By Avery Meltzer/ Special To The Townsman

The Wellesley Townsman
Thursday, October 12, 2006


Meltzer bathing host nephew Erik. His sister, Cimdi, is in the background.

Avery Meltzer, a senior at Wellesley High School, stayed in Catatao, Honduras, for 6 1/2 weeks, through the Amigos de las Americas program. Catatao is a small community outside the city of Gracias in Lempira. Amigos is an opportunity for students to immerse themselves in another culture, collaborating with the community to carry out projects and classes while gaining cultural understanding and friendships in the Americas.

This summer I discovered love.

As I hiked the arduous mountain trek to my home for the first time, the beautiful Honduran sun exposed a poverty-stricken village: children in dirty clothes; tiny whitewashed houses; and a "main road" that looked to me like a dirt path unsuitable for any mode of transportation, walking included.  

I toiled up the hill panting and sweating, unaccustomed to the strenuous hike, the scorching heat, unresponsive, incapable and inexperienced, at this point, in embracing the love that was already being offered, an unquestioning, undemanding, uncorrupted love.

I was in Lempira, Honduras, a participant in Amigos de las Americas, a program for students to spend time in Latin America teaching, completing projects with the town and forming unparalleled friendships. But that first night, the sun set and we sat on our porch singing the American national anthem while our new family - we were assigned to one family for the entire stay - simultaneously belted out the Honduran national anthem with unwavering pride. The intermingling of our voices was the beginning of a beautiful cultural exchange. The openness that we found without a hint of self-consciousness in our dreadful voices was something that I had always looked for and finally found. As the sun set, the darkness shrouded the poverty from our view, what was left was smiling faces and unimposing love.

In our fast-paced American lives, we are always rushing off, always late. While I walked abajo (down) to visit our abuelos (grandparents) I slowed my pace to admire the Honduran mountains veiled by peaceful clouds and blue sky. There was no hurry, I had no schedule and I could thoroughly enjoy every moment. I took the time to realize that I was utterly happy. In our American lives, we are always setting goals for the future to the point that we often fail to acknowledge the present. As I arrived at the house of my extended family and was immediately offered café and inexplicably pure and enjoyable conversation, I realized that I was truly living in the present. I was contented and happy just where I was. But, it is hard not to fall in love with a community of people who have almost nothing but give unquestioningly without expecting anything in return. It is hard not to fall in love with a community that loves to learn and loves to teach. It is hard not to fall in love with a community that holds and loves their family above all else and was willing to welcome me in.

I went to Honduras to teach. In Honduras, I learned. My hands learned to transform an unidentifiable ball of maseca into a rounded tortilla. My body learned to find a center of gravity to balance a heavy basket of platanos (bananas) atop my head. I learned the meaning of a smile as we proudly presented our misshapen pixas (their pronunciation of pizza) to our beaming host family. I learned the meaning of un gran monton (a large amount) of new words, new phrases. I learned what it feels like to truly be cared about. This summer, I was embraced by a community for the most amazing six weeks of my life.  

As I pressed my face against the grungy glass of the autobus window, tears streaming down by face, I waved goodbye to a community of people who had become my family.