I really wish that I had some sort of sound recording device that I could carry around with me so that you could hear the sounds of my life here. Sounds, music, noise, laughter are things that can’t be described by words typed on my computer screen, yet it is these distinct sounds of Honduras, of my little pueblo, that make my life so interesting here.
From bus rides with vendedores selling their pizza, pizza diez lempiras, or freco, freco, freco, or the like, to the busy market streets, there are always voices selling, bargaining, piropo-ing (hitting on), or just saludando-ing (saying hello or the typical “buenas”) everywhere you go in this country. There are also the non-human sounds, and needless to say, like many other PCV’s I sleep with earplugs on a nightly basis. Dogs are abundant and so are their barks or even their yelps when they encounter a dog more bravo than the next who guards their territory with a bite. There is a young calf tied up across the street from my house. He moos a lot, but not a normal moo, because he hasn’t quite mastered it yet and it’s an interesting one at best. Chickens are also quite the novelty here and pretty much every family is a collector, including my new neighbor who just brought in about 10 new baby pollitos (chicks) to add to her growing collection. I can almost guarantee that if you talk to me on the phone, you are bound to hear at least one rooster crow, and I’m almost willing to place money on that. The most popular noise this week has been the cuetes (fireworks/crackers).
Hondurans begin celebrating Christmas on December 1st with a nightly event called Posadas. The children go to the chosen house of the evening to knock on the door like Mary and Joseph did looking for room in the inn. They sing Christmas carols in the house and are fed and are thankfully turned away like poor Maria y Josue. I say thankfully because last night’s posada was at my neighbor’s house and this posada brought a slew full of strange men and children to my front porch (where there is lots of room) while the women and other children were singing and eating inside. If Doña Iris would have had room in her inn last night, I don’t know that I would have gotten any sleep because of all the snoring men and laughter of little kids. Tonight there are just tons of firecrackers though and a few bolos (drunks) at the cantina behind my house. I wonder whose inn the kids are trying tonight.
The noises vary from one moment to the next and are sometimes even replaced with an eerie silence that fills the wind-blown streets of my mountain town during the lunch hour. During this time, husbands leave the fields to go home for a warm meal and a side of tortillas, leaving the outdoors abandoned and still. I took a walk around the town after my own lunch today (a yummy pasta and a neatly fried skinless, boneless chicken breast. Thank you, Jesus! [yes, I’m finally living and cooking on my own]) and the abandoned silence was enough to give me chills in the warm-sun day. This town is mysterious in so many ways and the empty, noise-less streets in this generally loud country always takes me back a step. Today the sun was warm, but there was a cool breeze, and I felt amazing in a sweatshirt, jeans, and flip flops. The mountains were so green against the beautiful, bright day and I could see to El Salvador and for whatever reason, today I felt slightly less awkward than I normally do walking around the dirt roads of my neighborhood, greeting everyone I passed (as requested/suggested by my counterparts).
After months of waiting, I finally got all moved into my new, giant house yesterday. What I am about to describe is atypical and does not have anything in common with the normal Peace Corps experience or Honduran life. My white, two-story, cement house is going to become home over the next two years. Yes, that’s right, two-story, 6 bedroom, two bath and complete with a balcony (actually two balconies). This house doesn’t fit in with the neighbors. It’s like one of those neighborhoods where all the houses are thess tutor-style homes and then there’s this big, Victorian one right in the mix, except here all the houses are adobe and only a few have indoor plumbing while mine is set up for hot, running water (and I’m not talking about from an electraducha), has tiled floors, a real roof, rooms for days, and you can spot it from the bus stop without a challenge. The only problem is that on my Peace Corps budget, I will never be able to afford the furniture or acquire enough volunteer hammy-downs to fill even the downstairs. I was, however, able to find some cement blocks and some scrap tongue-and-groove wood leftover from the techo (ceiling) construction to build two sets of shelves to put my books and clothes on. The upstairs balcony with the view of the mountains is amazing and stretches across the length of the front of the house. I’m trying to figure out a way to get my hammock up out there so I can have a place to read and relax while enjoying the afternoon sun that warms the porch. So you might wonder how much is this lavish home costing me and how I can afford it with my measly salary. Well, utilities and water and rent add up to a grand total of $47 a month, so that’s how.
I do have to say that the best part of the new house is having the ability to cook again. I can eat what I want, when I want, and I made chocolate oatmeal cookies and sweet tea today just because I could and ate an apple for dinner instead of the normal fried egg, refried beans, fried plantains, cheese, and tortillas just because I wanted to. Having my own independence again is already doing so much for my sanity. Five months without having to do a single thing for myself other than bathe or make many important decisions has seemed like a life-time for the independent, self-sufficient woman that I normally am or maybe used to be. I am looking forward to trying new recipes, having people over for dinner, and perfecting the Honduran coffee brewing style process in my own new home.
I cannot believe that Christmas is a mere 18 days away! Where does the time go? I have been gone from home for more than 5 months. Incredible. Less than 22 months to go. Ha!
Oh and I hear Bama won the SEC Championship. Come on, Florida! I was counting on you! I guess I’ll have to root for Alabama against Texas though even as much as the crimson and white go against my every grain. I’ve still yet to watch a football game this season, or at least a complete one. I did try on Thanksgiving, but it was just too long and I didn’t really care enough about the teams that were playing. I am looking forward to getting the Auburn/Alabama game on DVD from my Papaw. I hear Auburn almost won. :)
I hope you all are getting as much in the spirit of the season as I am. I can say that I am the happiest I have been in a long while and I cannot wait for Christmas. :)
My Christmas requests:
-art supplies of all kinds (markers, construction paper, paint, colored pencils, scissors)
-any good book you’ve read lately. read it, then pass it my way.
-new movies/music
-iTunes gift cards
-lotion/smell goods (but make sure to send it in plastic baggies)
-light-weight, non-breakable picture frames (for 4x6 fotos)
-the new international Kindle :) (only for any big spenders out there!)
-a mandolin
ESPECIALLY WANTED:
-cards, pictures, letters, love notes
(These only cost $.98 so surely you can spare that! This is the cheapest fix to making my day. I can assure you that. It’s not silly and it always means the most to me to get these precious cards/letters/notes of encouragement.)
Monday, December 7, 2009
Sunday, November 29, 2009
thankfully thankful
Everyone has their reasons for joining Peace Corps. I, of course, had mine too, mainly which involved furthering my Spanish skills. This week though, I have found another reason. A reason to be here, a reason to stay, and that is the Peace Corps Family. I never really imagined all the wonderful people that I would meet and grow to love during my time here in Honduras. These people are keeping me going right now and have lifted my spirits and thus my desires to keep sticking out this whole experience, despite the crappy days along the way.
After almost two months of captivation, we were finally allowed to travel this week for Thanksgiving. I decided to venture out East to the true Wild West of Honduras, Olancho. I would venture to say it was one of the best Thanksgivings I have ever had and the 3 buses, 9+ hours of travel (each way), and hot, humid weather was well worth the trip.
I went to visit my first family I lived with during FBT in Talanga, and it was amazing. They spoiled me rotten: cooking my favorite foods and taking me to Teguz to see a movie! It was nice to be in their company and feel loved. I really miss and love them all.
You don’t really realize how much you have changed and adapted to the slow life until you leave it for the first time. Even in two short months, I have become more a part of my little pueblo than I imagined. Leaving my little site in the mountains for the first time was closely accompanied by a dose of culture shock. I got off the bus in the capital and immediately freaked out. There were people and cars everywhere and I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t talk to people the same way I do in my site. I stumbled around and I finally decided to make my way to the mall (mistake). I was completely overwhelmed at the cost of things and the amount of them. It’s almost like where I live time stands still, there’s no technology, and the real world is a figment of my imagination. Not in the capital. Technology changes in the blink of an eye and life has kept on going for the rest of the world while I have been stuck in a time warp. What will coming home be like? I went to eat sushi though, and it was incredible, even though I ate it alone.
I met up with some other H15 friends and we headed out to the Wild West (East) on Wednesday. We got the tour of Catacamas, ate baleadas (basically an awesome quesadilla on a flour tortilla with beans and not the same kind of cheese) in the park (my fav!), and drank a bottle of wine together. Just when you think you’re going to go crazy living in your little pueblo, you get this group of awesome friends to be normal with for a few days and you are renewed because they know and understand your struggles because it’s their life too. It feels good for someone to understand your crazy Honduran life. We sat around playing guitar and singing songs and it was wonderful. I’ve missed music in my life. The best thing about these Peace Corps get-togethers is bed-time. Where do 15 people sleep in one house? Well, on colchones (mattresses) and sleeping bags on the floor of course. It feels just like a middle school church lock-in and we get to stay up late talking and laughing.
Turkey day was spent just like we were at home, complete with the Thanksgiving Day Parade and a whole turkey. We held hands and some prayed before eating and it was really cool to be in this circle of people from all different religious backgrounds being thankful. It’s such an amazing thing to be apart of such an eclectic, beautiful, interesting, and talented group of people. I can’t even describe it to you. Just something you have to experience. There were also some Germans that came to eat with us, which added an even different dynamic to the group. After dinner, we sang Christmas carols and for an evening, I felt like I wasn’t in Honduras.
I made the long trek back “home” yesterday; 3 long bus rides for a total of 11 hours. I live in another country really. The last hour and a half is uphill and the weather was terrible. The dirt roads were mud and we spent the last 20 miles sliding around in the bus. At one point it was so bad, the bus driver made us all go to the back of the bus to give the back tires more traction. I prayed a lot on this viaje home. It was a good 25 degrees cooler here with rain and wind from Hades. I don’t love the weather in my site, but my spirits are lifted and I know I can keep hanging in there because I have these awesome friends all over the country and it’s worth it to me to share experiences like this Thanksgiving with them.
I am thankful.
Oh! and today is election day! Be thinking and praying for Honduras as this crucial day has finally arrived and hopefully things will finally begin to look up.
Enjoy some pictures from Thanksgiving!
After almost two months of captivation, we were finally allowed to travel this week for Thanksgiving. I decided to venture out East to the true Wild West of Honduras, Olancho. I would venture to say it was one of the best Thanksgivings I have ever had and the 3 buses, 9+ hours of travel (each way), and hot, humid weather was well worth the trip.
I went to visit my first family I lived with during FBT in Talanga, and it was amazing. They spoiled me rotten: cooking my favorite foods and taking me to Teguz to see a movie! It was nice to be in their company and feel loved. I really miss and love them all.
You don’t really realize how much you have changed and adapted to the slow life until you leave it for the first time. Even in two short months, I have become more a part of my little pueblo than I imagined. Leaving my little site in the mountains for the first time was closely accompanied by a dose of culture shock. I got off the bus in the capital and immediately freaked out. There were people and cars everywhere and I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t talk to people the same way I do in my site. I stumbled around and I finally decided to make my way to the mall (mistake). I was completely overwhelmed at the cost of things and the amount of them. It’s almost like where I live time stands still, there’s no technology, and the real world is a figment of my imagination. Not in the capital. Technology changes in the blink of an eye and life has kept on going for the rest of the world while I have been stuck in a time warp. What will coming home be like? I went to eat sushi though, and it was incredible, even though I ate it alone.
I met up with some other H15 friends and we headed out to the Wild West (East) on Wednesday. We got the tour of Catacamas, ate baleadas (basically an awesome quesadilla on a flour tortilla with beans and not the same kind of cheese) in the park (my fav!), and drank a bottle of wine together. Just when you think you’re going to go crazy living in your little pueblo, you get this group of awesome friends to be normal with for a few days and you are renewed because they know and understand your struggles because it’s their life too. It feels good for someone to understand your crazy Honduran life. We sat around playing guitar and singing songs and it was wonderful. I’ve missed music in my life. The best thing about these Peace Corps get-togethers is bed-time. Where do 15 people sleep in one house? Well, on colchones (mattresses) and sleeping bags on the floor of course. It feels just like a middle school church lock-in and we get to stay up late talking and laughing.
Turkey day was spent just like we were at home, complete with the Thanksgiving Day Parade and a whole turkey. We held hands and some prayed before eating and it was really cool to be in this circle of people from all different religious backgrounds being thankful. It’s such an amazing thing to be apart of such an eclectic, beautiful, interesting, and talented group of people. I can’t even describe it to you. Just something you have to experience. There were also some Germans that came to eat with us, which added an even different dynamic to the group. After dinner, we sang Christmas carols and for an evening, I felt like I wasn’t in Honduras.
I made the long trek back “home” yesterday; 3 long bus rides for a total of 11 hours. I live in another country really. The last hour and a half is uphill and the weather was terrible. The dirt roads were mud and we spent the last 20 miles sliding around in the bus. At one point it was so bad, the bus driver made us all go to the back of the bus to give the back tires more traction. I prayed a lot on this viaje home. It was a good 25 degrees cooler here with rain and wind from Hades. I don’t love the weather in my site, but my spirits are lifted and I know I can keep hanging in there because I have these awesome friends all over the country and it’s worth it to me to share experiences like this Thanksgiving with them.
I am thankful.
Oh! and today is election day! Be thinking and praying for Honduras as this crucial day has finally arrived and hopefully things will finally begin to look up.
Enjoy some pictures from Thanksgiving!
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Two weddings and a funeral, or just a funeral.
I went to a funeral today.
After only 6 weeks of being here, I have already attended my first funeral. I wonder how many of these I will see in my two years here. The 64-year-old woman who died yesterday was a grandmother to two girls that I play soccer with. That was the only reason I decided to go, that, and community integration.
We got to the funeral kinda late (story of my life), so we stood at the door just listening. The whole little Catholic church was packed full. She had 6 children and no telling how many grandchildren. I counted about 11 at first glance, but I’m sure there were more. Small families don’t exist here on my little mountain. They sang a little and said some prayers, but they didn’t really say much about her life. I don’t know if this is normal or not, but it felt pretty impersonal. After that, a group of about 8 men carried out the atud (coffin) on their shoulders. It was merely a grey box. The family followed, wrapped in each other’s arms, sobbing, and holding candles and flowers. We followed the coffin down the hill to the cemetery, through the mud left behind from the previous 4 days of rain from hurricane Ida. (Today was the first time we’ve seen the sun since last Wednesday.)
Areli, my friend from the soccer team, turned and saw me with tears running down her face. I immediately teared up too and had to hold back a sudden flood of emotions and I’m not really sure why. I forced a smile and continued in file with the rest of the community. The woman’s name was Maria. She was an active member of the community, the church, a midwife--delivering lots of the children of S.A.--and also a member of the women’s group with whom I bake bread, which I didn’t know about until today. She also was Lenca (the indigenous group here).
As I have mentioned before, Lenca are a very tiny people. So with Maria’s whole Lenca family and then the mostly Lenca community, I felt pretty out of place. Picture about 200+ tiny, dark-skinned, black hair to their butts people following a coffin down the hill with a seemingly tall, fair-skinned, redhead, blue-eyed girl walking right in the middle of them. Sometimes I just feel so out of my own skin here, and today was no exception. I’m sure I looked ridiculous, but probably not as ridiculous as I felt as I tried hopelessly to blend in--a lost cause.
When we got to where she was to be buried, the men tried to lower the coffin by hand into the shallow hole that had been dug this morning without much avail. The had to find some rope and awkwardly lowered the box into the grave between two mango trees. There was a small band with a guitar and a violin that sang our way there and many hail Mary’s were said as the men struggled with the atud. They finally got it in place and then all the sudden, they started mixing cement, threw in some rebar, and began putting the cement over the grave right then and there. It was awkward and strange, but someone told me as we were leaving that’s how it’s done when the family doesn’t have very much money. The cement is even a step up in a cemetery where most graves are dirt and a wooden cross. To have a service do all that stuff for your family, complete with grave-side chairs costs and is rare.
I guess that’s what community integration is all about. I think I’d rather go to a wedding next time though.
Sorry for the gloomy post, but I just wanted to share with you what I experienced today.
After only 6 weeks of being here, I have already attended my first funeral. I wonder how many of these I will see in my two years here. The 64-year-old woman who died yesterday was a grandmother to two girls that I play soccer with. That was the only reason I decided to go, that, and community integration.
We got to the funeral kinda late (story of my life), so we stood at the door just listening. The whole little Catholic church was packed full. She had 6 children and no telling how many grandchildren. I counted about 11 at first glance, but I’m sure there were more. Small families don’t exist here on my little mountain. They sang a little and said some prayers, but they didn’t really say much about her life. I don’t know if this is normal or not, but it felt pretty impersonal. After that, a group of about 8 men carried out the atud (coffin) on their shoulders. It was merely a grey box. The family followed, wrapped in each other’s arms, sobbing, and holding candles and flowers. We followed the coffin down the hill to the cemetery, through the mud left behind from the previous 4 days of rain from hurricane Ida. (Today was the first time we’ve seen the sun since last Wednesday.)
Areli, my friend from the soccer team, turned and saw me with tears running down her face. I immediately teared up too and had to hold back a sudden flood of emotions and I’m not really sure why. I forced a smile and continued in file with the rest of the community. The woman’s name was Maria. She was an active member of the community, the church, a midwife--delivering lots of the children of S.A.--and also a member of the women’s group with whom I bake bread, which I didn’t know about until today. She also was Lenca (the indigenous group here).
As I have mentioned before, Lenca are a very tiny people. So with Maria’s whole Lenca family and then the mostly Lenca community, I felt pretty out of place. Picture about 200+ tiny, dark-skinned, black hair to their butts people following a coffin down the hill with a seemingly tall, fair-skinned, redhead, blue-eyed girl walking right in the middle of them. Sometimes I just feel so out of my own skin here, and today was no exception. I’m sure I looked ridiculous, but probably not as ridiculous as I felt as I tried hopelessly to blend in--a lost cause.
When we got to where she was to be buried, the men tried to lower the coffin by hand into the shallow hole that had been dug this morning without much avail. The had to find some rope and awkwardly lowered the box into the grave between two mango trees. There was a small band with a guitar and a violin that sang our way there and many hail Mary’s were said as the men struggled with the atud. They finally got it in place and then all the sudden, they started mixing cement, threw in some rebar, and began putting the cement over the grave right then and there. It was awkward and strange, but someone told me as we were leaving that’s how it’s done when the family doesn’t have very much money. The cement is even a step up in a cemetery where most graves are dirt and a wooden cross. To have a service do all that stuff for your family, complete with grave-side chairs costs and is rare.
I guess that’s what community integration is all about. I think I’d rather go to a wedding next time though.
Sorry for the gloomy post, but I just wanted to share with you what I experienced today.
Friday, October 30, 2009
The hands of time
I don’t know why Hondurans have clocks.
If there is one thing that frustrates me about Hondurans--and believe me, there are a few--, it would be their capabilities to tell time. I’m not talking people that are 10-15 minutes late for things. I mean these people are so perpetually late that I want to scream. Right now, I am sitting here wrapping presents for my new host mom (I’ll explain that in a minute) who is the Kindergarten teacher. Their graduation ceremony is today at 4:00 pm. Right now it’s 4:57 pm and we, the main event, haven’t even left the house yet. This is the story of my life. Waiting for people, waiting for meetings, and the perpetual lateness that is Honduras.
So new host fam. That’s right, number 5. It’s been a long, frustrating week. My host family had been talking about this feria (fair) in Estancias (a neighboring town, and by neighboring I mean like 2 hours away in a car). I’ve been excited about it and finally the day arrives for us to leave, which was last Saturday. My family was gone all day, but they called me and told me they had to talk to me. They stopped by the house on their way to Estancias and my host dad informed me that not only would they be staying in Estancias for a week, but 2 and probably even 3 weeks. Obviously this isn’t cool. I can’t be stuck in BFE for that long. He tells me he knows that and that even after 3 weeks, he is going to be andando (going, well, kinda) in the politics--my English is failing me miserably right now because that sounded terrible. I apologize. Anyways, basically he told me that I would have to find somewhere else to stay because I couldn’t stay in their house alone. He didn’t feel comfortable with that. I called Peace Corps and they were very upset with all of this. The family had signed a contract to keep me for 2 months. So I ended up telling PC that I really wanted to stay with my “aunt” who actually is my counterpart, which is technically not allowed. Who knows why.... but after 4 days I am all moved into my new house.
It’s nice here. I feel like I have a little more privacy. I have a bedroom that’s separate from the rest of the house and has its own private bathroom with an electroducha, ya know, hot water. It also has a nice big wardrobe, which is really nice to have a place to put my clothes, and also the bed is a full size. It’s nice to stretch out for the first time in months after sleeping on lots of twin beds. The best thing of all is that they have a washing machine. For the first time in four months, I washed my clothes in washing machine and it was incredible. It’s amazing the little things that I have found that can make me happy here. I forgot how dry clothes came out of the washing machine. It only takes an afternoon to dry on the line as opposed to the day and a half or more for jeans after hand-washing.
I also had another good adventure this week. My new family took me to Comayagua, which is a pretty big city about 3 and a half hours away from where we live. I got to go to a supermercado (similar to Wal-mart) and buy important things like olive oil, good cereal, sea salt, dog treats, pepper jack cheese, and Doritos. It was amazing. I also met another H15 volunteer there and we got to hang out and catch up, a much needed break from the Honduran reality. I have to say that I experienced a little bit of culture shock going to such a big city after being in the campo for a straight month. I felt antsy and a little overwhelmed. That was cured quickly though when my family took my friend and me to Pizza Hut. It’s sad to admit, but that was the most excited I’ve been in a while. I got to eat off the salad bar and order a supreme pizza and garlic cheese bread. Like I said, it’s amazing how the tiniest things seem to make my day here.
The food is a little better here in this house, so that’s nice. I had some good chicken today and it was delicious. Dog training is going well. Little Rambo already sits and shakes on command, and comes most of the time. He poops outside every time, now to work on the whole peeing thing, and also the word no. He’s not too fond of that one. I tried to buy a kennel in Comayagua, but they were 3,000 lempiras! That’s $150 for a dang kennel! I guess I will eventually have to buy one though....
I continue to be mostly bored here. I feel really lazy, but there’s literally nothing to do. I barely have work, and if I do, it’s for 2 hours one day a week. This is going to be a long summer (yes, summer is almost here, but summer only means the dry season, but igual, it means no school). Then comes coffee picking. I have tons of movies now though--81 on my computer plus an additional 30+ that I brought--and lots of books too (thanks to all who have sent me some :)). I’ve also downloaded some new tunes and that makes me feel a little more in touch with the real world.
Happy Halloween! I wish I could go to the big Peace Corps Halloween party in Copán, but I’m still a baby volunteer and no traveling for Yessica. Maybe the New Year’s party will be equally as fun. Nothing like escaping the developing world for a party with 150 gringos.
It’s 5:37 and we’re finally leaving the house for the 4:00 event. I’m going to go crazy here!
Here's a pic of me and the pup. :)
If there is one thing that frustrates me about Hondurans--and believe me, there are a few--, it would be their capabilities to tell time. I’m not talking people that are 10-15 minutes late for things. I mean these people are so perpetually late that I want to scream. Right now, I am sitting here wrapping presents for my new host mom (I’ll explain that in a minute) who is the Kindergarten teacher. Their graduation ceremony is today at 4:00 pm. Right now it’s 4:57 pm and we, the main event, haven’t even left the house yet. This is the story of my life. Waiting for people, waiting for meetings, and the perpetual lateness that is Honduras.
So new host fam. That’s right, number 5. It’s been a long, frustrating week. My host family had been talking about this feria (fair) in Estancias (a neighboring town, and by neighboring I mean like 2 hours away in a car). I’ve been excited about it and finally the day arrives for us to leave, which was last Saturday. My family was gone all day, but they called me and told me they had to talk to me. They stopped by the house on their way to Estancias and my host dad informed me that not only would they be staying in Estancias for a week, but 2 and probably even 3 weeks. Obviously this isn’t cool. I can’t be stuck in BFE for that long. He tells me he knows that and that even after 3 weeks, he is going to be andando (going, well, kinda) in the politics--my English is failing me miserably right now because that sounded terrible. I apologize. Anyways, basically he told me that I would have to find somewhere else to stay because I couldn’t stay in their house alone. He didn’t feel comfortable with that. I called Peace Corps and they were very upset with all of this. The family had signed a contract to keep me for 2 months. So I ended up telling PC that I really wanted to stay with my “aunt” who actually is my counterpart, which is technically not allowed. Who knows why.... but after 4 days I am all moved into my new house.
It’s nice here. I feel like I have a little more privacy. I have a bedroom that’s separate from the rest of the house and has its own private bathroom with an electroducha, ya know, hot water. It also has a nice big wardrobe, which is really nice to have a place to put my clothes, and also the bed is a full size. It’s nice to stretch out for the first time in months after sleeping on lots of twin beds. The best thing of all is that they have a washing machine. For the first time in four months, I washed my clothes in washing machine and it was incredible. It’s amazing the little things that I have found that can make me happy here. I forgot how dry clothes came out of the washing machine. It only takes an afternoon to dry on the line as opposed to the day and a half or more for jeans after hand-washing.
I also had another good adventure this week. My new family took me to Comayagua, which is a pretty big city about 3 and a half hours away from where we live. I got to go to a supermercado (similar to Wal-mart) and buy important things like olive oil, good cereal, sea salt, dog treats, pepper jack cheese, and Doritos. It was amazing. I also met another H15 volunteer there and we got to hang out and catch up, a much needed break from the Honduran reality. I have to say that I experienced a little bit of culture shock going to such a big city after being in the campo for a straight month. I felt antsy and a little overwhelmed. That was cured quickly though when my family took my friend and me to Pizza Hut. It’s sad to admit, but that was the most excited I’ve been in a while. I got to eat off the salad bar and order a supreme pizza and garlic cheese bread. Like I said, it’s amazing how the tiniest things seem to make my day here.
The food is a little better here in this house, so that’s nice. I had some good chicken today and it was delicious. Dog training is going well. Little Rambo already sits and shakes on command, and comes most of the time. He poops outside every time, now to work on the whole peeing thing, and also the word no. He’s not too fond of that one. I tried to buy a kennel in Comayagua, but they were 3,000 lempiras! That’s $150 for a dang kennel! I guess I will eventually have to buy one though....
I continue to be mostly bored here. I feel really lazy, but there’s literally nothing to do. I barely have work, and if I do, it’s for 2 hours one day a week. This is going to be a long summer (yes, summer is almost here, but summer only means the dry season, but igual, it means no school). Then comes coffee picking. I have tons of movies now though--81 on my computer plus an additional 30+ that I brought--and lots of books too (thanks to all who have sent me some :)). I’ve also downloaded some new tunes and that makes me feel a little more in touch with the real world.
Happy Halloween! I wish I could go to the big Peace Corps Halloween party in Copán, but I’m still a baby volunteer and no traveling for Yessica. Maybe the New Year’s party will be equally as fun. Nothing like escaping the developing world for a party with 150 gringos.
It’s 5:37 and we’re finally leaving the house for the 4:00 event. I’m going to go crazy here!
Here's a pic of me and the pup. :)
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Chopped Liver
A few days ago, my host dad’s brother (who basically raised him because their parents died at an early age) was over at the house enjoying a cup of coffee, as many people do in the afternoons here. We were having a good conversation, despite his choppy, mumbled, campo Spanish. We talked about politics and development and the reality of Honduras. Apparently a Peace Corps volunteer had also lived with him years and years ago (I think he said 16 years ago). He told me about how they adored this volunteer and she had instilled in their daughter (who was 7 or 8 at the time) the desire to read, leading her to the path to truly value her education and seek a degree from the University here, which is far more than most people in this little community ever dream about. (They've only recently started a high school.) He said they loved everything about this volunteer except for one thing. She didn’t eat meat.
We talked about the meat situation in Honduras, and I told him, “Honestly, it is quite difficult for me to eat meat here too. We are spoiled in the US and everything we consume is of top quality, especially the meat. I am used to eating meat without bones.” He laughed and he made some jokes about how I just have to get use to chewing on the bones, sucking out the good stuff to get whatever protein could be found here. My host dad laughed too and threw in a few jokes of his own. Lately, he’s been throwing in some vulgar vocabulary for me to learn or he and my host mom will make a penis joke. I appreciate them. They make my reality here much more bearable.
Last night as we sat down to dinner, I was pretty hungry. I had only eaten rice, tortillas, and quejada (another weird variation of there different kinds of cheeses) for lunch. My host mom called me for dinner as she always does, and my plate was sitting on the table waiting for me. My host mom says--I think, remembering the conversation from 2 days before--, “See if you like this meat.” It looked like the best stuff I had been served thus far in my time in Honduras, and was even complete with some sauteed onions and peppers. This time there were no bones. Where had they gotten such quality stuff from? I took a bite. Two. Five. I consumed the 3-4 pieces of meat I had been served. The texture was a little new to me, but I didn’t think much about it. Again, the meat here is strange. After I had finished my meal, I ask my family, “So what kind of meat was that exactly?” They replied, “Hídago.”
Liver.
Then my dad chimes in, “And we cooked it in the microhondo!” In the microwave?
I’m laughing out loud right now as I write this and also as I dictated this same story to my mom over the phone a few hours ago. I ate liver last night for the first time in my life. If I would have known what it was before, I probably wouldn’t have eaten it. The best meat I’ve had in about 3 months and it’s liver. You’ve got to be kidding me.
I bought a puppy this past weekend. He’s probably too small to be away from his mom, but the treatment of animals here just isn’t the same. A month is sufficient time to take a dog away from it’s mom here. He looks like a black lab, but I was told he also has boxer in him too. The mom just looked like a black lab to me. I guess we’ll see as he gets older. He walks like a boxer sometimes. He’s just a little guy though, but he’s started sleeping a little more through the night. You forget the joys of having a new puppy like cleaning up after them. Oh, and we named him Rambo. Yeah, go ahead and laugh. I did at first too. One of the best soccer players on Honduras’ team is nicknamed Rambo. My four-year-old brother thought it was the best idea ever to name him Rambo. So, there you have it. At least it’s easy to pronounce in English and Spanish. I’m also having to train him in Spanish, since well, that’s the national language here. He would be lost if I spoke English to him, considering that since he’s the gringa’s dog, it kinda makes him everyone’s dog.
It’s absolutely freezing here. I haven’t left the house in 2 days. Until last night, I hadn’t showered in more than that. It has just been too cold to bear a cold shower. I don’t feel bad though, my family hasn’t showered either. I’ve spent most of the past two days reading in my sleeping bag. High forties without a heater and howling winds are brutal. I have on my underarmour winter gear under my sweats right now. I know, this is Honduras, right? That’s what I thought. Miserable cold. It’s gonna be a long winter.
I have heard lots of complaints from people who are trying to send me packages, telling me that it is costing them a fortune. Anything over 4 lbs will cost you. Keep the size down, and thus the cost. I really appreciate the packages for what it’s worth. Last night I finally received a bag that mom had sent with the owner of the orphanage who was home in AL a little over a month ago. Last night a friend who had been to Teguz (the capital) brought it to me. It felt like Christmas morning pulling out new shampoo, deodarant, facewash, a huge bag of M&M’s, and a few other familiar things that still smelled like home. It’s amazing how little it takes to make me happy these days.
We talked about the meat situation in Honduras, and I told him, “Honestly, it is quite difficult for me to eat meat here too. We are spoiled in the US and everything we consume is of top quality, especially the meat. I am used to eating meat without bones.” He laughed and he made some jokes about how I just have to get use to chewing on the bones, sucking out the good stuff to get whatever protein could be found here. My host dad laughed too and threw in a few jokes of his own. Lately, he’s been throwing in some vulgar vocabulary for me to learn or he and my host mom will make a penis joke. I appreciate them. They make my reality here much more bearable.
Last night as we sat down to dinner, I was pretty hungry. I had only eaten rice, tortillas, and quejada (another weird variation of there different kinds of cheeses) for lunch. My host mom called me for dinner as she always does, and my plate was sitting on the table waiting for me. My host mom says--I think, remembering the conversation from 2 days before--, “See if you like this meat.” It looked like the best stuff I had been served thus far in my time in Honduras, and was even complete with some sauteed onions and peppers. This time there were no bones. Where had they gotten such quality stuff from? I took a bite. Two. Five. I consumed the 3-4 pieces of meat I had been served. The texture was a little new to me, but I didn’t think much about it. Again, the meat here is strange. After I had finished my meal, I ask my family, “So what kind of meat was that exactly?” They replied, “Hídago.”
Liver.
Then my dad chimes in, “And we cooked it in the microhondo!” In the microwave?
I’m laughing out loud right now as I write this and also as I dictated this same story to my mom over the phone a few hours ago. I ate liver last night for the first time in my life. If I would have known what it was before, I probably wouldn’t have eaten it. The best meat I’ve had in about 3 months and it’s liver. You’ve got to be kidding me.
I bought a puppy this past weekend. He’s probably too small to be away from his mom, but the treatment of animals here just isn’t the same. A month is sufficient time to take a dog away from it’s mom here. He looks like a black lab, but I was told he also has boxer in him too. The mom just looked like a black lab to me. I guess we’ll see as he gets older. He walks like a boxer sometimes. He’s just a little guy though, but he’s started sleeping a little more through the night. You forget the joys of having a new puppy like cleaning up after them. Oh, and we named him Rambo. Yeah, go ahead and laugh. I did at first too. One of the best soccer players on Honduras’ team is nicknamed Rambo. My four-year-old brother thought it was the best idea ever to name him Rambo. So, there you have it. At least it’s easy to pronounce in English and Spanish. I’m also having to train him in Spanish, since well, that’s the national language here. He would be lost if I spoke English to him, considering that since he’s the gringa’s dog, it kinda makes him everyone’s dog.
It’s absolutely freezing here. I haven’t left the house in 2 days. Until last night, I hadn’t showered in more than that. It has just been too cold to bear a cold shower. I don’t feel bad though, my family hasn’t showered either. I’ve spent most of the past two days reading in my sleeping bag. High forties without a heater and howling winds are brutal. I have on my underarmour winter gear under my sweats right now. I know, this is Honduras, right? That’s what I thought. Miserable cold. It’s gonna be a long winter.
I have heard lots of complaints from people who are trying to send me packages, telling me that it is costing them a fortune. Anything over 4 lbs will cost you. Keep the size down, and thus the cost. I really appreciate the packages for what it’s worth. Last night I finally received a bag that mom had sent with the owner of the orphanage who was home in AL a little over a month ago. Last night a friend who had been to Teguz (the capital) brought it to me. It felt like Christmas morning pulling out new shampoo, deodarant, facewash, a huge bag of M&M’s, and a few other familiar things that still smelled like home. It’s amazing how little it takes to make me happy these days.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Take a holiday in Spain (or Honduras)
First of all, I have a new address. It's on the sidebar. Send me mail. It doesn't have to be a package (but I sure do like those), just write me a letter or send a card. It would make me feel a little closer to reality. Tell me about new movies, music, relationships. I appreciate these things. Even though I have internet, it is painfully slow and the bandwidth isn't strong enough to upload or download, leaving me clueless about anything that's not on facebook. If I don't answer you on fb chat, means my bandwidth is dead. Letters are the way to go. [See side bar]
Time is a funny thing here. I’m sure you’ve always heard that Latinos never arrive anywhere on time. Well, Hondurans are no exception to the rule, in fact, they take that rule to heart in a way that is already driving me crazy. Be sure to ask if you’re meeting at the real time or Honduran time. We practice soccer at 4. Most people show up at about 4:40 and everyone is there by 5. Meetings are guaranteed to start at least 30 minutes later than they are scheduled for. Time also moves slow here. Sometimes my days seem so long that I think it’s never going to be time to get in the bed. How early is too early to excuse yourself to go to your room?
I remember when I studied abroad I hit this point where it had been the longest amount of time I had ever been away from home and out of the States. That came at about 3 weeks then. At that time, I experienced culture shock and an extreme desire to go home. This week I think I experienced that point. I have been gone from home for about 4 months now, the longest I have ever been out of the US. I wanted to be normal so badly this week. I wanted to eat meat that wouldn’t be rejected by the USDA, I wanted to be able to drive, go eat sushi, cook with wonderful spices and flavors, and have a good glass a wine (or just a glass period). I haven’t felt like I wanted to come home, but just that more of home was here. Hint, hint, mom, come visit me already.
I have been sick for over a week now. It started as a cold, but now I think that I have bronchitis. Our PCMO’s (Peace Corps Medical Officers) have been super busy this week, so they never called me back. I think I need antibiotics. The nearest pharmacy is like an hour or so away. Again, normalcy.... where are you?
My information I got about my site told me there were 800 people here. I think 200 is more of an accurate number. The other day I went by the mayor’s house to have coffee and platicar (to chat). After a good political discussion among other things, he introduced me to his oldest daughter who is also named Jessica. I continued talking with her and she was really floored at my desire to live here in this little pueblo for 2 years. “You really do like it here? Isn’t it hard and very different for you?” she asked me. She is one of very few of the people here who have had the opportunity to move to the city to go to the University. I hadn’t really been thinking about it much, but it is so different from the world from which I come. I don’t even know how to describe to you what it feels like to be this tall, white, blue-eyed, educated woman in this pueblo. Sometimes I feel so out of place, I don’t know what to do with myself. I’m a minority, and by quite the long shot. I’m sure that more than the mayor’s daughter wonders what in the world I am doing here. I too sometimes wonder what I’m doing, what I will do in these two years.
I do love my host family here. I am thankful that I can go back home to them, share with them, and joke around and feel a little normal. They treat me really well and are already considering me to be part of their family.
There is only one mirror in our house. (Not normal for a daughter of a hair dresser. There have always been mirrors everywhere in my life.) A few days ago, I straightened my hair (without a mirror) and got ready to go to the kindergarten. I went to look in the one mirror in the house, and I barely recognized myself. My hair has grown several inches (I hadn’t noticed because I usually wear it in a pony tail), is a very light reddish color, and I have pretty much stopped wearing makeup. It’s a strange feeling to look in the mirror after not seeing yourself for a while. I feel like I have changed...and not only physically. I think my personality is different in Spanish. Is that possible? I live my life here in my second language... Language barriers, somewhat limited vocabulary, and a place where sarcasm is rarely understood.
I’m definitely still messy in Spanish. My room is a wreck and I’m procrastinating washing the pile of laundry I have by hand. The sun’s out today, I should get to that.
In other news, the US tied against Costa Rica last night with about 12 seconds left in the game. What does that mean? Well, it means that CR gets bumped to 4th place, and moves Honduras to 3rd place, qualifying them for the World Cup next year in South Africa. Oh and the US won 1st place. Everyone went ballistic here when US scored the goal. I think more people here were watching that game instead of the Honduras-El Salvador game. There are 3 cars in my community. We all piled up in the back of the 3 cars and went around honking the horn, whistling, and screaming HONDURAS HONDURAS! This is the first time in 28 years that Honduras has gone to the World Cup and only the 2nd time ever. Soccer is life here in case you didn’t know that. So it’s a big deal. A huge deal. Today was declared a national holiday. No school. No work.
No wonder they can’t escape this cycle of poverty. Always taking holidays.... Guess I’ll just read another book today.
Time is a funny thing here. I’m sure you’ve always heard that Latinos never arrive anywhere on time. Well, Hondurans are no exception to the rule, in fact, they take that rule to heart in a way that is already driving me crazy. Be sure to ask if you’re meeting at the real time or Honduran time. We practice soccer at 4. Most people show up at about 4:40 and everyone is there by 5. Meetings are guaranteed to start at least 30 minutes later than they are scheduled for. Time also moves slow here. Sometimes my days seem so long that I think it’s never going to be time to get in the bed. How early is too early to excuse yourself to go to your room?
I remember when I studied abroad I hit this point where it had been the longest amount of time I had ever been away from home and out of the States. That came at about 3 weeks then. At that time, I experienced culture shock and an extreme desire to go home. This week I think I experienced that point. I have been gone from home for about 4 months now, the longest I have ever been out of the US. I wanted to be normal so badly this week. I wanted to eat meat that wouldn’t be rejected by the USDA, I wanted to be able to drive, go eat sushi, cook with wonderful spices and flavors, and have a good glass a wine (or just a glass period). I haven’t felt like I wanted to come home, but just that more of home was here. Hint, hint, mom, come visit me already.
I have been sick for over a week now. It started as a cold, but now I think that I have bronchitis. Our PCMO’s (Peace Corps Medical Officers) have been super busy this week, so they never called me back. I think I need antibiotics. The nearest pharmacy is like an hour or so away. Again, normalcy.... where are you?
My information I got about my site told me there were 800 people here. I think 200 is more of an accurate number. The other day I went by the mayor’s house to have coffee and platicar (to chat). After a good political discussion among other things, he introduced me to his oldest daughter who is also named Jessica. I continued talking with her and she was really floored at my desire to live here in this little pueblo for 2 years. “You really do like it here? Isn’t it hard and very different for you?” she asked me. She is one of very few of the people here who have had the opportunity to move to the city to go to the University. I hadn’t really been thinking about it much, but it is so different from the world from which I come. I don’t even know how to describe to you what it feels like to be this tall, white, blue-eyed, educated woman in this pueblo. Sometimes I feel so out of place, I don’t know what to do with myself. I’m a minority, and by quite the long shot. I’m sure that more than the mayor’s daughter wonders what in the world I am doing here. I too sometimes wonder what I’m doing, what I will do in these two years.
I do love my host family here. I am thankful that I can go back home to them, share with them, and joke around and feel a little normal. They treat me really well and are already considering me to be part of their family.
There is only one mirror in our house. (Not normal for a daughter of a hair dresser. There have always been mirrors everywhere in my life.) A few days ago, I straightened my hair (without a mirror) and got ready to go to the kindergarten. I went to look in the one mirror in the house, and I barely recognized myself. My hair has grown several inches (I hadn’t noticed because I usually wear it in a pony tail), is a very light reddish color, and I have pretty much stopped wearing makeup. It’s a strange feeling to look in the mirror after not seeing yourself for a while. I feel like I have changed...and not only physically. I think my personality is different in Spanish. Is that possible? I live my life here in my second language... Language barriers, somewhat limited vocabulary, and a place where sarcasm is rarely understood.
I’m definitely still messy in Spanish. My room is a wreck and I’m procrastinating washing the pile of laundry I have by hand. The sun’s out today, I should get to that.
In other news, the US tied against Costa Rica last night with about 12 seconds left in the game. What does that mean? Well, it means that CR gets bumped to 4th place, and moves Honduras to 3rd place, qualifying them for the World Cup next year in South Africa. Oh and the US won 1st place. Everyone went ballistic here when US scored the goal. I think more people here were watching that game instead of the Honduras-El Salvador game. There are 3 cars in my community. We all piled up in the back of the 3 cars and went around honking the horn, whistling, and screaming HONDURAS HONDURAS! This is the first time in 28 years that Honduras has gone to the World Cup and only the 2nd time ever. Soccer is life here in case you didn’t know that. So it’s a big deal. A huge deal. Today was declared a national holiday. No school. No work.
No wonder they can’t escape this cycle of poverty. Always taking holidays.... Guess I’ll just read another book today.
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