Pottery

A kiln

One day there was pottery everywhere, a few days later it was gone

From this

to this

ladies forming clay houses

In the gift shops in Honduras, including ours at Casa de Esperanza, there is pottery. It is a popular item for people to buy, especially Americans. The night we distributed food on the mountain out of Ojojona I saw a couple houses where pottery was made. A few days later I took Karen out there so we could see if there was anything we could use in our store. The road is rocky and steep and rutted from where water has rushed through. At times one or two miles per hour is about the fastest we could go. Other places the road was fairly good. The adventure we had became another eye-opening experience.

The first place we stopped we met a young man named Franklin. He is 25. That is my son's age. We learned from Franklin that he had been making pottery since is was eight years old. I cannot imagine my son working to help with the family income at the age of eight. We had a sample with us. He took the piece of pottery, rolled out the clay, and in just a very short time, formed a piece in the exact shape. We were impressed with the speed with which he could do this. He told us to come back in a week and he would have it fired and ready for us.

Frankin is a master at making clay houses and churches. He had several waiting to be fired. The detail on these houses were very intricate. I was amazed how precise some of the details were.

We drove a bit further and stopped again. This house was one to which we had delivered food and bought some pottery. The lady at this house was Franklin's mother. She and her daughter were working hard with the clay. We began to ask questions. They dig the dirt from the ground. They have to dig and haul buckets of dirt back to their house. They mix the dirt with some sand and water. We watched as the daughter work the mixture into clay. It looked like hard work. Probably not as hard as hauling buckets of dirt though. They make bowls and pitchers. They do not have potter's wheels and every single piece is formed by hand. The clay is black and after it is fired, it is sort of a brick color. These two ladies cannot read or write or even spell their names. I am guessing, they have made pottery all of their lives, too and never seen the inside of a school building.

Some of the pottery is painted red. The paint is also taken from the ground, but not from around here. They have to go to Sabana Grande to buy this. One that road, it would be at least a two hour walk to get to where they could catch the bus. They told us it was a two hour bus ride to Sabana Grande. I can drive to Sabana Grande from Casa de Esperanza in less time than I can drive to Tegucigalpa. But the bus stops ever few minutes.

We stopped one more place. The ladies there also made houses, but the detail was not as great as Franklin's houses.

Franklin and his mother sell their pottey to the shop owners in Ojojona. I have been to Franklin's twice and to his mother's four times. Each time I have noticed that the pottery that was there a few days earlier is gone. I know they have to get it to the shop owners in Ojojona quickly in order to have any money. They sell each piece for such a small amount. They depend on this money to buy food and the basic necessities of life.

Even though I know poverty is everywhere in Honduras, I sometimes need to be reminded how hard people really have to work to eke out the most meager existence.

Terri