Roatán

The water was silent as I stepped off the gangway in Roatán Honduras. The waves feebly grabbed at the boat’s sides with no energy left to fight. The sun had a warm, friendly smile compared to the cold days at sea. As I board the tiny bus I listen to the guide give us the facts. As The bus bumps along the rough cobblestone streets, I glance at the houses that line the street. They look worn from age, one lonesome sigh from collapse.
Poverty hits Roatán hard. I learn my visit is essential for the survival of these people. I watch as a 6-year-old boy roams the street with bracelets, hoping a stray tourist will buy them. I learn Most children stop going to school because they must start providing for their families. Although it is heart-wrenching I realize that you can’t take small things for granted. Going to school won’t kill you. Walking a mile, won’t hurt you. Instead, I take it as a lesson to try harder and be grateful for what I have. It makes me wonder what would have come of me if I had stayed in Guatemala, a poor country much like this one.