Lonely Larvae

I have some Anasazi moments that I want to post over the next few days that I didn't get to before my Honduran adventure started. The first one involves a boy that we will call Trevor (I am not allowed to share the names of the young people I have worked with).

Take an adolescent boy from his daily hours upon hours of video games, facebook, cell phone, TV, and ipod and drop him in the middle of the silent arizona desert and tell him to sit and think and you might as well have dropped him on Mars and told him to breath oxygen. The Anasazi experience is literally foreign for these kids and the more time I spend out there with them, the more aware I become of the incredible culture shock they have to wade through to before they feel safe, competent, and even happy out on the trail. There are no showers, no soft warm beds, essentially no shelter from the elements. Food takes quite a bit of time and preparation, entertainment consists of things you can make with your hands, converse about with a group of people you didn't (and usually wouldn't) chose to be with, and think about in your own, little head (which can be pretty frightening and exhausting for people who are used to escaping themselves through various forms of modern entertainment all day long). It was difficult for me, and they have to be out there for a minimum of 6 weeks straight. I tip my hat to Young Walkers. And I am grateful to them for the entertainment they provide me while they adjust.

Based on this perspective on the YW experience, you can imagine that in several weeks time, a Young Walker can get pretty. . . desperate for something new and exciting. As the boys would say, "Dude, I'm telling you, the forest does things to you . . ." (My boys band called the desert "the forest", though I have no idea why... case in point, I guess).

So, one day by the fire (lots of trail stories start out this way), I was sitting against a log carving or something. The other Trail Walker was several yards away, reading on his bed or something, and there were boys scattered around the camp. Albert, Jared, and Trevor were sitting by the fire with me, probably eating or cooking because that is mostly all that young walker boys do. At this point in the week, the boys were at the end of their weekly food packs, so Albert and Jared were eating lentils, the bane of a YW's existence. Trevor, however, refused to eat lentils, so he was "fasting" until the next day when his food pack would arrive.

Trevor was the tallest of the boys in the band, tall and lanky, with big blue eyes, and the beginnings of a light brown fro fringing his dark face (not that this is too distinguishing; all the boys have dark faces and fros due to the build up of dirt and grease on their heads). Trevor always wore his black thermals for pants and an old hideous sweater with Christmas trees on it-- a gift from a trail walker weeks previously. He was sitting indian style on the ground across the fire from me, and the last thing I was aware of was that he had collected some acorns from the ground (remember it is January, so these acorns are aged...) and had fed one to Jared, who spit it out saying, "That's rotten, Dog!" Dog is actually a term of endearment, I have learned.

So, I was focused intently on my project, whatever it was, and Trevor called to me accros the fire in a desperate sounding whisper, "Kathryn."

I looked up. He was staring, unmoving, at something on the ground directly infront of him. He was hunched over it, almost protectively.

"Kathryn!" He said more urgently, as though worried about disturbing something.

"Yeah!"

Without looking up, he said, "Kathryn, come over here"

I was like 3 feet away. I didn't exactly see a need to move. "What is it?"

"Kathryn, you need to come OVER here." He was still speaking reverently, as though the ground in front of him contained the mysteries of the universe.

I sighed and put my project down and stepped over to him. He had collected five tiny, pale larvae (of what, I have no clue). They were in a neat line on the dirt, their discarded acorn homes lying in bits nearby.

"Um, Trevor...?"

He turned his face upward, his eyes big and wild on his dirty face. "Would you like to eat one?"

I think I said something like, "Uh..."

And he said, "You should eat one." He said it like it would be a kindness to the larvae.

I said, "No thank you," and crept back to my side of the fire. I resumed my project, figuring that it was best to leave him alone.  Trevor proceeded to stage a conversation between the larvae, complete with voices in different pitches. I don't know if he ever ate one of the poor creatures himself, but he did try to feed one to Jared, who declined. Jared had been out one week less than Trevor, so maybe the "forest" hadn't gotten to him. Yet.

Amor de Honduras

I am in Honduras! San Pedro Sula, the second largest city in the country. Elicia and I kept looking for the city that we were going to land in all the way down to the tarmac. It never came. We landed in a small town and they call it San Pedro Sula. Thank goodness! I was picturing soot and grime and smog like in some of the cities in China, but this place is lovely. It is clear and green and all the roads have two lanes (or fewer). I guess I should have been clued in by the fact that the population of the country is the same as the entire CITY that I lived in in China (a small village of 7 million).

The seasons are two: hot and humid, and hot and humid and wet. We are not in the wet one, though I am hoping that we will get to do a serious, Honduran, Gene Kelly number. I thought that I would be miserable in the heat, but I am actually loving it. No need for lotion or chapstick, though my hair has finally filled its poofing potential. We live in a tiny apartment right next to the Galindo family's home. It has a ceiling fan that tries really hard, but we were advised by cousin Miguel (the 16-year-old nephew of Hermano Galindo) to buy a good fan or we "will die." We said, "Yeah, we will get one soon. Maybe tomorrow?" His eyes widened and he shook his head. So we bought a Honduran fan. That was actually our second purchase. My first purchase was a sharpe and a stack of Honduran sticky notes. Elicia and I are going to stick the spanish language (or at least most of it) up in our apartment. We found out that what we learned from the children's spanish picture dictionary in Arizona, "Que aventura!" actually isn't enough. I am happy to report that I actualy understand a great deal more than I thought I would. Speaking is the problem. Our family is patient, though, and very good humored. We had lots of fun trying to communicate yesterday, shaking our heads and laughing at each other.

We are staying with an LDS family, the Galindos. Madre Galindo, Padre Galindo, Alejandro, and Elias. Granny Galindo lives with them, too (and she is adorable), and there are always a bunch of uncles and cousins and aunts around as well. Full time family reunion : ) The boys are 18 and 15 years old, I think, and they speak pretty good english. The mother is eager to cook for us and yesterday we had a heart-to-heart about our food preferences. When I said that we would eat mostly fruits, veggies, and bread, and not much meat, she got a really concerned look on her face. She said that we will go home to the states all skinny and that our families will think that they starved us in Honduras. When we told her that we would like tacos, enchiladas, and omelets, she was much relieved. We were also told that a peanut butter sandwhich is "not appropriate for lunch" by uncle Galindo. He informed us that the main meal of the day here is around noon. It is the Honduran way!

I guess I should share a little about what we are doing here. There is a small non-profit organization called One Life at a Time that is based in San Pedro Sula. It consists of a school and a pre-missionary program. It is not organized by the LDS church, but works closely with it, locally and generally. The pre-missionary program helps get missionaries prepared for missions. The LDS church will pay for the mission, but many, many families here cannot come close to affording the clothing, medical, and dental that are needed to be able to go. LDS Institutes in the US donate clothing and supplies. They have been able to send out over 100 missionaries so far.

 The school is called the BIT, and there are school buildings here, in the capital of Honduras, Tegucigalpa, and in Nicaragua. Mostly LDS students, from around 18 years old and above, study English, computer, and finance classes to build a skill set that will make them much more employable. The program's aim is to break the cycle of poverty through education. Students graduate in a year. BYU Idaho has agreed to accept a BIT degree for a high school diploma, allowing students to take a very cheap, accesible bachelor's degree online. This is absolutely life-changing for these students! I am excited to be involved.

Elicia and I came into the BIT this morning and participated in the morning English classes. These, we have been told, are all ours. They are EAGER to turn over to us as much of the program as we are able and willing to take. The days here are long (12 hours) and so we agreed to take the classes all day from wednesday to friday, and Saturday afternoons. Monday and Tuesday are our "weekend." This morning's class was very beginner, still learning pronounciation of the alphabet. Elicia and I want to make an ABC rap to make it a little more fun. Haha. Hopefully they won't boo us out the door. We are excited to start planning lessons and to create some fun activities. Nervous, too. At least this time I won't have to send them to a chair in the corner for speaking Chinese or dance around the room and make painfully grotesque faces just to get their attention. Well, at least I hope not.

Okay. This has gotten out of hand again. I promise shorter posts!

One last moment-- they love to gossip about love and dating here in Honduras. I guess that is pretty much universal. Aunt and cousin Galindo took us out for ice cream yesterday and asked us about boyfriends. Miguel said he has a brother who is 21 (Elicia laughed and said, "Shouldn't be a problem for YOU, Kathryn!' Perhaps she thinks I have a history of dating younger men...?) and I said that was a little young for me. And Miguel said, "For love, there is no age." There you have it. I guess that is the Honduran way, too.