It's hot. I've got sweat dripping down my back, dust in my hair and I'm convinced my fillings are about to be knocked right out of my teeth. It's been a long drive from the capital of El Salvador to the southwestern department of La Libertad, partly because we had to wait in line to travel on the one open lane of the highway that heads this way. The other lane is still unpassable due to damage sustained during two powerful earthquakes in January and February this year.

As we turn off the highway and head toward the community of San Jose, just outside the municipality Zapotit�n, our pick-up truck bounces along dry, rutted dirt roads. Lop-eared cattle with tired brown eyes gaze through the dust as we pass. Stray dogs lazily cede their spots in the middle of the road and seek shelter under scrubby trees and bushes lining the road. They've decided it's too hot to chase trucks today. I try to imagine the condition of this road when the rainy season is in full swing. It's not a good image.

On visits to other communities, our small CARE entourage has been met by one or two community leaders, who act as guides. They share their stories and point out the damage caused by one or both of the earthquakes that struck El Salvador earlier this year. They show us the temporary shelters CARE helped them build and talk about reconstruction projects underway, which usually include new classrooms and improved water and sanitation facilities.

At first I just nod. I do that a lot when people speak to me in Spanish, because, while I usually figure it out eventually, I'm sometimes a little slow on the uptake. So when it dawns on me that Romeo has told me they're waiting for eggs, I stop nodding.

At this point, I'm quite certain there has been a mistake and we're going to have a lot of explaining to do. We've brought no eggs with us. But maybe I've misunderstood, so I ask Romeo to explain. Slowly.

He tells me a CARE donor has provided 386 cartons of eggs to help sustain families still struggling to rebuild following the earthquakes.

CARE has worked in this particular community -- helping families who have lost their homes build temporary shelters, building sanitary latrines and improving access to potable water -- but San Jose did not meet the criteria to receive emergency monthly rations from the World Food Programme. So, CARE decided to distribute the eggs here.

Considering the scope of need in poor communities like this one, a delivery of eggs may not seem like much. But, on the other hand, when you haven't got much, sometimes a little thing can seem like a lot. The people of San Jose are eager to get their eggs.

Still, I am confused. Are the eggs being flown in? Does CARE have access to a special emergency egg transport unit? Because there's no way regular eggs in a regular truck are making it over El Salvador's irregular roads.

In the meantime, Romeo introduces me to Luis Rodriguez, a representative of the municipality of Zapotit�n. I ask him about the progress made since the earthquakes, and what is left to do.

"CARE and the local authorities have worked well together," says Rodriguez. "We've dealt with the emergency and people here are at least prepared for the rainy season. But we need more permanent solutions to the infrastructure problems we face."

"We need roads," Rodriguez says. "Without decent roads, there will be no development. When people can get from place to place, they invest. Who would build a factory where you can't move materials or products?"

Rodriguez is referring to some of the manufacturing plants located along the main highway that brought us here. Steady factory work is highly desirable in this region, but, for the people of San Jose, just getting over the dirt roads that lead to the highway is hard work. And if workers have to pay for weekday accommodations closer to the factory, that's less money coming back to the family. In El Salvador, bad roads don't just hold up traffic, they hold up progress.

Our conversation is interrupted when a troop of breathless boys reports the egg truck is coming. It's just up the road.

Excitement mounts as I realize that I will soon see the wonder-vehicle capable of carrying such a fragile shipment over such unforgiving terrain. Rising dust obscures the approaching vehicle, so I can't make it out clearly.

On closer inspection, it looks like a pick-up truck smaller than the one that brought us here.

I stare, dumbstruck and disbelieving, at the whole bed of the pick-up truck, filled with eggs. There are stacks of them, nestled 30 to each flat, cardboard carton. They are dusty but intact. No worse for the wear after a journey that left me feeling rather scrambled.

Almost as soon as the truck arrives, the sky opens up and rain begins to fall. The eggs have made it this far, but if those cardboard cartons get soaked, we're going to have a real mess on our hands. Romeo and Mario direct the egg truck's driver to park under a broad leafy tree, then they begin calling names off a distribution list.

In just over an hour, the truck is empty, each family on CARE's list is 30 eggs richer and the rain has stopped. The people of San Jose seem happy, and not just because of the eggs. Out here, it's good to have someone stop for a visit, eggs or no eggs.

Romeo and Mario have a few more words with some of the community leaders, discussing their next visit. There won't be any more eggs, but CARE will be back. San Jose can count on that.

Back in the truck, bumping our way to the highway, I keep thinking about those eggs. It seems like they symbolize something. Maybe they are like the people of San Jose -- in a precarious situation, but strong enough to pull through. Maybe the eggs represent a fragile hope. Maybe this whole day proves that it's possible to succeed at tasks that seem improbable or even impossible. Maybe it shows that small victories are still victories.

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