Murder on the Dance Floor - Honduras | The Bubble

Susie Davies in Americas Travel Uncategorized on 24 October, 2024.

Aged 18, I moved to a rural town in the Honduran mountains, setting up a new life as an English teacher in the murder capital of the world.

I have always been concerningly welcoming of risks. An activity’s appeal to me is often directly correlated to its production of butterflies in my tummy and a tightness in my chest. For me, the rush of adrenaline, the gratitude of emerging from a risky situation unscathed, and the reminder of life’s unpredictability and temporariness is what makes an experience truly worthwhile.

I was drawn to Honduras largely because of its landscape, culture, history, and food, but I would be lying if I said that its dangerous reputation, instability, and complicated relationship with gangs and violence wasn’t also a major incentive.

On January 15th 2022, armed with a 60L rucksack and a mind charged with excitement and naivety, I walked into my new home, the town of La Union, in active pursuit of adventure. Little did I know that in less than a week, this thirst for thrills and danger would be satiated in a way that I could never have imagined.

Within a few days I had already met a host of amazing people, and was settling into a new friend group of Hondurans a similar age to me. My new friends invited me to a party in a neighbouring town the upcoming weekend and without hesitation I accepted. Party culture in Honduras has very little overlap to what it means in a UK context. My expectation of arriving at a house with 30 people merrily drinking and chatting was worlds away from what transpired.

I was picked up by my friends at 9:00 and we set off in convoy with six other cars headed to the party-hosting town. I was informed that when driving at night, unless you were in a group of more than 3 cars, the probability of being hijacked – being pulled out of your car at gunpoint while bandits robbed you and stole your car – was too high for anyone to dare it. In retrospect, this should have served as a warning to me that the risks I was being exposed to were not to be treated lightly. But I was giddy with excitement and I imagine my response was something along the lines of “wow, that’s so cool”, rather than the expression of any concern or inquest into how I could better look after myself.

Luckily, other than the fact that the roads were comprised of ninety percent potholes and ten percent actual track, the journey was completely seamless. The party itself far exceeded all of my wildest expectations, being held not in a house, but in the central square of the town. A six-man band was performing up-beat Latin music on a huge stage with hundreds of people singing and dancing around them. The first hour was pure wholesome fun, I was being taught dances like salsa, bachata and meringue by friendly strangers, with my only concern being my complete inability to move my hips or not trip over my feet.

People always say that in instances of true chaos everything moves in slow motion. I had never previously believed this to be true.

The pandemonium followed so closely after the gunshots that it was obvious that this had happened before. Honduran people clearly knew exactly what to do during an active shooting, my peaceful Welsh upbringing had left me completely ill-prepared. I was stood paralysed with shock, eyes fixed on the gunmen entering the crowd, the masses of people screaming and evacuating, and the few falling to the floor. I don’t know how long I would have stayed there, still, transfixed, if my friend hadn’t pulled me into a side-street to hide in a sheltered doorway.

Within a few minutes there were sirens, and after less than 10, word had travelled that everything was okay and we were safe to re-enter the square. This event was the one of the most shocking things that I had ever witnessed, second only to what followed moments later.

After bringing down my heartrate and getting my hands to stop shaking, I nervously made my way back to the centre. As I approached, I heard the band resume their music, and I turned the corner to see that the party in its entirety had continued exactly how it was before. The only evidence of the brutal violence that had just occurred was the blood on the floor, becoming less and less visible as people joyfully returned to dancing on top of it.