TEGUCIGALPA, HONDURAS — At first glance, Tegucigalpa, the capital of Honduras, appears to be a typical Latin American urban landscape. The city sits in a bowl; a dimple in the hilly terrain that defines its borders. The developed interior of the city gives way to discernible poverty that sprawls up the hillsides in the form of spontaneous makeshift communities, many of which lack infrastructure and basic services.
Brief and superficial experiences of Tegucigalpa — or Tegus, as it's colloquially condensed — often reinforce the perception that it's a poor, dangerous, sprawling capital city. Crime is high, "local culture" is nominal, and it seems in a state of perpetual recovery from the devastation of 1998's Hurricane Mitch. Tourists, guidebooks, and locals alike will often tell you to simply skip Tegus and head for the romantic countryside or picturesque north coast.
What makes this story unique is the way the residents have taken urban vitality into their own hands. During my five fleeting months in the city last year, it was within those sprawling, makeshift communities that I encountered heaps of local life and urban innovation — specifically in the form of women's urban gardening.
I was working with a network of women and families that reaches 26 of the communities surrounding the city. This network is united through two sister organizations — el Comité Hondure