Hondurans Ride Winds of Change Blown In by Mitch

'98 Storm Set Off Economic Push In Coastal Region

Ezekiel Gomez, 44, says life has not improved for the poor despite the boom that has taken hold since Hurricane Mitch devastated Choluteca province in 1998. (Photos By Pam Constable -- The Washington Post)

CHOLUTECA, Honduras -- When Hurricane Mitch tore into this sleepy Pacific coastal province of dairy farms and cane fields in October 1998, its torrential rains and winds swept away an entire way of life -- and opened up unexpected new vistas of change.

Nearly a decade later, the devastated landscape is being transformed.

Cracked roads and bridges have been rebuilt with sturdy new designs. Flooded warrens of adobe huts have been replaced by hillside lots of orderly concrete bungalows. Cow pastures are being bulldozed to build textile factories; fallow fields are dotted with candy-colored motels; and air-conditioned American fast-food outlets have eclipsed the steamy sidewalk comedores of yore.

Choluteca is still an impoverished rural region, where illiterate peasants gather firewood on bicycles and clear brush with machetes. But it is also strategically situated near a semi-developed seaport, a major highway and two foreign borders. Now, a group of wealthy native sons are betting they can turn it into the next modern, international trade center in Latin America.

"Mitch destroyed a great deal, but it also gave a big push for revitalization," said David Williams, a fifth-generation Honduran entrepreneur who plans to develop a 300-acre seaside free-trade zone -- complete with housing, schools, factories, even a university -- on the cattle ranch his grandfather once owned. "We have a vision to develop this region, and the most important ingredient is attitude."

It was the swift devastation of Hurricane Mitch that first brought international attention to Choluteca, a neglected, feudal corner of Central America's second-poorest country. The powerful storm, which killed more than 9,000 people in three countries, dumped so much rain that the meandering Choluteca River rose by more than six feet in 48 hours. The torrent turned pastures into lakes, wiped out herds and homes, and left much of the region mired in thick, brown mud.

Within weeks, though, a flood of humanitarian aid began arriving from overseas. Japan paid for new bridges. Red Cross organizations in Germany, Spain and the United States donated tons of construction materials so homeless families could start over. Irish and Scandinavian aid agencies set up permanent offices. Later, more international help arrived in the form of debt relief and anti-poverty grants.

"The hurricane took away our house, but this one is much better. We have cement floors instead of dirt," said Marlene Medina, 37, a mother of three who lives in Villa Bertilia, a development of low-cost cinder-block homes where hundreds of victims were relocated. Between her seasonal job at a local shrimp-packing plant and the cash her husband sends from his construction job in Dallas, she said, "we manage okay, but just barely."

The storm also hastened the inevitable demise of the region's traditional businesses, including offshore shrimping in small boats and large dairy farms owned by a few powerful families and tended by peasants. Many workers headed north -- to more dynamic Honduran cities such as San Pedro Sula, to wealthier next-door El Salvador with its dollarized economy, and to illegal but well-paying jobs in the produce fields and kitchens of Texas and California.

But some investors saw opportunity in Choluteca's upheaval. Foreign capitalists from Israel, Spain and elsewhere combined with Honduran firms to build a dozen ultramodern melon and seafood farms, using idle land, high-tech methods and low-cost labor to profitably grow, sort, chill and ship their delicate products to export markets.

At Santa Inez, a model shrimp-packing plant, workers in white rubber boots, masks and hairnets move thousands of pounds of fat crustaceans each day along conveyor belts, through cold showers and into chilled boxes that are machine-wrapped in cellophane, trucked to San Pedro Sula on the Caribbean coast overnight and loaded onto refrigerated container ships for export to Europe.

The advent of modern agro-industry has brought a new professional class of engineers, accountants, technicians and construction company owners to Choluteca, along with more-modern tastes. The provincial capital now supports developments of $40,000 chalet-style homes, fast-food outlets and a chic eatery called Fusion Gourmet. The torrid heat empties the streets at noon, but the Wendy's is packed with customers eating in air-conditioned luxury while the manager times service with a stopwatch.