My appreciation for the randomness of Honduras waxes and wanes depending on the adventure it throws at me. At times the adventures are difficult, and other times they are rewarding, for example, offering up lentil soup.
The other day I was waiting in the Parque Central for the kids to show up to English class, and this man approached me. He looked Catracho, and spoke Spanish, in which he asked what the park was called. I replied, that as far as I knew, it was just Parque Central. At which point he switches to English, and begins to explain that he is Indian, lived in the States for several years and then decided to move to Honduras. He has been living here for almost two decades, and does research/practices natural medicine.
Anyways, during the conversation he mentioned that he has an apartment in Corquin that acts as his vacation home. Having mentioned earlier in the conversation that I was looking to rent places, he offered to rent me his apartment.
Well, today I went with him to see the apartment. It's actually pretty far out of Corquin so unfortunately I won't be able to rent it, but the experience that resulted was interesting.
I honestly wasn't sure of him in the beginning, because he whipped out his stock investments in the park, which, why do I need to see those? I also am a bit wary of people who directly question you about your religious beliefs and other more personal topics of conversation I generally reserve for closer friends. Nonetheless, he seemed like a harmless guy, and against all better judgment from Juan Carlos (Security Director of Peace Corps) I got in his car to view this apartment.
Again, alarm bells when he had me read the "testimonies" as to the success of his natural remedies, but we went to the apartment and were only there for five minutes before we drove off again. "That was easy," I thought. And then (and this amazes me that I didn't understand even though we were talking in English) if I wanted to go to the next town, and I agreed. I have to admit that I was hoping we were going to get lunch. Well we went farther, but turns out he just needed to go to a hardware store.
Anyways, this entire time we're talking about the events of yesterday and what we've observed/experienced in Honduras. So he asks if I would like one of his natural remedies to cure stomach problems, and I sheepishly accept. Why I do this to myself, I don't know. I mean, for all I know it was that crap from the movies that they put over your nose/mouth and you immediately pass out... my imagination sometimes strays... but you never know!
Well, in the process of getting my cure-all potion, I am offered delicious lentil soup, which leads to more political discussion, a stock investment lesson, and eventually suggested philosophies on life ... The lentil soup and political discussion was lovely. The soup satisfied cravings for food other than beans, cheese and tortillas, and the political discussion catered to my need to get other people's opinions on the current events in Honduras.
And that was my afternoon, in short.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Ignorance is Nervousness
So, none of this has made it into the American news, which I find interesting, although I might be a little paranoid.
The current President of Honduras Mel Zelaya, doesn't exactly want to leave office. He has started a big campaign for "La Cuarta Urna" the Fourth Box. The Fourth Box (depending on who you ask) would do numerous (unspecified things), namely completely reform the constitution, and more specifically for the purpose of creating unlimited terms for the President. Hmmm...
Now, after having asked several people what the Cuarta Urna is, the above explanation is what I've come up with. All I know is this:
I've been watching rallies for the Cuarta Urna on T.V., and Mel is out there in his sombrero, wearing his "campo/country" gear, talking about how we have to help the poor and the poor is so oppressed in Honduras. Ring a bell?
Granted, what he's saying is the truth, but by all accounts from more reliable sources, he was a shoddy President and didn't do much for the poor when he had a chance. So, now Mel Zelaya (who might I add is quite fond of Hugo Chavez) wants another go, and is using the time-tested method of appealing to the poor and wanting to achieve his goals. Bueno.
Well last night, I come home from those blasted English classes (we played games, I lost control) to find my family watching the news. Now, they are avid news watchers (and supporters of the Cuarta Urna), but this is prime-time telenovela time! Paloma (character) has probably just found out that her boyfriend has impregnated yet another woman!
I digress ... This must be something good if they're forgoing telenovelas for the news. I couldn't understand much, but people were all hot and bothered outside the Presidential Casa, and I kept hearing things about the armed forces and "golpe de estado." Now, "golpe de estado" isn't quite a coup de etat, but it roughly translates to "hit to the state." Armed forces + hit to the state = slightly nervous Hannah. Why isn't my language better?!
I mean, I enjoy politics and have severely missed D.C. for this reason. Also, international politics gets me going even more, and not being able to understand the situation was upsetting. I started calling people.
My friend was also paying attention to the news, and had gathered that someone from the armed forces had resigned, and I added in my knowledge that Mel was now the Commander of the Armed Forces.
There was a much longer conversation behind this. Talking about how we wish we knew what was going on, but what we thought was going on was reminiscent of other times in Latin American politics, and we were nervous as to our futures in Honduras if the political climate were to take a turn for the worse.
Mel has some socialist tendencies and this business with the Armed Forces/golpe de estado was a bit peculiar, and I might add a little sudden.
Also, this vote for the changing of the constitution is on Sunday, and Peace Corps issued a mandate that all Volunteers are on Standfast, which means we are not allowed to leave our sites in anticipation that there might be some heightened political activity over the weekend.
Well, I hopped on my wireless this morning and discovered the truth as to what happened yesterday evening:
Mel Zelaya sacked the commander of the armed forces for not agreeing with his Cuarta Urna idea (not a good sign). The Congress and Supreme Court (equivalents) have declared the Cuarta Urna illegal, and the commander said that he couldn't support something that was deemed illegal. THEN!, in solidarity, the heads of the navy and air force resigned. How lovely! Now Mel has full control of the armed forces in Honduras, is continuing with the vote Sunday despite the fact it is illegal, and doesn't seem to give a darn at all. Neither do the Hondurans. Meanwhile, the PCVs I have talked to are kind of like, "Ummm guys ... history, Latin America..." We're being overly dramatic. In all the political turmoil that went down around Honduras, they have always been stable in comparison. It's just funny to see how the different cultures approach the situation.
Even my host brother acknowledged this as we sit there in the dark watching the news, me clutching my dictionary, and he turns to me and says, "Gringos don't like golpes de estados, do they?" And in my sarcasm that has yet to translate, I reply, "Ummm...NO!" They loved it. They thought it was great that Mel is following through with his "pledge to the poor" and not let people stop the Cuarta Urna. Aye dios mio.
It's kind of cool what's happening in that I'm actually living in a political climate that could become pretty volatile (if things go really poorly), but at the same time I don't want to leave! Peace Corps will pull us out if need be, and I don't want to go!
Anyways, that's my ramble from down here. I've kind of got that nervous, something is happening emotion about me today. PS I just wrote this and didn't revise it, therefore forgive all grammar/spelling mistakes porfa!
Adios!
The current President of Honduras Mel Zelaya, doesn't exactly want to leave office. He has started a big campaign for "La Cuarta Urna" the Fourth Box. The Fourth Box (depending on who you ask) would do numerous (unspecified things), namely completely reform the constitution, and more specifically for the purpose of creating unlimited terms for the President. Hmmm...
Now, after having asked several people what the Cuarta Urna is, the above explanation is what I've come up with. All I know is this:
I've been watching rallies for the Cuarta Urna on T.V., and Mel is out there in his sombrero, wearing his "campo/country" gear, talking about how we have to help the poor and the poor is so oppressed in Honduras. Ring a bell?
Granted, what he's saying is the truth, but by all accounts from more reliable sources, he was a shoddy President and didn't do much for the poor when he had a chance. So, now Mel Zelaya (who might I add is quite fond of Hugo Chavez) wants another go, and is using the time-tested method of appealing to the poor and wanting to achieve his goals. Bueno.
Well last night, I come home from those blasted English classes (we played games, I lost control) to find my family watching the news. Now, they are avid news watchers (and supporters of the Cuarta Urna), but this is prime-time telenovela time! Paloma (character) has probably just found out that her boyfriend has impregnated yet another woman!
I digress ... This must be something good if they're forgoing telenovelas for the news. I couldn't understand much, but people were all hot and bothered outside the Presidential Casa, and I kept hearing things about the armed forces and "golpe de estado." Now, "golpe de estado" isn't quite a coup de etat, but it roughly translates to "hit to the state." Armed forces + hit to the state = slightly nervous Hannah. Why isn't my language better?!
I mean, I enjoy politics and have severely missed D.C. for this reason. Also, international politics gets me going even more, and not being able to understand the situation was upsetting. I started calling people.
My friend was also paying attention to the news, and had gathered that someone from the armed forces had resigned, and I added in my knowledge that Mel was now the Commander of the Armed Forces.
There was a much longer conversation behind this. Talking about how we wish we knew what was going on, but what we thought was going on was reminiscent of other times in Latin American politics, and we were nervous as to our futures in Honduras if the political climate were to take a turn for the worse.
Mel has some socialist tendencies and this business with the Armed Forces/golpe de estado was a bit peculiar, and I might add a little sudden.
Also, this vote for the changing of the constitution is on Sunday, and Peace Corps issued a mandate that all Volunteers are on Standfast, which means we are not allowed to leave our sites in anticipation that there might be some heightened political activity over the weekend.
Well, I hopped on my wireless this morning and discovered the truth as to what happened yesterday evening:
Mel Zelaya sacked the commander of the armed forces for not agreeing with his Cuarta Urna idea (not a good sign). The Congress and Supreme Court (equivalents) have declared the Cuarta Urna illegal, and the commander said that he couldn't support something that was deemed illegal. THEN!, in solidarity, the heads of the navy and air force resigned. How lovely! Now Mel has full control of the armed forces in Honduras, is continuing with the vote Sunday despite the fact it is illegal, and doesn't seem to give a darn at all. Neither do the Hondurans. Meanwhile, the PCVs I have talked to are kind of like, "Ummm guys ... history, Latin America..." We're being overly dramatic. In all the political turmoil that went down around Honduras, they have always been stable in comparison. It's just funny to see how the different cultures approach the situation.
Even my host brother acknowledged this as we sit there in the dark watching the news, me clutching my dictionary, and he turns to me and says, "Gringos don't like golpes de estados, do they?" And in my sarcasm that has yet to translate, I reply, "Ummm...NO!" They loved it. They thought it was great that Mel is following through with his "pledge to the poor" and not let people stop the Cuarta Urna. Aye dios mio.
It's kind of cool what's happening in that I'm actually living in a political climate that could become pretty volatile (if things go really poorly), but at the same time I don't want to leave! Peace Corps will pull us out if need be, and I don't want to go!
Anyways, that's my ramble from down here. I've kind of got that nervous, something is happening emotion about me today. PS I just wrote this and didn't revise it, therefore forgive all grammar/spelling mistakes porfa!
Adios!
Monday, June 22, 2009
Las Bestias!
So, earlier last week Kathryn gives me a call and tries to bribe me to come give a charla with her. She really didn't have to work that hard, because I'm dying for work and pretty much would do anything. Anyways, her big hook was we might get to ride "las bestias" to the community. HORSES! WOOT. I accepted.
So, I went to Santa Rosa de Copan on Friday to do a Junta de Agua (water board)training with Kathryn Pastingual, an aldea close to her. We prepared the charla pretty fast because we would only be talking about the administration (president, v.p., secretary, etc.) and how to decide on a tarifa (what community members will pay monthly to sustain the water project). The guy in charge of the local water projects, Denis, was supposed to cover the rest. With the understanding that this was more his deal, we just copied a few things from a presentation we had, and then left to meet the driver to go to the community.
So, we pull up to the Municipalidad (local government office) in Dolores to pick up Denis and continue our way up the mountain to the BESTIAS! Well, Kathryn starts explaining to Denis what we prepared and that we have it written out on charla paper, and he just gets this look...
"Fijeseque, no prepare nada..." (Fijeseque, I didn't prepare anything.)
Kathryn just looks at him, turns around in her seat and says, "Bueno!"
Sidenote: Fijeseque is probably one of the most annoying/awesome frases that Honduras has to offer. It's like an all around excuse, used wherever possible, and quite often. As long as you use "fijeseque," any excuse that follows it is automatically valid. No matter what.
"Fijeseque, I can't date you because you're an idiot." Acceptable.
"Fijeseque, I'm going to come home drunk tonight." Acceptable.
Those are ridiculous examples, and not true by any means, but that's just to show how ridiculously useful this frase can be.
Unfortunately, when someone uses "fijeseque" on you, you know that you're about to get screwed over. Two-way street my friends.
Back to the story: So, this man A) has not prepared the majority of the presentation B) has NEVER trained a Junta de Agua before. Well this is just awesome. Our already lame presentation has just become the most pathetic thing ever imaginable. Kathryn turns around from the passenger seat and says to me, "Hannah, I'm really really sorry." Apparently something got lost in translation, which happens a lot, and I most certainly wasn't mad. If anything, I was just a lot more nervous than I was when we left her apartment.
So we start scrambling with how we're going to make-up for this HUGE gap in the presentation. Meanwhile, the car can no longer continue up the muddy hills, so we disembark and wait for the BESTIAS! The driver for the organization thought it was hilarious that the gringas were going to ride horses. He was disappointed when I told him I had ridden horses before, but I let him believe it had only been once or twice.
This man from the community comes around the bend with five horses for all off us to ride. I must say, they're not the well cared for horses we used to ride out West on family trips. These horses were old and looked as though they had a hard life. Nonetheless, I actually felt like I was back in the corrals with my cousins, eye-ing up the horse that I wanted to ride for the next hour. I picked one, well suited for my height with a pretty saddle. And we were off! It was actually kind of scary, because we were climbing into the mountains, up steep slopes right after a big rain. The horses kept slipping, and I was afraid we were going to fall down the hill a couple of times.
It probably would have been easier walking, because the poor horses seemed as though they couldn't handle our load. My horse was panting half-way up the first hill, which made me feel pretty bad about myself. Still, I must admit I was pretty excited to ride horses. Felt like a pretty genuine Peace Corps moment. Made me forget about our doomed presentation for a while.
And this is how comfortable I've gotten speaking Spanish. I'm still by no means perfect, but I got up in front of 17 Hondurans and just blabbed my way through the presentation. I mean, I don't want you guys to think we did a half-assed job directing these people how to maintain their water system. It could have been better, but they definitely got the information. I just can't believe we showed up with half of it "prepared," and the other half we had to stumble through. In training, had I not had every word outlined before the charla, I would have collapsed in a nervous fit. Denis gave us help with the language and explaining more technical things, but for the most part I'm pretty happy with how it went.
On our way back down on our bestias, one of the women from the charla asked us in for coffee. These people don't have much at all, and she apologized for not being able to provide us with lunch, but she gave us good coffee with AMAZING bread. I'm now a huge fan of the bread/coffee combination. It's quite delicious. We scarfed down two plates of the bread and had a nice conversation on her porch. I think that's my favorite part so far. This little old lady, with few resources, welcoming us into her house. People in the campo (rural areas) are so giving and humble. It's just so fulfilling, sitting there, stumbling through a conversation with people who are genuinely happy to have you there and converse with you. At the end of the week, it's these moments that outweigh all the earlier frustrations.
Anyways, that was my day in the campo. When Denis said he hadn't prepared anything, I was afraid for the worse, but it went well and we survived. Kathryn might go back to give another, more "detailed" charla.
Afterward, we headed back to Kathryn's sitemate's house where she cooked amazing eggplant parmesan and a fruit-pizza cookie! It was delicious and I was very content. I love going to Santa Rosa. I get good food and gringa company. We even had a stimulating political conversation during dinner, which pretty much fulfilled all of my needs for the next couple of months. Good times.
So, I went to Santa Rosa de Copan on Friday to do a Junta de Agua (water board)training with Kathryn Pastingual, an aldea close to her. We prepared the charla pretty fast because we would only be talking about the administration (president, v.p., secretary, etc.) and how to decide on a tarifa (what community members will pay monthly to sustain the water project). The guy in charge of the local water projects, Denis, was supposed to cover the rest. With the understanding that this was more his deal, we just copied a few things from a presentation we had, and then left to meet the driver to go to the community.
So, we pull up to the Municipalidad (local government office) in Dolores to pick up Denis and continue our way up the mountain to the BESTIAS! Well, Kathryn starts explaining to Denis what we prepared and that we have it written out on charla paper, and he just gets this look...
"Fijeseque, no prepare nada..." (Fijeseque, I didn't prepare anything.)
Kathryn just looks at him, turns around in her seat and says, "Bueno!"
Sidenote: Fijeseque is probably one of the most annoying/awesome frases that Honduras has to offer. It's like an all around excuse, used wherever possible, and quite often. As long as you use "fijeseque," any excuse that follows it is automatically valid. No matter what.
"Fijeseque, I can't date you because you're an idiot." Acceptable.
"Fijeseque, I'm going to come home drunk tonight." Acceptable.
Those are ridiculous examples, and not true by any means, but that's just to show how ridiculously useful this frase can be.
Unfortunately, when someone uses "fijeseque" on you, you know that you're about to get screwed over. Two-way street my friends.
Back to the story: So, this man A) has not prepared the majority of the presentation B) has NEVER trained a Junta de Agua before. Well this is just awesome. Our already lame presentation has just become the most pathetic thing ever imaginable. Kathryn turns around from the passenger seat and says to me, "Hannah, I'm really really sorry." Apparently something got lost in translation, which happens a lot, and I most certainly wasn't mad. If anything, I was just a lot more nervous than I was when we left her apartment.
So we start scrambling with how we're going to make-up for this HUGE gap in the presentation. Meanwhile, the car can no longer continue up the muddy hills, so we disembark and wait for the BESTIAS! The driver for the organization thought it was hilarious that the gringas were going to ride horses. He was disappointed when I told him I had ridden horses before, but I let him believe it had only been once or twice.
This man from the community comes around the bend with five horses for all off us to ride. I must say, they're not the well cared for horses we used to ride out West on family trips. These horses were old and looked as though they had a hard life. Nonetheless, I actually felt like I was back in the corrals with my cousins, eye-ing up the horse that I wanted to ride for the next hour. I picked one, well suited for my height with a pretty saddle. And we were off! It was actually kind of scary, because we were climbing into the mountains, up steep slopes right after a big rain. The horses kept slipping, and I was afraid we were going to fall down the hill a couple of times.
It probably would have been easier walking, because the poor horses seemed as though they couldn't handle our load. My horse was panting half-way up the first hill, which made me feel pretty bad about myself. Still, I must admit I was pretty excited to ride horses. Felt like a pretty genuine Peace Corps moment. Made me forget about our doomed presentation for a while.
And this is how comfortable I've gotten speaking Spanish. I'm still by no means perfect, but I got up in front of 17 Hondurans and just blabbed my way through the presentation. I mean, I don't want you guys to think we did a half-assed job directing these people how to maintain their water system. It could have been better, but they definitely got the information. I just can't believe we showed up with half of it "prepared," and the other half we had to stumble through. In training, had I not had every word outlined before the charla, I would have collapsed in a nervous fit. Denis gave us help with the language and explaining more technical things, but for the most part I'm pretty happy with how it went.
On our way back down on our bestias, one of the women from the charla asked us in for coffee. These people don't have much at all, and she apologized for not being able to provide us with lunch, but she gave us good coffee with AMAZING bread. I'm now a huge fan of the bread/coffee combination. It's quite delicious. We scarfed down two plates of the bread and had a nice conversation on her porch. I think that's my favorite part so far. This little old lady, with few resources, welcoming us into her house. People in the campo (rural areas) are so giving and humble. It's just so fulfilling, sitting there, stumbling through a conversation with people who are genuinely happy to have you there and converse with you. At the end of the week, it's these moments that outweigh all the earlier frustrations.
Anyways, that was my day in the campo. When Denis said he hadn't prepared anything, I was afraid for the worse, but it went well and we survived. Kathryn might go back to give another, more "detailed" charla.
Afterward, we headed back to Kathryn's sitemate's house where she cooked amazing eggplant parmesan and a fruit-pizza cookie! It was delicious and I was very content. I love going to Santa Rosa. I get good food and gringa company. We even had a stimulating political conversation during dinner, which pretty much fulfilled all of my needs for the next couple of months. Good times.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
My Whereabouts
Well, figured I would update people on what I do on a daily basis. I just wrote an email breaking down the hours in my day, so I will do that here as well... It's kind of comical.
6:30am or 7am - 8:30am -- I go to the gym to combat the massive carb/oil intake in
my diet at the moment. I am proud to say I have been slightly successful!
8:45am - 9:30am -- Shower and eat. I am now showering outside of the Evil Bathroom because it is evil and doesn't have water after 7am. The other shower is located in the kitchen/family dining area, which has direct view of the dining area where Hondurans (of course mostly men) are eating their breakfast. Nothing like drawing attention to yourself by walking into view with a towel and shower stuff. I also don't like the fact that I have to bring clothes to change into to leave the shower, because I inevitably look weird and people still stare.
After I get dressed, I go back to the kitchen, where I bumble around like a fool, looking for food and then means to cook it with. Albita and Margarita (they work in the kitchen) have been really patient with me in their territory. I generally end up eating an egg, beans and tortillas for breakfast because it's easiest to assemble. If I'm lucky, they might have some version of cooked banana for a minor amount of healthy food intake. Who am I kidding, it's always got some form of oil involved.
9:45am - 3pm -- I go to ODECO. Usually I stay from 12pm - 2pm when everyone goes to
work, because that is my quiet time. This is usually when I do my shameless internet surfing. I usually check my email, log on to Facebook, and then open the internet page of a local news source to look mildly busy. I constantly monitor Facebook (I've like become Big Brother on Facebook) while hitting up Cnn.com, BBC News, National Geographic website (still haven't gotten over the fact they have a website!! AMAZING), and I'm ashamed to admit I even go to PEOPLE.com on the slow news days. I know more about American pop culture now than when I was living in the States.
3pm - 5pm -- Anymore, because I have been teaching English classes with Educatodos, I leave ODECO a little early because a) I'm not really doing anything b)I like to chill with the fam before I leave again. Again, create a meal for myself from scraps in the kitchen and then head up to the other side of town for the classes.
Educatodos is a program started by the Secretary of Education geared towards students who work and aren't able to attend school during the day. I'm teaching 7th grade and 8th grade in English. These kids are anywhere from 13 years old - 21 years old. They have all dropped out and are taking these classes to get their diploma. It's night school basically.
Until I came along they haven't had anyone teaching them English. They just have books with a CD that they follow along and complete the exercises. So, needless to say they haven't really been learning any English.
The kids are pretty ridiculous, and kind of piss me off sometimes. They're always bouncing around, distracted by each other, but they're good kids. I have to work on setting some ground rules, but they seem eager to learn English. Well, English that pertains to their lives, like saying: "I love you" or "Mission Impossible." I did a grammar session last night, that they silently suffered through, but it's going better than the first couple of classes.
I'm actually devoting a lot of time to it. I'm there almost every week night, and last night found out they're having classes Sat. 8 - 11 and Sunday 8 - 10. We'll see if I go to those sessions, because that's a bit much. But, it's nice to be doing something to keep me feeling like I'm actually being productive.
After Educatodos, I usually get a ride home from my supervisor, who I repeatedly have to shoot down, explaining to him that I don't want to be his girlfriend! Last night, he dropped me off, pulled forward to the door to the main part of the house, and gave my host sister some stupid key chain and FERRERO ROCHE!!!! WTF? Ferrero Roche is the only chocolate in this country that comes close to resembling the goodness of chocolate in the States. You'd think, for as much as Hondurans like sweets, that they would be better at chocolate, but it just isn't true. I should be nice to him, because I'm really start to get desperate for some good chocolate. I thought about mentioning that I like chocolate (he offered to get me flowers), but that would be too close to admitting the possibility of a relationship. Hence, I continue without chocolate.
And that folks is just about my daily life. Of course, there are different things thrown in, like poo-water flooding the house or random, awkward experiences.
You're jealous, aren't you?
6:30am or 7am - 8:30am -- I go to the gym to combat the massive carb/oil intake in
my diet at the moment. I am proud to say I have been slightly successful!
8:45am - 9:30am -- Shower and eat. I am now showering outside of the Evil Bathroom because it is evil and doesn't have water after 7am. The other shower is located in the kitchen/family dining area, which has direct view of the dining area where Hondurans (of course mostly men) are eating their breakfast. Nothing like drawing attention to yourself by walking into view with a towel and shower stuff. I also don't like the fact that I have to bring clothes to change into to leave the shower, because I inevitably look weird and people still stare.
After I get dressed, I go back to the kitchen, where I bumble around like a fool, looking for food and then means to cook it with. Albita and Margarita (they work in the kitchen) have been really patient with me in their territory. I generally end up eating an egg, beans and tortillas for breakfast because it's easiest to assemble. If I'm lucky, they might have some version of cooked banana for a minor amount of healthy food intake. Who am I kidding, it's always got some form of oil involved.
9:45am - 3pm -- I go to ODECO. Usually I stay from 12pm - 2pm when everyone goes to
work, because that is my quiet time. This is usually when I do my shameless internet surfing. I usually check my email, log on to Facebook, and then open the internet page of a local news source to look mildly busy. I constantly monitor Facebook (I've like become Big Brother on Facebook) while hitting up Cnn.com, BBC News, National Geographic website (still haven't gotten over the fact they have a website!! AMAZING), and I'm ashamed to admit I even go to PEOPLE.com on the slow news days. I know more about American pop culture now than when I was living in the States.
3pm - 5pm -- Anymore, because I have been teaching English classes with Educatodos, I leave ODECO a little early because a) I'm not really doing anything b)I like to chill with the fam before I leave again. Again, create a meal for myself from scraps in the kitchen and then head up to the other side of town for the classes.
Educatodos is a program started by the Secretary of Education geared towards students who work and aren't able to attend school during the day. I'm teaching 7th grade and 8th grade in English. These kids are anywhere from 13 years old - 21 years old. They have all dropped out and are taking these classes to get their diploma. It's night school basically.
Until I came along they haven't had anyone teaching them English. They just have books with a CD that they follow along and complete the exercises. So, needless to say they haven't really been learning any English.
The kids are pretty ridiculous, and kind of piss me off sometimes. They're always bouncing around, distracted by each other, but they're good kids. I have to work on setting some ground rules, but they seem eager to learn English. Well, English that pertains to their lives, like saying: "I love you" or "Mission Impossible." I did a grammar session last night, that they silently suffered through, but it's going better than the first couple of classes.
I'm actually devoting a lot of time to it. I'm there almost every week night, and last night found out they're having classes Sat. 8 - 11 and Sunday 8 - 10. We'll see if I go to those sessions, because that's a bit much. But, it's nice to be doing something to keep me feeling like I'm actually being productive.
After Educatodos, I usually get a ride home from my supervisor, who I repeatedly have to shoot down, explaining to him that I don't want to be his girlfriend! Last night, he dropped me off, pulled forward to the door to the main part of the house, and gave my host sister some stupid key chain and FERRERO ROCHE!!!! WTF? Ferrero Roche is the only chocolate in this country that comes close to resembling the goodness of chocolate in the States. You'd think, for as much as Hondurans like sweets, that they would be better at chocolate, but it just isn't true. I should be nice to him, because I'm really start to get desperate for some good chocolate. I thought about mentioning that I like chocolate (he offered to get me flowers), but that would be too close to admitting the possibility of a relationship. Hence, I continue without chocolate.
And that folks is just about my daily life. Of course, there are different things thrown in, like poo-water flooding the house or random, awkward experiences.
You're jealous, aren't you?
Evil Bathroom Strikes Again
Last night I came home from my English class with Educatodos and was putting my backpack in my room when I noticed that I was sloshing through water on the floor. I opened the bathroom door, and someone had taken a massive sh*** and the toilet was overflowing! The water had started to make its way down the corridor towards the family room. I even had poo-water invading my bedroom! Who just leaves a massive bowel movement to flood a house?!
In my “Holy Crap!” moment I forget the word for “flood” and just walked over to my host mom watching t.v. and said, “Bathroom! Water! Everywhere!” And everyone ran over and my host mom does the Honduran, “EEEEEEE,” where you suck in and kind of makes this high-pitched sound that seems as though it should be coming from an animal. My host sister, acting suspiciously guilty (I might add), just kind of walks away, shaking her heard. My host sister-in-law pokes her head out of her room and blames it on her husband and goes back to bed! Then my host mom, angry that someone has degraded her home, just sits down and continues watching t.v. WTF? I’m standing there, in the middle of poo-water, amazed at the fact that the entire family seems content to leave the water where it is!
So, seeing as how everyone else seems to not care that there is poo-water invading the house, I grab a broom and start sweeping. SO FOUL! I mean, it looked clear, but I knew there were poo particles all up in that water.
I think my host mom thinks I was guilty, because I immediately started cleaning up, but really I just had a flashback to the mother vs. child scenarios.
You know that moment as a child, when something really big happens (like poo-water flooding an entire house) and it’s too big to ignore because your mom will ruin your life for “not helping more.” You can’t go and hide in your bedroom, hoping to wade out the storm there, because she’ll find you and you will have hell to pay. You know that, whether you did it or not, if you don’t participate in cleaning up/fixing the situation, your mom is going to go on a RAMPAGE for a very long, undetermined amount of time. So, instead of protecting yourself somewhere, you just quietly start helping, hoping that you get points for helping, but you don’t do anything wrong to draw attention to yourself. As long as she’s still concentrated on the mess, you might be able to get out alive!
So, I recognize the warning signs: seething, stewing mother; nobody taking the blame; children weighing whether or not this is one of those “mayday” moments. Well, the last thing I want to do is encounter one of these all-out-war episodes in a foreign language, in a foreign family. My instincts return to me and I immediately spring into action, grab a broom, and with my head down I start sweeping. If you’re heads down and you’re doing something, maybe she won’t notice you.
Well, my host siblings obviously know Angelica better than I do. There was no real, earth-shaking, mom’s angry episode. Merlin went to her grandmother’s house to sleep and Lorbing ended-up coming home, and like a true Honduran man, left the clean-up to the women and went to bed. I was steaming mad by the end of the ordeal, because I was sweeping up someone else’s poo-toilet-water when I should have been in bed!
Also, when sweeping poo-water, don’t wear your sneakers that you bought because they are mesh so they dry faster. When you wear said sneakers when sweeping, the likelihood of poo-water coming contact with your foot is like … 100%. Every time I felt water splash up on my foot I couldn’t help but dry heave. The great thing about Wat/San, is that in training you get to learn about all the lovely things that happen after coming in contact with human fecal matter. I must have learned a lot, because all those nasty diseases kept flashing through my head. It was like the tunnel in Willy Wonka, where my mind was just racing with the most random, foul pictures related to bowel movements. I’m surprised I didn’t have any nightmares.
After having scrubbed my feet and sanitized my floor, I crawled into bed and started thinking about how I kind of missed mom-wrath. Mind you, my Mom NEVER threw fits like that … I just know from … stories I used to hear from my friends. Right, that…
But seriously, that stupid book excerpt I posted, where you miss the things you least expected, who would’ve thought that I would miss my Mom yelling at me. I mean, not so much yelling, but that awkward dance you do when you’re a kid (or an adult) just trying to avoid bringing down the wrath of your mother. And if you have siblings, sharing that knowing look, and with a rare show of camaraderie you all just work together and don’t point fingers; that “If we don’t work together none of us are going to get out alive!” Or, knowing that even helping will piss her off still, because now she doesn’t have any reason to yell at you and that pisses her off more. And then? She still yells at you.
I guess that really just boils down to family dynamics. I mean, obviously this is a bit dramatized, but we’ve all been there. It was just kind of funny to experience that in someone else’s house, and remember those first, terribly awkward moments where you really just want to hide, but know that you should help. You can feel the tensions mounting and I couldn’t help but laugh with the memories of your own similar experiences. I hope last night got me points and I didn’t place the blame on myself instead.
In my “Holy Crap!” moment I forget the word for “flood” and just walked over to my host mom watching t.v. and said, “Bathroom! Water! Everywhere!” And everyone ran over and my host mom does the Honduran, “EEEEEEE,” where you suck in and kind of makes this high-pitched sound that seems as though it should be coming from an animal. My host sister, acting suspiciously guilty (I might add), just kind of walks away, shaking her heard. My host sister-in-law pokes her head out of her room and blames it on her husband and goes back to bed! Then my host mom, angry that someone has degraded her home, just sits down and continues watching t.v. WTF? I’m standing there, in the middle of poo-water, amazed at the fact that the entire family seems content to leave the water where it is!
So, seeing as how everyone else seems to not care that there is poo-water invading the house, I grab a broom and start sweeping. SO FOUL! I mean, it looked clear, but I knew there were poo particles all up in that water.
I think my host mom thinks I was guilty, because I immediately started cleaning up, but really I just had a flashback to the mother vs. child scenarios.
You know that moment as a child, when something really big happens (like poo-water flooding an entire house) and it’s too big to ignore because your mom will ruin your life for “not helping more.” You can’t go and hide in your bedroom, hoping to wade out the storm there, because she’ll find you and you will have hell to pay. You know that, whether you did it or not, if you don’t participate in cleaning up/fixing the situation, your mom is going to go on a RAMPAGE for a very long, undetermined amount of time. So, instead of protecting yourself somewhere, you just quietly start helping, hoping that you get points for helping, but you don’t do anything wrong to draw attention to yourself. As long as she’s still concentrated on the mess, you might be able to get out alive!
So, I recognize the warning signs: seething, stewing mother; nobody taking the blame; children weighing whether or not this is one of those “mayday” moments. Well, the last thing I want to do is encounter one of these all-out-war episodes in a foreign language, in a foreign family. My instincts return to me and I immediately spring into action, grab a broom, and with my head down I start sweeping. If you’re heads down and you’re doing something, maybe she won’t notice you.
Well, my host siblings obviously know Angelica better than I do. There was no real, earth-shaking, mom’s angry episode. Merlin went to her grandmother’s house to sleep and Lorbing ended-up coming home, and like a true Honduran man, left the clean-up to the women and went to bed. I was steaming mad by the end of the ordeal, because I was sweeping up someone else’s poo-toilet-water when I should have been in bed!
Also, when sweeping poo-water, don’t wear your sneakers that you bought because they are mesh so they dry faster. When you wear said sneakers when sweeping, the likelihood of poo-water coming contact with your foot is like … 100%. Every time I felt water splash up on my foot I couldn’t help but dry heave. The great thing about Wat/San, is that in training you get to learn about all the lovely things that happen after coming in contact with human fecal matter. I must have learned a lot, because all those nasty diseases kept flashing through my head. It was like the tunnel in Willy Wonka, where my mind was just racing with the most random, foul pictures related to bowel movements. I’m surprised I didn’t have any nightmares.
After having scrubbed my feet and sanitized my floor, I crawled into bed and started thinking about how I kind of missed mom-wrath. Mind you, my Mom NEVER threw fits like that … I just know from … stories I used to hear from my friends. Right, that…
But seriously, that stupid book excerpt I posted, where you miss the things you least expected, who would’ve thought that I would miss my Mom yelling at me. I mean, not so much yelling, but that awkward dance you do when you’re a kid (or an adult) just trying to avoid bringing down the wrath of your mother. And if you have siblings, sharing that knowing look, and with a rare show of camaraderie you all just work together and don’t point fingers; that “If we don’t work together none of us are going to get out alive!” Or, knowing that even helping will piss her off still, because now she doesn’t have any reason to yell at you and that pisses her off more. And then? She still yells at you.
I guess that really just boils down to family dynamics. I mean, obviously this is a bit dramatized, but we’ve all been there. It was just kind of funny to experience that in someone else’s house, and remember those first, terribly awkward moments where you really just want to hide, but know that you should help. You can feel the tensions mounting and I couldn’t help but laugh with the memories of your own similar experiences. I hope last night got me points and I didn’t place the blame on myself instead.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Compliments of ... Not Hannah
So I don’t think I have really told you guys how a typical “getting to know you” conversation goes in Honduras. I love it. It is so predictable. The only variation is the order of questions:
“What is your name?”
“Hannah Bryce Ferguson.”
(You may be thinking dear God, why do you give your entire name? Do you have name turrets? No, I do not. But if I don’t give my whole name the next question is “What is your last name?”)
“What state are you from?”
“Florida.”
“Oh! Miami!”
“Well yeah, but I’m about 7 hours North of Miami.”
“Oh, is that near (insert one) New York/Los Angeles/Houston/California?”
“No, not really.”
“Oh, I have a brother/uncle/husband in the states.” “Oh really? Where?”
“Texas (for example).”
“Oh, are they legal or illegal?”
“Illegal.” (almost always).
“Ah, that’s a tough life.”
(I have learned that the legal/illegal question is perfectly acceptable)
“How long have you been here?” “How long are you staying”
“I have been here for 4 months and I will be here for 2 more years. I have been in this town for 1 month.”
(I never know which one they are asking so I always just answer both questions.)
“Do you have a boyfriend?” “No, I do not have a boyfriend. I don’t really want one right now. I had one in the states.” (This extra information usually prevents the “I have a son/ cousin/ nephew/ brother who…)
(This question can vary depending on who is asking and how sly they are “Is your husband in Peace Corps too?” “Is your husband in the states?” “What is your boyfriends name?” Is your husband going to come visit?”)
“Do you have children?”
“Umm…. no.”
(I always really want to answer yes and make some long elaborate lie about how I left my kids in the states. But then I remember that a lot of the women here are single moms because their spouse left to work in the states. So the question really is reasonable. Then I feel like an asshole.)
“Are you Catholic or Evangelical?”
“My family is Protestant. I was raised Protestant.”
(This usually is followed by blank stares from the Honduran, who I am sure is thinking “What is a Protestant and why didn’t she answer the question?” I feel bad for my Jewish friends.)
This is usually where introductions end and one of the following conversational questions ensues (And I am really not joking…):
“Have you tried Rosquillas?” (When in Sabanagrande)
“Do you like mangoes? Would you like 1 (which means 5)?” (When in Pespire)
“Have you tried Papusas?” (When in Valle de Angeles)
“Do you know Baraq Obama?” (Seriously people…. Seriously.)
“Do you like our country?”
And my personal favorite…
“What do you think about the war in Iraq?” (You would be amazed how often I get this question from all ages of Hondurans)
Oh so seriously, last week we were discussing how amazing it would be to bring the phrase “Qué Barbaridad” to the states. And I am sure you all agree with me. Well, I have noticed recently that there is a lazy version of “Qué Barbaridad” that would be absolutely amazing in the states. It makes me laugh inside every time. “Qué Barbara.” When you just don’t have the energy to get out an entire “How Barbaric” just blame it on Barbara!
“What is your name?”
“Hannah Bryce Ferguson.”
(You may be thinking dear God, why do you give your entire name? Do you have name turrets? No, I do not. But if I don’t give my whole name the next question is “What is your last name?”)
“What state are you from?”
“Florida.”
“Oh! Miami!”
“Well yeah, but I’m about 7 hours North of Miami.”
“Oh, is that near (insert one) New York/Los Angeles/Houston/California?”
“No, not really.”
“Oh, I have a brother/uncle/husband in the states.” “Oh really? Where?”
“Texas (for example).”
“Oh, are they legal or illegal?”
“Illegal.” (almost always).
“Ah, that’s a tough life.”
(I have learned that the legal/illegal question is perfectly acceptable)
“How long have you been here?” “How long are you staying”
“I have been here for 4 months and I will be here for 2 more years. I have been in this town for 1 month.”
(I never know which one they are asking so I always just answer both questions.)
“Do you have a boyfriend?” “No, I do not have a boyfriend. I don’t really want one right now. I had one in the states.” (This extra information usually prevents the “I have a son/ cousin/ nephew/ brother who…)
(This question can vary depending on who is asking and how sly they are “Is your husband in Peace Corps too?” “Is your husband in the states?” “What is your boyfriends name?” Is your husband going to come visit?”)
“Do you have children?”
“Umm…. no.”
(I always really want to answer yes and make some long elaborate lie about how I left my kids in the states. But then I remember that a lot of the women here are single moms because their spouse left to work in the states. So the question really is reasonable. Then I feel like an asshole.)
“Are you Catholic or Evangelical?”
“My family is Protestant. I was raised Protestant.”
(This usually is followed by blank stares from the Honduran, who I am sure is thinking “What is a Protestant and why didn’t she answer the question?” I feel bad for my Jewish friends.)
This is usually where introductions end and one of the following conversational questions ensues (And I am really not joking…):
“Have you tried Rosquillas?” (When in Sabanagrande)
“Do you like mangoes? Would you like 1 (which means 5)?” (When in Pespire)
“Have you tried Papusas?” (When in Valle de Angeles)
“Do you know Baraq Obama?” (Seriously people…. Seriously.)
“Do you like our country?”
And my personal favorite…
“What do you think about the war in Iraq?” (You would be amazed how often I get this question from all ages of Hondurans)
Oh so seriously, last week we were discussing how amazing it would be to bring the phrase “Qué Barbaridad” to the states. And I am sure you all agree with me. Well, I have noticed recently that there is a lazy version of “Qué Barbaridad” that would be absolutely amazing in the states. It makes me laugh inside every time. “Qué Barbara.” When you just don’t have the energy to get out an entire “How Barbaric” just blame it on Barbara!
She Started It!
Now my good friend from my beloved Wat/San group posted part of my blog in her blog, and considering I've wanted to copy ALL of her blogs for you guys to read, I know feel justified in doing so...
I'm not going to use her name, because she doesn't use mine, but she's lovely and I love her dearly and is absolutely hilarious! What she writes about is stuff I deal with daily as well, and since I haven't been good with updating, her writing will suffice for now. I'm sitting in my office reading her blog update, and just trying so hard not to fall on the floor laughing. So, enjoy...
So I survived my first earthquake last night at 2:30 in the morning. I am very south of the epicenter which was located off of the coast of Roatan so it affected my friends up in the North more than me. Up there it was a 7.1 and destroyed a lot of buildings, bridges, etc. I have no idea what it was down here, but it woke me out of a dead sleep. I totally thought somebody was breaking in because my bed is right under the window. I was convinced somebody was jumping on my bed. But then I realized where I was and that the bed was going back and forth and not up and down. And the rumbling sound. And you could almost hear people collectively holding their breath in all of Honduras. And then the children near the house were crying and I tried to figure out who I should call at 2:30am to say “WHAT WAS THAT?!?!? EARTHQUAKE??!?!?!?!” But I wasn’t sure how far out the earthquake reached and if I would wake anybody up. In retrospect I don’t think any of my friends would have been upset to get a phone call with me on the other line saying “AAAHHHHH!!!!!!!! EARTHQUAKE!!!!!” But instead I layed in my bed thinking “What am I supposed to do? Stop, drop, and roll!… no that’s not it… Duck and cover!… no that’s not it either…. Poop your pants!… nope… Stand in the doorway? I think that’s it.” And by the time I figured it out it was over. And then I thought “Should I get up? I don’t hear anybody else up. If I hear somebody up, I will get up.” And I heard my mom talking but that was it. So I thought, “Well, my host mom will save me. She’ll knock on the door if I need to get up.” So I rolled over and went back to sleep. Then this morning I woke up and my first thought was “HOLY SHIT! THAT WAS AN EARTHQUAKE!”
Almost the exact same thoughts I had that night too...
So let’s talk for a moment about bananas. The bananas here look like they have been thrown down a flight of stairs, trounced upon by a dance troupe, and then drug down the road by a horse. But they taste of heaven. I mean seriously. So there are a lot of different bananas and I’m not mistaking them for plantains. I’m not THAT white. I had my favorite for the first time today. They are yellow and red colored, about 4 inches long, and are fatter than the bananas in the states. They are still in the ginormous bunches and are sold out of the front of a house. And the nice toothless lady whacks off a few with a machete for 1 Lempira each. (1 dollar = 18.9 Lempira) They have a really nice banana taste but have an aftertaste that is nutty in flavor. Wow. Amazing. Don’t even get me started on the pineapples and mangoes.
So I tell you this not to make your mouth water in jealousy, but to tell you that there was a worm in my banana today. One time there was a worm in my apple when I was a kid and I didn’t eat apples for like months (sorry mom, I traded them… usually for fruit rollups… sometimes for those little canned hot dog thingies). But here a banana trade would probably land me with more corn tortillas. No thanks. And to waste food is like, super bad. Although I also have to say briefly, because I can’t tell a story without at least 2 asides, that they still tell their children that there are starving children in Somalia. WHAT?!?! You have starving children HERE! Like, right there dude! Like, tons of them! Anyway, so I just kind of looked at the worm (it was dead), shrugged, and ate around it. So the question to all of you is… was it the banana with the nutty flavor? I hope so.
Speaking of food, let’s talk about coffee. I must say that I was horribly horribly disappointed in the coffee here. I mean, I know I used to tell all of you how amazingly uber excited I was about going to Honduras who has some of the best coffee in the world. And I love coffee about as much as…. Well…. Let’s keep it PG. I love coffee. But then, I learned, that Honduras exports all of their good coffee. To whom? The United Freeking States of Preventing Becky From Getting Good Coffee. So instead we get the ghetto coffee remnants that they scoop up off the floor with dust and…. some other gross things and they call it coffee. But then, then I moved to Sabanagrande. One day, I was having dinner and occasionally my host mom gives me coffee with dinner. And one day, the coffee was….. delicious???? I was really confused. I looked around to see if I had woken from some bad coffee dream and was in a Vegan Hippie Independently Owned Free Trade Coffee Shop in some artist colony in Berkley, but no it was the same wall I stare at every evening! I know for sure because I usually stare at the fishing rod in the corner and think “Nobody uses a fishing rod in Honduras…. There isn’t even a river NEAR here…” I was so excited I sent text messages about coffee! I thought for sure she put something IN the coffee. I mean, it was honestly the best coffee I have ever had. Ever – no exaggeration. So I couldn’t let this phenomenon go! So I ask my host mom “What’s the difference between the morning and evening coffee?” “Why?” she asks. “Because it tastes much different.” “You didn’t like the coffee?” “NO! I LOVED the coffee! It’s really good!” “Oh, that’s because the morning coffee is Indio or Maya (like the Columbia House man with the sombrero and donkey vomited into a can and called it coffee). That coffee was from Marcala and is pure coffee.” SCORE!!!!! So, I happen to have two friends placed in Marcala. Guess who is going to Marcala? Guess what everyone is getting for Christmas? Trust me. You will thank me. I have tasted the hell and the heaven of coffee and lived to tell the tale.
My friend Kisser McGee just sent me a text message saying that a semi-pro Ping Pong player stopped by her house today to ask for help in starting a team. Let that be a lesson: anything is possible in Honduras.
One more thing about food. Let’s talk about meat for a moment. Now, most of you knew me when I was a devout vegetarian. And you all know I am a vegetarian in my heart and will very very likely go back to the way of the veg. But I must say, the meat here is really, really sketchy. I was shocked when my host brother-in-law’s brother (does that make him my like, my host second cousin or something?) told me that Honduras is known for the high quality of its beef. “LIARFACE!” I yelled at him. But apparently, Hondu really DOES have high quality meat! So, the next time you enjoy a delicious steak, think of Becky, who is eating the really really sketchy meat that is NOT shipped to the States. How sketchy you ask? Well let’s just say there is no such thing as rare, medium rare, medium, or medium well meat here. You get well, or weller, or shoe leather. It’s safer that way.
I'm not going to use her name, because she doesn't use mine, but she's lovely and I love her dearly and is absolutely hilarious! What she writes about is stuff I deal with daily as well, and since I haven't been good with updating, her writing will suffice for now. I'm sitting in my office reading her blog update, and just trying so hard not to fall on the floor laughing. So, enjoy...
So I survived my first earthquake last night at 2:30 in the morning. I am very south of the epicenter which was located off of the coast of Roatan so it affected my friends up in the North more than me. Up there it was a 7.1 and destroyed a lot of buildings, bridges, etc. I have no idea what it was down here, but it woke me out of a dead sleep. I totally thought somebody was breaking in because my bed is right under the window. I was convinced somebody was jumping on my bed. But then I realized where I was and that the bed was going back and forth and not up and down. And the rumbling sound. And you could almost hear people collectively holding their breath in all of Honduras. And then the children near the house were crying and I tried to figure out who I should call at 2:30am to say “WHAT WAS THAT?!?!? EARTHQUAKE??!?!?!?!” But I wasn’t sure how far out the earthquake reached and if I would wake anybody up. In retrospect I don’t think any of my friends would have been upset to get a phone call with me on the other line saying “AAAHHHHH!!!!!!!! EARTHQUAKE!!!!!” But instead I layed in my bed thinking “What am I supposed to do? Stop, drop, and roll!… no that’s not it… Duck and cover!… no that’s not it either…. Poop your pants!… nope… Stand in the doorway? I think that’s it.” And by the time I figured it out it was over. And then I thought “Should I get up? I don’t hear anybody else up. If I hear somebody up, I will get up.” And I heard my mom talking but that was it. So I thought, “Well, my host mom will save me. She’ll knock on the door if I need to get up.” So I rolled over and went back to sleep. Then this morning I woke up and my first thought was “HOLY SHIT! THAT WAS AN EARTHQUAKE!”
Almost the exact same thoughts I had that night too...
So let’s talk for a moment about bananas. The bananas here look like they have been thrown down a flight of stairs, trounced upon by a dance troupe, and then drug down the road by a horse. But they taste of heaven. I mean seriously. So there are a lot of different bananas and I’m not mistaking them for plantains. I’m not THAT white. I had my favorite for the first time today. They are yellow and red colored, about 4 inches long, and are fatter than the bananas in the states. They are still in the ginormous bunches and are sold out of the front of a house. And the nice toothless lady whacks off a few with a machete for 1 Lempira each. (1 dollar = 18.9 Lempira) They have a really nice banana taste but have an aftertaste that is nutty in flavor. Wow. Amazing. Don’t even get me started on the pineapples and mangoes.
So I tell you this not to make your mouth water in jealousy, but to tell you that there was a worm in my banana today. One time there was a worm in my apple when I was a kid and I didn’t eat apples for like months (sorry mom, I traded them… usually for fruit rollups… sometimes for those little canned hot dog thingies). But here a banana trade would probably land me with more corn tortillas. No thanks. And to waste food is like, super bad. Although I also have to say briefly, because I can’t tell a story without at least 2 asides, that they still tell their children that there are starving children in Somalia. WHAT?!?! You have starving children HERE! Like, right there dude! Like, tons of them! Anyway, so I just kind of looked at the worm (it was dead), shrugged, and ate around it. So the question to all of you is… was it the banana with the nutty flavor? I hope so.
Speaking of food, let’s talk about coffee. I must say that I was horribly horribly disappointed in the coffee here. I mean, I know I used to tell all of you how amazingly uber excited I was about going to Honduras who has some of the best coffee in the world. And I love coffee about as much as…. Well…. Let’s keep it PG. I love coffee. But then, I learned, that Honduras exports all of their good coffee. To whom? The United Freeking States of Preventing Becky From Getting Good Coffee. So instead we get the ghetto coffee remnants that they scoop up off the floor with dust and…. some other gross things and they call it coffee. But then, then I moved to Sabanagrande. One day, I was having dinner and occasionally my host mom gives me coffee with dinner. And one day, the coffee was….. delicious???? I was really confused. I looked around to see if I had woken from some bad coffee dream and was in a Vegan Hippie Independently Owned Free Trade Coffee Shop in some artist colony in Berkley, but no it was the same wall I stare at every evening! I know for sure because I usually stare at the fishing rod in the corner and think “Nobody uses a fishing rod in Honduras…. There isn’t even a river NEAR here…” I was so excited I sent text messages about coffee! I thought for sure she put something IN the coffee. I mean, it was honestly the best coffee I have ever had. Ever – no exaggeration. So I couldn’t let this phenomenon go! So I ask my host mom “What’s the difference between the morning and evening coffee?” “Why?” she asks. “Because it tastes much different.” “You didn’t like the coffee?” “NO! I LOVED the coffee! It’s really good!” “Oh, that’s because the morning coffee is Indio or Maya (like the Columbia House man with the sombrero and donkey vomited into a can and called it coffee). That coffee was from Marcala and is pure coffee.” SCORE!!!!! So, I happen to have two friends placed in Marcala. Guess who is going to Marcala? Guess what everyone is getting for Christmas? Trust me. You will thank me. I have tasted the hell and the heaven of coffee and lived to tell the tale.
My friend Kisser McGee just sent me a text message saying that a semi-pro Ping Pong player stopped by her house today to ask for help in starting a team. Let that be a lesson: anything is possible in Honduras.
One more thing about food. Let’s talk about meat for a moment. Now, most of you knew me when I was a devout vegetarian. And you all know I am a vegetarian in my heart and will very very likely go back to the way of the veg. But I must say, the meat here is really, really sketchy. I was shocked when my host brother-in-law’s brother (does that make him my like, my host second cousin or something?) told me that Honduras is known for the high quality of its beef. “LIARFACE!” I yelled at him. But apparently, Hondu really DOES have high quality meat! So, the next time you enjoy a delicious steak, think of Becky, who is eating the really really sketchy meat that is NOT shipped to the States. How sketchy you ask? Well let’s just say there is no such thing as rare, medium rare, medium, or medium well meat here. You get well, or weller, or shoe leather. It’s safer that way.
Book Excerpt
This is an excerpt of the book I’m reading now, Paris to the Moon, it’s actually not a very good book, but I liked this paragraph. It’s about a family that moves to Paris for five years, and the experiences they have living as Americans in Paris.
“The things an American who is abroad for a very long time misses – or at least the things I missed – I was discovering, weren’t the things you were supposed to miss. We are supposed to come to Europe for leisure, sunshine, a more civilized pace, for slowness of various kinds. America we are supposed to miss for its speed, its friendliness, for the independence of its people and the individualism of their lives. Yet these were not the things I missed, and when I speak to Americans who have lived abroad, for a long time, those are not the things they seem to miss either. I didn’t miss cross-town traffic, New York taxicabs, talk radio or talk television, or the constant, appalling flow of opinion that spills out like dirty floodwater.
I didn’t miss American “independence” either. If anything, I missed its opposite, American obsequiousness, that yearning, beseeching tone of a salesman trying to sell something that you never hear … I found, to my surprise, that what I missed and longed for was the comforting loneliness of life in New York, a certain kind of scuffed-up soulfulness … It isn’t possible to just remove yourself from a friendship in Paris for a month or two, as you can in New York. (“What have you been doing?” “Working.” “Oh.”) … The things Americans miss tend to involve that kind of formlessness, small, casual, and solitary pleasures. A psychoanalyst misses walking up Lafayette Street in her tracksuit, sipping coffee from a cup with a lid with the little plastic piece that pops up. My wife, having been sent the carrot cake that she missed from New York, discovered that what she really missed was standing up at the counter and eating carrot cake in the company of strangers. I thought I missed reading Phil Mushnik in the sports pages of the Post; what I really missed was reading Phil Mushnik on the number 6 uptown train on a Monday morning around ten.
The consensual anonymity of men in crowds is what we are escaping when we leave, and then it is what we miss. You can be alone in [Honduras] a lot, but it is hard to be lonely; there is always another pair of eyes, not unfriendly, appraising you. You are a subject, not an object, and if this is part of the narrow, centuries-old happiness of life in [Honduras], it is also one of the things that narrow that happiness. Walk into Central Park to watch the sea lions, and you disappear from the world for a little while … in [Honduras] you are always conscious of the [things] leading you back the way you came ... We go to cities to become invisible, or to be invisible and visible by turns, and it is hard to be invisible in [Honduras] … What that American misses is the blues.”
It’s not exactly fitting for Peace Corps and Honduras, but I liked it enough when I was reading, and figured I copy it over for everyone else in the occasion that I haven’t written in a while and don’t really have the motivation to at this point either. I’ve got the Honduran blues.
“The things an American who is abroad for a very long time misses – or at least the things I missed – I was discovering, weren’t the things you were supposed to miss. We are supposed to come to Europe for leisure, sunshine, a more civilized pace, for slowness of various kinds. America we are supposed to miss for its speed, its friendliness, for the independence of its people and the individualism of their lives. Yet these were not the things I missed, and when I speak to Americans who have lived abroad, for a long time, those are not the things they seem to miss either. I didn’t miss cross-town traffic, New York taxicabs, talk radio or talk television, or the constant, appalling flow of opinion that spills out like dirty floodwater.
I didn’t miss American “independence” either. If anything, I missed its opposite, American obsequiousness, that yearning, beseeching tone of a salesman trying to sell something that you never hear … I found, to my surprise, that what I missed and longed for was the comforting loneliness of life in New York, a certain kind of scuffed-up soulfulness … It isn’t possible to just remove yourself from a friendship in Paris for a month or two, as you can in New York. (“What have you been doing?” “Working.” “Oh.”) … The things Americans miss tend to involve that kind of formlessness, small, casual, and solitary pleasures. A psychoanalyst misses walking up Lafayette Street in her tracksuit, sipping coffee from a cup with a lid with the little plastic piece that pops up. My wife, having been sent the carrot cake that she missed from New York, discovered that what she really missed was standing up at the counter and eating carrot cake in the company of strangers. I thought I missed reading Phil Mushnik in the sports pages of the Post; what I really missed was reading Phil Mushnik on the number 6 uptown train on a Monday morning around ten.
The consensual anonymity of men in crowds is what we are escaping when we leave, and then it is what we miss. You can be alone in [Honduras] a lot, but it is hard to be lonely; there is always another pair of eyes, not unfriendly, appraising you. You are a subject, not an object, and if this is part of the narrow, centuries-old happiness of life in [Honduras], it is also one of the things that narrow that happiness. Walk into Central Park to watch the sea lions, and you disappear from the world for a little while … in [Honduras] you are always conscious of the [things] leading you back the way you came ... We go to cities to become invisible, or to be invisible and visible by turns, and it is hard to be invisible in [Honduras] … What that American misses is the blues.”
It’s not exactly fitting for Peace Corps and Honduras, but I liked it enough when I was reading, and figured I copy it over for everyone else in the occasion that I haven’t written in a while and don’t really have the motivation to at this point either. I’ve got the Honduran blues.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
