I give you Guatemala. I give you the sunsplashed hair of an 11-year-old girl you're holding in the air The girl has seen ore horror in those years that you will hear of in your life, but here she is smiling and playing and taking back with intensity her childhood.
I give you Guatemala at the end of an election. I give you the politicians posturing for power and promising the impossible. The assassin beats the drug dealer, but who really wins in a country that solves only 3 percent of its homicides — a country in which teens sell drugs to cops on street corners?
I give you Guatemala at the top of Panajachel, the lake sparkling in the sun and the volcanoes piercing the bright blue sky. Give you a picture of pueblos from Pacaya, a volcano upon which we roasted marshmallows and in the warmth of which we rested on a rainy afternoon.
I give you the children in the orphanage, the children in the tin houses outside the orphanage, the scarcely lit streets of San Lucas and all of the opportunities I took and the many more that I missed.
God, I give you Guatemala.
*****
I say hello to Honduras.
Hello to the most dangerous country in the world. A country in which teenagers sniff paint thinner out of coke cans on the streets. A country in which you can witness the most breathtaking view of city lights at night from the makeshift balcony of a house with no bathroom, no running water, no electricity.
Hello to the Cotton Club. Twenty years ago, it was the most notorious nightclub in the city — drugs sold like beer, women sold without much more consideration. The stories and spirits still linger within these walls.
Hello to what happens next: A city of tents is rising out of an abandoned building, a new community springing forth for a people many times referred to as unredeemable.
Hello to hope.
