The sugar cane that left a sour taste in my mouth.

My municipality is super kid friendly, meaning kids are welcome to mill about, drink from the water cooler and just hang out if they like. Everyday I am surprised at how different it is in the states where kids would be *in the way* if they were just standing in your office and running about in common areas. As I mentioned the kids here are holding my heart prisoner, especially the pre-teen boys. Marvin (pictured here) and I met the other day (I absolutely love the names here, Oscar, Melvin, Oswaldo). He and a couple of his friends stopped into my office, at first to just stare at the Gringa, a game they like to play and, whether I want to play or not, am forced to be the other participant. After overcoming the initial awkwardness we began to speak, at first exchanging pleasantries and general information. Once they caught a glimpse of the manual for teaching English I have it was clear what we were going to do for the next 2 hours. Taking turns the three went through vocabulary, attempting to say the words in English, but only one of them was able to read much at all. I do not think the other two could read very well in Spanish, never mind English.

Marvin lives in my town with his grandparents because his parents and older siblings live on Roatan Island for work. The following week Marvin and his grandma were up at the municipality because they were giving away food to those most in need. What a debacle, the families were told the food would be there Monday, then Tuesday and then, after sitting at the municipality all day Wednesday they finally got their food packets. Marvin hung out with me the next morning and then I told him I wanted to see where his lived, a little surprised he repeated what I had just said to make sure he understood. Sure, I told him, I like to see where all of my friends live. The smile that snuck up on his face confirmed I had succeeded in communicating that I cared about him, something you can do even without speaking the same language very well. We strolled the streets of El Porvenir chatting the whole way, it was hard to believe we were able to fill the whole time with conversation, it was effortless, an adjective I have become unfamiliar with during my pursuit of learning a new language. When we arrived he unlocked the gate (which entails unlatching a loop of barbed wire from the wooden fence post) for me to enter. The whole way he had been talking about cañe (pronounced Kanye, as in Kanye West), asking what I knew about it, if I liked it, etc, I had no idea what he was talking about. After a brief hello to his grandma who was so hospitable, grabbing the nicest plastic lawn chair they had for me to sit, we went out back to meet grandpa. Marvin was talking about that darn cañe again as grandpa whipped out his machete (is it weird that I am used to such a site this now?) and commenced chopping at a large stalk growing from the ground. After freeing it from the ground he started working at cutting the outside bark from the top of the stalk. When he finished that he asked me to hold onto the part he had just shaved the bark from so he could lob of that part for me to eat. Without hesitating I grabbed it and he wacked it off with a couple swings (again, I was not phased me, I think I have been here too long!). Sugar cane, that is what Marvin had been talking about. Chomping into the stalk I realized why he was so excited, and also why everyone{s teeth are falling out here. Sweeter than sweet, it was a delicious snack after a long walk in the sun. After a pleasant visit with grandpa, Marvin grabbed what remained of the stalk which was taller than him informing me it was a gift, and proceeded to walk me home like a little gentleman. When I arrived home awkwardly trying to get in the house with this 7 foot stalk of sugar cane prepared to explain to my host mother what it was and what we needed to do with it. Silly me, obviously I haven{t been here long enough, otherwise I would know that everyone knows about sugar cane and how to prepare it, as my host mother demonstrated by casually suggesting I put the long pole on the pila (a large concrete basin where our water is stored) and when my host dad could he would go out back with the machete and take care of it. Of course he would!

It was the next day while my host sister (pictured here) and I were relaxing in the backyard that I was forced to rethink my experience, which on the surface was an innocent gesture from a kind Honduran family to the new foreigner. She proceeded to first chastise me for having gone into that neighborhood because it was dangerous (I had not known this and besides they say that about every neighborhood that isn{t their own) and told me that the only reason the family gave me the sugar cane is because they want something from me exchange, probably money. Processing the sudden punch in the stomach I had just received, I became silent and thoughtful momentarily. It had not occurred to her that they were genuinely trying to be kind to a person who had been spending some time with their grandson, just as it not occurred to me that ulterior motives were involved in this seemingly harmless exchange. After I thanked my host sister for her concern and suggestions for my future behavior I pondered. I dont want to become a jaded American having lived in a developing country because I was always second guessing the locals intentions. At the same time I need to be cautious enough to protect myself from unintended situations that may arise and the ramifications of behavior which I am unable to interpret. Naïve I am not, but there is a fine line naivety and erring on the side of optimism.