Honduras is described as the poorest country in Central America, though what little they have is distributed more equally than the surrounding nations. Compared to Guatemala, where a large portion of the population still retain their pure Mayan blood, Honduras is also much more racially uniform. 90% of the people here fall under the broad category of Meztizos or mixed Spanish / Indian blood. In stark contrast to this majority, the Garifunas who trace their ancestry from African immigrants of the slave trade, sprinkle the Northern Coast.
Arriving in the coastal town of Tela, the culture of Honduras does a complete 180 from the rest of Latin America. The quiet and timid curiosity common among the indigenous people is replaced with a confident and brash African personality. A traveler is more likely to hear a 'wassup bro' than an 'hola'. Am I in Compton or Honduras? With backwards bandanas, tilted ball caps and gangster rap throbbing from the cars the similarities are striking. Loud and boisterous, even the humor has a different feel. I wonder how much of their culture results from American influence through TV and movies.
As two white guys puttering through the sandy streets in a very black town, the intimidation factor definitely inches up a few notches. At least in Mexico I've got a chance of blending in with brown eyes and dark hair. Around here all hope of concealment is lost as our pale faces contrast glaringly against the deep black surrounding us.
There is also a noticeable difference in the countenance of the random bystander. While most Latinos, and even more so the indigenous people, carry a relatively curious and mellow expression, the Garifuna look is much tougher. The average blank expression here says quite effectively "I have no fear of you and will not back down if provoked." Fortunately we've never tested this and found them friendly, helpful and ready with a smile if the situation calls for it.
Haiti provided a similar feel, though much stronger as the purely African culture lacked a Latino middle ground in the color scheme. Three years ago, foolishly stranded between the Haitian and Dominican border I understood the word 'minority' for the first time. Surrounded by an mob of angry Haitians demanding our passports and money, true fear began to seep through the cracks in our confidence. Figuring that my 6'4", 240lb friend would provide the necessary intimidation we traveled the country in naive confidence. Until we realized all to late this size advantage figured little into their considerations.
This situation relates back to more ill conceived recommendations from stateside acquaintances, such as "are you gonna carry a gun?" Lets say we were packing some heat, what then, we start blasting away at the locals and find ourselves in a Haitian prison for the next decade? Also, pulling a gun out as an idle threat would be just that, idle. Because they know you're going to hesitate to use the weapon while their decision making process would be decidedly shorter.
The logical but unfortunate conclusion leaves the traveler quite powerless to forcefully defend yourself. Conversely, if we had given him our passports, God only knows the nightmare that would have ensued. Armed with such convictions we recruited the help of some traveling Dominicans who took pity on our situation. Speaking to us in spanish, which we understood but the Haitians did not, they told us to hop on their motorcycles at the critical moment.
Appeasing the crowd with an unsigned travelers check we hoped on the bikes and made our break. With the disgruntled crowd left standing in the middle of the road we flew off towards the border. Never again will you find me attempting to cross a 'closed' border. Never the less, at least once in their lives everyone should experience the thrill of tasting minority life.