Blogging Honduras

Goodbyes

2011-11-21T11:31:00.000-08:00

Saying goodbye isn’t something I am particularly good at, but I got a lot of practice these past few weeks. We finished exams on Friday November 11^th. I was pleasantly surprised with how my kids scored on the final, especially because I made the final excruciatingly long. It was 500 points. Unfortunately, no one reminded me that I would have to grade all of them when they were finished. I had a couple students get a near perfect score.

After the last final exam on Friday there was a going away party at the school where students put on skits, read poems, and made speeches to say bye. I even sang our national anthem. I had to say bye to all the fourth graders on Friday, but I would be seeing the sixth graders since I would attend their graduation into secondary school. The fourth graders were my favorite class. They weren’t a particularly smart class like sixth grade, but I think that is partly my fault. I definitely babied them and I wanted them to have fun above all else. I couldn’t help myself. I just can’t get mad at the younger ones.

The next activity was a going away party for all the teachers at Ricardo’s house. Throughout the year, we didn’t have an excellent relationship with the Honduran teachers. We liked to do business a little differently and at first there was a language barrier keeping us apart. Although we all had some previous Spanish language training, it still took us the majority of the year to get comfortable having a good discussion in Spanish. It is pretty painful for both parties to stumble through conversation on a daily basis. There was good food, awkward games, and we continued to bond with the Honduran teachers.

Our final farewell was graduation. The preschoolers were graduating into primary school and the sixth graders were graduating to secondary school. I felt as though I had 13 children graduating and I was taking pictures like a Japanese tourist. We set up for the graduation the day before and it looked more like a high school prom than a graduation. The attire was more reminiscent of prom than a graduation as well. Latin American women take any opportunity they can to wear tacky dresses and high heels.

I found out that one of my favorite students wasn’t going to attend the ceremony because his family didn’t have the money to pay for it. He was the only one attending because of financial problems. I felt that was unacceptable and I paid his entry into graduation. Each kid chooses “godparents” for graduation and Ramon chose Marie and me. It was an honor to not only watch the graduation, but be involved as a godparent. In addition to my godparent duties, I introduced the sixth grade before they got their diplomas. This made me realize how much I have improved in Spanish. I got up in front of the 150 guests and made a speech. I even had a few jokes thrown in, mostly at my expense.

After the ceremony ended the teachers and a few select family members of students stuck around and of course we had a Latin American dance party. Latin Americans love to dance and they can do it for hours. I think dancing is about the only physical activity they enjoy doing. The teachers all danced together and had a blast. I don’t think it is some sort of phenomenon that we all really started to click as a faculty toward the end. I think in the end you really take inventory of all the good things about a relationship. We all agreed that we should have been hanging out the entire year. Most of the parents and faculty were saying, “Are you sure you can’t stay another year?” I think we all had the same answer. I think we would all love to come back, but we can’t do this forever. You have to let go sometime. It is time for another generation of teachers to come in and enjoy the school.

I think in many ways being a teacher in this environment has taught me a lot about what it means to be a parent. My students really became mine and I got the feeling that I would do anything to make them happy. The kids at the school are so incredibly brave. They see and hear about violence on a daily basis. Most of them don’t have both parents. Some have just one and some don’t have any at all. We taught the best of the best in the town and their family and living conditions still weren’t great.

For as different as they live, the kids here are the same kids in every part of the world. What I like most about teaching elementary school is that the kids are candid. They don’t sugar coat—they’ll tell you if you’re ugly, whether you smell, or whether your clothes suck. You can have the worst kids possible that you absolutely despise in the classroom but miss completely when they are sick for the day.

Last night, I was walking down a dirt road through the center of town and looked around, trying to soak in every ounce of the place I’ve called home this year. Although it was about 75 degrees out, the weather felt chilly because the town was quiet and only the wind whipped through the streets. The town was shrouded in a blanket of deep blue night. I looked up and took a long breath into my belly. The moon shone bright in a sky without stars. I realized something. No matter how different we may seem on the surface, we all walk under the same moon.

So, what next? That is a question I have heard about a million times in the last month as I prepare to go back to the United States. I spent a good portion of my own academic career trying to answer impossible questions just like that. I don’t have an answer to what’s next. I don’t think anyone really does. I think that is part of growing up—realizing that everyone is a little bit confused. I figure, while I’m here I might as well get some work done, whatever that may be.

I went through highs and lows during this experience but I am going to take away all positives. My Spanish language skills have sharpened and if I can work with a group of Hondurans, I can pretty much work with anyone. I have been silent for a while on the blog, but I wanted to sum up my trip in one post. Thanks for following!

The Flood

2011-10-16T11:56:00.001-07:00

Marie and I look forward to our evening walk with Leche every day. There isn’t much more to look forward to in the evening other than incessantly refreshing your inbox with the hope that someone sends you something other than spam. Our path takes us north through a valley cut by a river, which is the same path I usually go running on. We usually start walking at about 4:30, but we left a little late this time around 5, which leaves us only about 30 minutes of good light before complete darkness.

It was a beautiful day and there was no sign of bad weather on the horizon as we wound our way through the mountains. We reached the first river crossing where the water level was normal—you just need to jump on one or two rocks to get across. The water was clearer than usual at this time of year. When there is a lot of rain, the water tends to get muddy.

Leche loves the path. As soon as we reach it he stops walking and expects to be let off the leash. After that, he goes to work. He puts his nose to the ground and finds the best places to leave his mark. There is one spot on the path where he climbs up a hill and does a superman jump because we always give him praise for his acrobatics.

After we crossed the first river, it started to sprinkle a bit, but we didn’t think anything of it. Just in case, we decided to go to the next crossing and turn around before getting too wet. We always hate to cut walks short because Leche doesn’t like being cramped up in the house—after all, he is a street dog at heart.

Leche had gone ahead to scout some spots to mark and when we came to the second crossing he was already on the other side. Then, I heard something in the distance like someone was beating a baseball bat against a hollow tree. I looked to my left and I saw a wall of water ripping down the river overflowing the banks and coming our way. I stepped back and screamed at Leche to sit still. At first he thought I was telling him to come so he made a step toward the river, but he too saw the danger coming and backed off.

I tied my shoes thinking I was going to cross and get Leche, but then I saw exactly what was moving with the water. There were basketball sized rocks and full grown tree trunks moving right through the water. If I got hit by one of those I probably wouldn’t make it out of the river. Wisely, I stayed put. A family that lives on the other side of the river came out to see what was going on and saw Leche stranded. The river was deafening and I could barely make communication with the family. I told them not to let him cross. I was racking my brain trying to think of a way across, but it just wasn’t possible. The river was way too high, the current too strong, and there was too much debris.

The family grabbed Leche by the collar and made a gesture that they would take care of him until the river calmed down. We decided to check the first river crossing to see if that one was any better. It was a tough thing to do to let Leche out of our site, but we had to do it. After a 5 minute walk we reached the first crossing and it was much worse than the second. The river had risen at least 5 feet. In this section the river funnels and drops into a lower area. The water was like a suction taking anything on the sides and slamming it on the rocks below. This definitely wasn’t an option.

It turned into a waiting game. What were we going to do? We were stuck between two rivers in the middle of Honduras. I had a sort of out of body experience as my breathing started to get heavier and my heart beat out of my chest. The feeling was one I had read about many times in adventure or wilderness books. You see yourself from above and ask yourself how the hell you got in the middle of Honduras stranded by a flash flood. Then it got dark. Then it started to pour. Then the feeling got worse.

When would they figure out that we weren’t home? We didn’t have a cell phone, flashlight, or a raincoat. We couldn’t wait here all night. How could we be so stupid? Yet, how could we have known?

Finally, after about an hour in the rain, soaked to the bone and tired of shivering we saw a light coming down the path. A motorcycle came to the river bank and stopped. A man got off and looked at the river and then looked at us. He started to turn around to get back on his bike but I got his attention.

“Can you help us?”

“Help? You have to wait for the river to go down and then cross.”

“Go find Ricardo”

“Who?”

“Ahh nevermind. We’re fucked.”

The motorcycle pulled away from the river taking all the light we had with us. It was a waiting game again, but this time it was shorter. We saw another light, but this one came slower and bounced up and down. It was a flashlight. I knew it was Rob. He knows where we taking Leche on walks and since it was after dark, raining, and getting late, he knew that something was wrong.

“Don’t cross, there are rocks”, I said.

“Yeah. No shit. If I had a rope I might be able to get you guys across.”

“Call Ricardo.”

Ricardo arrived about 30 minutes later with a crew of guys and some supplies. He threw us over a flashlight so we could see what we were doing. The crew of three guys brought ropes and a couple automatic machine guns. They were narco-traffickers. Basically, the only able bodied men in town are traffickers. I was relieved to have their help.

They threw a rope across and I tied it to a thick tree and slung it back. They tied their end to a sturdy tree up the river a bit. The three hundred pound narco-trafficker tried to cross without the rope and was swept up in the current like a rag doll. Luckily, he was able to get back to the shore before dropping down into the rocks. He tried with the rope this time and it similar fashion was swept into the current, but he held tightly to the rope. He pulled and inched his way across against the current. “That’s how you do it”, he boasted a little shaken up.

Marie went first. He tied another rope around her body and attached it to the rope so she would have a choice but to hold on. At the halfway point the rope bowed and she didn’t have the momentum to get across. The big narco trafficker went out to giver her a push, but the other side already threw her a rope to give her more pull to get out of the current. When she was almost out of the toughest part of the current, a rock ripped into her hip and she let out a yelp. She was relatively unharmed.

It was my turn. I put the rope around my body and made my way across. It was easy until I got into the strongest part and the current pushed my feet out from under me so that I was holding onto the rope with both hands like superman flying on the current. I was wearing athletic shorts and the current was getting ready to rip them off. I took one of my arms off the rope to save the shorts. Without the strength of both hands, I was unable to inch my way to the other side. I had to make a choice—naked safety or clothed injury. I chose safety and the pants were ripped off my legs like a vacuum.

It was all a pretty embarrassing ordeal just to take Leche on a walk through the forest. Ricardo brought some extra shirts and I wrapped one around the front part of my body like ass-less chaps. I was just glad to be on the other side.

There isn’t really some grand moral to the story about water safety or walking in the woods without a cell phone. I guess the only thing I realized is that no matter how autonomous you think you are, sooner or later we all need help. I don’t think it ever feels good to need someone in that capacity, but it is nice to have someone willing to help—even if they are narco-traffickers. I wondered why that 300 pound narco-trafficker was so cavalier with his life and I got my answer from Ricardo the next day. “The narcos have a different lease on life than we do. They go through life knowing that at any moment, usually sooner rather than later, they are going to get it. So they drink hard, they drive fast—they live as much as they can in the short time they’re given.”

Teguc it is

2011-09-28T12:27:00.000-07:00

Last Friday, we sat around the house bored. We definitely didn't want to stay in the house for the weekend where there would likely be a power outage that makes the entertainment level comparable to the 15th Century. We entertained the idea of going to Juticalpa, but we decided that it just wasn't enough. Tegucigalpa it is.

Tegucigalpa isn't a flattering city. It looks impoverished even in the so called "nice" parts of the city. Still, the internet is literally 1,000 times faster in Teguc than it is in San Francisco de la Paz. If we do nothing else, it is worth it to download a bunch of music and movies. Besides going to the American style mall, with American prices that we cannot afford, there really isn't much to do than download. Another good thing about Teguc is the restaurant selection. It wouldn't exactly be considered fine dining in U.S. as it is mostly chain restaurants like Chili's, TGIFridays, Pizza hut, and all the fast food places. One of the valuable things I have learned on my Third World odyssey is that Chili's has a great blue cheese bacon burger.

I have a little under two months here but it isn't time yet to get sentimental. Although, I have been trying to enjoy my time as much as I can at the school because I know I am going to miss it come November. I thought the picture below said a lot about Honduras in general.

Independence Day

2011-09-17T15:24:00.000-07:00

Independence Day in Central America

Children's Day

2011-09-09T14:58:00.000-07:00

Today we celebrated "Dia del Niño with yet another fiesta. This was probably the best party yet because the kids were allowed to pretty much do whatever they wanted. We had a small assembly with a few games that were hilarious. Volunteers came up on stage and were given a balloon. They had to pop the balloon and read the instructions that were put on a small piece of paper in the inflated balloon. A few of them were--sing your favorite song, imitate the director of the school, dance like Michael Jackson. After that, each room was given a piñata and the kids went to work. Bellow are some pictures from Utila as well as today's fiesta.

Back Home

2011-09-03T09:57:00.000-07:00

We left La Ceiba after a sleepless night in a crap hotel. The hotel was right on the water, which was the only plus to waking up in a pool of sweat. Utila was very relaxing for a few days--hot showers, air conditioning, clean sheets, and great food. After just a couple days of paradise I was ready to head back to Olancho. We had two options for transportation. We could either take a bus to San Pedro, change buses, head to Tegucigalpa, change buses, head to Juticalpa, change buses, and then head to San Francisco; or we could hop on a chicken bus from La Ceiba and go straight to Olancho, stopping frequently to pick up new passengers, salesman, and clowns. Yes, clowns.

Heading out of La Ceiba you can see banana farms and palm trees used for their palm oil. The trees are neatly placed in rows making for a well organized countryside. The first few hours flew by, but the thought of 7 more hours was a bit daunting. We continued on the paved road outside of La Ceiba until we crossed into Olancho. The American fast food restaurants stopped and we entered the back-country. We picked up the usual salesmen who I don't pay any attention to. I looked up after I saw some long red shoes in the isle. I was staring straight at a clown. Clowns were getting on and off the bus attempting to entertain us for money. The problem was that they looked more scary than anything and I thought their jokes were terrible, not to mention that every clown did the same jokes.

The hours started to stack together and we were making our way to Gualaco, which is the town up from San Francisco de la Paz. We got a call from a couple people from San Francisco warning us that there was danger around town. Apparently, two people from our town were killed in Puerto Cortez for reasons I am sure you can guess. One of the people who we talked to said that this time it was actually dangerous--basically shit was going down.

We were almost in Gualaco when a blue truck flagged us down. He talked to the driver for a couple minutes and we went on our way. I asked the driver's helper what was going on and he hesitantly told me that there was some trouble up ahead on the road but he thinks it has already passed. We arrived to the trouble and it was worse than we thought. Army and police lined the road with automatic machine guns and body armor. A group of people were crying on the side of the road. As we wound our way past the group I could see why they were crying. There was a dead body face down, stripped of clothing on the side of the road. That was definitely a first for me.

We got home safely and pretty much locked ourselves in for the night, except to take out Leche who was very glad to see us. Our neighbors barricaded their roof to make gunning stations in case of an attack. At around 7 o-clock just as it started to get really dark outside I heard an explosion in the distance and machine gun fire--another battle had started. The explosions were definitely grenades. Fortunately, our neighbors weren't the ones being attacked. Coming into Olancho from La Ceiba, you realize that it is probably the most raw and untamed regions in the country. The land is mountainous and the people are just as abrasive. They value the lives of their cattle more than their human counterparts. School was let out early on Friday because of the violence. I really hope this doesn't continue to trend toward increased violence. Everyone says the current violence is nothing compared to a year or two ago.

It's a Long Road

2011-08-30T15:50:00.000-07:00

I left early Saturday morning for Tegucigalpa to stay at my usual hotel, Guadalupe Dos, which is common for Peace Corps volunteers and English teachers on a budget. They have hot water and internet, which is quite luxurious at this point. The reason I had to go on this trip was because my visa was set to expire on the 1st of September. We used to need to go to either Belize or Costa Rica to renew our passports, but the rule changed so that any country outside of Honduras would do. I heard that the border crossing at Copan was easy so I decided to go for it. It's a long road to Copan.

The trip to Copan was way easier this time around, compared to the cramped ride in the back of Ricardo's pick-up truck for 12 hours. We went from Tegucigalpa to San Pedro Sula and on to Copan from there. I think I have finally gotten over my travel anxiety. I used to get anxious on public transportation, especially in Third World countries, but now I am cool as a cucumber. The bus driver from San Pedro Sula to Copan was absolutely on fire. I came to the conclusion that he must have thought he was playing a video game or something. He was weaving in and out of traffic on blind corners with little regard for anyone else on the road. Normally, I would have been white knuckled and sweating, but I was just reading a book and listening to music with a smile on my face. If nothing else, this trip has taught be patience and the ability to let go of things I can't control. One of the hardest things I have had to do is to accept that my fate is uncertain, that I can't control everything--nor should I. It is much easier to calm down and enjoy the ride.

Copan turned out to be a bitch. I went to the border and told the Honduran immigration officer my situation. I told him I am an English teacher and I need to get my passport stamped one more time for 90 days to last until I leave. He agreed to stamp my passport, but when I gave him my passport to be stamped I didn't have a yellow customs sheet that had been stamped into my passport. Unfortunately, without the yellow sheet I had to pay a fine of around 150 dollars. Basically he told me to pay it now or pay when I leave in November. I did everything I could to convince him to let me off the hook, but he didn't really have a choice. I paid the fine and left, just glad that I got my 90 days and was on to better things.

Our original plan was to go back to Olancho after we got our 90 days, given that school is still in session. Ricardo gave us a week break and no one wanted to go back to Olancho at that point. I was feeling the effects from the fine and thought a day or two on the beach would be just what I need. We decided to head to the bay islands, and specifically Utila, which is the backpacker's version of Roatan.

Another grueling day of traveling brought us to La Ceiba where our old friend Oscar met us at the bus terminal. Oscar left the school after his brother died and we have all missed his humor since he's been gone. It was great to have a nice dinner with him before we continued. This morning we took the one hour ferry from La Ceiba to Utila. We decided to stay at a more expensive hotel that has far better accommodations than we are used to. After 7 months living in Arizona circa 1870 we decided we deserve something better, if only for 2 days. The hotel juts out into the bay on stilts. The view is incredible and all we can hear is the ocean. So that's where I am at this point.

I added pictures from a recent walk with Leche and a few pictures of the ocean. Definitely more ocean pictures to come.

Always a Trip

2011-08-21T16:18:00.000-07:00

Even if it is only for a few hours, Juticalpa is always a trip. We decided to go at eight this morning to use the faster internet and eat some gas station pizza. Now, in the United States I would absolutely never eat at a gas station. I have problems eating at a Subway connected to a gas station. I think it has something to do with the fact that the bathrooms are so disgusting and they are then handling your cold cuts. Doesn't make much sense, but these guys actually make a decent slice and the bathrooms are immaculate.

So we ate a slice or two and went to the other gas station that has free high speed internet. The plan was to take the 12 o'clock bus back to San Fran, but when the time came we weren't ready so we decided to take one at 2. The bus schedule on Sunday is difficult and no matter how many times we ask, we never seem to figure it out. Last time we messed up we ended up on the little bus that could--it actually didn't make it up a hill. We had to roll down backwards and try it again. So we thought there was a bus at 2 and it turned out that we were wrong again. The bus didn't leave until 4. We could either sit out in the heat, go back and sit on the internet, or hitchhike. We decided to hitchhike. Sometimes when we hitchhike someone we know will see us and give us a ride.

A nice truck came by and I stuck my thumb out. A friendly looking gentleman asked where we were going and I told him San Francisco. He was going to Gualaco so it was on his way. He agreed to take us. The guy was strikingly normal. We had a nice conversation about each of our countries and he had been to the United States for an agricultural conference many times and was visiting Italy in a couple months. Who is this guy? Had we encountered the richest, most normal man in Honduras? He has a lot of property in the Gualaco area, including a mine that he is looking to sell to the Italians. We stopped halfway to San Francisco at a gas station and before the guy got out he asked if we wanted a soda. We respectfully declined and he entered the store. We turned to each other and said, "Wow, this guy is great. We are so lucky."

He came out of the gas station with a six pack of Miller High Life bottles, which wasn't weird at all. What we did find weird was when he pulled out of the gas station and twisted one open casually as if it were a normal Sunday drive for him. On the second half of the trip he really turned on the creepy. The conversation continued, but he would turn around and look at us while he was talking, completely ignoring the fact that he was driving. He was absolutely all over the road. The most normal man in Honduras turned out not to be so normal after all. He ended up blatantly hitting on Marie and inviting us to shoot guns on Friday. I said, "Yeah, maybe", but didn't give him my phone number. At one point he started talking about the violence in Honduras and how you can't trust the police, army, or any government branch to take care of it. He said that it is basically every man for himself in Honduras and God is the only one looking out for you. I'm sure the drinking and driving on Sundays isn't helping his case.

Walking the Dog

2011-08-17T20:30:00.000-07:00

I took a huge nap today, which I normally don't like to do. I have been having at least an hour of band practice everyday to get ready for the Independence Day celebration on September 15th and it has really worn me out. The band has proven to be more of a challenge than I initially thought. It takes so much energy to just get the kids together, get them quiet, and have them listen. If you put 15 drums in a class of 6th graders it is going to be chaos. However, each time we get together we are getting better. The band is highly regarded in the celebration and I have felt the pressure from the administration and parents about having a good band. I am just hoping we will be ready.

After my nap, Leche was waiting outside my door so I took him out for a walk. Leche has had a rough couple days. He was out running with Rob and got attacked by another dog. The dog bit the top of his head and gave him three really deep puncture wounds. The good thing about Honduras and Olancho specifically is that veterinarians are highly regarded due to their essential role in the cattle based economy. The majority of the population has access to veterinary services. It is kind of an unwritten law that everyone gets their dog vaccinated for rabies. In order to get into the United States, Leche would have had to get rabies vaccine anyways, so we took him to the vet just to make sure he didn't contract rabies. He was getting special treatment all day yesterday because of his wounds. We think he gets attacked because all the street dogs are jealous. Leche is very well kept and educated. He speaks three languages: English, Spanish, and French. He has recovered well from his wounds and is more or less back to normal. It was quite the scare...

http://rootsandwingsintl.org/blog/

Science Fair

2011-08-15T15:02:00.000-07:00

It is starting to seem like the school year is winding down. Central America's independence day is coming up September 15th and the school has been in preparation mode for about a month now. Our classes are only 35 minutes and we are going to have shortened class periods from now until the 15th. We protested this a little bit, but I think it is a matter of priorities and tradition. Ultimately, it isn't our job to tell them that they need to be in class. Our school functions like the television show "The Office". Almost every week we either have a party or a national event that we are preparing for. I guess you could say Ricardo is Michael Scott.

I am in charge of the school marching band and we haven't made any progress yet. We don't have equipment or time to practice at this point because everyone seems to have scheduling conflicts. I told the school today that I am going to use my sixth grade class for the band since they are incredibly smart and mostly do what they are told. I will just teach them in music and art class. As for the equipment, I guess I will just have to improvise.

Science fair was today and we had some awesome projects presented. The winning group made toothpaste from scratch, which was cool in itself. The kicker was that Honduras has some of the worst dental health I have ever seen, so it works on multiple levels. Another project was a model city that they connected to a battery so it had street lights and a moving windmill. My project was a lesson in viscosity. I made quicksand goo out of corn starch and water. I brought food coloring in so the kids could make their own bowl with their favorite color. If you apply force to the liquid it acts as a solid, so the kids were punching the liquid and then sinking their hands in it slowing to feel the suction. I think my project was a favorite among the students. I had everyone coming up to my table trying to feel the goo.

One of the teachers was actually scared of the goo I made. I told him to touch it and he said it was dangerous and walked away. He must have thought I was a warlock. If anything bad happens to him he always gets out a bottle of liquid that is blessed by a witch and washes his hands with it. Needless to say, he isn't one of the more normal teachers.

Robs project was an erupting volcano. He used the vinegar and baking soda reaction with red food coloring. To top it all off, he put a bunch of gasoline in it and lit it on fire so when the baking soda and vinegar came foaming out it was on fire. I thought it was awesome, although it got 10th place. I beat Rob and got 9th place, but it was nowhere near what I thought we were going to get. Another group made tiger balm, which I thought was really clever. It was a really easy day today since they took the entire day for science fair. I don't expect that we will be having many more full days of school the way things are starting to go.

There is a picture of one of the preschoolers crying. One of the projects was like an inflatable person that ended up looking like a ghost. He started to cry thinking that the ghost would come after him. I definitely thought this was picture worthy.

In 2 weeks I will be taking another visa renewal trip. My plan is to cross into Guatemala real quick and see if I can convince the border patrol to give me a 90 visa.

St. Basil Medical Mission

2011-08-10T18:29:00.000-07:00

Today, I went with a medical group from St. Basil's Catholic Church to a small village about 20 minutes north of San Francisco. St. Basil's is located in between Cleveland and Akron. The group of about 8 of them are going to be here all week seeing patients and doing what they can to improve the public health of the surrounding area. Today we had a dentist, an MD, two nurses, an Ohio State student, and two high school students helping out.

This is an annual outing for the group funded by their mega-church that has bout 3500 families and a multi-million dollar budget. They had a process and knew exactly what they were doing and I fell in line beautifully. The dental equipment is compact--about the size of a small carry-on, but it packs a lot of utility. It has multiple suctions and a rinse and spit function. The town doesn't have electricity, so they had a small Honda generator that could really pack a punch. I couldn't believe that the whole operation rested on the shoulders of a generator the size of a large lunchbox.

The small village is called Quebrada Dantos and is gorgeously tucked into a lush, green valley surrounded by mountains that are somehow being farmed, despite the daunting incline. I secretly timed the group as we were setting up and it literally took about 15 minutes. On the 15th minute, The first patient had a needle in her gum getting anesthetic. Some of the dental cases were absolutely disgusting. A couple of times I actually got nauseous, and when it comes to blood I am not queasy. For some reason, coming from the mouth really bothered me. A lot of the patients had to walk or travel far to visit our camp. We wondered how so many people found out about it just by word of mouth. The whole operation was incredible on both sides of the table.

I bounced around where they needed me to translate, but I mostly found a home in the pharmacy counting pills and telling patients when to take certain medicines. The Spanish skills in the group were limited so they really used me as a resource. A lot of what the medical team did was to hand out simple over the counter pain medication and multi-vitamins. There were also quite a bit of sick children getting penicillin. One of the sad things we saw was that if there was a female patient between the age of 17-35 there was a good chance she was pregnant. We also handed out a lot of prenatal vitamins.

One particular case was especially disgusting. An old woman came in limping on a bandaged leg and asked to see the dentist. The doctor told her to show us the leg first and then she could see the dentist. Her leg was eaten almost to the bone with some sort of skin sore. She had put some sort of talc powder on it that I am sure was only making it worse. She has diabetes and the wound would likely not heal. At this point the only thing to do would be to skin graph it or cut off her leg. In this area, I would put money on the latter.

We had a couple of people at the pharmacy trying their hardest to get any sort of extra medicine or toothbrushes, so fortunate for us we had something to give them. The church has a rosary making club that gave like 200 rosaries to give out. They were really pretty and I pocketed one immediately, because I knew they would be gone in a matter of minutes.

I didn't get any sleep last night and I haven't figured out why. I woke up in a cold sweat around 1:45 and couldn't find any sleep until 4. I woke up extremely tired, hopped in the shower and the truck was outside to pick me up. As soon as we started to see the first patients it shot some adrenaline into us and time starting flying. Before we knew it, it was 3 and time to leave. Just as efficiently as the set-up, we tore down the place and got out of there. We filled countless prescriptions and the dentist pulled around sixty teeth. Some of the patients said, "Yeah, I just want them all out." Alllllrighty-then...

I left feeling like that is something I would definitely want to do again at some point. I have always thought about setting up pop-up clinics and pop-up classrooms in post-disaster or post-conflict situations. Today this team really showed me how it is done. Sometimes my only connection to home is through reading articles on the internet, mostly from the news. It isn't often that I can find an article that gives me optimism about our current situation, what with the 2 wars, a financial crisis and the other list of problems that never seem to go away. This group of seemingly average Ohioans, three of which were still in school, really reminded me that good Midwestern Americans are intelligent, kind, and have a clear vision of what their part is in the scheme of things. It was so nice to just sit down and have a conversation in English with like-minded people. Definitely a pick-me-up!

Birthday Party

2011-08-04T21:20:00.000-07:00

Today is my birthday as well as my roommate Robert's birthday. It also happens to be Barack Obama's birthday, so the kids were asking us if every gringo is born on August 4th. The kids were saying happy birthday to me in English all day and giving me hugs. Ricardo organized a surprise party for us in the afternoon. The students left an hour early and we had a nice little celebration with a pinata, cake, and chicken and rice. Rob and I were both saying that it was one of the best birthdays we have had in a while.

They got us a Spiderman pinata, which was perfect. The ceilings are so high at the school and whenever we have a fiesta it is a logistical nightmare to thread the rope through to hang it. As you can see Rob tried to climb a pole and thread it through and almost got a birthday broken leg. It turns out another of our teachers was born August 4th so he was included in the celebration. Three out of like 14 teachers have the same birthday.

Wednesday Afternoon Kidnapping

2011-08-03T19:20:00.000-07:00

I was just finishing up dinner when Rob barged through the door sweating, just getting back from a run. "Dude, you gotta see this", he said. "There are about 40 guys down the street with automatic weapons. Grab your camera, let's go." Just as I was walking out the door, Ricardo called me and said, "Hey, where are you. Are you in the house? Are the others in the house? It is better that you don't leave tonight. Just stay in the house." Ok Ricardo, will do...

The small corner shop where we buy groceries was apparently the meeting place for the Wednesday night task force. It wasn't an exaggeration, there were around 40 guys with an assortment of automatic machine guns. One guy was wearing police issued body armor and carrying a grenade launcher. We went inside the store where we usually buy vegetables and timidly tried to take a couple snap shots. One of our students from high school was in the store and we asked him what was going on. He refused to tell us probably fearing repercussions from the armed mob outside. After buying a couple things we walked outside and decided to walk through the gauntlet of armed men and try to take some photos.

Just as we got to the end of the gauntlet a guy tried to say something in English but we didn't catch it. He said, "You guys speak-a da Spanish, right?"
"Sure we do"
"It's not every day you see this on the streets in the United States."
Yeah, well as a matter of fact, we've never seen anything like this anywhere."

We got to talking with our new Mexican looking friend and he said that he lived in New York for a while. I knew one of the armed guys standing not too far away and I yelled for him. His name is Machuka. He lives not too far away from our house and is pretty much a contract worker for one of the "groups" in town. He was holding an AK-47. I grabbed it out of his hands and struck a pose for Rob's camera. Our new friend took out his 9mm pistol, grabbed me by the front of my pants and shoved it snug against my package. Now the picture was complete. 9mm pistol sticking out of my pants and an AK-47.

At that point everyone started laughing and it lightened the mood a bit. Rob and I started taking pictures freely and walked back to the house. The reason there were so many guns on the street is that someone got kidnapped in town and they are going to try and get them back.The longer I am here the more ridiculous things get.

Rob's turn to pose

Relaxing in Juticalpa?

2011-08-01T20:51:00.000-07:00

This past weekend I went to Juticalpa to get away from San Francisco. In Juticalpa I stay in a hotel with hot water and send my laundry to be done by someone else. Laundry has become a huge pain here without a dryer. Before this weekend, I thought my clothes would perpetually smell like mildew. I was able to get a couple decent meals from an American style gas station that sells pretty good slices of pizza and I got access to fast internet so I could steal some movies. Juticalpa is a nightmare of a run-down, mexican-like border town. The concrete makes it a good 5 or ten degrees hotter than San Francisco. In fact, Juticalpa is so bad that the teachers from our sister school in Juticalpa like to come to San Francisco to relax. So, sometimes it is almost as if we just switch cities for the weekend.

I was sitting at a burger place in Juticalpa when a shoeless kid in ripped up clothing came in and started asking people for Lempiras. I really haven't figured out my official position on this. I don't know that giving money to the kid is going to solve his problems, but I don't yet know if it would hurt his cause either. A couple of the people inside the restaurant gave him food and he seemed like he was starving, literally. What I would really like to do is clean him up and put him in a private boarding school where he can get an education and actually have a chance in life. I had just gotten paid this weekend and I only had a 500 Lempira bill, which is only like 25 dollars American, but is kind of a ridiculous sum of money here. I had my keys and the 500 note on the table and he walked up and asked for a Lempira. I instinctively told him I didn't have any. I couldn't figure out whether I meant that I literally didn't have change for this 500 Lempira bill or that I didn't have a Lempira at all for him.

What I worry about is that he will try and make a career out of begging, which is just a terrible life; and if I can be completely honest, is really annoying to the person you are begging. On the other hand I think, how could I possibly leave a mouth unfed if I have the power to give food to him for a month in the blink of an eye. I hate how much I have been thinking with my head lately, neglecting my heart. Just one Lempira, that's all he wanted and I may never have another chance to give it to him. People say money doesn't buy happiness, but I think that kid would have been pretty damn happy with enough money for a burger and fries. And that is regret.

Roots and Wings

A Couple of Much Needed Runs

2011-07-28T19:16:00.001-07:00

The best part about running is that there are only two constants: left, right and repeat. It is definitely the rainy season here, as dark clouds roll in at about 1:30 p.m. every day. Some days I just need to go for a run no matter what the conditions. It was hotter than usual yesterday and I told myself I would go out no matter what the temperature was—I would just need to bring water...

I got home from school and changed into some running clothes and decided to lace up an old pair of shoes in case there was mud on the trail. When I stepped outside, I saw the storm approaching from the north and I knew that I would be running right into it. Sometimes, the storms aren’t so bad here; it will just sprinkle and there will be some mild thunder accompanying the dark clouds. Other times the rain damn near forms river rapid systems through the unpaved streets. I couldn’t tell which one it was yesterday, but I didn’t really care. I decided to be bold.

North of my town there is a path that follows a valley that was cut by a river. This is my running path. The path is so diverse in its terrain that I haven’t gotten the least bit bored of it for 6 months. Especially since the rains came, the path is completely different now. Lush green vegetation shades most of the path, which is a welcome break from the afternoon sun. I figured the vegetation would give me some cover if it decided to rain too. As I reached the trailhead, I looked up to see that the space in between the two mountains had sheets of opaque rain that blocked much of the view. I knew I was going to get soaked.

There are like 5 river crossings until the end of the path. At the end, there is really no sense in trying to go further as you would pretty much be walking through dense jungle-like brush and traversing riverbeds. Depending on what time of year it is, the river can be dry or filled with water. Before today, I never had an issue crossing. I would say that the normal level for the river is around 3 inches if any water at all. Normally if there is a little extra water, there are always large rocks protruding that make for nice lily pads to hop across. There were no such lily pads yesterday.

As I made it to the first river crossing, the rain started to come down pretty heavy. My Ipod was getting wet so I decided to put it in a ziplock bag that I brought for just such an occasion. The river was higher than I had ever seen it. I stopped my watch and thought long and hard about turning back. I felt adventurous and decided I would cross. Just before I jumped I looked like an apprehensive dog or cat hanging on a ledge deciding whether to take the plunge. I bound across, just sinking one of my legs shin high. I remember thinking, “That’s not a good sign.”

The further north I got, the harder it rained and river crossings became more difficult. There is one main river crossing that even when it is at a low water level, I usually get my feet a little wet. When I arrived, that part of the river was torrential. There were rapids and strong currents. I was repeating something I heard over and over in my head, “It only takes about 2 inches of running water to knock you over.” In hindsight, it probably wasn’t a good idea to cross this one knowing that I would have to cross it on the way back, but I did it anyways. At first I thought it was shin deep like the other one until I plunged ass deep in a pool and got caught in a current. I lost control and got swept a couple meters down river and did my best to stay balanced enough to keep the Ipod out of the water. I made it to the other side and continued to run with soggy shoes, which was kind of like running with ankle weights. On the way back I took the river diagonally with the current and it was much easier to pass. The rain came down even harder on the way back because I was running with the storm. It was coming down in huge, tropical drops that filled my mouth every time I breathed. Definitely not my fastest run by any means, what with all the mud pits and river crossings, but it had to be the most fun.

Today I decided to go for another run and I took my time. I was more worried about settling into that rhythm than anything else. Any runner will tell you that that rhythm is the only thing to strive for. It is the effortless, mindless lull of left and right that puts just the right part of my brain to sleep and activates a whole other part that I don’t get to use during the day. There is a treatment for PSTD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) called EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing). The back and forth movement of the eye is supposed to activate both sides of the brain so that information can fully be recalled. According to Francine Shapiro, the developer of the theory, “The memory and associated stimuli of traumatic events are inadequately processed, and are dysfunctionally stored in an isolated memory network. The goal of EMDR therapy is to process these distressing memories, reducing their lingering influence and allowing clients to develop more adaptive coping mechanisms.”

A great deal of professionals don’t use eye movements, but rather use a pulse system. The patient holds a small object in each hand that alternates pulses between the two hands at whatever speed feels comfortable to the patient. The left to right rhythm helps the patient to relax, remember, and eventually reprocess and restore information in a healthy way. EMDR has been proven effective despite many critics. Most of the critics argue that it isn’t the right to left motion that is helping the patient; rather it is just recalling the events and working through them that makes the difference. Either way, the results have been extremely positive.

I feel that this has a definite connection to running. The rhythm of a runners stride acts as the right-left stimulation. I always seem to be processing so much information when I am running and after the run I always feel as though a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. Some may call this a runner’s high filling the brain with endorphins, but maybe the brain has just found a better way to process the information from a long day’s work. When a runner decides to run may depend on when they like to get their information processed. Some people may prefer to start their day by preparing and processing information to make their day go smoothly. There are probably people like me who are more reflective and view a run as a way to wind down and echo the day’s happenings. Regardless, I don’t think you can argue the fact that running is therapeutic both physically and mentally. There are only two constants to a run—left and right—everything else is up to interpretation and a little bit of Mother Nature.

Roots and Wings on Civil War Art

2011-07-26T13:49:00.000-07:00

Here is a post on Roots and Wings about an Guatemalan artist:

http://rootsandwingsintl.org/blog/2011/07/regina-jose-galindo/

6 Months Here

2011-07-25T18:28:00.000-07:00

Today, July 25, 2011, marks 6 months that I have been in Honduras. I had a terrible weekend. It was one of those weekends where I question what the hell I am doing here. I wrote a couple pages of what I thought encompassed all my feelings about 6 months in Honduras. I reread it this morning and decided it would be better not to put that into a blog. It was basically a pissed off rant. Here are some bullet points of things I have learned:

Being here hasn't taught me to place any trust in the Honduran people. I am not saying that Hondurans aren't trustworthy in general or that there aren't any honest Hondurans. What I am saying is that I haven't met any.
I have never really liked to bathe. Taking cold showers doesn't make that any easier, and you don't ever really get used to it.
Honduras, and Central America in general, is a beautiful place filled with largely undiscovered treasures. It really is a tourist's dream. Would I like to live here permanently? That is a resounding no.
The thing that makes this all worth it is the teaching, which is what I am here to do. Sometimes I lose sight of that, but each day when I wake up I have purpose. I truly believe that what we are doing has an impact on our students. Maybe when this generation of kids grows up they will behave differently than their parents. We haven't exactly been welcomed into the community as we would have liked, but each day we keep our mission at the top of the list and it makes all the difference. And it is totally worth it. To hear your students speaking English that you taught them is next to nothing I have ever experienced.
I don't love this place, I love what I am doing in this place.

Dia del Indio

2011-07-21T13:45:00.000-07:00

Abuelito

Abuelito!

The Day of the Indian was much like the other holidays we celebrated: an all day assembly that should take about an hour that is filled with inappropriate dances and dramas that have nothing to do with the celebration. For some reason, the students all want to dance to punta music, which comes from the black Garifuna population on the north coast. I still cannot believe there is no oversight on what the kids can do in the assembly. The funny thing is that I look around and it seems that the parents are loving it, so maybe it is just culturally sensitive to the gringos.

Tiffany did a great job as the India Bonita, but they put a bunch of make-up on her and she looked kinda like an Indian witch. Some of the preschool kids were calling her bruja. You know something is bad when the preschoolers are in on it. She even gave a great little speech that she memorized thanking everyone for voting for her. Whenever we have an assembly we are expected to come early to the school and set up. We always make these grand displays only to have the kids come and ruin it before the thing even starts. I guess that is what elementary education is all about.

Most of my fourth graders dressed up as Indians and escorted Tiffany down the walkway to her throne. There really wasn’t anything historical about the event, except for the kids dressing like they were going to a Cleveland Indians game. It kinda rendered an important holiday useless and wasted a day of school, but the nice thing was that the assembly ended at 11 and we all went home early.

I met a guy today from Cleveland who will be here for 6 weeks working for a Catholic parish to install some water purification systems and to lead a couple medical brigades. He said that I could come along to some rural villages and translate for the doctors and nurses, so I am looking forward to getting that experience. I haven’t really had the opportunity to visit rural Honduran villages. If I travel, I pretty much bounce between the big cities. It will be nice to see how the other half live in Honduras.

It is the rainy season here and usually rains every day at 1 pm. This makes it difficult to do the laundry. If you do your laundry after the rain the sun isn’t strong enough to dry it and you are going to smell like mildew. If you do it before the rain you better make sure you do it early or your clothes will get wet and again you will smell like mildew. What I am getting at is that I smell.

The internet here has been painfully slow. I am having trouble uploading photos. It takes like an hour to upload 20 photos. Pretty frustrating. Wuuuusahhh

In Class Activities

2011-07-18T13:56:00.000-07:00

Tiffany getting elected

India Bonita

Every year, Honduras celebrates their indigenous heritage with Dia de Los Indios or Day of the Indians, if you couldn’t guess. They eat traditional Indian food, dance, and play other cultural games to celebrate. They always pick a Miss India Bonita and this year it was Tiffany from first grade. Tiffany has to be the most animated 1^st grader I have ever met. She has a toothless smile that lights up her entire face. They select a representative from each grade, preschool through 9^th grade and take a vote. Tiffany won unanimously. She was so embarrassed that I think she cried a little bit. All the teachers have been involved in making an outfit for her, which will be a traditional Indian dress. It is kind of like thanksgiving in that it has to do with the harvest and corn in particular. We hot glued corn kernels in patterns on the dress and I have to say that it looks pretty great. Last year, a dress that the school made went all the way to Panama and got 2^nd place for the celebration. We have high hopes for this year.

Julia

Salva and the bigote

Here you have Salvador with a drawn on mustache. Salvador is one of my favorites. He has such a grown up sense of humor and laughs at all the right things. He is a decent student, but has one of those personalities that will take him far on its own. He doesn’t necessarily act out in class, but if he isn’t paying attention or is doing something that he isn’t supposed to be doing I threaten him with a “bigote” or mustache. Everyone secretly wants a bigote but we play it off that it is a punishment. The kids in 4^th grade will get in legitimate fights with each other. Specifically, they will just haul off and kick someone. Salvador and Julia do this in particular to each other. They are the two leaders in the class I think and I also think they have a crush on each other. I have been teaching them how to ask questions like, “Do you want, Do you need, Do you like, Do you love.” So I say things like, “Andrea, do you like Juan?” Andrea will vehemently deny liking Juan, but when I ask Julia if she likes Salvador she will get quiet and have a surprised look on her face. It is so funny because they are always basically kick boxing. I really wish I could upload some videos I took of them play fighting but the internet is too slow.

Cake

About to blow out the candles

Faviola turned 10 the other day and we had a little party during English class. Her dad came in about a week before to ask me if it was ok. He said, "Hey, I was wondering if I could bring in a Pinata and some cake for Faviola's birthday. It is just a small cake and a small pinata, it will only take like 15 minutes. Well, the celebration lasted well over an hour. It was a huge pinata and a decent sized cake, soda, and gift bags for everyone. If I thought my kids were on fire before, after they got all that sugar in them they were intolerable. We had a little dilemma with the pinata. The ceilings are like 13 feet high and we needed something to hang the pinata on. So her dad was like, "Hey, just stack two desks on each other and climb up and hang the pinata." I said, "Man, I don't really feel comfortable doing that." He said, "Oh, you can do it, come on." Couldn't really argue with that. So I balanced on two stacked desks and threaded the rope through the support beams so we would have a proper pinata.

Stress--and a Roots and Wings post

2011-07-16T08:50:00.000-07:00

In many ways, the rural Honduran environment is wearing on the group. The tension is palpable in the house. I think everyone is a couple degrees away from a personal meltdown. Oscar won’t be returning from La Ceiba to teach so that he can be closer to home. After the death of her other son, his mom didn’t want him to leave. Oscar could have come back and should have come back because there aren’t any jobs for him in La Ceiba. It was a choice he made and I think he made it in part because it really isn’t easy living in Olancho. The difference between even Olancho and La Ceiba is striking. Unfortunately, in a situation like this, the students are the only ones losing out, although it has worked out okay since we have Honduran student teachers working at our school. They aren’t so good at English, but at least they can look after the kids in the classroom.

I have been engrossed in the search for a new teacher for the last week. I posted the job on the internet and have been receiving applications from some extremely qualified candidates. I have interviewed a couple and would be willing to hire any one of them. Fortunately for us, we found a bilingual girl in Juticalpa that spent about 12 years in the United States, so she has a pretty good command of the language. I think we are going to hire her and she will start on Monday, so the gap has been filled.

Other than that, my disciplinary council has been implemented and it is functioning like a well oiled machine at the moment. We already met to discuss the behavior of a student and we decided to suspend the student for a day. It was really nice to see something go from an idea to actual practice. It really gives the feeling of creation. Going along with the theme of creativity, I have been trying to put together a website for the school and it is harder than I realized. In addition to writing the content, which I often need to translate from Spanish, I have to make sure the site looks professional and not tacky. Even though I am using Wordpress and the templates are already made, it has been really tough for my creative side to construct something worth while.

Regardless of the difficulties we are having, the weeks are piling on and in a couple days it will be 6 months that I have been here, leaving 4 months to go until my contract is up. Not sure whether I will teach for another year or look for something in another country. We really do have a great situation here, but as I said before, living in a town like this really wears on you. Last night I was in the kitchen and I heard something in my room. Someone was reaching in through my window with a stick trying to grab something from my room. The funny part was that I am pretty sure they were trying to steal my underwear, because we found a pair of my underwear out by the window. It was just a really weird thing. 5 minutes later, Oscar called me from the other side of the country and asked if I was alright because he heard someone tried to rob me. News gets around pretty quickly.

Please check out my Roots and Wings post at http://rootsandwingsintl.org/blog/2011/07/violence-follow-up/

Roots and Wings: Recent Violence and Corruption in Guatemala

2011-07-11T18:44:00.000-07:00

Here is the link to my article on the recent violence in Guatemala:

http://rootsandwingsintl.org/blog/2011/07/violence-and-corruption-whats-new/

Oscar and Abuelito

2011-07-10T22:03:00.000-07:00

The other night, I awoke at 4:50 in the morning to someone banging on our living room window. I opened my bedroom door carefully which opens into the living room and peeked my head out. In my sleepy state, I thought someone had somehow penetrated the metal jail bars that protect our door and had gotten inside our house—like someone would be banging on the window from inside our house. I was pretty upset about being awake over an hour before I had to get up, so I asked as forcefully as I could in Spanish what the hell he was doing knocking at this time in the morning. He asked for my Honduran roommate, Oscar. I asked why the hell he needed to see Oscar. I didn’t want to go get Oscar and then have the guy pull a gun on him. Oscar isn’t exactly the most well liked person in the city since he isn’t from around here, lives with the gringos, and can speak English fluently—there is a lot of jealousy. Finally, I told him I wouldn’t get Oscar until he told me why he was here. Finally, he said something was wrong with his brother. I figured that warranted waking up Oscar. He was just as confused as I was when I woke him up. We came to find out that his half brother, which is his only sibling, was killed in a drunken motorcycle accident early Friday morning.

Oscar and his brother didn’t have the best relationship growing up. In fact, Oscar has a huge scar on his arm because his brother stabbed him in the shoulder in an argument. I think on some level that makes it harder—to be in a bad place with flesh and blood and have him die before you can make it right. Oscar threw on some clothes, packed a bag, and left for the 10 hour trip to La Ceiba. Normally things like that would affect me deeply, having lost a “brother” in the same sort of way, but my day surprisingly went on as planned. Things like that happen around here all the time. You hear about two deaths here, two deaths there, bad accident here, and a bad accident there. It got me thinking how immune I am to bad news at things point, and not even just bad news, but change. Things are constantly changing around here and you kind of just assume that nothing will stay the same. It is an interesting way to live, always being on your toes.

Ricardo, my boss, is studying to be the administrator of a school, even though he already owns a school and could probably just place himself in that position whenever he wants. I am sure the extra education would benefit him, but he already has over a decade worth of experience. The thing is that in order to be placed into an administrative position by the government, you need to have a degree as an administrator. Ricardo told me that he has no idea who will win the next election or the one after that. The terms are only five years without reelection. He said that if a socialist or communist wins the election, they might take away his private school and his store and make them public, which would leave him jobless. In order to ensure that he has a steady income for the rest of his career, he is giving himself options by getting that degree. The point is that people here have to worry about a lot more things than we as Americans have to worry about. The strange thing is that generally the people don’t worry about these things. They don’t look for ways to insure themselves and cushion the blows. Most don’t have that rainy day fund to fall back on. Maybe it is because they live a sort of fatalistic lifestyle not knowing when that bad car accident will come or when that war will start.

Speaking of war, I have been spending a lot of time at Ricardo’s house brainstorming ways to make the school better. Of course Abuelito is there. Abuelito is full of wrong facts about World War 2 and he quite possibly may be the most racist person I have ever met, even towards his own race. In addition to his occasional racism he will without warning hock a loogey on the floor of the house without remorse. Normally I would think something like that is disgusting but he does it with such confidence that it is more of a statement of how awesome he is.

When Abuelito tells stories, I get about 85 percent of what he says. It is tough to catch all his words when he is missing most of his teeth. My Spanish has come a long way, but not quite that far. Honduras has been at peace in terms of formal wars compared to its neighbors. Guatemala, El Salvador, and Nicaragua all had horrific civil wars that crippled the nations. Honduras has just maintained the same level of shitiness for some time now. In 1969 Honduras had their most recent war. It was called the soccer war because it was rumored that the entire thing started over an international match. It only lasted 100 hours.

I always love hearing old people talk about what they were doing when an event happened and Abuelitos version was pretty entertaining. He told me why the war began, which had to do with agriculture and the fact that El Salvador is a nation the size of Olancho and wanted more land to farm. Abuelito heard on the radio that El Salvador was attacking Honduras. Any single, armed man was being recruited to fight their neighbors. Abuelito was married, so he was able to stay in town. He began organizing a town militia armed with knives and machetes in case the Salvadorans came into town. The entire town slept with the lights off and under the bed for a week so that the bombers couldn’t find a target. All of this turned out to be a little paranoid as the only deaths reported in Olancho were from a mortar that killed 2 ducks. I thought it painted a perfect picture of my Abuelito, the toothless, machete wielding racist that has absolutely no problem spitting on the floor. Because of all these things and many more, he has definitely been my favorite and the most dynamic personality I have met on this journey.

Whining

2011-07-08T15:35:00.001-07:00

Progress is painfully slow here, and it isn’t because people here are actively resisting change for the better. I think generally people here know what’s right, they know what works, and they know what they would change if they had an “easy button”. I guess they are waiting for that fictional magic button to show up, when all they really need to do is be a leader and get something done. Hondurans are by no means incapable of working hard or working smart, they just have some serious organizational issues and a lack of a strong institution that runs deep into society, so deep that it has actually become a cultural trait. Hondurans are constantly tardy and they have a general lack of pride and vision for the future of their work. I have already expressed how pissed off the tardiness makes me, and I got over it thinking it was just a cultural difference, but the tardiness is part of a grander scheme of lost sheep waiting to be herded by a guard dog. The sheep have great wool and their meat is delicious. These sheep have all the potential to use their resources to better their lives, but without leadership they will continue to be farmed and exploited just as they are now. I’m not really sure if that metaphor worked, but I am going to roll with it.

I live with a European who has different views on just about everything when it comes to society. We all were talking about the school and the trouble we are having with discipline and other small organizational issues. I have been saying from day one that there are some serious changes that need to be made and without these changes the kids won’t learn English and the bilingual program will crash and burn. She didn’t understand why I would want to change anything, especially since my job is only to show up to work and teach the kids and go home. I feel that we were brought on to advise Ricardo about how things were run in our schools growing up and implement these things into the school’s curriculum. Things are changing. They have been changing for the past 10 years, and the world isn’t getting any smaller. If we don’t get things done now, I doubt they will ever get done. I really hope for the world that leadership isn’t just an American trait.

If you look at every successful bilingual school in the area they all have common traits: a bunch of American volunteers, an American owner, or both. They are all on the American system rather than the January to November system that we are on now. I am not saying that it is necessary for the schools to be American run. There just needs to be some standards, there needs to be a system in place that doesn’t allow exceptions, because if there is a system that allows exceptions here, everyone will take advantage. The foreign influence gives a school the appropriate system and allows for a no-bull-shit, business first environment that is separate from the local politics.

I am trying to implement a disciplinary council to take care of the tremendous amount of problems we have in the school. I told Ricardo that we are no longer on Honduran time, this is international time and we are going to get some things done. The first thing we need to do is manage the behavior of the kids so that we can have some peace in the classroom and so that the most pressing issue of providing an environment conducive to the best education possible is taken care of. We want the best education for those kids that we can possibly give them. I hope that is why all the teachers go to work everyday.

What we want and what we are striving for now is an environment in which we don’t have to spend half the class period disciplining our students. In order to learn another language, the student needs to have complete focus and actually want to learn it. There are some students that don’t see the value in it, or more importantly, their parents don’t see the value in it and aren’t supporting their children. Either way, I think in order to increase enrollment into the school the enrollment must first decrease to weed out those who aren’t committed. When we establish dominance in the language market in the area people will sign on to learn because they want to and because our process is proven.

Roots and Wings: Erik Swanson

2011-07-05T17:10:00.000-07:00

I am finally starting to feel better and I hope I never feel like that again.

As soon as I felt better I wrote an article about Roots and Wings founder/director Erik Swanson.

http://rootsandwingsintl.org/blog/2011/07/erik-swanson-the-man-behind-the-plan/

Good to be back!

Sickness

2011-07-02T21:32:00.001-07:00

FACT: Travel sickness is the worst thing on this planet. I imagine if I drank water from a rancid puddle of Martian water, I wouldn’t get as sick as I am from eating bad Honduran food. I haven’t really left the toilet in 4 days. That is four straight days on the toilet expelling any liquid I drink. I am beginning to think I will never again have a solid bowel movement.

The worst part about travel sickness is that it completely incapacitates you and leaves you bed ridden. The boredom almost drives you nuts. You can’t really stray too far from a bathroom or you are going to have a serious mess on your hands. In India, I shit the bed. I woke up at 2 a.m. and realized I had completely lost all bodily functions. I found a plastic bag and took off all my clothes and threw them in a trashcan outside. They were unsalvageable. It never really gets easier being sick and away from home, especially with a sickness so degrading as explosive diarrhea. Nothing sizes up your distance from home than being sick. I think it is because in part, being home is feeling completely inline with your health—it is being centered and stable physically and mentally as well as in location.

So hopefully I will turn the corner soon. Maybe one day I will be immune to all the bugs that give me travel sickness, though I am not that hopeful. My Honduran roommate got the same thing just last week and he has never left the country. Bad food is bad food, I guess. All I have to say is thank God for the United States Food and Drug Administration…