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.)

Hot and Bothered

                Semana Santa came and went, and before you now it I’m back in dusty Juticulpa. I guess my brief reprieve to the States made my lungs go soft, because I had to spend the first two nights back sleeping with a dust mask on to prevent me from choking in my sleep (this is not a joke, I really did go to bed wearing a dust mask.)

                It has also been unbearable hot over the past week, usually in the 90’s during the day (and almost there at night as well,) making teaching a class nigh impossible. I don’t think it would make a difference is I did a song and dance number at the front of the classroom, while juggling live hedgehogs, the kids would still just sit there in a sweaty stupor (not that I can really blame them.)

                But with April finished, and May rapidly descending upon us like a troop of sugar-high, tambourine-wielding monkeys, the end of the school year has never seemed so close. There are only 5 weeks of classes left, followed by exam week and a week of recuperation exams. So the real question of the day is “what next?”

                Over the Easter break, I submitted a few job applications in the states, as well as a letter requesting sponsorship to return to Honduras for another year (I like to have my bases covered.) This is all very well and good, but what should I really be pushing for? Part of me really misses regularly running water and air conditioning (not to mention my friends and family.) On the flip side, it is a very sobering thought when you realize that you are the only person that really cares about a child’s education. I mean, many of the parents don’t really support their children in the pursuit of learning, either because they don’t see any real merit in it, or because they simply can’t (how do you help a student with homework that you yourself do not understand?)

                But that’s where my frustration hit a snag. These are MY kids now, and for better or for worse, do I really want to leave them to the tender mercies of whoever the next volunteers will be? I mean, it took me half the year to just figure out how to be a good teacher (although it would have been less if I had had a little more support from the powers that be *grumble grumble*) But if I don’t have the energy or drive to be here, is that really fare to my students?

                Regardless I can’t afford to spend too much time freaking out about the uncertainty of the future (especially since it’s going to be uncertain whether or not I have a plan.) I still have 5 weeks of classes to focus on, young minds to shape, and plenty of adventures still unexplored…plus the mother’s day lunch to decorate, the Open House to plan (curse my willingness to volunteer for stuff!) and midterm grades to finish. It’s gonna be a long night.

Cultural Denial

Just a quick update. One of the other volunteers found this blog article, and I have to say, I find it hilarious! It could not be truer. We get snubbed by Day Star teachers in the street all the time (Day Star is another bi-lingual school in Juti. We like to call them "The Others"...we watch a bit too much "Lost" on DVD in our free time.) Our group is weird in that we greet everyone, gringo or otherwise, that we meet on the street. I guess we’re just too happy to be real volunteers.

http://stuffexpataidworkerslike.com/2011/01/27/17-pretending-not-to-see-each-other/

Mangos and Moustache March

Mango season that is! The local markets are chock full of my all-time favorite fruit, and they only cost 10 lempira each! That’s somewhere in the ballpark of 55 US cents! This means that it’s time for another (much anticipated) episode of IRON CHEF HONDURAS (thunderous applause)!

What can’t you do with the miraculous mango? If you can think of something, please tell me. Thus far I have thought of all kinds of intriguing recipes from mango chicken to mango vodka fruit salad. The latter was particularly popular at our Mardi Graz party at the beginning of lent.

Alas however, most of the mangos I buy don’t make it to the “exploratory cooking” stage, because as soon as I peel and slice the fruit it mysteriously disappears. I can’t help myself, nothing beats a ripe mango.

I have been able to control myself long enough to create some DELICIOUSE chismol de mango (mango salsa.) Take the following, dice all the fruit/veggies, mix, and enjoy with corn chips:

-          2 mangos

-          2 green bell peppers

-          1 red onion

-          Fresh cilantro to taste

-          2 large pinches of salt

-          1 – 2 tsp. cumin

I have eaten nothing but a massive bowl of chismol de mango for dinner twice this week already.

In addition to it being mango season, it is also moustache March! I’ve been rockin’ out the ‘stache for the past three weeks, with various accessories (soul patch, side burns, etc.) As the end of March is rapidly approaching, I have gone pure moustache for the remainder of the season. Having finished shaving I looked up and received a bit of a shock, finding a young version of my father staring back at me. I’ve been told that I look a lot like my dad, but I’ve never really seen it so intensely until now.

Jeff says I look like a cop, which I suppose is a good thing considering that’s what I aim to be one day. And speaking of Jeff, he too is growing a moustache for March. In fact, the two of us convinced most of the male members of the OAF to take part! I’ll try to take a picture of all of us next week…and then I’ll try to actually post some of my many, many pictures that I have been accumulating on my computer.

Moral Dillema

So I and my housemates have had a problem with this local child for some time now. His name is Brian, is about 6 years old, and he is CONSTANTLY coming over asking for food, water, money, and clothes and medicine for his mother. At first we were having him cut out front grass (a job here which is done with a machete, and is backbreaking for anyone over 3 feet tall.) In exchange we would give him 20 lempira and a sandwich.

The problems began when Brian started coming over when we didn’t need the grass cut. He would come over at least once a week asking for food and money, and I, trying to be a good Christian, would offer him some small bit of food (usually a slice of bread with jam) and a glass of water. Now, Brian is by no means underfed, and he has “clean” clothes, by which I mean he has different ones each time I see him, so he isn’t destitute either. So when the visits keep increasing in frequency, we start getting annoyed. We can’t afford to feed a child on our stipend, especially one that isn’t ours.

Brian also starts showing up at odd times, like 9:30 at night when we are all dog tired and heading to bed (well…those of us done with lesson planning.) We also learn that he is doing rounds of the volunteer houses, and that he usually has been given stuff already by the time he comes knocking on our door. At this point we decide to start getting tough. We stop feeding him unless he cuts the grass (which honestly looks worse after he has cut it,) and start ushering him away. In response to this, Brian starts bringing friends with, all of whom are just as demanding, and many of whom don’t wear clothes (nothing more disconcerting than looking up to see a naked and dirt-covered child sneaking in through your front door.)

I feel bad for them, I really do, but I do not run a poor house. Not to mention they already HAVE parents and homes of their own. That being said, their homes probably suck, as Peggy has already informed me that Brian’s mother is a well-known alcoholic.

So what do I do? I can’t keep handing out food to swarms of demanding children (and honestly the complete lack of any kind of gratitude is enough to put one off. All they know is “give me”, without any kind of “please”, “thank you”, or any genuine gratitude at all…reminds me of some of my students actually.) However, this doesn’t remove the stab of guilt I feel every time I turn them away, accompanied be the haunting verse from Revelations about denying God whenever you turn a hungry beggar from your door.

Brian isn’t exactly hungry though so much as he is greedy, but he is poor and worse off than me. So what am I to do?

Music to my Ears

Wednesday, February 23^rd was a turning point…well, somewhat. On Maki’s suggestion, I tried playing music in the art room while the students were working. It is said that music soothes the savage beast, well I can tell you that it most certainly does! I know find myself able to breath during my classes, and I come out with half the amount of grey hairs! True, half my students STILL don’t bring in their art and activities materials (I’ve started sending them to the consejera to have their parents called about it,) but at least they are somewhat controlled in the art room. The only problem now is that I don’t have all that much music on my iTunes. Looks like I’ll have to go to the Esso one weekend and use their Wifi to go to the iTunes music store.

Wednesday night proved to be just as bizarre as my calm classroom. The other volunteers and I were invited to the house of one of the parents of a kid at the elementary school. He also happens to be the shofar for the Bishop of Olancho, who lives right here in Juticalpa. He was also invited. So by 8pm I was sitting next to the bishop, drinking 12 year old bourbon with him, and listening to a live marimba band (I swear I have never seen a xylophone that big in my life!) The food was fantastic, and we all went home in high spirits (and full of spirits…although not TOO full, as it was a weeknight.)

On the following Saturday, myself, Angela, and Dan were invited to go out of town for the day with another family of one of our students (as you might be noticing, such practices are common in Honduras. You have no choice, you ARE a part of the community.) We drove north for about an hour before parking on a dirt back road next to a cow pasture. A short hike brought us into a small grove of trees nestled at the base of some quite spectacular mountains. Upon first entering the tree line, the first thing I noticed was the river flowing down from the mountain. I have NEVER seen a flowing river so crystal clear before. I could see in perfect detail the red and green rocks lying on the riverbed, standing out sharply against the white sand.

As we walked deeper into the woods the terrain rose up, until we were scrambling over massive, moss-covered rocks. The air was cool and fragrant, and I drank in every breath, savoring it after weeks of breathing the dusty city air. We finally reached a point where the ground rose up into a steep cliff. By now the trees rose high above us, and we could see strangler fig vines, buttress roots, and tropical bromeliads adorning the massive tree trunks. Here we made base camp. The parents set about building a fire amongst the rocks to cook lunch (carne asada, home-made tortillas, frijoles, and chizmol) while he kids disappeared down to the river.

Now, we had been promised caves on this little excursion, and we were not to be disappointed. Following two of the kids, we scrambled up the lower slopes of the cliff to the first of three cave entrances. There were no guards, no path, no entrance fee, just the sandy floor of the smooth stone tunnel, disappearing into the gloom. We had one flashlight between us, but it was enough. We ventured in and spent the next hour or so exploring. It was truly breathtaking.

And yet the best was still to come! Upon scrambling even high to the second cave entrance, we saw an owls nest, complete with two massive owls! We had a great time showing the kids the owl pellets we found at the cave entrance. It felt wonderful to have students who actually wanted to learn for a change. When we got fairly deep into the second cave, we sat down and turned off the flashlight. It was utter darkness, and complete silence. It was beautiful.

Just when we thought it couldn’t get any better, it did. We left the cave and climbed back down to get lunch. We had worked up quite an appetite with all our climbing, and the food was delicious. After lunch the kids convinced us to tame a swim in the river (after digesting a little of course). When we ventured down to the water, however, we were amazed to discover exactly why it was so clear. The river was flowing directly out of a third cave! And this was no small tunnel either, the ceiling arched high above us as we swam deeper in, and was easily wide enough to fit in a small raft (which I am now determined to find and take back there!) We swam deeper and deeper into the cave, but it just kept going! We finally had to turn back on account of it getting too cold.

It’s experiences like these that get me through my classes lately. I really want to take my students on a retreat to those cave though. It occurs to me that they have probably never heard absolute silence in their entire lives, and I would love to see what effect it would have on them