Some of you may be wondering how Elicia and I have been getting around San Pedro Sula. Well, maybe you aren't, but you should have been. In the beginning, the Galindo's would drive us to and from the BIT. We loved it, of course. Each morning, Papa Galindo would teach me Spanish, repeating each word or phrase a little louder each time until I got it right. Then he would smile broadly and say, "Bien!" I actually really miss those days. However, the family runs on Honduras time, which we learned very quickly means that you can be picked up on time to two hours late. This and the fact that we couldn't go anywhere BUT the BIT, and that the Galindo's wanted 37 dollars a week for this service convinced us that we had to find an alternative form of transportation.
We laid our case before Dennis of course (Dennis is like a really jolly Oz for us here in Honduras. He has solved all our woes), and he said, "We will figure something out." He and Camilo put their heads together, and Camilo said simply, "They can use the BIT car." Apparently there was a car that the BIT owned that was passed between the schools in San Pedro Sula and Tegucigalpa to whomever needed it at the time. We tried very hard to refuse it, not only because we felt like they must need it much more than we did, but also because the suggestion of us actually driving around the streets of San Pedro was alarming.
Camilo just looked at us and said, "This will work. The car will be here next week. You have your liscense?"
Elicia puposefully avoided eye contact. I knew there was no way in heck she would want to drive these roads, and so the lot fell to me. I said I did. He looked at me doubtfully. "You want to drive here? This driving is not like any driving you have ever seen..."
I nodded. "Yeah, I have been watching it. I can do it."
Elicia, bless her, put in a word of good faith, which made me feel more confident as well. "If anyone can drive here, it's Kathryn. I know she can do it!"
The possibilities started to open up before my eyes. We could go anywhere we wanted! Whenever we wanted! I had been going CRAZY sitting in that little room all day and being carted to and from the school. Camilo must have seen my excitement, and said, "It is not a very nice car..." We assured him that a car in any condition was fine as long as it ran. I have definitley drunken the dregs of the vehicle cup in my day. We left the BIT, and I had a pretty clear picture forming in my mind of the car we would get: humble yet sturdy, maybe some rust spots and no air conditioning.
The little guy arrived the next thursday. Camilo pointed out the window of the BIT office. It was a dark blue Toyota Camri, probably mid 90's. We bounded down the stairs to get a closer look. The inside looked a little more shabby but not too bad. The real discovery, however happened as we started to drive. One of the Galindo uncles came to drive it home with us. I felt like I was in driver's ed again. He told me when to stop and go, to turn on my blinker, etc. To be honest, though, it didn't feel like too much. Hondurans drive by different rules than I learned, anyway.
They drive by some strange rule book that may or may not include "stop at the red octagon." The city is on a grid. Avenues cross streets. Avenues have the right of way. Always. Almost. Most streets are one way, except Boulevardes, which may start out as two way and turn into a one-way without warning. Just because the street you are on is going one way on one side of the cross-road, doesn't mean that it goes the same way on the other side (Seriously. My first day driving, we went through a light and found three lanes of cars coming straight at us, honking and swerving. While I almost peed my pants, Elicia, bless her again, found some incredible place of calm and said, "It's okay. Just pull over here, Kathryn." ).
Lanes basically mean nothing; a road with two lanes can easily have a wall of five cars barrelling down it. At least we are all going the same way. Most of the time. Honking is pretty much a constant. Pot holes the size of our car threaten to remove an axel every block or so, and speed limit signs are non-existent. Taxi drivers have an entirely different rule book than anyone else. They act like two more seconds at a light is a matter of life and death. Someone should tell them that it actually is.
As crazy as this might sound, though, I actually feel very safe with these drivers. Why? Because they pay attention! They have to! In the states, everyone seems to have a mentality that they are safe because everyone else is going to stay in their lane, stop at their light, etc. etc. But here, there is no guarantee. The drivers are super alert and have to be personally accountable. If you get in an accident, you don't get a hunk of someone's insurance to pay for a new car, you just don't have a car anymore. Its still a crazy free-for-all, but somehow it works. I love it. Kenya told me the other day that I drive like a Honduran and I grinned from ear to ear. Best compliment ever.
I actually have to disagree with her though, to be honest and to protect my mother's sanity. I actually drive alot more slowly than Hondurans and I usually let the traffic flow by me. I am probably driving more carefully than I have in my life. I drive very slowly (potholes) and in the slow lane (taxis) and very alert (Hondurans). It's actually not the other drivers that scare me. My greatest fear is getting pulled over by a cop. The police are very corrupt here. They can pull you over for no reason and make you pay. I have been told that the best thing to do would be to simply hand over two hundred dollars and they will let me go on my way. I am prepared to do that if I need to, but our family told us that they get into some pretty sticky trouble when they pull over American's, so they basically turn a blind eye to us.
So Elicia and I have been thoroughly enjoying our newfound freedom. And we have developed a deep fondness for our little car. We named him El Niño Oscuro (the dark boy), which sounds racist in English, but El Niño is Honduran, so he speaks Spanish. We quickly discovered that he is a very "special" car. Not one part of him is complete and fully functional. Each door for example: Mine has no handle on the inside, only a shiney wire loop that hooks to some obscure gadget behind the door pannel. The first couple of days had me tugging on it in a panick while the car heated up by ten degrees per second once we stopped at our destination (I have mastered it now though). Once you get it open, you have to carfully push the wire thing back in or the door won't shut at all. My window, however, rolls down, praise be to the Japanese, I guess. Elicia's does not, and there have been numerous occasions where she will snap in the heat, glare over at me and say, "I swear I am going to break this window..." I just try to get moving so she has a slight breeze on her at these moments. The window behind her rolls down, but if it goes beyond like 1/3 of the way, it won't roll back up. Elicia has the magic touch with it though. She just pulls the electronic panel out of the door (don't worry, I don't think it has been attatched for years) and fiddles with the wires and up it goes. The other window just doesn't do anything. One of the doors in back doesn't open at all, and the other one only opens from the outside (thanks to little brother Galindo. It worked when we kidnapped him to show us where the movie rental store was...). The air conditioning doesn't work at all, my lap belt buckle is only half of what it was born to be (Of course I have the ever-present shoulder belt of the toyota camris, thanks to the Japanese again, though it doesn't have the capacity to move along the door anymore), and my sun visor now has masking tape wrapped all around it because the flap thingy flips down into my face every time I need to use it. We only have one headlight, the speedometer doesn't work, and we think that our gas gauge is about a quarter tank off. To top it all off, there is an enourmous family of teeny-tiny spiders that lives around the shifter. As soon as the car roars to life , they begin their senseless scurrying all over the general area between our two seats for the entire drive. Elicia doesn't even mention them anymore (the first day she squealed a lot). They are just part of the car.
El Niño has some special problems under the hood as well. Camilo said that we needed to put some water in the radiator every once in awhile because it had a leak. No, actually, he needs like half a gallon EVERY morning. The first time we went to fill him up, I was thinking we would have to go inside the Galindo's house and grab a bottle or something, but Elicia suddenly lugs a 2 gallon jug from behind the passenger seat. El Niño has three of these, it turns out.
Two days after we started driving him, El Niño's stearing became like sandpaper and after a particularly hot and sweaty 22-point turn in the mall parking lot (Their parking lots are insanely cramped here. Elicia jumped outside and sprinted back and forth waving me inch by inch while three or four cars sat and watched me wrestle with zero stearing fluid, sweat dripping into my eyes), we informed Camilo of the problem. He said, "Well, it needs fluid." I knew this, I mostly just wanted to whine about it before we went and bought some. We all trooped down to the car anyway, and again Elicia magically appeared from behind the passenger seat with a bottle of stearing fluid. El Niño had his own first aid kit. The stearing was gloriously silky for about a day and we needed another bottle. Turns out El Niño needs about a bottle every two days. After we drizzled 3 bottles of stearing fluid all over San Pedro Sula, Camilo made an appointment with the mechanic.
So, El Niño has made life in Honduras much more of an adventure. He is pretty dependable as long as you take care of his special needs. Of course, he did choose the night of the YSA formal dance not to start, when it was raining and I was left alone in the car with Hector... but that is a story for another post.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Fishy chips, proposals, and spanish testimonies
These days in Honduras are never dull. Elicia and I have been having a blast teaching at the BIT and exploring the city of San Pedro Sula. We have been running around like crazy trying all the Honduran food that we can get our hands on, because the more we try the more we are convinced that American´s have no idea how to eat. Well, except maybe for Red Robin and Ben and Jerry´s. I have sold my soul to the Baleada Express, where they spread creamy bean and onion paste onto an extra thick, warm tortilla, spoon a chicken mixture onto it, sprinkle it with cheese and drizzle sourcream over it. I beg them to put avacado on it, too, and they DO. Our new friend Karen from the ward took us to a little wooden shack where they sell pupusas, fried corn patties with stringy cheese in the middle topped with marinated shredded cabbage and onion salsa. Every time I try one of these news things, I say "I NEED to learn how to make this!" so I now have lessons scheduled throughout the week for Baleadas, Pupusas, and Tamales with different ladies from the ward.
Some of the foods are not so awe-inspiring, such as the banana chips that I bought the other day. They were very salty instead of sweet and somwhere near the middle of the bag I found a puffy something that tasted like fish... I remembered my lessons from my childhood about "one of these things is not like the others" and threw the bag away. I have always jumped into the culture though, trying anything and everything (within the bounds of safety and reason... mostly), but China still holds the prize for the strangest foods. The home cooking of the Galindos is by far the best food we have had and continues to fatten us up nicely. Each meal, I try to find a better way to express in Spanish just HOW good it is but it is getting to the point where simply tagging on yet another "Muy" to my "Bueno" just sounds stupid.
Elicia and I finally ventured out of the city. Karen offered to take us to the beach after her morning classes last tuesday. It was the first time that we have gotten to really see the countryside of Honduras and also the more rural homes. The poverty that we have been told about became very obvious as we came out of the city. Peoples homes are often only made of tarps and metal sheeting and they are squished up next to their neighbors on the bank of some trash filled stream. At church yesterday we were talking to one of the sister missionaries and she told us that many of these members have to choose between feeding their children and paying their tything every single month. It made me think about my own testimony of the law of tything. Have I ever had to actually sacrifice to pay mine? Not really, no. For that I am grateful, but based on the spirit in testimony meeting this sunday, I know that these people have been blessed by such sacrifices with a powerful foundation of faith. A God who lets His children struggle is truly a God who loves them.
The landscape of Honduras is beautiful. San Pedro is nestled against some pretty high mountains considering which part of the continent it is on, and they are covered in thick green forests. The beach was not their nicest beach, but it was the closest, only 45 minutes from the center of the city. The beach was called Cortez, which I thought was kindof interresting...
We ventured out onto a wooden dock upon arrival and Elicia and I enthusiastically kicked off our sandals and dove into the water. We came up spitting and tearing. For some reason these Gringas always seem to forget that the Ocean has salt in it. The water was incredible, though. So warm and clear. There were little striped fish swimming all around and we even saw a jelly fish, though much deeper than we were swimming (some guy came over to us on the dock and said, "Did you see the jelly?" It took me a second to realize why it was so strange that I had understood him. Yes we saw our first Americans since we arrived here in Honduras.)
We met some Honduran beach bums who sell rides on their motor boat for about 2 dollars a person. They also tow people behind their boat on a huge "Banana" but only on certain days of the week. Not tuesdays. Karen flirted it up with them and we got their number so that we could call them the next time we were coming to the beach and have our own personal tow session any day we wanted.
Another week of classes and Elicia and I have perfected the art of turning boring lessons into fun games. I am growing way too attatched to my students. Unfortunately, in one case, the opposite is true too... Remember in one of my previous posts when I mentioned that one of my students had asked for my e-mail? And that he had gorgious green eyes on his handsome latin face? Well...
We teach one group of students on Saturday from 2-5 pm that only comes that one time during the week. Its a long class and we have to work extra hard to keep them interested in the English language. The previous week, Elicia and I had stayed after class to discuss the formal ball the next friday that the Young Single Adults were having. This time it was in a safer neighborhood and Elicia and I were determined to go. I refused to leave Honduras without some real latin dancing. Gladys and David (the YSA representative for the stake) told me all the particulars, while Hector hung around. "You will need partners for the dance, of course," Gladys said. I nodded. We would figure out something. That's when Hector touched my arm, took a deep breath and said, "You would like to be my companion for the party friday?" I said I would love to.
The next Saturday, I started to wonder what I had gotten myself into. Elicia was feeling very sick and so I agreed to take her home and come back to teach the rest of the class with Gladys. That lesson was about names and titles (first name, last name, Mr., Mrs., etc.). I demonstrated by putting my own full name on the board and pointing out the different parts of my name and my title. In Honduras, each person takes the last name of both their mother and father, so they say that they have a first and second sur-name instead of a last name. I explained that my middle name was not my mothers last name, but simply a second name. Then I told them what we do with last names when we get married. I erased my last name and put a big question mark in it's place.
As I turned back around to erase the board and move on, I heard Hector call out something. I looked to Gladys for interpretation and she had this funny smile on her face. She told me that he had said his own last name. The whole class went silent and sat there staring, waiting for my reaction. Not awkward at all. I think I blushed a little bit (dang it!) and did some kind of stupid giggle and shrug and tried to move on. But Gladys wouldn't have it. She said loudly, "I think he just proposed to you!"
I decided to face the awkwardness head on. I turned to Hector and said, "Really?" Gladys mumbled what she had said to me in Spanish to him. His eyes got wide and he said "No!" The class was really enjoying the show, heads whipping between Hector and me. I tried again to make it into a definite joke. "Well that's okay. It wouldn't have worked anyway. You are a student, and I am a teacher." I said this slowly and pointed at us both. No one needed interpretation on that one. The class burst into laughter. Hector wasn't laughing though. He looked at me and said, "Why?"
Oh man. I sighed. What the heck could I say? I thought the obvious would work: "Well, for another thing, I speak English and you speak Spanish."
Hector smiled and said confidently. "I can speak English."
I couldn't very well say, "Um, no you can't" to one of my own students, so I just said, "Well, then. I guess we're good!" Then I turned back to the board and started erasing furiously.
It didn't end there, though. For the next three hours, Hector tried everything he could to get my attention. He always somehow ended up at my elbow and everytime I turned around, he was there smiling at me and tried to strike up some kind of conversation. When Gladys and I were wandering around helping each of the pairs practice the model conversation, he would wave me over to his desk, "Teacher, question me."
At one point, I was standing at the back of the class waiting while the students did some writing portion and he turned around in his chair and said, NOT in a whisper, "I like you. You are very pretty." I said, "Thanks, Hector. I like you too" in the same tone that I used to compliment his English sentences, but I knew that wouldn't make a difference.
By the end of class I had resorted to drawing desperately from my water bottle just for something to do in response to all of Hector's stares. He plowed right on through, though. "You like much water?" I said that I did. His eyes lit up, "You need more water?"
I smiled, "No, thank you. I will just get more when I get home. Thanks." He nodded and winked.
I was flattered, but I knew that I might have to pull him aside and request a little bit of propriety in class in the future.
Some of the foods are not so awe-inspiring, such as the banana chips that I bought the other day. They were very salty instead of sweet and somwhere near the middle of the bag I found a puffy something that tasted like fish... I remembered my lessons from my childhood about "one of these things is not like the others" and threw the bag away. I have always jumped into the culture though, trying anything and everything (within the bounds of safety and reason... mostly), but China still holds the prize for the strangest foods. The home cooking of the Galindos is by far the best food we have had and continues to fatten us up nicely. Each meal, I try to find a better way to express in Spanish just HOW good it is but it is getting to the point where simply tagging on yet another "Muy" to my "Bueno" just sounds stupid.
Elicia and I finally ventured out of the city. Karen offered to take us to the beach after her morning classes last tuesday. It was the first time that we have gotten to really see the countryside of Honduras and also the more rural homes. The poverty that we have been told about became very obvious as we came out of the city. Peoples homes are often only made of tarps and metal sheeting and they are squished up next to their neighbors on the bank of some trash filled stream. At church yesterday we were talking to one of the sister missionaries and she told us that many of these members have to choose between feeding their children and paying their tything every single month. It made me think about my own testimony of the law of tything. Have I ever had to actually sacrifice to pay mine? Not really, no. For that I am grateful, but based on the spirit in testimony meeting this sunday, I know that these people have been blessed by such sacrifices with a powerful foundation of faith. A God who lets His children struggle is truly a God who loves them.
The landscape of Honduras is beautiful. San Pedro is nestled against some pretty high mountains considering which part of the continent it is on, and they are covered in thick green forests. The beach was not their nicest beach, but it was the closest, only 45 minutes from the center of the city. The beach was called Cortez, which I thought was kindof interresting...
We ventured out onto a wooden dock upon arrival and Elicia and I enthusiastically kicked off our sandals and dove into the water. We came up spitting and tearing. For some reason these Gringas always seem to forget that the Ocean has salt in it. The water was incredible, though. So warm and clear. There were little striped fish swimming all around and we even saw a jelly fish, though much deeper than we were swimming (some guy came over to us on the dock and said, "Did you see the jelly?" It took me a second to realize why it was so strange that I had understood him. Yes we saw our first Americans since we arrived here in Honduras.)
We met some Honduran beach bums who sell rides on their motor boat for about 2 dollars a person. They also tow people behind their boat on a huge "Banana" but only on certain days of the week. Not tuesdays. Karen flirted it up with them and we got their number so that we could call them the next time we were coming to the beach and have our own personal tow session any day we wanted.
Another week of classes and Elicia and I have perfected the art of turning boring lessons into fun games. I am growing way too attatched to my students. Unfortunately, in one case, the opposite is true too... Remember in one of my previous posts when I mentioned that one of my students had asked for my e-mail? And that he had gorgious green eyes on his handsome latin face? Well...
We teach one group of students on Saturday from 2-5 pm that only comes that one time during the week. Its a long class and we have to work extra hard to keep them interested in the English language. The previous week, Elicia and I had stayed after class to discuss the formal ball the next friday that the Young Single Adults were having. This time it was in a safer neighborhood and Elicia and I were determined to go. I refused to leave Honduras without some real latin dancing. Gladys and David (the YSA representative for the stake) told me all the particulars, while Hector hung around. "You will need partners for the dance, of course," Gladys said. I nodded. We would figure out something. That's when Hector touched my arm, took a deep breath and said, "You would like to be my companion for the party friday?" I said I would love to.
The next Saturday, I started to wonder what I had gotten myself into. Elicia was feeling very sick and so I agreed to take her home and come back to teach the rest of the class with Gladys. That lesson was about names and titles (first name, last name, Mr., Mrs., etc.). I demonstrated by putting my own full name on the board and pointing out the different parts of my name and my title. In Honduras, each person takes the last name of both their mother and father, so they say that they have a first and second sur-name instead of a last name. I explained that my middle name was not my mothers last name, but simply a second name. Then I told them what we do with last names when we get married. I erased my last name and put a big question mark in it's place.
As I turned back around to erase the board and move on, I heard Hector call out something. I looked to Gladys for interpretation and she had this funny smile on her face. She told me that he had said his own last name. The whole class went silent and sat there staring, waiting for my reaction. Not awkward at all. I think I blushed a little bit (dang it!) and did some kind of stupid giggle and shrug and tried to move on. But Gladys wouldn't have it. She said loudly, "I think he just proposed to you!"
I decided to face the awkwardness head on. I turned to Hector and said, "Really?" Gladys mumbled what she had said to me in Spanish to him. His eyes got wide and he said "No!" The class was really enjoying the show, heads whipping between Hector and me. I tried again to make it into a definite joke. "Well that's okay. It wouldn't have worked anyway. You are a student, and I am a teacher." I said this slowly and pointed at us both. No one needed interpretation on that one. The class burst into laughter. Hector wasn't laughing though. He looked at me and said, "Why?"
Oh man. I sighed. What the heck could I say? I thought the obvious would work: "Well, for another thing, I speak English and you speak Spanish."
Hector smiled and said confidently. "I can speak English."
I couldn't very well say, "Um, no you can't" to one of my own students, so I just said, "Well, then. I guess we're good!" Then I turned back to the board and started erasing furiously.
It didn't end there, though. For the next three hours, Hector tried everything he could to get my attention. He always somehow ended up at my elbow and everytime I turned around, he was there smiling at me and tried to strike up some kind of conversation. When Gladys and I were wandering around helping each of the pairs practice the model conversation, he would wave me over to his desk, "Teacher, question me."
At one point, I was standing at the back of the class waiting while the students did some writing portion and he turned around in his chair and said, NOT in a whisper, "I like you. You are very pretty." I said, "Thanks, Hector. I like you too" in the same tone that I used to compliment his English sentences, but I knew that wouldn't make a difference.
By the end of class I had resorted to drawing desperately from my water bottle just for something to do in response to all of Hector's stares. He plowed right on through, though. "You like much water?" I said that I did. His eyes lit up, "You need more water?"
I smiled, "No, thank you. I will just get more when I get home. Thanks." He nodded and winked.
I was flattered, but I knew that I might have to pull him aside and request a little bit of propriety in class in the future.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Monsters in the Bedroom
I just had to tell these two stories.
The other morning, Elicia and I had just woken up in the casita, and she was telling me about her dream. This a very common conversation for us. Elicia has fascinating dreams and mine are just morbid (no idea why, but it is starting to scare me!), so the conversations are always really fun. I opened the door to let some fresh air in because, guess what? Honduras is hot and muggy!
Elicia's dream was about Coco, the Galindo's dog. He is actually really sweet and docile, but in her dream he was a ferocious guard dog. She had been kidnapped by her government teacher. We shall withhold the name. Luckily, Elicia had an S-needle (this is a small, curved needle that we use at Anasazi to sew leather projects) so she knew she could pick the lock of the house and escape. On her way to the door, she saw some food in the kitchen (again, these are part of the Anasazi food pack. See post number 2.), and she grabbed only the essentials: cheese, gatorade, and seeds. She would have gathered more, but she "wanted a light pack." She was at the door when she realized that she needed a bag to put these foodstuffs in, so she hurried back to grab one and that's when coco caught her. He was huge and fanged. Elicia tried to go through the door, but Coco kept chasing her. So she slammed his head in the door repeatedly, saying "Why are you doing this?!" (Elicia got pretty worked up even telling this dream, so I am sure it was pretty dramatic for her). The next part is a bit gory and probably not appropriate for this PG rated blog. Then Elicia cried, "What have I ever done to you?!" And I guess that stumped him because Coco said, "You're right. You haven't done anything to me," and let her go.
Right on the heals of this edge-of-your-seat dream telling, in walks Coco through the door. Elicia screamed "No! Get out!" which I thought was a bit of an overreaction. I said, "Elicia, he's fine." He ambled over to my bed and I patted him on the head, talking nonsense to him. He went to Elicia's bed next but instead of seeking a pat on the head, he had another agenda. Before we knew what was happening, he lifted his leg and peed all over Elicia's blanket. I sprang to my feet shouting, "Oh no! Coco! Crap!" He was so startled that he bolted for the door.
Elicia was in hysterics. "Oh my gosh! He just peed on my bed! Eww! Eww! Why would he do that?!" I was curled up in a ball on my bed laughing. This went on for another minute or so, and then she sincerely started demanding answers. "Why did he pee on my bed?!"
I shrugged "I don't know, maybe your heart is at war with him from your dream. He could feel it!" (This is an Anasazi concept. With all people, creatures, and things, we always have either a heart at war or a heart at peace, and those people, creatures, and things can feel it, even without our saying a word). She didn't want to admit that was true. That is pretty typical of someone when their heart is at war.
Elicia has glared at Coco ever since and the entire family will not let her live it down.
Story number two.
I experienced an "I hate Honduras moment" Sunday evening. It had been a long day ( 3 hours of church and 4 hours at a movie and games night with some ysa from the ward) of constant spanish to the point where I knew that if I heard another word, I would scream. Now, I love Spanish, let me get that straight. And I love the young adults from the ward. They have invited us to everything, right down to a formal ball in a couple weeks. But when you have been sitting for hours in a group who only occasionally translate (which is understandable), and who are shouting and laughing in Spanish, it begins to grate on the nerves a bit. Couple that with the fact that we don't have our own car and had to wait 'till 11:00 to be picked up when we were told 9:00 and maybe you can understand the state I was in when we finally closed the door to the Casita and drank in the silence.
Elicia started to ask me what one of the sticky notes on the wall meant (We put up a bunch of spanish words and phrases all around the Casita to speed up our learning), and I asked her if we could save that for the next day. We turned off the lights and started to chat about something when Elicia said, "Kathryn. Oh my gosh. Get up!" in that voice you hear only when death is near. I know that voice well because I used to hear it everytime someone told me there was a bug on me.
I catapulted off my bed, letting out a strangled scream and slammed the light switch over (in Honduras they are side to side) just in time to see a cockroach scurry across my bed.
Elicia said, "Wow, you moved fast. It was on your pillow heading straight for your head, and all I said was that you should move." What can I say? If anyone knows how to spring into action at the threat of a bug, it is me. (Of course, I have reformed since Anasazi. I love bugs now...)
The nasty little intruder disapeared off the end of my bed right before Mama and Elias Galindo came running in. "Que paso!" Mama Galindo cried, taking in the the scene: me shivering in my PJs standing with my toes curled under (as though that would save them if the cockroach came at me on the floor) and Elicia staring at the foot of my bed.
We all spent the next 15 minutes searching for the cockroach, me forgetting entirely my Anasazi pact with the bugs, and cringing from head to toe the entire time. We never found him. Mama Galindo thought it was pretty funny, and told us that "La cucuracha" came to party and we scared him away. She sprayed some kind of cockroach deterrent on the floor around my bed and the door and left. I looked at Elicia and whinned "I hate Honduras..." She just laughed at me, which I guess is okay because I laughed a lot more when Coco peed on her bed.
I had to give myself a pretty intense pep talk to get back into bed. I also gave a magnificent address to the concealed cockroach, asking him to kindly leave us alone and telling him that we would do the same. This is a trusted Anasazi method of avoiding the bugs. I am not kidding. Many Young Walkers will tell you they have made peace with the spiders or the scorpions. And they never get bitten. This is the first time I have tried it. We have not seen Señor Cucaracha since, so perhaps it really works...
The other morning, Elicia and I had just woken up in the casita, and she was telling me about her dream. This a very common conversation for us. Elicia has fascinating dreams and mine are just morbid (no idea why, but it is starting to scare me!), so the conversations are always really fun. I opened the door to let some fresh air in because, guess what? Honduras is hot and muggy!
Elicia's dream was about Coco, the Galindo's dog. He is actually really sweet and docile, but in her dream he was a ferocious guard dog. She had been kidnapped by her government teacher. We shall withhold the name. Luckily, Elicia had an S-needle (this is a small, curved needle that we use at Anasazi to sew leather projects) so she knew she could pick the lock of the house and escape. On her way to the door, she saw some food in the kitchen (again, these are part of the Anasazi food pack. See post number 2.), and she grabbed only the essentials: cheese, gatorade, and seeds. She would have gathered more, but she "wanted a light pack." She was at the door when she realized that she needed a bag to put these foodstuffs in, so she hurried back to grab one and that's when coco caught her. He was huge and fanged. Elicia tried to go through the door, but Coco kept chasing her. So she slammed his head in the door repeatedly, saying "Why are you doing this?!" (Elicia got pretty worked up even telling this dream, so I am sure it was pretty dramatic for her). The next part is a bit gory and probably not appropriate for this PG rated blog. Then Elicia cried, "What have I ever done to you?!" And I guess that stumped him because Coco said, "You're right. You haven't done anything to me," and let her go.
Right on the heals of this edge-of-your-seat dream telling, in walks Coco through the door. Elicia screamed "No! Get out!" which I thought was a bit of an overreaction. I said, "Elicia, he's fine." He ambled over to my bed and I patted him on the head, talking nonsense to him. He went to Elicia's bed next but instead of seeking a pat on the head, he had another agenda. Before we knew what was happening, he lifted his leg and peed all over Elicia's blanket. I sprang to my feet shouting, "Oh no! Coco! Crap!" He was so startled that he bolted for the door.
Elicia was in hysterics. "Oh my gosh! He just peed on my bed! Eww! Eww! Why would he do that?!" I was curled up in a ball on my bed laughing. This went on for another minute or so, and then she sincerely started demanding answers. "Why did he pee on my bed?!"
I shrugged "I don't know, maybe your heart is at war with him from your dream. He could feel it!" (This is an Anasazi concept. With all people, creatures, and things, we always have either a heart at war or a heart at peace, and those people, creatures, and things can feel it, even without our saying a word). She didn't want to admit that was true. That is pretty typical of someone when their heart is at war.
Elicia has glared at Coco ever since and the entire family will not let her live it down.
Story number two.
I experienced an "I hate Honduras moment" Sunday evening. It had been a long day ( 3 hours of church and 4 hours at a movie and games night with some ysa from the ward) of constant spanish to the point where I knew that if I heard another word, I would scream. Now, I love Spanish, let me get that straight. And I love the young adults from the ward. They have invited us to everything, right down to a formal ball in a couple weeks. But when you have been sitting for hours in a group who only occasionally translate (which is understandable), and who are shouting and laughing in Spanish, it begins to grate on the nerves a bit. Couple that with the fact that we don't have our own car and had to wait 'till 11:00 to be picked up when we were told 9:00 and maybe you can understand the state I was in when we finally closed the door to the Casita and drank in the silence.
Elicia started to ask me what one of the sticky notes on the wall meant (We put up a bunch of spanish words and phrases all around the Casita to speed up our learning), and I asked her if we could save that for the next day. We turned off the lights and started to chat about something when Elicia said, "Kathryn. Oh my gosh. Get up!" in that voice you hear only when death is near. I know that voice well because I used to hear it everytime someone told me there was a bug on me.
I catapulted off my bed, letting out a strangled scream and slammed the light switch over (in Honduras they are side to side) just in time to see a cockroach scurry across my bed.
Elicia said, "Wow, you moved fast. It was on your pillow heading straight for your head, and all I said was that you should move." What can I say? If anyone knows how to spring into action at the threat of a bug, it is me. (Of course, I have reformed since Anasazi. I love bugs now...)
The nasty little intruder disapeared off the end of my bed right before Mama and Elias Galindo came running in. "Que paso!" Mama Galindo cried, taking in the the scene: me shivering in my PJs standing with my toes curled under (as though that would save them if the cockroach came at me on the floor) and Elicia staring at the foot of my bed.
We all spent the next 15 minutes searching for the cockroach, me forgetting entirely my Anasazi pact with the bugs, and cringing from head to toe the entire time. We never found him. Mama Galindo thought it was pretty funny, and told us that "La cucuracha" came to party and we scared him away. She sprayed some kind of cockroach deterrent on the floor around my bed and the door and left. I looked at Elicia and whinned "I hate Honduras..." She just laughed at me, which I guess is okay because I laughed a lot more when Coco peed on her bed.
I had to give myself a pretty intense pep talk to get back into bed. I also gave a magnificent address to the concealed cockroach, asking him to kindly leave us alone and telling him that we would do the same. This is a trusted Anasazi method of avoiding the bugs. I am not kidding. Many Young Walkers will tell you they have made peace with the spiders or the scorpions. And they never get bitten. This is the first time I have tried it. We have not seen Señor Cucaracha since, so perhaps it really works...
Feliz Cumpleaños y Tres Tortas
I am obviously fluent in spanish now (the title), but I will spare you all and write my posts in English, still. The birthday in Honduras was fabulous, and entirely Honduran. Of course. It was honestly one of the best birthdays I have had in my long, long life of 24 years.
I slept in in my casita (that is little house) in Honduras. Elicia and I had to teach from 1-6, so after a fine breakfast of fruit (pineapple, papaya, orange, and bananas covered in dry granola and honey, all better tasting here than in the US), we sat down at the family computer (the one with the space bar that I desire to melt down to be made into grocery baggies) to plan our lessons. The program that the school uses is called Top Notch, and it is pretty much like the 1st level spanish book you used in high school (if you took Spanish, like I wish I had every single day here). We turned the TV on to have in the "background" while we planned our lessons, which is probably why it took us 2 hours... We got very excited when Sydney White came on in ENGLISH.
We went back to the casita to take a short nap and while I was laying on the bed thinking cold thoughts, Elicia was dinking around making lots of noise. I ignored it for awhile, then finally sat up and snapped, "What are you doing?"(the heat made me do it...). She turned around with a styrofoam plate in her hands and said, smiling broadly, "I made you a cake!" She had cut up an apple, drizzled dulce de leche over it (we bought it in a tiny little cup at the convenience store near the BIT. I'm pretty sure it was McDonald's dulce de leche, but it was still pretty good), and sprinkled m&ms on top. A rolled up peice of notebook paper had been stuck into the middle of the heap for a candle, which I blew over when she had finished singing. Elicia is basically the best, right? We sat down on my bed and ate the "cake" together. Que rico!
Teaching was awesome. I honestly can say that I wouldn't have spent that 6 hours of my birthday any differently. I love, love, LOVE teaching here. The students are so eager to learn and so much fun. Sometimes I think that in the United States we take too much precious time getting "comfortable" enough together to be good friends. Here it seems to be instantaneous. I feel like I have known these people for years. We have so much fun with them. The lessons from the book can be pretty boring, so we try to spice it up a bit and play games. This is when personalities really come out. There is one sister in the class that likes to tell everyone what to say. Forcefully. In one game we played, each person had an item that belonged to someone else and they had to say both, "This is so-and-so's cell phone" and "This is her cell phone." I will never forget this sister practically shouting "OR...!!" in another student's face.
They say the funniest things. I have to be careful what I laugh at though. In this saturday class, a 23 year old boy named David was asked if he has a girlfriend and when he said no, we asked him "Why not? Don't you like girls?" just to tease.
His response was, "The woman... is good." I burst out laughing. I couldn't help it! He got embarrassed, of course and I felt so bad. I sincerely apologized and went to the "worst teacher ever" corner and wrote on the board, "I will not laugh at students" for the rest of the class. Not really, but I should have. To try to make up for my insensitivity, I asked David if he has a motorcycle. I had seen him come in with a helmet, so I assumed he did. He brightened up and said, "Yes!" I told him that I loved motorcycles and asked if he would take me for a ride sometime. I was joking, of course. Mostly. He got embarrassed again. Strike two for teacher Kathryn. Goodness.
In the evening classes, we don't teach the lesson by ourselves, but help the regular teacher, Gladys, with whatever she wants us to do (which is usually a lot. Which we don't mind.) and during this class Saturday evening, we were leading some kind of activity and she suddenly said, "I have to go. I will only be gone for like... half an hour... You will be okay?" We said yes, but it was all very abrupt and mysterious. So we kept on teaching. A few minutes later, the door burst open and the entire school -- all the office staff and about 15 more students -- came in singing "Happy Birthday to you" at the top of their lungs, carrying little plates with peices of cake on them. I found out that Dennis had been behind the whole thing. (Dennis is the director for all three BIT schools, and it the most likeable, wonderful man I have ever met. He has a habit of breaking into song or dance or both to get a point across while teaching.) I was so surprised. I have only been here 4 days and these people feel like my family.
Someone whipped out some banana soda (ew) and we started to drink it when, who brings forward two cans of root beer with a grin the size of Tegucigalpa? David! He drove his motorcycle to buy them for me from who knows where. I guess I didn't embarrass him too badly. The rootbeer had much to be desired (namely the rootbeer flavor), but it was the best gift ever.
Before the students filed out the door and back to their other classes, David asked me to dance with him at the stake dance and also said that we could ride his motorcycle sometime. I have heard these latin boys can dance... did I mention this was the best birthday ever?
After the lesson, one of the students approached me and asked for my e-mail. He is... okay, picture this: dark hair, dark skin and GREEN eyes. Yes. Let me repeat: best birthday ever.
Another younger student caught up with me as we were leaving the building. He had told us earlier in class, when we were discussing hobbies, that he likes to collect coins. He had proudly showed us one from Japan that hung around his neck. This is what he pulled over his head and gave to me "for jor birday" ( I am not at ALL making fun of the accent, just showing how adorable I think it is.) He told me that it meant good luck. I made a leather string for it and have been wearing it ever since.
We went to institute that night until 7:00. I asked the teacher, "So you are teaching the lesson in English right?" She thought that was pretty funny. Perhaps she thought I was joking. I can testify, however, that the spirit speaks the same language here in Honduras as it does in the US. After institute, some girls (one of them yet another Galindo niece), snagged us for the rest of the night. No doubt Mama Galindo told them to give the American birthday girl a good Honduran time. She's always taking care of me. We told them we wanted good Honduran food, so we went to the Baleada Express. Baleadas are probably the most typically Honduran food there is. And they are LOVELY. And cheap! Only 14 Lempiras apiece (about 75 cents). Its an extra thick tortilla with a smooth bean and onion blend spread on it, topped with runny sour cream and either chicken, chorrizo, or egg, and fresh grated cheese. Oh man. Two of the boys from the ward met us there, as well.
Next we went to the City Mall. We wandered around the mall until our movie started and I received yet another birthday gift. There was a lost ballon on the ceiling, and my new friends lifted the tiny Andrea skyward to retrieve it for me (really, she must weigh only 90 pounds). She stood on one of the boy's shoulders against the shop glass window and I cringed. But they were successful. Andrea tied it to my bag. A few mintues later, a little girl approached me and pointed at it, gabbed in spanish and ran away. Maybe she wanted one too? We rode the escalator up a floor and there she was again, like magic! Elicia said, "Oh! It's probably hers!" Of course! I rushed over to her, yanked it off my bag and handed it to her. I wasn't about to keep a little girl's balloon, even if it was my birthday. I am 24 for heaven's sake. Maybe when I was 23, but now I must put such things away.
I bought a Cinnabon to eat in the movie. Yes, a honduran cinnabon... shhh.
After the movie we were driven home, ready for bed. But! Alas! One more party! Mama Galindo had made me a giant chocolate cake. She and Elias and Alejando were waiting there to sing to me (Alejandro was quite bleary eyed, having been pulled out of bed for the occasion). They sang in halting English and then again in Spanish with much more gusto. We sat and talked with Mama Galindo (Elias as translator) over huge peices of cake (the frosting was made with sweetened condensed milk. Oh baby.) and I learned how very, very expensive it is for these families to send their children to a decent school. And how nearly impossible it is to get a decent-paying job without learning English at said expensive schools. And this is in a country where the average wage is 1.65 dollars an hour, or 280 dollars a month, and gas costs 4 dollars a gallon.
So on my birthday, I received many songs, a japanese coin, 3 cakes, rootbeer, 2 Honduran dates, a ten minute balloon, and a greater understanding of just how blessed I am to have been born in Ogden, Utah in the USA.
I slept in in my casita (that is little house) in Honduras. Elicia and I had to teach from 1-6, so after a fine breakfast of fruit (pineapple, papaya, orange, and bananas covered in dry granola and honey, all better tasting here than in the US), we sat down at the family computer (the one with the space bar that I desire to melt down to be made into grocery baggies) to plan our lessons. The program that the school uses is called Top Notch, and it is pretty much like the 1st level spanish book you used in high school (if you took Spanish, like I wish I had every single day here). We turned the TV on to have in the "background" while we planned our lessons, which is probably why it took us 2 hours... We got very excited when Sydney White came on in ENGLISH.
We went back to the casita to take a short nap and while I was laying on the bed thinking cold thoughts, Elicia was dinking around making lots of noise. I ignored it for awhile, then finally sat up and snapped, "What are you doing?"(the heat made me do it...). She turned around with a styrofoam plate in her hands and said, smiling broadly, "I made you a cake!" She had cut up an apple, drizzled dulce de leche over it (we bought it in a tiny little cup at the convenience store near the BIT. I'm pretty sure it was McDonald's dulce de leche, but it was still pretty good), and sprinkled m&ms on top. A rolled up peice of notebook paper had been stuck into the middle of the heap for a candle, which I blew over when she had finished singing. Elicia is basically the best, right? We sat down on my bed and ate the "cake" together. Que rico!
Teaching was awesome. I honestly can say that I wouldn't have spent that 6 hours of my birthday any differently. I love, love, LOVE teaching here. The students are so eager to learn and so much fun. Sometimes I think that in the United States we take too much precious time getting "comfortable" enough together to be good friends. Here it seems to be instantaneous. I feel like I have known these people for years. We have so much fun with them. The lessons from the book can be pretty boring, so we try to spice it up a bit and play games. This is when personalities really come out. There is one sister in the class that likes to tell everyone what to say. Forcefully. In one game we played, each person had an item that belonged to someone else and they had to say both, "This is so-and-so's cell phone" and "This is her cell phone." I will never forget this sister practically shouting "OR...!!" in another student's face.
They say the funniest things. I have to be careful what I laugh at though. In this saturday class, a 23 year old boy named David was asked if he has a girlfriend and when he said no, we asked him "Why not? Don't you like girls?" just to tease.
His response was, "The woman... is good." I burst out laughing. I couldn't help it! He got embarrassed, of course and I felt so bad. I sincerely apologized and went to the "worst teacher ever" corner and wrote on the board, "I will not laugh at students" for the rest of the class. Not really, but I should have. To try to make up for my insensitivity, I asked David if he has a motorcycle. I had seen him come in with a helmet, so I assumed he did. He brightened up and said, "Yes!" I told him that I loved motorcycles and asked if he would take me for a ride sometime. I was joking, of course. Mostly. He got embarrassed again. Strike two for teacher Kathryn. Goodness.
In the evening classes, we don't teach the lesson by ourselves, but help the regular teacher, Gladys, with whatever she wants us to do (which is usually a lot. Which we don't mind.) and during this class Saturday evening, we were leading some kind of activity and she suddenly said, "I have to go. I will only be gone for like... half an hour... You will be okay?" We said yes, but it was all very abrupt and mysterious. So we kept on teaching. A few minutes later, the door burst open and the entire school -- all the office staff and about 15 more students -- came in singing "Happy Birthday to you" at the top of their lungs, carrying little plates with peices of cake on them. I found out that Dennis had been behind the whole thing. (Dennis is the director for all three BIT schools, and it the most likeable, wonderful man I have ever met. He has a habit of breaking into song or dance or both to get a point across while teaching.) I was so surprised. I have only been here 4 days and these people feel like my family.
Someone whipped out some banana soda (ew) and we started to drink it when, who brings forward two cans of root beer with a grin the size of Tegucigalpa? David! He drove his motorcycle to buy them for me from who knows where. I guess I didn't embarrass him too badly. The rootbeer had much to be desired (namely the rootbeer flavor), but it was the best gift ever.
Before the students filed out the door and back to their other classes, David asked me to dance with him at the stake dance and also said that we could ride his motorcycle sometime. I have heard these latin boys can dance... did I mention this was the best birthday ever?
After the lesson, one of the students approached me and asked for my e-mail. He is... okay, picture this: dark hair, dark skin and GREEN eyes. Yes. Let me repeat: best birthday ever.
Another younger student caught up with me as we were leaving the building. He had told us earlier in class, when we were discussing hobbies, that he likes to collect coins. He had proudly showed us one from Japan that hung around his neck. This is what he pulled over his head and gave to me "for jor birday" ( I am not at ALL making fun of the accent, just showing how adorable I think it is.) He told me that it meant good luck. I made a leather string for it and have been wearing it ever since.
We went to institute that night until 7:00. I asked the teacher, "So you are teaching the lesson in English right?" She thought that was pretty funny. Perhaps she thought I was joking. I can testify, however, that the spirit speaks the same language here in Honduras as it does in the US. After institute, some girls (one of them yet another Galindo niece), snagged us for the rest of the night. No doubt Mama Galindo told them to give the American birthday girl a good Honduran time. She's always taking care of me. We told them we wanted good Honduran food, so we went to the Baleada Express. Baleadas are probably the most typically Honduran food there is. And they are LOVELY. And cheap! Only 14 Lempiras apiece (about 75 cents). Its an extra thick tortilla with a smooth bean and onion blend spread on it, topped with runny sour cream and either chicken, chorrizo, or egg, and fresh grated cheese. Oh man. Two of the boys from the ward met us there, as well.
Next we went to the City Mall. We wandered around the mall until our movie started and I received yet another birthday gift. There was a lost ballon on the ceiling, and my new friends lifted the tiny Andrea skyward to retrieve it for me (really, she must weigh only 90 pounds). She stood on one of the boy's shoulders against the shop glass window and I cringed. But they were successful. Andrea tied it to my bag. A few mintues later, a little girl approached me and pointed at it, gabbed in spanish and ran away. Maybe she wanted one too? We rode the escalator up a floor and there she was again, like magic! Elicia said, "Oh! It's probably hers!" Of course! I rushed over to her, yanked it off my bag and handed it to her. I wasn't about to keep a little girl's balloon, even if it was my birthday. I am 24 for heaven's sake. Maybe when I was 23, but now I must put such things away.
I bought a Cinnabon to eat in the movie. Yes, a honduran cinnabon... shhh.
After the movie we were driven home, ready for bed. But! Alas! One more party! Mama Galindo had made me a giant chocolate cake. She and Elias and Alejando were waiting there to sing to me (Alejandro was quite bleary eyed, having been pulled out of bed for the occasion). They sang in halting English and then again in Spanish with much more gusto. We sat and talked with Mama Galindo (Elias as translator) over huge peices of cake (the frosting was made with sweetened condensed milk. Oh baby.) and I learned how very, very expensive it is for these families to send their children to a decent school. And how nearly impossible it is to get a decent-paying job without learning English at said expensive schools. And this is in a country where the average wage is 1.65 dollars an hour, or 280 dollars a month, and gas costs 4 dollars a gallon.
So on my birthday, I received many songs, a japanese coin, 3 cakes, rootbeer, 2 Honduran dates, a ten minute balloon, and a greater understanding of just how blessed I am to have been born in Ogden, Utah in the USA.
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