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Sunday, 30 June 2013

Moving to Honduras - Page 5

Written by Treva Wynn
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The stadium was just as chaotic as the city's traffic. We walked underneath the cement bleachers looking for something to eat. I hadn't eaten since the night before, yet what I really craved... was a beer (or as it turned out, several). We found an empty space amongst the endless sea of concrete rows, and sat down with beers and hotdogs in hand. A cloud of smoke and insects lingered under the powerful stadium lights. Children vendors were selling packs of gum, cigarettes, and turtle eggs. Thousands of fans shook the stadium as they stomped, cheered, screamed, sang, and chanted in support of their teams. I was thoroughly enjoying myself as I mimicked the reactions of those around me to the goal or foul that had just occurred. As the last minute on the clock ticked away, we decided we should probably make for the exit.

Bad idea.

What I can only imagine was similar to the infamous The Who concert, the three of us were smashed between mobs of people. I quickly lost sight of both my new friends, and I concentrated on keeping my feet moving and my face in the air- so I could breathe. I saw the exit that the mass I was part of was heading towards and I reassured myself I'd be fine once we were outside the stadium. Unfortunately, as I was being crushed through the threshold I felt someone step on my flip-flop. The momentum of the crowd kept me going and it was quite painfully torn off my foot. Once finally in an open space again, outside the exit, I found Kristen and Katie waiting for me.

"Aw man I lost my flip-flop in that mess!"

Kristen, after eying the situation a moment, dove back into the crowd in hunt of my poor, and surely smashed, flip flop. Moments later she 'resurfaced,' flop in hand, waiving it triumphantly. I thanked her a few dozen times and we set foot in the same direction everyone else seemed to be going. We knew we were relatively close to the bus station, and we didn't feel like finding and paying for a taxi, so we just kept walking.

Bad idea.

We reassured each other that because there were so many people walking with us, we were safe. Never mind it’s 9:00, and very dark. For a few minutes, I was quite loving walking amongst the crowd. Some children ran circles around their tired parents, while others were fast asleep on their mothers' chests or fathers' shoulders. It was not unlike leaving an amusement park after a long day; until I felt a sharp tug slice around the front of my neck. Within the same second I felt hands in the pockets of my jeans. I realized rather quickly that the tug on my neck was someone pulling my chained necklace from the back, snapping it, and letting my Dad's dog tags go flying into the middle of the busy street. We were being mugged. On instinct, I jumped into the street after my Dad's possessions, nearly being hit by a car. The car had slammed on his brakes and was halted just a few feet in front of me. I turned my attention back to the side walk to see four teenagers circling Kristen, kicking her, and trying to get whatever she had. Kristen however, being the badass that she was, kicked and punched right back. In a sheer moment of adrenaline and anger, I ran towards the little circle- arms-a-flying and yelling. This effectively dispersed them. One boy acted like he was going to hit me, so I reminded him I was a good seven inches taller by standing up straight and saying something that apparently translates in every language. He joined his group and they took off, running away as fast as they came. Catching my breath while squeezing my Dad's tags, I looked at Kristen and Katie. I immediately scanned the ground, and retrieved a large and heavy rock. At the same time one of us was trying to find the words to say after a situation like that, another group ran towards us. Except this time, they were all nine and ten year old girls. They grabbed each of our hands and started pulling us up the street, towards a tall chain-linked fence that guarded a garage. They were all speaking so fast, and so frantically, I had no idea what was happening (rock still in hand). Apparently Kristen did. We were led to one of their houses where a father was standing, waiting. The girls quickly and desperately told him what had happened. I didn't need to know Spanish to know this man was sorry, and he wanted to help. His face dropped as the girls went on and he slowly, and sadly, shook his head. He ushered us into the bed of his truck and he, like a bullet, shot off towards the bus station. 

(Page 5 of 7)
Last modified on Monday, 01 July 2013

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