Volveremos

The next time I waited in a long line, which this time, was over 1,000 people long, with cars, once again, learned to park on the side of the road was on Boulevard Morazán, the mero-mero of enjoyment in Tegucigalpa, the night that Honduras qualified for the World Cup finals in South Africa. It was a pulperia lottery chance that all Hondurans were sitting on the edge of their seat, praying, hoping and consulting all kinds of rabbit feet to come into fruition. In typical Honduran style, the Seleccion Nacional that all worshiped and followed even more than a Sunday afternoon service, waited till the last minute to put it all together. But, also in typical Honduran style, they summoned all their already overflowing passion, stored up angst and stress regarding the political crisis and inner adrenaline driven strength and came through. Their entry into the finals was more dependent on the performance of the U.S in their game against Costa Rica than Honduras’ own game against El Salvador, which, even if they won, was not a ticket into the finals. For once, out of their left over table scraps, the U.S showed a little bit of indirect generosity in valiantly scoring two goals against Costa Rica, the last one within minutes of the end of the game tying it up, preventing Costa Rica from getting a win point in the finals, putting Honduras in third place for the Concacaf region, U.S in first and Mexico in second.

When all this was realized, first by the fans, then by the players themselves, there were exponential celebrations throughout the country. In our Nueva Suyapa Genesis microcosm, behavior mimicked that of the players, incredulous exuberance that motivated tears, hugging, jumping up and down in cheers and mutual congratulating. Even the younger ones of the bunch were aware of the feat that had just been accomplished, and fed off the excitement of their elders, who became like children themselves, completely overcome by ecstasy, a rare moment that they decided to take advantage of.

The evangelical stiff erupted in dance to the prophetic song by well renowned Honduran singer Polache, “Volveremos”, for those who had prayed and unbelievingly predicted this moment, including Honduran Seleccion players themselves, it was a spiritual miracle. A halfed country, that jointly lived, breathed and intuned their Seleccion Nacional was one in emotion due to one chance goal at the hand of another.

This unity was apparent on Boulevard Morazán that night where thousands of Hondurans instinctively and immediately drove, motorcycled and walked to celebrate together. Hand slapping, spontaneous cheering started by one group and joined in by many others, various song singing, wearing Honduran and U.S flags, jumping on top and all around arriving cars and trucks, blowing plastic and shell trumpets, dancing, jumping up and down as one were common activities. Many people ran and walked up and down freely on the usually swiftly flowing traffic street to share their joint excitement with fellow countrymen and women. It all concoursed, ironically enough, at TGI Fridays where the Gringos once again dispersed of their sparse benevolence and provided a large tele-screen for the crowd to view their new disputed president congratulate the country and its beloved players as one. All were ecstatic to hear announced yet another holiday at the hands of the current government. Out of the 200 days of 4 hour day classes required by the government, public school kids have had between 80 and 90 days this year, which, on top of the numerous class cancelations due to teacher strikes and curfews, was mandated to end by October 31, to prepare for the upcoming elections. In addition to this, all kids are automatically passed on to the next grade, irrelevant of their skill level, whereas usually all children take a test each year, those who don’t pass it have a recovery period and a recovery test, and those who do not pass the recovery test stay in the same grade. This is projected to strongly hurt especially younger children’s ability to read and write, which will, ten years later, affect the work force and more importantly, further entrench the ditch of poverty in Honduras. A report stated that a year lost in school for a nation could possibly delay its development by seven years.

The country mosh pits together in the night life day bright haven thinking that in the unified jumping and visceral touching they could become brothers again. Back at the Brazilian embassy, the dueling presidents can’t seem to share the sentiment, Micheletti juggling time between the self-appointed elated privilege of congratulating the first Honduran team in twenty eight years for its entry into the World Cup Finals and functioning but not so slick delay tactics once again does not allow for the exhaustive talks to go anywhere. Sometimes I wonder what they spend so much time talking about, focusing on fluff while the most important ingredient is still a stalemate. Seems like a record filibuster.

“If Honduras makes it into the World Cup, well that will be the push Honduras needs to end the political crisis,” the cry of eager Hondurans echoed before the match.
Afterwards, there was no talk of that becoming a reality and yet too much talk that led to nothing.