THEY ARE TIRED?
-Gerardo Torres Zelaya
July 29, 2022.
In Memory Of Dionisia Díaz She fought with the Honduran people in the streets for 13 years.since the coup.
The sun had already set on the detour to the community of Alauca, at the entrance to the side of the city of El Paraíso. We were about two thousand people who supported that fighting trench. Some people had gone through the mountains and many more were scattered in different points surrounding the Las Manos border between Honduras and Nicaragua, where the next day President José Manuel Zelaya Rosales would make an attempt to return to the country by land, 27 days after the Armed Forces kidnapped him and took him to Costa Rica in the infamous coup of June 28, 2009.
We had reached a truce with the security forces, at night there would be no skirmishes. I got under a van to try to get some rest. Many hours of fighting had passed under the intense sun of eastern Honduras. They with tear gas, us with stones and bonfires of burning tires.
When my eyes were beginning to close, Grandma Dionisia Díaz passed by with a megaphone at full volume, shouting "Are you tired? Are you afraid? (And one had to say Noooooo and she finished off by saying) Then Go Forward, the fight is constant." It was not a rhetorical chant, it did not move until one stood up.
Well, I got up and she moved to another goal to be woken up. I found a car willing to accommodate me, I settled into the passenger seat and managed to fall asleep. Then Grandma appeared, again with the megaphone. She woke us all up and got us out of the car.
Where I was hiding there was that little lady who had the habit of wearing pants, shirt and hat always the same color. The grandmother was unmistakable with her monochromatic logic and her megaphone that apparently never ran out of battery.
After a torturous game of hide and seek I gave up. Better find coffee and join Grandma's team, shamelessly ratting out the poor people who wanted to sleep. She took care of the rest.
The night vanished, and the grandmother never shut up. The dawn came full of blood, although we did not know it yet. The screams of fright preceded the crowing of the rooster. Compañero Pedro Magdiel was lying in a ditch, tortured, repeatedly stabbed, left dead with a face of terror that still haunts me today, thirteen years later.
That night was too dangerous to fall asleep and expose yourself to the macabre forces that roamed in that gloom. Grandma saved us all and all. Well, almost everyone.
Since then she always greeted her as she greets one's grandmother. With great happiness to see her, with concern that she was alright, with pride to see her walking in one color, and she shouted.
The last time I saw her was at the Presidential House a few days ago. She was sitting up, curled up like a cold, fragile bird. I approached her and greeted her. "Grandmother!" I hugged her and she hugged me and softly said "Son."
I kept up the fast pace we now live in, but I left with her warmth on her chest. I hope I left a bit of mine for her.
To my grandmother from this fight. To the grandmother of all and all.Rest Grandma Dionisia. We are fine. We survived the night.
