I fell in love today, and then I ate some chicken feet.

It was one of those days, the kind where I felt truly connected to my purpose and felt as if I were exactly where I needed to be (some people think PC volunteers feel like this everyday, believe me, we don´t). My really good day started last Sunday with Amalia and Charlie who live and volunteer here and are quickly becoming good friends of mine. Here is a picture of them and their neighbor (Charlie´s baby) Syra. Amalia is originally from Honduras and Charlie is a good ole´ southern boy from Texas, a little firecracker if you ask me. They (as well as most of us as I am finding out) live next door to a church whose members make everyone within earshot (and further even) aware of their love for God by yelling and singing about it at the top of their lungs, virtually every night. While I personally don´t share their enthusiasm where religion is concerned, I say more power to them, but not Charlie. He threatened to introduce the Hondurans to Willie Nelson on full blast the next time he deems their services too loud! Charlie and Amalia, among other projects, have been working on a project they call Grandma´s Kids. When they first came to help El Porvenir after Hurricane Mitch they stumbled upon some abuelitas (grannies) who were living with their children and grandchildren in dire living conditions. They didn´t have running water, were using the ocean to bath, wash clothes and to relive themselves, roofs falling in on top of them, malnourished, most of the children had TB among other health issues. One girl has epilepsy and is permanently damaged from seizing so profusely in the past as a result of not having the proper medication, at times for 30 minutes straight. Over the past years Amalia and Charlie have secured improved living conditions, provided assistance for means to feed the 7 women and 25 or so children and provided medication to treat many of their ailments. Even still, they could not be considered anything but poverty stricken by any stretch of the imagination. One of the issues is that there is no one to care for the little kids while the women work, so Charlie and Amalia built a daycare. This is the event I attended, the grand opening. And this is where I fell in love. These kids didn´t know me from a hole in the wall, but hugged me, touched me, clung to me and loved me immediately, like I had known them their whole life. The feelings were mutual. Here is a picture of Oscar (as you can tell the picture is compliments of him), he held my hand during the entire ceremony and gazed up at me so lovingly, I was melting. Another one of the many ¨oh yeah, this is why I¨m here¨ moments, which come when I´m not even expecting it, the best time. Expectations, what a relative term, like night and day between here and the United States. Right now my expectations are virtually nonexistent because I haven´t been here long enough to determine them. I´m finding that being in that mindset I am rarely disappointed and often pleasantly surprised, I could get used to that. Here´s a picture of all the kids, their moms and the grandmas. They are standing on a little bridge that connects their yard to the street, before it was built they trudged back and forth through essentially a swamp.

Charlie and Amalia are going back to the states for a couple of months so I told her I would check in on Grandma´s Kids while they were away. The next day I was still high and on my way home from the municipality when 3 of Grandma´s Kids riding a bike (see previous blog entry) started screaming Jessica!! Jessica!!. One of them jumped off, and came charging toward me. I caught him in my arms where he clung with his arms and legs wrapped around my torso like a koala bear. He asked where I was going and when I told him my house and he quickly replied, no you´re coming to my house, grabbed my hand and led the way. Who am I to argue with one of Grandma´s Kids? Originally, I had figured I would come by the house in a week or so to check in, but I found myself back there the very next day. Yes, I do believe in fate. Jose and I got closer to the house and as they saw the Gringa (that would be me) they came charging and screaming my name, 10 or so of Grandma´s Kids. Some had no shirts, some no pants, most had no shoes, some of those babies where even stark naked. One boy, maybe 3 or 4, who asked me no less than 100 questions (and screamed the question at the top of his lungs whenever I asked him to repeat it as if I couldn´t hear rather than couldn´t speak the language), was eating a cacao, a fruit with a bunch of seeds with sort of slimy sour flesh. As he spit out the seeds another little boy picked them up off of the muddy street to suck any juice that was left in the regurgitated seed. One curly dark-haired naked baby sat in the middle of the road, her little butt was caked with mud. They all fought to be the ones underneath my arms on each side, however being surprisingly polite to one another allowing turns to be taken. We talked for a while. They get such a kick out of teaching me Spanish and I feel less inhibited speaking around them than adults. When it was time to go I got 15 hugs (5 other kids had joined the ruckus by that time) and was made to promise to stop by tomorrow, the easiest promise I´ve ever made. I walked home contemplating the circumstances which had been presented; this is the kind of stuff I imagined when I signed up for Peace Corps. I finally feel like there is truly something I can do to help, although I´m not sure exactly what that is yet still, but I´m getting closer everyday. After all of the goodness that had filled my life in the last 24 hours or so I sat down to dinner that night excited to talk to my family about Grandma´s Kids and then…I was served chicken feet, 4 of them, and some of their necks too. Ok, not the worst thing in the world that could´ve happened, this is true, but it was certainly a first for me. I didn´t take a picture out of courtesy to my host mother, I didn´t need to, the image is now conveniently burned into my brain forever. Nonetheless, I did not come all the way here to be some prissy American that doesn´t embrace new experiences so I shoved one of the claws (there are three toes by the way in case you were wondering) into my mouth trying to simply scrape the meat (is there even meat on chicken toes?) with my teeth and then the middle claw broke off into my mouth. Yep, that did it, I was done, I had been a good sport and now I was done. My host mother had pretty much the same reaction she had had with the fish (see previous blog entry) and gobbled up the remaining 3 feet along with the other pathetically partially eaten limb, what remained of my feeble attempt at reaching new cultural horizons.

Here´s one of the streets on my way to work.

Strides to Integration

Above left: This is the view from my kitchen to the backyard. That´s Pico Bonito your looking at.
Above right: Me and my little primito Ellis (cousin).

Cultural integration habits I am working on:

Eating every piece of meat off of a whole fried fish. This one was originally on my *have mastered* list, however I had to lessen my expertise ranking after dinner on Monday. When I passed over my plate of bones to be tossed out in the backyard and my host mother grabbed my fish head and rhetorically asked if it was mine to no one in particular, as she recognized this was certainly not any of her children´s doing, then she sunk her teeth into the skeleton for the remnants of the meat I had left behind. Did I mention this fish was probably caught an hour before we ate it? Definitely something I can work on.

Riding a bike, at least two at a time. While I haven´t tried this one yet, it takes me back to my childhood (Missy and me) when I see it. It´s very common to see adults doing it here, so I hope to have the opportunity to rehash this pastime. This is how it works, one person sits on the seat and pedals, the other person sits in from of the seat on the bar that connects the steering wheel and seat and steers. Talk about a task for trust and teamwork. Being a bit of a control freak I think this would be good therapy for me. I actually saw an entire family on one bike recently, Mom, Dad, young boy and baby in arms, I wouldnt have believed it if I didn´t see it.. It´s definitely a skill they have acquired, here, I´ve yet to see anyone even close to crashing.

Cultural integration habits I may never get down:

Chicharron. Those of you who know me well know that I am by no means a picky eater, in fact, I could probably benefit from being a little pickier. I tried to like chicharron, I really did. The first time tried they were served just like pork rinds, only they are much harder on the skin side and a little soft on the underside. Two such contrasting textures should not exist in one bite of anything, ever. I politely informed my host mother that I didn´t care for the popular skin treat I thought I was in the clear, then they served a meal after a meeting I attended and, I´m sure you´ve guessed by now, chichirron. This time it was served with yucca (a starchy root vegetable, much like a potato, which I do like) and warm cooked in a stew. The disguise did not fool my taste buds. Not wanting to be rude I choked down most of it, leaving a few bites for which I could not muster the strength.

Spitting. I´m not really sure what this one is all about yet, but so many people do it here. I´ve been trying to figure out if it´s from the dust or some sort of food staple that causes excess mucus production to rationalize it but have concluded that it´s just a bad habit like many have in the states. Part of my integration will not be picking up this habit.

Cultural integration habits which I have mastered:

Bucket baths. At this point I don’t even remember what a shower feels like, and have no desire for one. My morning bathing ritual includes a giant barrel of cold water in the bathroom and a little bowl used to scoop from the barrel onto my head and body. The bathroom is just one big open room with a toilet on one end then you stand at the other end by the barrel and just pour the water over you, soap up and rinse it off. Here´s a picture of our bathroom. Sandy, take deep breaths.

The lip point. This one is so simple and fun. In the states we use our fingers to point something out to someone, but in Honduras we use our lips. I know you want to try it, go ahead. Purse your lips like you{re kissing the air, but in the direction you want someone to look, also your eyes look in the same direction. Sometimes your lips curve around the corners of your mouth, sometimes they go straight up because it{s something behind you. You can even add your own twist, I personally like the eyebrow raise. I had witnessed the lip point for about 2 months until one day someone asked me where I lived and without even thinking about it gave the ole lip point as if I had been doing it my whole life.

Front porch sittin. I imagine in any country in the world this would be soothing to me, whether it be in the south in the states with a cold sweet tea or in Honduras with an icy chatamusca. I know, what is a chatamusca, right? It{s a popsicle in a bag. Pick a juice any juice, pour it in a little plastic bag, freeze it, then bite a hole in the bag to suck out the fruity goodness. There{s just something about passing the day or night with your family on the front porch as neighbors pass by enjoying each other and the environment that makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside. We talk and laugh, and laugh, and laugh some more. The relationships amongst family members here is something many Americans could take a lesson from. Hugging, smiling, listening, laughing, joking, touching, holding hands and really spending quality time together, habits that should be universally cultural in my opinion.

Me and my host mother, Marizta, also known as the maker of the best flour tortillas round these parts!

It´s official, I am a Peace Corps volunteer

It is cold here today, must be only 75 degrees. The whole month of October and most of November and December are cool with rain almost daily (I understand the relativity of this description and I imagine most of you are scoffing at me, deservedly so). It reminds me of early spring in northeast Ohio, only with palm trees and Hondurans rather than maples and Ohioans and without the remnants of that white stuff, what do you call that again? Funny how some things are so easily forgotten. I am now settling into my new home with ease and comfort. It is strange how natural it feels for me to be here, almost like something I did in another lifetime and I am just stepping back into this really familiar environment and taking over where I left off. While I was sad to see my new friends with whom I have spent the last 3 months training with go as we parted ways to our respective sites, I was also ready to start doing what I came here to do. You may ask, Jessica, what exactly is it you are there to do? My reply…I am figuring it out hour by hour, day by day, week by week. Every day another little piece of the puzzle comes to into the light, even if it is just a Spanish word I did not know the day before. Some pieces are bigger than others, yesterday for example the head of the Office for Ethnics (there are people of color here too, one prominent group in this area are the Garifunas) pulled me aside to discuss a latrine project he would like to see come to fruition during my time here. Next week we are going to take a ride out to the “campo”, which is what they call really rural areas of this country, to check out the sites. My role in this project will be to understand what they need, make a connection with funding sources that can make it happen, work along side them to write the grant, and offer any other support I am able. My role is as a development agent, developing people and their skills, not just do work for them. Besides, while I do know how to write grants (right Alan?!), my experience is in the United States and in English!! For me to attempt to write grants on behalf of the people in my community and the municipality would be futile. They obviously know more about their community and their language then I ever will, let alone after living here for one whole week. So what I can and will do is point them in the right direction, bring to their attention NGOs (non-governmental organization) they never knew existed that can help, give general guidance on grant writing and what lenders are looking for in projects and act as a task master to ensure the steps are being taken to accomplish the goals the people in my community have made for themselves. My work will also entail working in the schools with citizenship participation, teaching English and some health initiatives. Pretty good stuff huh? I sure think so. As I am now at my new residence, I have a new address for you to send mail (something I strongly suggest you do of course, I will happily return the correspondence):

Jessica Dillworth
El Porvenir, Atlatida
Barrio Nuevo
Honduras, Central America


These are for Kristin´s mom!! It´s so funny, lots of us have blogs, but some of us (I won´t mention any names Emily and Kristin) so I give them cameos in mine because their families read it. I love doing it!!

Thanks for taking this journey with me, I appreciate you checking in. I am glad to be able to share this time in my life with you.