Legendary Lenca Bastion: Secluded Erandique, Honduras

“No foreigners ever come here”

My side of the aging, barely running chicken bus is hanging precipitously over the cliff of the mountain ready to plunge into the deep abyss. I see no ground below, only open air and clouds. No doubt the bus’s tires are on the rim of the mountain. There is no room for error or everyone goes tumbling six thousand feet over the precipice. I’m not scared, too focused on the painful four inches of cramped leg room hindering my knees and lower limbs. My legs are stuck in place and I fear forever will remain locked in a squatting position. I hope I still have circulation in my legs. I’ll need them to walk around the town I’m visiting. There are no public transportation or taxis in this far flung hamlet.

Aging chicken bus that miraculously made the trip to hard to reach Erandique

Not enough leg room for Manny de

Lush green scenery on our way to a Lenca hamlet

I’m on my way to Erandique, to visit Chico Poncho Martinez, a Honduran indigenous Lenca writer and intellectual. Erandique is a Lenca tribe stronghold located in a remote, hidden, rarely visited by outsiders pine-clad mountain top. We traveled through a cloud rainforest to get there. It’s difficult to get to the mountain crest due to one of the worst dirt roads I’ve encountered throughout Central America. It’s washout in spots, eroded to the point that boulders and base rock are exposed. September is the rainy season so there are countless rain runoff filled arroyos, flooded low spots, and creeks of water rushing over the road. 

Better part of the road that quickly deteriorated to ruts of mud and rushing water

Over those mountains and in those clouds is our destination

Down inside those clouds is the village of Erandique

The bus driver maneuvers at five miles an hour over what’s left of the primitive earthen road. He’s a grizzled old veteran of this route. He shows no emotion as the bus is bounced back and forth. With a loud “boom”, the bus’s undercarriage smacks exposed rocks. The driver doesn’t even blink or hit the breaks, that section’s passed. He’s only concerned with the next five feet of travel. He knows exactly the distance between right and left tires in order to take the bus to the lip of the mountain and not go over. It’s a one-lane path through the steepest and narrowest parts. At blind curves he honks his horn to alert any oncoming traffic. Who honks first, goes first. 

After reaching Erandique, the bus driver called home

to let loved ones know he's cheated death again

I’m holding off thinking beyond my interview with Chico Poncho. No need to worry now about coming back this way. Today we may not make it up and over the mountains. Tomorrow is another day, another adventure. If we make it to Erandique, I still need to find Chico Poncho’s home, hope that he’s available, willing to meet with me, allows me to take notes and answers my questions. If not, all this dangerous, arduous travel is wasted time. 

On the bus more than one fellow passenger asked me: “Why are you coming here? No foreigners ever come here.” I told them I hope to talk with Chico Poncho Martinez about his writing and books. Everyone knew him and assured me that if he’s home, he’ll visit with me. One elder fellow gave me convoluted directions to Chico Poncho’s home. I wrote them down, didn’t understand them, and expected to ask someone again in Erandique. I arrived with teeth rattling, dust and grime on my face and in my hair, hunched over, with shooting pain up my right hip. None of that mattered, I’m full of anticipation and excitement that I may get the opportunity to meet the writer of the book I read on the indigenous hero Lempira, and the history and legends of Western Honduras. 

Erandique is very quiet and safe. There are no “juvenile delinquency” problems like the rest of Honduras. No gangs or graffiti. I walked around with my backpack on and never felt threatened or in danger. The roads are in disrepair, paint peeling from homes and stores. It looks like a poor community. It is a friendly town, with local people greeting you on the streets. It is set in a magnificent landscape of pine trees, lakes, rivers and waterfalls.

The fellow on the right gave me directions to Chico Poncho's home.

After being tossed about in the bus, 

this is as clear as my vision was for the next two hours.

I stop at the only general store on the central street. It reminds me of a “7-11” convenient store. The mini store sells a little of everything -- women and baby’s clothing, toiletries, candy, paper writing tablets, pen and pencils, over the counter medication, packaged cookies and crackers, inexpensive watches, soft drinks. I ask the teenage young woman clerk for directions to Chico Poncho’s home. She quickly becomes confused giving me the complicated route, “Go two blocks in that direction, then at the big tree make a right, go halfway and turn in the other direction, when you see the pen with chickens go in front and then turn . . . .” She calls her older sister working in the front of the store for help. 

Big sister is nineteen or twenty, and after listening to my request, quickly tells her younger sister to take me to the house. I ask if I can leave my locked backpack in the store. She says, “Yes, of course.” I stage me pack behind the counter and follow Marcella out the door. I’m glad I had a guide. It would have been difficult to find the home. There are no street signs. The roadways are packed dirt turned to mud, with running streams of water. After a ten minute hike Marcella points and explains, “That’s Chico Poncho over there.” I thank her and give her a tip for helping me.

The road leading to the writer's home

I walk up to Chico Poncho extending my right hand, with a big smile on my face, I say, “Good afternoon, I’m a writer from the United Sates and I’ve read your book on Lempira and local legends, and have traveled to meet you and would like to discuss it with you. Do you have some time for conversation with me?” He smiles back, takes my hand and gives me a strong, hardy handshake and states, “Welcome to Erandique. Thank you for coming so far and making the difficult journey. Of course I’ll make time for a fellow writer. I would enjoy discussing my work with you. Would you like some coffee? Come, let’s go inside and talk.” I’m relieved and overwhelmed with joy that he’s home, is giving me the opportunity to discuss his work, and is genuinely pleased that I’ve made the effort to come to Erandique to hear and share ideas.

Over some strong, black coffee and cookies we spend three hours discussing his life, Honduran and Latin American legends, indigenous hero Lempira, Honduran and world geopolitics, the protest movement, future of Honduras, and writing. The time I spent with him was invaluable in learning the mind, history, aspirations, and future trends of Central America. I’m in his debt and told him so.

My mother tried to kill me

Chico Poncho signed my book with, “Thank you for your collaboration in reading and enjoying this book. Your ideas and mine will mix together and produce a new understanding. I desire that you enjoy our town and country. Your servant.”  

Chico Poncho Martinez signing my book

He began by telling me his early life story, “I was barefoot until nine years old, homeless and living on the streets since five. I learned to drink and smoke during this time of destitute. Before five years old, I lived with my mother. She was mentally ill. She accidentally burned my chest with hot, boiling oil. After I recovered, she tried to kill me with a machete so I ran away to save my life. At nine a local family felt sorry for me and took me into their home. They sent me to school. I had developed undisciplined, bad habits and changed schools a number of times." 

"I was a trouble maker. Always looking to get drunk and not caring about anyone or myself. At one school, as punishment for misbehaving they locked me up in the library all day, every day. So I read all day and into the night. I read everything from Popular Mechanics magazines, revolutionary Cuban poems, books on famous sages and sorcerers, and one of my favorite books was Bonnie and Clyde. I read about the different world religions -- Hinduism, Buddhism, Islam, Mayan rituals, Judaism, and the different Christian denominations. I discovered a passion for reading and started to write. I became an Evangelical Christian at twenty-three years old. I stopped drinking and smoking. I’m forty-six now and have not drank or smoked for twenty-three years.”

Modest Evangelical church still in use

“You can change your life if you decide to. You can go beyond the influence of the evil spirits with the help of God. I’ve broken the cycle of bad spirits that have plagued my family with my children. I promised myself that my four sons and two daughters would never sleep on the streets or go hungry. I’ve attended trade schools to learn electrical work. I will do whatever job to provide for my family. I’m very proud that all my children will graduate from high school.”

Local Catholic church on the central plaza of Erandique

Legends of Latin America

I asked him about the “El Duende” legend. He believes in it and has personal experiences.  He said, “My mother was very beautiful and was forced to marry at seventeen. She saw the Duende right before her wedding night and after her marriage ended. Her marriage only lasted five years and she had five children. Only two lived, me and my sister. My father left and we never saw him again. The Duende infected my mother and drove her mad. There are many unexplored caves in the surrounding mountains and people use to see the Duende in these caves. He wears a big hat and is a maligned spirit of a short man who lived long ago. The bible mentions that malevolent spirits go to where no light exists. In the past before the widespread of electricity and artificial lights there were more sightings of El Duende and other evil spirits. These observations and experiences have evolved to the legends I write about. Now with the prevalence of lights everywhere, the spirits are gone and people don’t come across them as often as before.”

There are many caves for the Duende to hide in these mountains

We examined the legendary Lenca leader Lempira. After having studied numerous Spanish texts and contemporary accounts, Chico Poncho concludes, “We don’t know when Lempira was born, or know exactly how he died. From Spanish chronicles we know ‘El Lempira’, an indigenous Lenca did exist and had a palace near Erandique. He recruited an army from over 200 tribes. He asked that each contribute men and arms. His military force outnumbered the Spanish conquistadors. The Spaniards realized they could not defeat Lempira and his armed forces. There are various inconsistent accounts of how he died. One account has him going to the conquistadors to negotiate a truce instead he was betrayed and murdered. Some say he never died, but hid in the numerous caves in the area and continued to live. The Lenca used to live a subterranean way of life in secret caves. These hidden caverns in the mountains have never been located or explored by modern humans. Lempira’s body was never found by the Spaniards. It’s not important where and how he died. What’s important is his resistance and defense of his territory. Lempira symbolizes national opposition to outside forces and invasions.”

Statue of Lenca warrior Lempira in Erandique's central park

We also talked about the legend of the “Sucia”, a woman spirit that haunts rivers. Her wretched, horrifying laugh is enough to temporarily steal the sanity from men. Chico Poncho came across her once and ran, escaping with his wits intact. The “Cadejo” is a small black dog that invades your sleep, causing insomnia. This inability to rest deteriorates the mind and capacity to function. A cure is prescribed involving a mixture of herbs and “yerba buenas” to stimulate restful sleep and eventually eliminate the malicious presence. 

River where Chico Poncho heard the haunting

laughter of the Sucia

“I’m not a leftist . . . . I’m anti-Yankee.”

I asked Chico Poncho about two decorations of resistance movements hanging in his front room: poster of Che Guevara and the flag of the FNRP (National Popular Resistance Front, a wide coalition of grassroots organizations that supports participatory democracy by calling for a national constitutional assembly to write a new constitution). He answered, “I’m not a leftist, or a Marxist, or communist. I’m a Christian. These symbols encompass ideas and individuals that want change to improve the lives of common people who are disadvantaged or have been exploited, and want a redistribution of resources and equity. I’m not a Hugo Chavez supporter. He’s gained power and doesn’t want to leave. That’s a dictator. Hugo is no Fidel Castro. Fidel helped poor people, peons, and farm workers. People here in Honduras would give thanks to stand in line, like Cubans, to get food, beans, rice, free heath care and education. Fidel was always from the left, unlike Hugo, who was from the right, now it serves his power needs to be from the left.”

Wall in Chico Poncho's home graced with Che and FNRP flag;

under the picture of Che it reads, "You don't cry for heros, you imitate them"

“The FNRP desires changes that help our country. The error that the former ousted president committed was ally himself with Hugo Chavez, so they got rid of him. It was a coup and a violation of our constitution. There have been many recent violations, like extraditing Hondurans to the United States, that’s against our constitution. Who governs, when the constitution is breached? The ten biggest families govern. We know their names, it’s not a secret. They’ve used the constitution, and now transgress it to protect themselves and their interests. These ten families own all the contracts for infrastructure construction in our country. Their companies do poor quality work in order to continue to redo the work and perpetuate their profits. We pay a heavy price for repairs of roads and bridges, but receive inferior caliber work, while they gain more of our resources. Could there be a revolution? There are factions hoarding and hiding arms. If there isn’t a constitution assembly to implement a more democratic process of inclusion, there could be armed struggle in my beloved country.”

“I had the opportunity to legally go to the United States to work, but didn’t want to. I’m anti-Yankee and don’t want my life’s work to help the gringos. I love my country and want to help it, not be a slave to clean up after the gringos. We have many qualified graduates, but no work for them in Honduras. My son after graduation wants to go illegally to the US to find work. I’m discouraging it. I had an idea how we could use the unemployed, recent graduates combined with heavy equipment owned by the army to build and improve infrastructure like roads, bridges, water treatment plants. I took the plan to our local representatives. I even had the support of my contacts in the army. The local politicians would not support it. I need to run against them for their office.”

“I’m a dreamer and have visions of the future. I dreamt that I’d have a house, write a book, that my kids would all graduate from high school, it’s all happened. I dreamt of being president of the local liberal party. It happened. I’ve dreamt of being mayor of Erandique. I don’t have the money, but I think I will be, by talking with people about solutions to problems like poor, damaged streets, inferior quality homes, youth delinquency. I have visions from God to provoke a better city for youth to play, go to school, live, and establish a better community for all our citizens.”

You can see why Chico Poncho has "visions" of

improving the "streets" of his community

Why I write

We next talked about our common vocation, writing. He shared that, “Writing has been a sort of therapy. Early in life I experienced much hardship, evil, and dark moments where death almost overtook me. Bad and evil only goes as far as you let it. I decided to stop it. I write about these life occurrences, learning episodes, and internal conflicts because I have to. I speak with many people in my different communities. Many have similar experiences but they don’t write about them. I want to give a voice to these people. I exist and know I’m part of something bigger. I don’t know everything. I can’t. I can share ideas, lift spirits, and hopefully have positive influence on the lives of people by writing. I like to think and therefore write my thoughts. I’ll continue to write until I no longer exist. After I’m gone, my words continue. Perpetuating knowledge through education is the only real revolution that can happen, and writing is a way of doing this. Everything else is farce and power grabbing.”

“I’m currently involved in two writing projects. I’m finishing a novel of my life, a magical realism piece since we do believe in existence of spirits and their influence on our lives. The second work is about the current protest movement against the coup and disregard for our constitution. With the grace of God, I’ll finish both books soon.”

Chico Poncho was gracious in receiving and spending time with me. He said I could take as long as I wanted to interview him. The author enthusiastically stated he was complimented and gave him joy that I heard of him, bought and read his book, and made the difficult journey to Erandique. The published writer encouraged me to share my ideas through writing. The man was humble, had visions for implementing positive nonviolent change to improve his community. He expressed a strong belief in God and the power of his faith. We ended our visit by him reading to me from his unpublished manuscript on “protesting” the coup. Chico Poncho is an optimistic practical problem-solver. For all his belief in spirits he remains creative, imaginative, constructive, and enterprising. His goals are nothing less than improving the situation and environment for the lives of young and old in his society. His visions always come to pass.

Two "writers" sharing and mixing ideas in order

to understand our experiences in the Americas

Tomorrow we’re back on the road towards another “land of revolution” -- Nicaragua. The Sandinistas are back in power and refusing to let go. Will democracy prevail? They’re also no fans of “Yankees”. President Daniel Ortega is a big New York “Mets” fan. Let’s see how this “world champion” San Francisco Giants fan is received?  

My simple meal of piece of chicken, egg, beans, and plantain (didn't eat the white stuff); 

the only menu choice, served at the only restaurant in town