Development is a word full of hope. It brings to mind water pumps and rice banks, bridges and education, smiling children and sky-scraping financial institutions. Yet there is a dark side to development.
On Friday, July 17th, at 4 a.m., this dark side showed its face when
Two weeks ago Sunday I awoke to my cell phone ringing at 6:45 a.m. In my sleepy delirium I answered it to hear the agitated voice of Isidra, a friend and "hermana" from our church in Flor del Campo, a marginalized neighborhood near the airport of Tegucigalpa.