Delivery day is Jan. 20, five days after the cargo left Miami. A pick-up truck, loaded outside the gym before lunch, is waved through an exit gate by a smiling security guard who keeps a lazy grip on his shotgun. The Jose Trinidad Reyes school is only minutes away, just a few turns on the city's potholed roads. Instead, it is a homeless camp, a purgatory like dozens of others that now hold tens of thousands of Hondurans without homes. Since Mitch, the 127 families at Jose Trinidad Reyes have slept three to a room on linoleum floors.
Privacy comes from blankets hung from the ceiling.
The school bathroom drips with stench from clogged toilets. Boys in the school yard climb a tank of drinking water. In a few days, the families will be expelled. Some people have houses, but most have lost them. Outside the classrooms, children of the camp pass the time by running in curves between shirts and dresses on clothes lines suspended between sticks.