Never too late to learn something new

I shall spare you my alleluia chorus regarding the hotels I’ve been staying in this past week (hot water, air conditioning and clean, fresh sheets *insert choir of angels*!) Needless to say, it’s been nice.

What has also been nice is the discovery that the rest of Honduras (the part that isn’t Tegucigalpa or the Olancho district) is actually not so bad…well it’s nicer than Juticalpa at least. Not to say that the people are all that different, it’s just that they seem to actually have a sense of community beyond their front door.

Juticalpa has a lot of rich families that have built high, concrete walls topped with barbed wire around their personal paradises. Outer walls seem to push everything else back as far as possible, trying to shut out the rest of the city. Sidewalks become barely passable, and trash litters the ignored streets of the town. What matters is YOUR home, YOUR family, YOUR stuff. The rest of the city can take care of itself.

I now contrast this to the idyllic little town of Copan Ruinas, nestled into a verdant valley at the other end of the country to Juticalpa. The town gets its name from the ruined Mayan city of Copan, just a short walk from the town center. All the roads are paved with cobblestones (rather than pot-holes, and the houses are decorated and well maintained. This care is not just for show to the tourists either; it extends all the way out to the residential areas of the town (Dad and I went for a little stroll our last mourning there.) There is no garbage on the ground, and the dogs (while still present) seem to not be so on-edge (although I still was…could be a while till I feel comfortable around canines again.)

Now, I don’t expect Juticalpa to be exactly like this. After all, Copan does have the benefit of a major tourist attraction right there on their doorstep. But honestly, that isn’t really any excuse. The trash problem could be easily changed if people simply STOPPED THOWING IT ON THE GROUND. The caves and mountains alone could attract tourists and sightseers…if the city itself was actually one you would feel welcome in.

More importantly, it would be good for the people who live there. When you live surrounded by that kind of majesty (the mountains are truly breath-taking) you don’t turn it into a dumping ground. When you reach out to your community, you make it a better place for yourself as well. I am very pleased to know that not all of Honduras is like this, and it gives me hope that one day maybe Juticalpa won’t be either.

Where the Wild Mangos Grow

Last Friday I bid farewell to my students. There were tears, and promises of facebook and distant returns…it’s weird how the kid you’re yelling at two weeks ago can be so upset when you leave. Maybe it means that I have made some difference in their lives? That is my greatest wish right now. To be “that crazy teacher” that someone always remembers, that told you it was ok to be a bit weird sometimes. Sadly, being a teacher means you don’t know what kind of a difference you have made until long after you’ve said goodbye. I sorta’ hope I can come back in four years to see my students graduate.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. I’m not out of the woods yet (or in this case the mountains) and just to make that point abundantly clear, Saturday was a whole new adventure! Jeff, Dan, Jeff’s friend Mike Jones (who was in town visiting) and I were invited to go on a little trip into the mountains by Juansito, one of the groundskeepers at the school. We got an early bus out, and Dan had them stop to drop us off at the beginning of a red dirt road in what I can only describe as the middle of nowhere. Surrounding us was a sweeping landscape of green fields and copses, nestled up against the foothills of the mountains. We were met by Juansito, who lead us to his house to pick up the “tools” needed for our little excursion.

By “tools” I mean three, rather loud, dogs. Why did we need dogs you ask? Well you always need dogs…when you’re going armadillo hunting! That’s right, I was off to catch me a varmit fr dinner. I was told they taste quite good if you cook them right. But alas this was not to be. Due to all the rain we have had lately the dogs were unable to pick up the armadillo’s trail, so we only found two holes. Armadillos, you see, are nocturnal. To catch one the easiest thing to do is track down its burrow during the day and dig it out.  But the little shelled rodents seemed to have known we were coming, and chosen to sleep somewhere else that day.

This left us traipsing around the Honduran countryside for the better half of the day, during which we all got thoroughly drenched in sweat (it looked like I had just climbed out of the river) and with a wicked sunburn (did I just say “wicked”? Oh goodness I’m starting to talk like Maki. She’s from Boston you know. Next thing you know I’ll be throwing teabags into the ocean *grumble grumble tea party grumble how uncivilized…*)

Anyway, the adventure wasn’t a total loss. The views alone were worth the hike, and there were plenty of other things to see. We learned about these massive trees called “ceiba” (pronounced say-buh) which have these large, cotton-filled pods. You can use the cotton to clean cuts if you don’t have a first aid kit handy. We also spent some time resting under another wonderful tree, the mango! I tell you nothing beats fresh mango strait off the tree. Just throw a large stick up or shake a branch and it practically rains mangos. We all produced knives (it’s as if we were expecting to have to skin something) and nommed away to our heart’s content.

Things were interrupted when the hunting dogs, frustrated by the lack of armadillo, decided to harass a calf which was drinking on just the other side of a barbed wire fence. The calf ran for it…strait through the fence. Unfortunately for us, it turned out that the calf’s mother was on our side of the fence, and was none too pleased with the canines we had brought into her pasture. There was a tense moment as we all eyed the rater pointy horns on the cow’s head, before the dogs finally came to their senses and backed off.

Later the hounds continued to display their stupidity by jumping into a wide stream, which they could then not get out of. If they had just swam five feet to their right they would have been able to get onto the bank, but they insisted on trying to climb up the muddy slope they had just jumped off from. In the end one of the Hondurans had to drag the dog out by the scruff of the neck.

A funny thing about living in Honduras, it has not endeared dogs to me. Before, I would have been worried for the poor pup, however much the predicament may have been its own fault. But between the morning runs, the turf wars, and the cow incident, I find my disposition towards the canine breed slipping. I find them to be, not so much “man’s best friend” as “man’s meat-headed coworker who is often more trouble than he is worth.” I guess I need to return to the States soon and meet some less aggressive canines.

Pros and Cons

So it’s almost the end of my little adventure in Honduras…at least I think it is. The ever present, nagging sensation in the pit of my stomach still won’t let me settle on whether to stay for another year or to go. One of the other volunteers has suggested that I make a list of pros and cons for each option, so here goes:

“Going” Pros:

Pretty obvious really. I get to see my long lost friends and family, have hot showers every day, be able to breath freely outdoors, not worry that I’m gonna get eaten by wild dogs every time I go to buy groceries, and go to bed at night without the sound of distant gunfire (although to be fair, it has been fairly quite in my neck of the woods for a while now…despite what I said in my last blog.) I can be a nerd again, use a dishwasher and laundry dryer, and even wear my kilt in public without having to worry about being shot (although my sister might still kill me.)

I could get a real job! One of the police dept. I’ve been looking at is FINALLY off hiring freeze after two years, and I might just stand a chance of getting in.

“Going” Cons:

Despite how nice it would be to have a real job, do I really want one yet? I mean, once you join the real world it’s decidedly harder to travel. Suddenly you have bills and responsibilities. I’m not sure I want to give up the world just yet.

“Staying” Pros:

Yes, there are actually reasons to stay down here, despite how much I enjoy complaining. Number one reason: my kids. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, I love my students (most of them anyway.) I can see so much untapped potential in them, and now that I feel like I know what I’m doing as a teacher and have a relationship with the students, do I really want to give that up already? Is my job here really done yet?

There are also more selfish reasons like improving my Spanish (which sucks), and how easy it would be to just say “sure!”

“Staying” Cons:

See “Going: Pros” for a start. I miss reliable running water. I miss my friends and family. I MISS WORLD OF WARCRAFT DARN IT!!! I am worn out, and I don’t know if I could actually DO another year. There is plenty of drama to deal with (I swear it’s a cultural past time in Honduras) and just thinking about it right now tires me out. Of course, I might feel different after being home a month, but at the moment dwelling on “next year” is inducing hair loss.

I simply cannot make up my mind. I don’t know that I have the energy right now to do another year, but if I leave I feel like I’m abandoning my kids. So what is it to be?

Gathering Storms

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRGGGG!!!!!!!

That about sums up classes at the moment. The “students” have pretty much checked out for the rest of the year, and I’m half expecting to look in the mirror one morning and not have any hair left. Maki has taken mercy on us all by electing to end school a week early, so our finals will be next week instead of in another week’s time. Maybe I’ll make it out with just a bald spot.

In the meantime, the rainy season is now in full swing, which is probably the only reason I am able to sleep at night. The sound of the pouring rain on the tin roof of our house, and the cool breeze it brings is such a beautiful sound that last week (when the first rain hit) I almost cried. Of course, nothing here comes without a down side; in this instance the reliability of the electricity (and subsequently the internet) has dropped to almost zero. There is at least one hour each day in which there is no power. This has left us all in a precarious situation, as our lifelines to the outside world are severed just when our sanity needs them the most.

And speaking of lifelines, there might be reason to worry concerning the length of mine. Apparently the current president of Honduras has seen fit to allow the ex-president (the one that was forcibly removed a year ago) to return to the country. He’s getting back on Saturday, and there is talk of a national curfew being enforced that day. I intend to stock up on supplies Friday and make like a nerd on the release date of a new MMORPG (online videogame), by which I mean not leave the house for ANYTHING.

Compounding the situation (because as I said, there is ALWAYS something else making things worse) the Peace Corp. has decided to evacuate their people from the neighboring city of Catacamas due to the surge in violence in that area. Just last week 8 people were shot, and I have heard that one volunteer was actually in a store that was shot up. He was unhurt (I think) but enough is enough. Catacamas (a short 40 minute drive from here) is now a “No Go” area for the Peace Corp. and after their currently stationed personnel finish their current tour, they won’t be sending anyone new to Juticalpa either.

This leaves me wondering what the OAF is going to do. They have previously said that if the Peace Corp. pulls out, so will they, so does this mean no more volunteers after next year, or no more after this one? Will they stop at all? I mean don’t get me wrong, you have to be careful here, but any violence only seems to happen on the outskirts of the city…places that we NEVER go to. On the other hand there was an incident last week when a boy, only 13 years old, was shot opposite the turn off from the main road which heads towards the elementary school. That is too close for comfort.

This has been a truly sobering experience. Some days I can’t help but wonder how this country holds itself together. The police do nothing. The government does nothing useful. The people are all out for themselves first and foremost, and follow a very intense “eye-for-an-eye” ethic which is really the cause of most of the problems.

Looking at my students I want to cry. I see their futures already, as if etched in stone. The violence in the streets, between gangs, cartels, and families is echoed in my classroom. “She said something, so I pushed her; he took me pencil so I hit him.” Half the time the other person didn’t even do anything intentional. At what point does it become “…so I killed him.”

There are good people down here, but the odds they face are astronomical. Not least of all because the problems are not just rooted here. There wouldn’t be drug cartels if there wasn’t a market in the United States. People wouldn’t join them if they could make a living elsewhere. But they can’t. There are no opportunities here. It doesn’t matter what sort of education you have if there is nowhere to use it.

And so they go to the US. I have students whose parents have said “goodbye” and left forever to try and make a living in the States. They send money home to support their kids, but the children will never see their mothers and fathers again. It’s a life threatening journey just to get to the US (I know a guy whose brother lost both his legs attempting the trip), and once there if you leave you are never going to get back. One of the other volunteers had a kindergartener ask her for a visa so she could go see her mommy. A KINTERGARDENER!

What ends it? What stops the cycle? We in the US just try to keep Central America out of the States, and so they come to the US illegally (the only way they can) or they join the drug cartels to survive. And the cartels bring violence. Violence brings instability and fear. Fear leads to hate, hate leads to suffering, and suffering leads to the Dark Side.

…somehow that wasn’t quite as funny as I had hoped.

Going to the Dogs

The attentions of Spotted Dick have ceased to be cute. By the end of my last run Saturday morning, I was in such a state of panic that even just seeing a corner where I knew dogs sometimes hang out got my adrenaline pumping. Maki and Jeff expressed similar dismay over a particularly hairy (in all senses of the word) encounter during the run, in which a hell hound decided they would make a good breakfast. Many of the run-ins (no pun intended) we have in the morning could probably be avoided, if we did not have a certain little white spotted canine following us around.

To make matters worse (as they always seem to be down here) Dick has decided that he can now follow us EVERY time we go into town. This ended in disaster when on Sunday afternoon Dick followed me to the local Texaco gas station. Being one of the volunteers favorite places to work, I was on my way to meet up with the other volunteers and do some lesson planning in the air conditioning. Along the way, Dick decided to stop to gnaw on a piece of trash he found. By the time I had noticed his absence I was 30 feet farther down the road, putting me too far to do anything about the beast of a canine which now took offense to Dicks presence in what was clearly HIS part of town.

The ensuing scuffle was not a pleasant sight, and Dick, although alive, did not come out victorious. He proceeded to run towards me, closely followed by The Beast. What possessed me to stand my ground and shoo the great brute off I will never know, but to my great relief it actually worked. Dick carried on as if nothing had happened…accept that he was now leaving a red trail of dots on the ground behind him, and his neck fur was SOAKED in bright red.

I was not pleased.

I met up with the others at Texaco, and Dick disappeared (or rather was chased off by the gas station attendant), later somehow managing to reappear back home.

Feeling that Dick really needed some sort of medical attention (and knowing full well that his “owners” wouldn’t do anything) we sent a distress call to Sonya, who came to the rescue Monday night.

I don’t think I have mentioned Sonya before in my blog. She is a local vet, and good friend of the volunteers. We met her at the beginning of the year, back when we were still trying to have a get together with some locals too practice each other’s language. She has since taken us on hikes up mountains, and on caving expeditions, has told us of how she went to Russia for veterinary school, and given us all the suspicion that she probably knows 25 ways to kill you with a paper cup. Sonya is, in short, awesome.

So it is with great relief that Sonya arrives Monday night to take a look at Dick. With the help of Dick’s owner’s son, Sonya gave the little guy an anti-biotic shot, as well as an anti-inflammatory (which he did not appreciate).

We are now determined to teach Dick to “stay” when we go out, so as to avoid further incidents.

The Home Stretch and Man’s Best Friend

It’s never too late to make a change, and with only three weeks of classes left Jeff, Maki, and myself have decided to start running on a regular basis. Since it is very hot and dusty in the afternoons (see “Hot and Bothered” below) the idea was put forth that we should run in the mornings before school. I’m not sure what possessed me to go along with this scheme, but for better or for worse I am now getting up at 5 am to go run the grimy streets of Juticalpa.

Actually it’s been rather nice. It is a lot cooler in the am, and the dust is still on the ground where it belongs, since the morning traffic hasn’t begun yet. There are two concerns I have though. One is the trash. Most Honduran main street folks start the day by cleaning up all the trash in the gutter of their shop fronts. The garbage truck, too, does not start its rounds until about 7, meaning that the streets of the city are ripe (and I do mean RIPE) with some of the more offensive odors known to human kind. More than once on some runs I have had to fight back a strong urge to evacuate the contents of my stomach.

The other concern is the roving bands of dogs which basically own the streets after dark. At least one other volunteer gave up running in the morning for just this reason. You see, being a predatory species nothing gets a dog’s dander up like seeing something running. Be it a car, a bicycle, or lone pedestrian, something clicks in the reptilian part of the brain, giving rise to age old instincts and the desire to chase whoever the unlucky sap happens to be. Some of these canines are also quite large, and encouraged by their owners to chase off anyone approaching their house outside of business hours.

All this has not endeared the morning constitutional to me…although the dogs do provide excellent motivation.

But a savior has appeared to defend us on those gray morning runs. He is a force like no other in Juticalpa. The streets are his kingdom and his home, and he rules them with an unshakable…umm…coat of dust! Yes, one might even say that he is one with the grime itself! I am of course speaking of none other than “Spotted Dick* ” Oso, the little dog that lives next door!

(* I would like to clarify for any non-English readers that spotted dick is a type of bread pudding with raisins in it. There seems to have been some misinterpretation going about, and I want to make certain that nobody’s sense of propriety has been affronted by my blog.)

Yes, little Dick followed us on our entire run the other morning, all the way from our house to the center of town and back again. He chased off several dogs, and even slowed down to wait for me when I couldn’t keep up with Maki and Jeff (I have never been much of an athlete, unlike Maki and Jeff, who are both in disgustingly good shape. Talk about lessons in humility.)

I do suspect that fewer dogs would have bothered us had Dick not been there, but at least the ones that did give chase were barking at Dick and not us.

PS. The first plantains didn’t turn out too good (I tried to bake them and they just didn’t take to it). They were also green which, although it seems to be the only way to buy them here, may have lent to the somewhat chalky texture. Ah well, better luck next time.

Small Mercies

             RAIN!!! After almost three months we were finally blessed with a good, solid shower last night (and I don’t mean with running water…although I did get to have one of those Tuesday morning!) I was able to breathe easy (literally) last night, and even slept with the window open!

This came hot on the heels of another minor miracle. My laptop and lifeline to the outside world had decided to stop working for some reason, and I was NOT pleased with the unfortunate turn of events. I cannot imagine what would have made it just stop like that. It’s not like I stayed up until 10:30pm reading comics on the internet, and then knocked the computer on the hard, concrete floor. And I would never even imagine, not even out of desperation at 11:45 on a school night, of trying to take apart the computer casing to see if something had been knocked loose by any kind of impact. Never! Thankfully, a good night’s sleep seems to have revived my portal to civilization, although exactly how is a true mystery (my theory is magical Honduran elves.)

My students continue to be…well…students, which in retrospect is a vast improvement on previous months! One student in particular has made an incredible turn-about, and is now one of the better students in the school! Let’s hope that some of the others follow her example!

In other news, my dream of taking students on a field trip to the Mayan ruins of Copan will soon be a reality! In just three weeks we will be taking the kids (those with a high enough grade in World History or Geography that is) on a three day field trip to the ruins. It is my hope that this will bring their “History to life” is it were, and maybe make learning just that little bit more interesting.

I am also happy to report that the long-standing problem of Brian appears to be resolving itself, to the benefit of all involved. Brian, our raggedy street-urchin (or so he would have us believe) has been growing steadily all year (both up and out) lending credence to my conviction that he is not, in fact, a homeless, mal-nourished beggar (just an annoying, chubby one.) He has recently achieved a height from which he is now capable of carrying a large bucket. A bucket which can be filled with mangos!

Yes, our little Brian has joined the unwashed masses of the employed (although he was plenty unwashed before), and came by our abode yesterday before the rains hit, to peddle his wears. And for three mangos for 10 lemps, I was more than happy to be pedaled too.

While we are on the topic of fruit, I have an important announcement (no, I’m not gay). I purchased a new ingredient yesterday, one which I have never tried before, so you can all expect to soon be reading “Iron Chef Honduras: Plantains” (and I promise it won’t take me a month to write it this time.)