriptures once more, reading from I Peter 1:6-7 “‘In this you greatly rejoice though you have suffered all kinds of trails…so that your faith may be proved genuine.’ My friends, should we welcome tragedy in our lives so our faith will be proved genuine?” he asks. “I can’t do that. But it does come. He allows it so we can advance the Gospel and bring glory to God. Paul said to the Philippians in chapter one that what had happened to him served to advance the Gospel and make the Savior clear. He was in chains for Christ, Paul said. And like Paul, because of my suffering—my chains—I encourage you too, to proclaim the word of God more courageously and fearlessly.”
Then his wife adds that Psalms 31:9 had been a support to her on hard days: “Be merciful to me, O Lord, for I am in distress,” she quotes. “But when it came to grieving,” she says, “I would often pray to God—‘Not today, Lord, please.’”
“Yes,” her husband says softly. “I would often pray, too, ‘Heal the wound but leave the scar, Lord.’ I encourage each of you to use your suffering to bring glory to God.” He clears his throat and continues. “Don’t let it go to waste but make up your mind now that if and when tragedy comes, you will be like Abraham—his mind was made up ahead of time—that you will run to God—not away. Curl up in his arms and hang on. He loves you deeply. Then you’ll be able to say like King David, ‘I love you, God. I will rejoice forever in you and sing and dance the rest of my life.’”
Pastor Israel says, “Amen,” then begins a few closing comments in Spanish as several wipe tears. He pauses for Beth to translate:
“The apostle Paul had an unknown problem that he asked the Lord to take away. ‘My grace is sufficient for you,’ God said. You see, we try various things when tragedy comes but remember my friends, God’s grace is sufficient—it is even bigger...” Beth’s eye’s also fill with tears, voice breaking, as she struggles to finish. Our glances shift from the flinty stones at our feet to Israel, to Beth, to the boy’s parents, then to Mark, who steps up.
He closes with prayer, “Lord, when we encounter tragedies, difficulties and hardships—help us to see you in it—Amen.”
With these somber thoughts, our group breaks up. We sense another transition in our lives and the daily routines we have almost grown accustomed to and even fond of. Mark announces above our chatter, “OK guys, let’s load up. You’ve got 10 minutes.”
We say final goodbyes to our rooms, our hotel friends, and Siguatepeque, the dusty city on the Dry Canal.
The trip to Copán will be long and tiring, with necessary stops for gas, snacks, bathrooms, and lunch. “Keep a tight convoy today,” Mark says on the walkie. “Stay close.” We pull out.
Heading north on the future route of the Dry Canal, the highway is cluttered with construction equipment, big dump trucks, flagmen, dust, frequent stops and short detours on graveled, cliff-hanging shoulders. Women and children weave in and out of the stop-and-go traffic trying to sell homemade snacks in plastic bags to motorists as they wait. Mark says these interesting cookie-shaped wafers taste like “tree bark.” No one in our group is brave enough to try one. I’m thinking many have learned their lesson by now and some still aren’t back to normal—no more “native” snacks.
Within the first hour we crest a high mountain pass and at a walkie-talkie command, the whole five-vehicle parade pulls across on-coming traffic into a large truck stop. We’re still on the busy Dry Canal. Most of the vehicles line up at various fuel pumps as doors open and shoes and legs appear. Already glad for a chance to get out of our cramped spaces, we waste no time scattering for snacks, bathrooms, and yakking with those from the other vehicles. In a few minutes, I notice a serious pow-wow going on. Standing next to a fuel pump, it’s Mark, Mike, Israel and Kenny. Several other men from our group shuffle closer and look on. Somehow, it seems, gasoline has been put into Israel’s big Ford truck. Problem is, it’s diesel. A group of curious Honduran men collect nearby as well, surmising the problem with quizzical, even sympathetic expressions. The first issue to be settled seems to be, “How did it happen?” Eyes go to Mike who had pumped the fuel.
“The handle on diesel is always green, I went for the green handle,” he explains defensively. All the guys look at the handle. Sure enough—it’s green.
“But it says here on the pump “Gasolina,” Mark says laughing. “OK, ‘Mario,’ how much did you put in?”
“About 15 gallons before Kenny stopped me.”
“Well, I guess we’ll just have to siphon out the whole tank,” Mark says, taking off his hat and scratching his head, now wet with sweat.
The Hondurans must have understood, as they circle in closer and offer to help, asking if they could have the gasolina. They quickly find a siphon hose and some 5-gallon buckets. By this time one of the men in our group, Dennis, says he has a better idea. He’s a mechanic when he’s not playing the grand piano or singing solos in our church back home in North Carolina. Everyone in the group hovers even closer, curious and anxious to help. The power and attention now shifts to Dennis. This is his domain and he takes charge. Mark watches and studies him closely.
We step back, giving him room to work. The maestro clearly knows what he’s doing. “I need a paperclip. Steve, you got one?” he asks authoritatively.
“Yes sir. I’ll go get it.”
“Who has a pocket knife?”
“Israel does.”
“Screwdriver.”
“Here.”
“Hose.”
“Aquí, señor.”
“OK, now, guys, get those buckets ready. Mike, when I tell you, turn on the ignition, but don’t start the engine, whatever you do.”
Like a surgeon performing a heart transplant, he barks out orders and the nurses dutifully comply. I expect to hear him shout, “Scalpel—Sponge—Sutures!” but he doesn’t. Mike slides behind the wheel and does as he’s ordered. Tension builds. Mark bites his lip.
In no time, Dennis connects the green siphon hose to the fuel pump, and with Israel’s pocket knife, he short-circuits a switch under the truck’s hood. The Hondurans watch. We watch. No one breathes.
“OK, Mike,” he commands. “Turn the switch but don’t crank.” In seconds we hear …. “Whirr—hummm,” the fuel pump is energized and sure enough, “Bzzzz—goosh…” a yellowish liquid starts flowing, squirting and splashing. It’s flowing from the green hose into the white buckets—soon a solid stream. The Hondurans smile and look at each other. Our group is amazed. So am I. “Yahoo!” someone shouts. “What a great idea!” I add. In just a few minutes the buckets are full and the truck’s fuel tank is drained. To be safe, Dennis insists that we pump in a few gallons of diesel, then pump that out too. Another pow-wow. Dennis wins. Problem solved. I’m so proud of him and so impressed we have such capable people in our group. And proud, too, that he had asked me to find the paperclip—which I had. I’m serious—MY paperclip. OK, I must confess he didn’t use it—he used a knife instead, but I felt pretty important there for a while! I feel that any obstacle we might encounter could be overcome. If our capable and resourceful group were to get captured by the Contras or Sandinistas, they would have their hands full! Dog the Bounty Hunter, Chuck Norris and my friend, Larry, may not be needed after all.
But you know, whether it’s the Contras, Sandinistas, or simply banditos, it’s not too far-fetched of an idea. Copán is near the border of Guatemala—a country with a violent past. Only recently, has Guatemala come out of the longest civil war in Latin American history (1960-1996) where over 200,000 people, mostly poor civilians and indigenous Mayan Indians, were killed. It was a 36 yearlong genocide which included over 400 separate massacres.
Mexico, whose border is less than 150 miles from Honduras, saw over 5000 murders committed in 2008 as a result of drug cartel warfare, an increase of 117% from the year before. It appears the situation is getting worse, especially along the USA-Mexican border. And of course, there are many cases of missionaries giving their lives in the spreading of the Gospel. Remarkable among these stories were the murders of five young missionaries; Jim Elliot, Ed McCully, Roger Youderian, Pete Fleming, and their pilot, Nate Saint. They were killed in 1956 by the Auca Indians in Ecuador.
On a mission trip to Russia once, a burglar made the mistake of breaking into Mark’s room while he was sleeping. Mark pounced on him like a bobcat on a rabbit. The intruder was trying to leave with Mark’s new Minolta camera but Mark informed him he was not leaving with his camera. The burglar tried to resist but eventually he left without the camera—limping. Remember, Mark wrestled in high school.
“Since Jacob wrestled with God, I figured it was OK if I wrestled with a Russian,” Mark said, with his trademark chuckle.
“Did you witness to him?” I asked, teasing.
“No, he didn’t stick around long enough or I would have.” Soon, we’re pulling out onto the highway, once again, after being sure to refuel with diesel, of course, regardless of the pump handle’s color.
To break the boredom in the van, one of my previous hotel roommates, a high school English teacher, suggests I read aloud from a book I had brought along, Patrick F. McManus’ hilarious short story collection, The Bear in the Attic. I had already shared a couple of chapters with the guys in our room a few nights before—they got curious when they heard me laughing.
When our boys were little, my wife read many of McManus’ books to us on our family vacations. It was great fun and kept us entertained—and the boys distracted—on otherwise long and boring road trips.
Later, my reading is interrupted when we pull over for another break at a roadside filling station. (Have you noticed or is it just me—everything here seems to be “roadside”?) Again, we head for the drinks, snacks and restrooms. For some of the vehicles, it was time for careful refueling once again. With our large crowd, I realize it will be awhile before I can get waited on for a snack or before the only men’s restroom will be available. I look around for an alternative and see a little store, a “tienda” across a muddy side-street. I hop across a small murky ditch and enter the open air café and approach the counter. An older señora is working at the grill but an attractive young señorita waits on me, probably her daughter. I politely ask for a soft drink and a bag of potato chips and while the señorita is procuring the items, I ask the older woman who had turned to face me, “Señora, perdóname. Tiene un baño?”—“Do you have a bathroom?”
She smiles, and asks, “Para pee-pee?” Oh my. I’ve never had this response. (May I skip the translation?)
“Sí,” I reply routinely, in as normal of a voice as possible—glad it was her, at least, that was asking and not her daughter.
“Ahh, sí,” she says pleasantly. “Allí, afuera”—“Oh, yes. Over there, outside,” pointing to the back of the restaurant.
Leaving my drink and chips on the counter, I slip outside, nonchalant-like and find a partially covered latrine, no walls, no door. A simple trough made of blue and white ceramic tile—at least that’s attractive—with a drain. Well, this is no time for modesty, I realize, as our group across the street seems to be getting ready to depart. I just hope no one is looking towards the tienda—or me. Stepping back inside the café, I find a little table with a basin of used soapy water for hand-washing, then grabbing and paying for my snack to the smiling señorita, I saunter back to the filling station and hop in the waiting van, much relieved, in more ways than one. Time to break out my little bottle of hand sanitizer.
Still on the road to Copán a couple of hours later, we’re searching for a place to eat. We’re in the city of “Santa Bárbara,” and the streets are narrow, busy and crowded. The caravan is having trouble keeping in formation—too much traffic and too many “Una Via” streets.
“Mark, haven’t we passed this cathedral already?” I ask. It’s a white Catholic church with two prominent steeples. A few minutes later—“Hey, Mark, we’re going by that church again.”
I’m enjoying the sights, but Mark must be getting frustrated. I bet we pass that church three more times, before we finally give up and head back to the highway, still not having found a place to eat. At one time, we hop out only to find that a potential “restaurant” is not a restaurant at all but a bank. Maybe it was a mirage, I’m thinking—a delusion before we die of starvation. I’m beginning to think about the beef jerky I had stashed away in my backpack but I’m afraid there might be a food riot in the van and we don’t have any “boletos” to pass out.
STEVE’S SURVIAL TIP #6: Learn About Water
The human body requires about two quarts of liquid per day, from food or drink. In warm climates, the requirements may increase to six quarts per day.
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In your travels, the most dangerous animals you will likely encounter is swimming in the drinking water. It would be wise to remember the old saying: “Boil it, cook it, peel it or forget it.” According to the World Health Organization, contaminated water accounts for 80% of all diseases contracted during travel and will usually affect one out of every two overseas travelers. There’s no vaccine against diarrhea, so prevention is the best defense. Most overcome this disorder within 48 hours, however, but often require medical treatment upon returning home. Five million people die each year as a result of inadequate water supply. Children are the most sensitive to impure water.
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The primary source of pathogenic contamination in drinking water, such as bacteria, viruses and protozoa, is from human and animal excrements that have entered the water by various means. These germs enter our body by drinking, washing, eating or putting contaminated hands to our faces. Though less obvious to the traveler, there can be other contaminants in the water supply too, such as heavy metals and agricultural agents, such as DDT.
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BACTERIA are single-celled organisms that reproduce rapidly in warm environments—especially water—depending on the nutrients available. They can divide in less than ten minutes. Once in drinking water, they become dangerous. The water must then be boiled, filtered or sanitized with chemicals.
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VIRUSES are minute parasites with bad effects. Since they have no metabolism of their own, they can only reproduce within living cells. Because of their tiny size, they are difficult to filter; however, viruses are sensitive to heat and chemical disinfectants. Because of viruses, it is a good idea to also chemically treat filtered water.
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PROTOZOANS are also small but stubborn. They are higher developed than bacteria and larger, which make them easy to micro-filter. However, until they find a host, they envelope themselves in a membrane or “cyst” that is highly resistant to environmental influences. To penetrate these cysts with chemicals, an extended time of up to four hours is recommended.
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BOILING water is one of the oldest and most effective methods for sterilizing water, but it will only kill the micro-organisms, it won’t remove turbidity or chemicals. At sea level, where water boils at 100º Centigrade, water should be boiled for at least 5 minutes. The higher the elevation, the longer you should boil water. At 12,000 feet, for example, water boils at 86º C. and should be boiled for 20 minutes.
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BOTTLED WATER is generally your best bet, but it is not guaranteed to be germ-free in every country. NEVER drink tap water or water from public fountains in tropical and subtropical countries, even in fancy resort hotels.
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SURFACE WATER exposure should be met with caution. All streams, lakes and rivers contain various bacteria, viruses and protozoa. They may also contain dangerous parasites. In some countries, fresh water may be infected with Schistosomiasis, also known as “Bilharzia” or “Snail Fever,” a fluke-type worm that causes chronic illness, and can damage internal organs. In children it can impair growth and cognitive development. It is very serious, though rarely fatal, but is the second most common parasitic disease next to malaria. It enters through the skin of the host. (Now do you understand why I avoided swimming at the waterfalls?)
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CHLORINE BLEACH (sodium hypochlorite) may be used to purify drinking water of most pathogens. For the normal 6% concentrate chlorine, use a couple of drops per quart. It’s a good idea to let it stand for a few hours to take effect on the hardest to kill pathogens—the cysts.Bleach does not have the “shelf-life” of purification tablets, so don’t let your mixture get more than a few weeks old. It loses its effectiveness.
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WATER PURIFICATION TABLETS AND POWDER offer an effective way to purify water. A recent product, developed by Proctor and Gamble, is the PuR Purifier of Water, heralded as one of the top innovations of 2008, it claims to be “a water-treatment plant in a powder packet.” The two P&G inventors of this product won the 2006 IPOEF “Inventor of the Year Award.” It is an excellent choice for large parties who need to treat water for drinking, even dirty water that could quickly clog the pores of traditional water filters. For about $15 ($11 from Wal-Mart) the box comes with 6 packets which treat 2.5 gallons. Using a flocculent (ferrous sulfate) for sediments and a disinfectant (0.542% calcium hypochlorite) in sachet form, it is ready to drink in about 20 minutes. This product has an ingredient which settles out the sediment. The treated water is then poured through a cloth filter (provided) before drinking. The product has a shelf-life of three years. It kills viruses and bacteria and removes dirt, cysts and pollutants and has been used around the world, including disaster relief.Another product, selling for about $10 is “Potable Aqua” (Wisconsin Pharmacal Co., Jackson, WI) containing 20 chlorine dioxide water purification tablets. Each tablet treats one quart and is ready to drink in 4 hours. The active ingredients are sodium chlorite 6.4% and sodium dichloroisocyanurate dihydrate 1%. Katadyn also makes water purification tablets, “Micropur MPI.”Each of these products claims to kill bacteria, viruses and cysts, including cryptosporidium. Check with a quality outdoor sporting goods store for these and other water filtration and purification products.
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To be continued...
Next, Chapter 16: "Israel's Testimony" will be posted Saturday, November 28, 2009.Feedback appreciated!
Become a Follower!
I take a seat with the rest of our group in one of the hotel’s meeting rooms. Israel is in a chair at the front facing us. Beth, sitting at his side, translates as he speaks. His Spanish is serious and slow, a sentence or two at a time. He begins:
